“You don’t want to know the details?”
“Nah. Your case, your investigation. You know what to do. At some point, you might need a second set of eyes on things. If that happens, don’t be afraid to ask for help.”
A surge of heat flashed through her. “You don’t think I can do this?”
He pointed the half-Twinkie at her. “Easy there, champ. We all need help. What, well over a hundred murders every year? And all the cold cases on top of that? Not many of us fly solo. All I’m saying is it’s your case, but it’s ours too, if that makes any sense?”
She settled back into her chair. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He laughed and shoved the rest of the snack in his mouth. “Of course you can—” He coughed several times. “Sorry. Twinkie crumb got me. Killed by a snack cake. That’s the way I want to go. Not yet though. Anyway, yeah, I think you can do the job, and anyone who doesn’t, didn’t see your work on Cotulla. You don’t have to prove anything.”
She smiled. “You’re just saying that so I won’t back out of Friday night.”
He returned her grin. “Whatever it takes.”
“Starsky!” Lieutenant Segura’s booming voice echoed across the room.
Amara turned her face so the LT couldn’t see and whisper-singsonged, “Somebody’s in trouble.”
“What else is new?” He strode away. “Coming, sir.”
She turned her attention back to the laptop. Gone out twice, with another dinner coming up Friday. Dutch both times. And no idea where things stood. Friends, yes. No question they enjoyed spending time together. But they were going out, not dating. Weren’t they? Did he understand the difference? There was a distinction, right?
She rubbed her palm on her shoulder and searched online for Zachary Bryce Coleman. The only results pointed to the recent news story. Nothing helpful there. She deleted his middle name and searched again. No new links. She leaned back and tapped her finger on her bottom lip. Was Coleman not on social media? Seemed odd for a teenager, but maybe not. She’d erased her own accounts after the privacy headaches outweighed the usefulness. Of course, some of the sites only identified people by their usernames, so Coleman could be there and she wouldn’t know. She made a note to ask his friends, then did a search for the Cannonball Water Park.
Page after page of links appeared. In addition to the official website, there were untold blogs, pictures, and videos posted by visitors. Over several decades, the place had grown from a few slides and pools into a resort mecca. With over forty rides and attractions, it now covered an area approaching sixty acres. On any given day, thousands of people visited for a chance to cool off in the spring-fed waters. Each year, the Cannonball received multiple awards from vacation websites and magazines around the world for its value and state-of-the-art water rides.
The park’s website focused on their family-friendly environment and their excellent safety record. The most recent news articles zeroed in on improvements to the facilities and employment opportunities. No ride-oriented fatalities had ever occurred at the Cannonball, though several civil suits regarding accidents had been settled out of court. As far as the state of Texas was concerned, the place had a clean history.
After an hour of uninformative surfing, she phoned the park and asked to speak to the head of security.
“This is Eduardo Sanchez. How may I help you?”
“Hi,” Amara said. “I’m Detective Alvarez, SAPD Homicide.” Felt weird, but good, saying that. “I wonder if I could stop by and speak to you?”
“Of course, Detective. You said you worked Homicide? May I inquire as to what this concerns? If it’s one of our employees, HR might suit you better.”
“Not one of your employees. At least I don’t think he was. I’m looking into the death of Zachary Coleman.”
A long pause followed. “My assumption was that Mr. Coleman died of heatstroke. The medical investigator who came here thought that would be the most likely cause. Is that not correct?”
“I can’t comment on that, other than to say I’m looking into all possibilities. Would you be available this afternoon to meet with me?”
“Could we make it tomorrow morning? My schedule is full for the rest of today. If that will be a problem, I can try to shuffle some things around.”
“Tomorrow morning will be fine,” she said. “Eight o’clock?”
“Perfect. Park at the main entrance and I’ll meet you there.”
She thanked him and glanced at the clock while shutting down her computer. If she left now, she could beat rush hour traffic and get in a good workout at the gym before heading home to Larry, her three-foot-long pet iguana. Over the past month of training, one consistent message echoed from every detective she worked with. At least the ones who were civil. Once she got in the rotation, they said, any concept of normal hours would disappear. When the opportunity for me-time presented itself, take it.
Running in this heat was out of the question, but a few rounds of Muay Thai, a combat sport distantly related to kickboxing, sounded good. The activity cleared her mind and boosted her confidence. She’d used the training on the job only once, when she’d been undercover and captured in Mexico during the Cotulla investigation, and could remember the adrenaline rush that came from using her own body as a weapon. She didn’t seek conflict. Didn’t shy from it either. If someone wanted to underestimate her because of her size, that was their problem.
She scooped up her belongings and headed for the car. Tomorrow, the investigation into Zachary Coleman’s death would begin in earnest. Should be done long before the tox reports came back in a month. Either she’d run out of leads, determine it wasn’t a homicide, or catch the killer. The last two options suited her.
And if she couldn’t resolve things, there was always the chance the tox report would close it for her. Her only fear was leaving “undetermined” as the cause of death. The boy’s parents would never know. His friends would wonder. And her first case would remain in limbo forever.
“Undetermined” meant failure.
3
The next morning, Amara tossed her jacket into the back seat of her car and headed toward the water park’s entrance. Barely eight a.m. and the temperature already broke ninety degrees. Welcome to mid-July in San Antonio. She paused and glanced to her left at the structures towering over the flat terrain. Several colorful rides, each vying to be taller than their neighbor, waited for the gates to open and the brave guests to let loose their whoops and hollers. She shook her head. Have fun with all that. A lawn chair and kiddie pool to soak her feet would be just fine.
She dabbed at a bead of sweat on her forehead and resumed her walk to the park’s entrance. To the left of the ticket booths, a man in khaki pants and a blue polo shirt waited. He shaded his eyes, then raised a hand and waved. Either she looked like a cop or, at the least, not a typical visitor. She hoped it was the former. As she neared him, he broadened his smile.
“Detective Alvarez?” he asked. “I’m Eduardo Sanchez, head of security.”
He appeared to be in his late thirties, only a few inches taller than her, with a stocky build. “Sí. Thank you for meeting with me. I’ll try not to take too much of your time.”
He waved his hand as if swatting at gnats. “It’s no problem. I suggest we meet in my office, if that’s acceptable? Afterward, if there are areas of the park you wish to visit, I’d be happy to escort you.”
“Sounds good. Lead the way.”
She trailed him along a path separated from the rest of the park by a wooden fence. Even out of sight of the public, the area was clean and well maintained. The concrete walkway still had arcing wet spots in places, an indication of the early morning sprinkler system doing its best to protect the surrounding plants. Some summers, it didn’t matter how much water you poured on the greenery. Texas temperatures could be relentless.
As they rounded a corner, a cluster of administration buildings came into view. Heat waves shimmered off the asphalt park
ing lot and gave a faint mirage look to the one- and two-story structures.
Sanchez gestured ahead. “The employees have a separate entrance to the park. They come in over there and”—he pointed off to the right—“go to their assigned work areas through a gate over there.”
“Do they go to the same place every day?”
“It depends,” he said. “Sometimes yes and sometimes no, but I couldn’t tell you how that’s determined. If you want, I can ask one of our HR managers to join us. They could explain it better.”
“Not necessary, at least not yet. As I said yesterday, I’m just trying to get a feel for the environment here. See how the victim spent his last hours.”
Sanchez stopped and turned to her. “The victim?” He shifted on his feet. “Have you confirmed the young man’s death was a homicide?”
“Sorry,” she said. “Habit, I guess.” Habit? It’s your first case. She glanced away to reset her thoughts. “To answer your question, no, the death has not been ruled a homicide.” She dropped her voice a notch. “If it is determined to be a murder, I trust the park’s desire to avoid bad publicity won’t affect your cooperation?”
“It will not. My background is in law enforcement. I can state without hesitation that Cannonball will provide any and all support it can.”
She nodded. “I appreciate that. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”
They resumed their walk toward the buildings and within minutes were basking in the air-conditioned comfort of Sanchez’s office. A bank of monitors filled one wall off to the side of his desk, and an array of computer equipment rested on the credenza behind him. No personal effects were visible. No photos in sight. And no wedding ring.
Why had she felt the need to check his ring finger? She fake-coughed into her fist. Checking was part of being observant. Standard procedure. If that was the case though, why did she rarely follow that process when talking to other women?
She liked Starsky, but did like ever become love? Would there be anything to discuss besides death? How was your day, honey? Eh, stabbing over by the quarry. And yours? Gunshot over in Alamo Heights. Not exactly the downtime she’d need.
Sanchez twisted the top off a water bottle. “Can I get you one?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” She flipped open her notepad. “Let’s see . . . the body was found here three days ago, and the video you gave the ME didn’t offer much. I assume you reviewed the rest of the security footage? The parts we didn’t see? Is there anything that might help with my investigation? And the ME mentioned something about malfunctioning cameras?”
He took a long swig of water. “As you can imagine, there is a considerable amount of video of the young man and his companions. I have personally reviewed every frame, and my staff has made copies for you as well. However, you must understand that our cameras do not cover every inch of the facility. We focus on high-traffic areas. In addition, yes, we have recently experienced, er, hiccups with our system.”
“Hiccups? Meaning what?”
“Sporadic outages for the last month or so. Never all cameras at once, but a few here or there. And never enough to cause any security or safety issues. The vendor believes it’s a software problem, and we will upgrade to a newer version within the next week.”
She sighed and scribbled in her notepad. “Always something, right?” Something either very unlucky or very convenient.
“The young man entered the park with a group and spent his time here on several rides, often alone, sometimes with his friends. Until other guests discovered he was deceased, there is no sign of any problems.”
“Any idea where Zachary got in the water?”
Sanchez shook his head. “I’m afraid not. There are multiple locations where a person can enter Crooked Creek, but we were unable to identify exactly where he went in. We do know the first time he appeared on the cameras, so we can make an educated guess as to the general area, but we cannot pinpoint it beyond that.”
He walked to a large colorful map mounted on the wall. “Here is where we believe Mr. Coleman went into the water. At Day’s End Cove.” He used his finger to draw a decent-sized circle.
“No way to narrow it down? That’s a big area.”
“The only option at this point is to interview employees who might remember something, though with the thousands of guests here that day, I wouldn’t expect that to be fruitful. Still, I will gladly make them available for you.”
“Um, thank you. If you could put a list together of workers who were in the area and hold on to it, just in case, that would be great.” She studied the map for a moment. “Are there parts of the park that are, for lack of a better word, quieter on crowded days? Not so many people around?”
He sat again and planted his forearms on the desk. “What you mean is, if I wanted to kill someone here, where would I do it, correct?”
She tapped her pen on the notepad and smiled. “I thought my question would be more tactful.”
“Of course. There are areas that are less traveled and also have no video coverage. Our guests would not have that knowledge though. We do our best to keep the cameras camouflaged so they don’t interfere with the themes and designs of the attractions. Committing a crime here is a very big, and I would think unnecessary, risk. If I wanted to kill someone here, I wouldn’t. Far easier to do it somewhere without so much security or so many people.”
“Fair enough.” She jotted another note.
Where would I kill someone at Cannonball? & why do it here?
Sanchez was confident, but his familiarity with the park’s layout could be a weakness if he’d grown accustomed to seeing the same thing day after day. Or if he had something to hide. “Can you explain how your screening procedures work? I mean, you don’t allow alcohol, yet Mr. Coleman definitely drank shortly before his death.”
“Cannonball allows guests to bring in their own coolers for picnics and snacks. We inspect them all to ensure they contain no glass containers or alcohol.” He half frowned and arched his eyebrows. “If someone is determined to sneak it in, they will find a way. Vodka and water look the same, after all. And we don’t frisk our guests to see if they’ve hidden alcohol on their person. However, our security team is trained to recognize the signs of impaired activity, whether it’s due to alcohol, drugs, or the heat.”
“But they failed to spot that with Zachary?”
His frown deepened and he narrowed his eyes. “We can’t watch everyone, Detective. Ultimately, people are responsible for their own actions. We try to provide a safe environment for all our guests. I’m sure you understand. The SAPD is no different. Protecting the Alamo City. That is on your police cars, no? If they fulfilled their mission perfectly, you’d be out of a job, wouldn’t you? Like your employer, we do the best we can with what we have.”
Well, this turned ugly fast. She stood and slipped the pen and notepad into the back pocket of her pants. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Sanchez. I don’t think I have any other questions right now. You said you had copies of the video footage for me?”
He stood, opened his desk drawer, and handed her a USB flash drive along with an envelope. “That’s every image we have of Mr. Coleman and his three friends from the time they arrived at the park. If you have time, I would be happy to show you around.”
“Not necessary. If I need anything else, I’ll be in touch.”
“The envelope contains an entry pass to the park. It’s good for the rest of the season. Feel free to come out anytime, whether to continue your investigation or enjoy a day off.”
She glanced at the pass before returning it to Sanchez. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I can’t accept. Against policy and all that. I do appreciate the offer though.”
He slid the envelope back into his drawer. “Of course. I hope you will keep me informed. If something did happen here, I would welcome the opportunity to review our procedures and see how we can prevent such occurrences in the future.”
She slipped the USB dr
ive into her pocket and gave a noncommittal smile. “I’ll see myself out. Have a good day, Mr. Sanchez.”
She reflected on the meeting as she wandered the path toward the main entrance and parking lot. Sanchez had been helpful enough but either didn’t have much information to share or was holding back. His sudden slam against the SAPD seemed to come from nowhere. Her insinuation that maybe his people hadn’t done their jobs could’ve caused that. She’d have reacted the same way.
But it was the park pass that bothered her the most. Sanchez had to know she couldn’t accept gratuities. Not that plenty of cops didn’t. Was he really attempting to be helpful and friendly, or trying to set her up? There was a third possibility too. One that raised her suspicions. The pass had a bar code on it.
If she used it, Sanchez would know when she was there.
4
Amara’s next stop was the one she most dreaded. Zachary Coleman’s parents. When she’d phoned the father, his raspy, monotone voice penetrated her heart and sent an ache through her chest. The man’s joy was gone. Back in Property Crimes, she dealt with her share of angry and frightened people, but that paled in comparison to this. The Colemans lost their son. How did a person deal with that? When Amara’s dad died, the pain had been deep and overwhelming. How much more at the loss of a child?
The death of Benjamin Reyes, the five-year-old boy who triggered the investigation into Cotulla, at least had a silver lining. Nearly fifty other children saved because of his bravery. Had that eased the pain for his parents? Could it?
And the Colemans had nothing like that to cling to. Their son died and nobody could tell them why. Natural causes or OD or bad luck or homicide. Would any of those reasons be better or worse than the others? Zachary was gone, and he wasn’t ever coming back.
Dr. Pritchard had texted last night to let her know the boy’s body was being released to the parents. The funeral was scheduled for tomorrow, with visitation at the home today. The family would be swamped with phone calls, mountains of food, and outbursts of crying.
Network of Deceit Page 2
