“What were they after? No way this was all about killing Zachary. What’s the point of hacking your system and then not doing anything with the access?”
“Only scenarios I came up with are either a disgruntled employee or kids playing around. Breaking in for the fun of it.”
“Maybe.” As far as she knew, none of the three teenagers ever worked at the water park. “Is it possible they downloaded data without being detected? To sell it or something?”
“Highly unlikely, according to the consultant.” He paused. “But she didn’t say it was impossible. Honestly though, other than credit card data, we don’t have anything someone would want to buy.”
“Not even your competitors?”
“Not that I can think of. Rides are custom-built based on each park’s specific criteria, and those are the only things that are unique. It’s all about location and establishing the proper atmosphere to attract guests.”
So we’re stuck with the why. An employee’s revenge didn’t make sense. The water park hadn’t been harmed. And breaking into their network for fun didn’t add up. Who would go through all that effort just to play with some cameras? No. There was a connection between Zachary’s death and the hacking. Had to be. Coincidences like that didn’t exist.
One answer would explain everything. How did hacking the Cannonball turn into a stack of money under Zachary Coleman’s floor? No question in her mind the link existed. Her brain threatened to lock up. She needed to reboot.
“You still there?” Sanchez asked.
She stretched her eyes open. “Yeah. Sorry. Rough day already. If you come up with anything else, will you let me know?”
“I’m working on the map you asked for. Should have it ready soon.”
“The map?”
He softened his voice. “Plotting the cameras that were not functioning at the time of the boy’s death. You asked for it when we met two days ago.”
“Right.” Ugh. Way to look like you’re on top of things.
“I hope your day gets better.”
That’s not going to happen. “Yeah. Me too.”
26
A visit to Matias’s parents was next on the agenda. His father worked as a real estate agent and his mother was a chef at a hotel on the River Walk. No point in talking to both yet. Tell one and let them spread the news. The mom would be easier to track down but harder to get any time with. The touristy River Walk area would be packed with vacationers and convention attendees, and a hotel chef might be too busy to talk.
The father was the better choice. A real estate agent would have more flexibility. Unless he was with clients, he could talk. Or, more accurately, listen. And as with Nicole Walker, best to go in unannounced. Catch him completely off guard. She got a more authentic reaction that way. The shock value alone should be enough to trigger a serious phone call to his son as soon as she left.
She checked his listings on the realtor’s website and selected a pretty starter home. Two bedroom, one bath, established neighborhood. Too cute for words, the description said. Cute. Realtor-speak for small. She scanned the photos. The place did look nice. Two identical bedrooms, one for her and one for Larry. Decent kitchen and living area. Full bath including a tub. Plus a fenced backyard with trees.
She fiddled with the online calculator. If this was correct, she could get the house for less than she paid in rent now. Of course, the upkeep added a lot to the cost of a home. Things like repairs, painting, new appliances, not to mention the time investment of yard maintenance and everything else. Something to consider though.
She dialed the number and a man answered on the second ring.
“It’s a great day to buy or sell a home with Daniel Lucero. How can I help you?”
That was not very clear. “Uh, are you Daniel Lucero?”
“I am. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, hi. My name is Amara Alvarez. I was browsing online and I saw your listing for a house.” She switched apps on her phone and recited the address. “I wonder if I could take a look at it this morning.”
“What time? I’m showing another home in a little while, but if we could meet soon, I can make it work.”
“I can be there in about twenty minutes?”
“Sounds good, Ms. Alvarez. See you in a bit.”
When she arrived at the house, a large black SUV waited in the driveway. A man stepped out of the vehicle and waved. His broad smile seemed a bit too used-car-salesmanish, and she braced herself for the overly friendly greeting she knew was headed her way. Come on, Amara. Maybe he’s just a nice guy. Don’t be so cynical all the time.
She parked behind him and walked his direction. “Good morning.”
He grasped her hand, a bit too soft with the grip, and shook twice. “Ms. Alvarez, I presume? I’m Daniel Lucero. You can call me Dan, Daniel, Danny, or the guy who sold you a house.”
Yep. Spot on with her instincts. Everything about him reeked of slime. Instant unlikability. “And you can call me Detective Alvarez.”
He placed a hand on his chest. “Detective? Always happy to serve members of our law enforcement. Why don’t we get out of this heat and take a peek inside? You’re going to love what you see. The home has only been on the market for—”
“Mr. Lucero, I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
His lips puckered and he took a half step backward. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m sure it’s a lovely home, but I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“I work in Homicide and am investigating a case that you may be able to help me with. Zachary Coleman. The young man who died at the water park.”
He donned a pair of dark sunglasses. “Zach? Matias’s friend?”
“Yes, sir. We’re trying to tie up a few loose ends.”
“I didn’t know the boy, so I don’t see how I can be of any use to you. And I thought alcohol or drugs killed him.”
She pulled out a notepad and clicked her pen. “Sir, are you aware of any problems between Matias and the victim? Anything that would have led to, um, a physical altercation?”
His mouth hung open. “No. What’s this really about?”
“Has your son made any large purchases recently? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“I don’t think I like your tone, Ms. Alvarez. Matias hasn’t done anything wrong. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have real clients who need my attention.”
“Detective Alvarez.” She handed him a business card. “Matias has information that will aid my investigation. Whether he’s involved in the crime or not, he has knowledge of what happened. If he comes forward with that info, it can only help him with whatever happens later.” She shrugged. “If not, he’s on his own. That’s the same offer I made to the others. First come, first served.”
“The others?”
She walked to her car. “Matias will know. Ask him.”
Amara stopped just inside the restaurant’s doors to give her eyes time to adjust to the dimness. She’d agreed to meet Starsky for lunch in an attempt to brighten her day. His car was out front, so he had to be here somewhere. She wandered to the right before spotting his lanky arms waving high, a menu clutched in each hand.
“Hey there,” she said. “You bringing aircraft in for a landing?”
He handed her a menu as she sat. “Worked, didn’t it?”
“So you’re saying I’m as big as a plane.”
“Stop. Uh-uh. Not guilting me into anything. I’m too hungry.” He pointed to her glass. “I went ahead and ordered us both a water with lemon.”
She unwrapped a straw and took a long drink. “Good stuff.”
He squeezed his lemons into the water, added several packs of sugar, and stirred the concoction. “Free lemonade. I’m getting loaded fries with extra ranch. You?”
She scanned the good-for-you section of the menu as their waiter stepped to the table. “Small chef salad, ple
ase. Light honey mustard dressing on the side.”
Starsky recited his order and shifted his attention back to Amara. “Productive morning?”
“Meh. You?”
“Got a new case. A hanging near St. Mary’s.”
“A hanging? Pretty rare to kill someone that way, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure it’s gonna end up being a suicide. Relative of the deceased is apparently part of the old money in the city. LT wants to be certain we cross all our t’s just to be safe.”
“Not dotting our i’s too?”
“What can I say? I’m a rebel.” He sipped his water, scowled, and dumped in two more packs of sugar. “Got a big afternoon planned?”
“Need to track down the parents of one of the kids.”
“What’s that about?”
“Don’t ask. Shot in the dark. And later I’ll probably head back to the station and get my notes in order.”
“Might want to hold off on that.”
She scooted her chair closer to the table. “How come?”
“Out of sight, out of mind. You’ve been on this for what? A week or so? The LT’s going to want an update, and if you don’t have much to show him, he might switch things up. Assign someone else to it or put the case on hold.”
She gripped her fork as her stomach tightened. “I’ve got plenty to show him. It’s not like I haven’t been busting my—”
“Whoa there.” He nodded toward the fork. “Put down the weapon before someone gets hurt.”
“Not funny, Starsky.”
“You misunderstood what I’m saying. Nobody, including the LT, is questioning your work ethic or ability. Nobody.”
“That’s not entirely true.”
“Rutledge?” He rolled his eyes. “Ignore that creep. But, as I was saying, sometimes a homicide investigation reaches a point where all you’re doing is rehashing old information hoping a clue jumps out at you. That’s when you set it aside until something new pops up. A witness decides it’s time, someone hears something at a bar or snitches in jail, the murder weapon is found, whatever.”
Rehashing old information. Sounded familiar. “How do you know when it’s time to move on?”
“Some of the detectives will tell you it comes with experience. To a small extent, there may be truth in that. From my perspective, a lack of experience is often as useful as anything else.” He held out his hands. “Don’t take what I’m about to say the wrong way, okay?”
She nodded and laid down the fork.
“You’re new,” he said. “So afraid of missing something that you shotgun. Scatter your focus in every possible direction. The downside is information overload. Trying to decide what’s relevant and what’s not.” He leaned forward. “But the upside is huge. You haven’t fallen into your routine yet. Your standard questions and preconceptions. That doesn’t mean you’re a better detective, but it does mean you’re more likely to—man, I hate this expression—think outside the box.”
“There’s a reason most things are in the box,” she said.
“Sure. The overwhelming majority of murders boil down to money, sex, or power and involve someone close to the victim. It’s how we, as detectives, get from the deceased to the killer that differs. You’ll ask questions and do things I’d never think of because my experience has, like it or not, impacted how I investigate. I know what works for me because I’ve seen what’s successful. Hence, every investigation I do starts with preconceptions. Doesn’t mean I stay there. Wouldn’t be much of a detective if I did.”
She squished her mouth to the side. “One thing confuses me.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you really just say ‘hence’?”
“It was either that or a ‘therefore.’ Seemed like ‘ergo’ was too formal.”
She grinned and paused as the waiter placed their meals before them and wandered off to another table.
“Money,” she said. “Zachary’s case is about money. I’m sure of it.”
He took a bite of his loaded fries and scrubbed a thin string of cheese off his chin. “Mind if I offer you a piece of friendly advice? You can take it or leave it. This is going to sound harsh.” He stared at his plate. “Cruel even. But you’ve always heard you don’t name the animals you’re planning to eat, right? Makes it harder to kill them because it’s more personal.”
“Zachary wasn’t an animal.”
“I know that, but experience counts this time.” He sighed. “Don’t use your victim’s first name unless you’re dealing with his family or interrogating a suspect. Makes it too personal. More difficult to process internally. Trust me, you won’t have any trouble remembering the boy’s name.”
She waited until he made eye contact again but stayed silent.
“Yes,” he said, “Zachary was a real person who deserves justice if he was murdered. And yes, you want his family and friends to know the truth of how he died. But you have to remember this is your job. There will always be another Zachary waiting for you. A ninety-year-old grandfather who’s killed by his greedy grandson. A three-month-old baby abandoned so the mother can run off with her new boyfriend. There’s always another Zachary. Don’t make it harder on yourself than it has to be.”
She stabbed her fork into the salad and dipped the bite into the dressing before eating it. Starsky was right, but . . . he was right. “No more work talk.” Did they have anything else to chat about?
“If you want to come by tonight,” he said, “after you see your mom, I mean, I’ll be up. Or I can stop by your place. Or you can just call.”
“Um, we’ll see how it goes. Not sure if I’ll feel up to talking, but thanks.”
He nodded and stared at her for a moment. “I like what we have, Amara.”
Her mind rocketed and she concentrated on keeping her mouth closed and her eyes on her food. What did he think they had? How was she supposed to respond to that and why, of all days, would he say something like that today?
“Just wanted to say that out loud,” he said. “I’m not looking for a response. I’m not sure what this is or if it’s going anywhere or even if I want it to go anywhere, but I know I don’t want to mess it up. Know that I’m on your side. I enjoy listening to you. I hate seeing you hurting. If you want to talk about your mom or the job or Larry or anything else, I’d love to listen, but there’s no pressure. You don’t owe me anything.”
She cleared her throat and peered at him. He had the same questions about their relationship she did. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? She reached across the table and placed her hand on his. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“Plethora does too.”
“Huh?”
“Plethora means a lot.” He tilted his head and arched his eyebrows. “No? Nothing?”
No hiding her smile. “Weak. I expect better from you.” She grabbed a cheesy fry off his plate and dragged it through the ranch before popping it into her mouth. “Want some of my salad as payback?”
“Punishment is more like it. No thanks. If you wanted a fry, all you had to do was ask.”
She snagged another one and snatched the bacon bits that fell off onto the table. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”
Her phone shook with a series of three short vibrations. Missed call. She checked the history. “Unknown number” left a voice mail. Great. What did they do to her this time? She pressed the button to play the message and held the cell tight against her ear.
“Detective Alvarez? This is Haley Bricker. Is there, uh, somewhere we can meet? I have to talk.” The incessant yipping of her dog cut her off. “Dexter, hush! I’ll take you out in a minute. Anyway, call me back, okay? Soon.”
Amara slipped the phone in her pocket and glanced at the barely touched salad. Hard to call someone when you didn’t know their number. No choice but to swing by her house. Could box up lunch and give the lettuce to Larry, but by the time she got home, the soggy mess wouldn’t be worth eating by her or the lizard. She pus
hed her plate across the table. “Got to go. Feel free to finish that.”
He plucked off the larger pieces of ham and turkey and dropped them on his fries. “Work?”
“Might be the break I’ve been waiting for.”
“Good luck.” He inched his plate toward her. “One for the road?”
“No thanks.” She grabbed a small handful of fries and cupped them in her palm. “A dozen is more like it.”
“Call me later. If you want to.”
“I might.” She turned and strode toward her car, knowing one thing in her day was a certainty.
She’d be talking to Starsky tonight.
27
Amara sat in her car outside the Bricker home and stared at the house. Her repeated knocks on the front door had been met with silence. No surprise since the monster pickup was gone. What now? She could hang out here and hope the girl came home soon, but who knows how long that would be? And, despite the size of Haley’s truck, driving aimlessly in the hopes of spotting it would only waste gas and time.
She could issue a BOLO, but there wasn’t enough cause. The girl didn’t say she was in any danger. Amara watched the rearview while her finger doodled on the armrest. So where to? Could go see Eugenia Coleman, Zacha—the deceased’s grandmother. Give her a chance to talk. Maybe learn something new about her grandson while letting the elderly woman move forward in the grieving process.
Amara dug out the grandmother’s address and keyed it into the GPS on her phone. Twenty-three-minute ETA. Should she call first? Old people liked to take a nap after lunch, didn’t they? She shook her head as she drove off. She’d like to take a nap after lunch.
The directions indicated she should turn left at the stop sign, but she paused. Maybe Haley was at Liam’s or Matias’s house. She ought to drive by and check before visiting Eugenia Coleman. That would give the woman time to rest, and if Amara did find the teenager, she could stake out the truck and wait for her to leave. Best not to try and connect with her if she was at their home. Confronting the teenagers might slam the door on the girl’s willingness to talk.
A horn honked from behind and she glanced in the mirror, waved, and turned right toward Matias’s house. The GPS voiced its somewhat accusatory “recalculating,” and she tapped the button to stop the app, then scooted straighter in her seat. Her stomach gurgled as the cheese fries sank to the bottom of her belly. Ugh. Bad call. One she’d be paying for all day.
Network of Deceit Page 14
