by Robin Mahle
“That would be a full-on affirmative.”
“What about Boyce?” Victor returned to his sofa and a low grunt escaped him as he sat back down. The overweight fifty-something felt older than his age. Too much booze and bad food tended to do that to a person. “Oscar sit, would you? I’m straining my neck here.”
Oscar Nunez was a tall man with a thin build and only in his twenties. Cocky but smart, he was Victor’s trusted associate. “Sorry, man.” He dropped to the sofa with ease. “Cops found him floating in the bay.”
Victor nodded. “Then let’s keep our focus on Mr. Diaz. If they’re talking to him tomorrow, we need to be sure he toes the line.”
“He didn’t need to bring in the private eye. It put us in a bad position,” Oscar replied.
“No shit. If we remind Diaz what’s at stake, we’ll be able to keep him on a short leash. Let the cops piss away time looking into the affair,” Victor added.
“I’ll call Diaz in the a.m. and leave a friendly reminder before he sits down with them,” Oscar replied.
“Good. Now get the hell out of here. I need some sleep. You can show yourself out.”
“No probs.” Oscar pushed off the couch and started toward the door. “You let me know if this gets to be too much for you, buddy. I’m happy to pick up the slack.”
“I’ll bet you are, kid.” Victor threw back his drink.
Sifting through the video files from Boyce’s office had evolved into a daunting task. About half had been scoured so far and yet nothing damning had been discovered.
“If I was Detective Montoya, I would do my best to get Carlos Diaz to hang himself.” Fin opened another file on his laptop.
“What do you mean?” Allison had pulled up a dining chair and sat on one side of Fin while Charlie was on the other.
“Like any good detective, he should be looking at the husband. Especially a man like Diaz. Wealthy, powerful. And Montoya will want to tie this up with a nice neat little bow and move on to the next case,” Fin replied.
“Regardless of how I feel about Montoya, he’s not stupid. How could Carlos have killed them?” Allison began. “That would’ve meant he hired Tommy to be there when the murders happened under the pretense of obtaining evidence of his wife cheating.”
“That’s true,” Charlie added. “Except he wasn’t there, you were.”
“And Tommy’s phone was last located near the scene 45 minutes before the shooting,” Allison said. “I can’t explain that one. But that still puts Carlos nowhere near the vicinity.”
“That’s what it’s been made to look like,” Fin leaned closer to the screen. “What have we got here? Are you two seeing this?”
Allison and Charlie leaned closer before Allison began, “It’s a silver car.”
“Looks like a silver Mercedes to me,” Fin said. “Allison, you mentioned a car like this. Is this the same one you saw coming from that parking garage?”
“It does look like it. I’ll be honest, I was terrified at the time, but it could be. Where’s the time stamp?” She pointed to the screen. “There. Two days before the murders.”
“Let me see who’s about to step out of this car.” Fin waited while two men emerged in the footage and walked inside Boyce’s office. “I don’t recognize them.”
The idea they could be the same men she saw that night sent Allison’s nerves on end. “They’re going in.”
“I have to switch to the other cameras. Hang on.” Fin opened another file and pulled up the time stamp to coordinate with the outside camera. “Okay, let’s see what these guys are doing. There’s Tommy, at his desk.”
“He’s checking them out,” Allison began. “It doesn’t look like he knows them.”
“He looks pretty calm about the whole thing,” Charlie replied.
“Just hold tight,” Fin said.
The two men approached Boyce’s desk and loomed over him.
“Turn up the audio,” Allison said.
Fin complied.
“We’re all set for tonight?” A young man asked Tommy.
“Yes, sir. I’ve put my best person on the job.”
“Wait, you ain’t going to be there?” The older man added.
“Something else popped up tonight. But don’t worry, you’re in good hands. I promise you that.”
The men traded glances at one another before the younger man added, “If you say so but this isn’t what we talked about. It isn’t what Carlos wanted.”
“So he does know them,” Allison added.
The video continued and Tommy began, “I understand and I’m happy to call him to get his authorization if it would make you feel better.”
“I’m sure he’ll trust you’re doing what needs to be done.” The older man turned to his colleague. “Let’s leave Tommy to do his work.”
“You got it, boss.”
“You be sure and get Carlos those pictures just as soon as you have them,” the young man said.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, kid. It’s under control.” Tommy kept his eyes on the men as they walked out.
“That’s it?” Allison asked. “We don’t know any more than we did an hour ago.”
“I disagree,” Charlie said. “First of all, we have the car. That’s something huge. And those men knew Tommy wasn’t going to be there. They acted like they worked for Carlos too.”
Allison eyed Charlie. “I wonder if that means Carlos Diaz knew Tommy wasn’t going to be there either. So who the hell are they?”
“I hate to put this out there,” Charlie began, “But what are the odds Carlos was the target? Those men knew the job was to get pictures of the cheating couple. They expected and maybe Carlos did too, that Tommy would be the one doing it.” She looked at Allison. “What if Carlos was supposed to be killed and Tommy was going to be framed for his murder?”
Fin peered at the women. “It sounds a little farfetched especially since Carlos was nowhere around. But right now, I wouldn’t rule out anything. I will say this, I think that might’ve been the end of Tommy right there. As soon as they knew he wasn’t doing the job, that was it.”
“And the car. They had to be the killers,” Allison said.
“Let’s take a step back for just a moment,” Fin began. “You said yourself you weren’t positive of the car from the parking garage. So let’s work on getting more details before we pin this on a couple of guys who happen to own a silver Mercedes.”
“Fair enough. But is it possible that if they expected Tommy to be there, they might’ve killed him when they killed the wife and Goodfellow?” Allison asked.
Charlie nodded. “If they weren’t working for Carlos directly, maybe that was their plan, but Tommy wasn’t there. You were.”
12
Carlos Diaz owned one of the newest and costliest high-rise buildings in all of downtown Tampa. When Detective Montoya arrived on this Saturday morning, he admired the grandeur of it all. But in the back of his mind, it was one more nail in the coffin. The very wealthy, he believed, thought they were above the law.
The building must’ve been operating with only a skeleton crew today and Carlos had preferred the meeting be at his office. A red flag for Montoya. The reason for the location, according to Diaz’s attorney, was so that his neighbors wouldn’t see the detective near or in his home. Montoya wondered why Diaz would be so concerned about his neighbors when his wife had just been murdered. Seemed to him that his neighbors would offer their condolences, not their judgments.
The detective entered the building through a revolving door and stepped onto the deep grey wood-grain-like tile. His dress shoes echoed in the vast lobby that was adorned with photos of the company’s development projects. Diaz headed up the largest development firm in the city, maybe even the state. His company was responsible for the revitalization of much of downtown.
“Detective Montoya. I’m here to see Mr. Diaz.” Montoya retrieved his badge and presented it to the guard at the front desk. “Tampa PD.”
“
Of course. Just one moment please.”
Montoya sized up the guard while he made the call to Diaz. Early twenties. Probably the kid’s first job. Nervous.
“He’s on his way, sir.” The young man presented a tense smile. “May I get you some water or coffee?”
“No thanks, kid. And there’s no need to be nervous. I’m not here for you.” Montoya started toward the corridor where he expected Diaz to emerge.
Carlos Diaz drew near with an unnaturally broad smile and gleaming white teeth. His hair was pushed back and gelled into place. His tan skin was clear and revealed only minor lines. Botox? Probably. Diaz was 50 but didn’t look a day over 40. Nevertheless, what struck Montoya the most was that he didn’t appear to be a man mourning the loss of his wife.
“Detective Montoya. I can’t thank you enough for juggling your schedule to meet with me this morning.” Diaz offered his hand. “I’m sure it’s not how you would want to spend your Saturday morning.”
“It’s no problem, Mr. Diaz. I’m here to find out what happened to your wife. Justice doesn’t care about the time or day.” He returned the greeting.
“Of course. Please, follow me. We’ll talk in my office.”
Montoya followed him, making note of Diaz’s gait and his body language. He looked for any reason not to believe a word out of this man’s mouth. That wasn’t how justice worked but that was how Montoya worked.
“Here we are.” Diaz ushered Montoya inside. “I wasn’t sure if you had eaten yet, so I had bagels and coffee brought in.”
“I’m fine for the moment, Mr. Diaz, but thank you.”
“Why don’t we sit over here? It’ll be much more comfortable.” Diaz showed him to a sofa and chair with a small coffee table in the center near his desk. He gestured to the chair while he made his way to the sofa. “I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t eaten.”
The food and drink were placed on the table and Diaz took his time pouring a cup of coffee and spreading cream cheese on his plain bagel. He was wasting time.
“I’d like to start off with a few questions.” Montoya retrieved a digital recorder. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Diaz eyed it. “I thought this was going to be an informal inquiry. That’s why my lawyer isn’t here. We didn’t want to give the wrong impression.”
“I prefer to record the responses rather than write them down. That way, there’s no mistaking what anyone might have said. But it is your right not to be recorded.” Montoya held his gaze.
Diaz yielded. “I guess it’s fine.”
Shane Sullivan arrived at the station and was off-duty. He knew Montoya was questioning Carlos Diaz this morning and decided now would be a good time to look for answers. Montoya didn’t like to share and especially not with another detective who didn’t work in his department. He had already torn Shane a new one about Allison’s prints being found at Boyce’s office. Shane wanted to know who else had been there and the prints should have come back by now.
He made his way through the corridor and up one flight of stairs. Homicide was part of the Major Crimes Bureau which encompassed the entire floor. Sometimes, it was all Shane could think about—working in Homicide. At his age, he should’ve been there already, but he didn’t join the force until he was almost 30. Shane was a late bloomer and it took him a while to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. For now, his work in Investigations and Support was all well and good but Major Crimes was the big leagues.
When the elevator doors parted Shane noticed far more people than he had expected. Of course, crime didn’t stop because it was the weekend. He stepped off the elevator and nodded politely as he passed by a variety of staff, some administrative, some detectives, all too busy to pay him any notice. Montoya’s desk was down the corridor and to the left. But as he strolled the halls like he belonged, Alvarez’s cubicle appeared. He was in charge of Tommy’s investigation and the cases overlapped. “I’m already here.” Shane darted into the cubicle and eyed the desk. Papers were neatly stacked in a bin; a few files were placed on the edge of the desk. But as Shane glanced at the tabs, he realized neither was the Boyce file or the Diaz/Goodfellow file. He looked at the two drawers beneath the desk and tugged on each one. “Damn it.”
“Can I help you with something?”
Shane flinched at the voice behind him. “Oh, hey, I was just looking for something Alvarez was working on.”
The woman looked him up and down with judging eyes. “You don’t work in Major Crimes. What’s he got you doing?”
“Prints. I was looking for the file so I can get him an ID on some prints that came back on a case he’s working.”
“I don’t think he’s coming in today so you can either wait until he gets back, or you can run down to the lab and check with the technicians.”
Shane beamed at the idea she had just handed him. “Do you know who in the lab would be working the Boyce or Diaz cases?”
“Not a clue but there’s only a couple of techs working prints on the morning shift. I’m sure one of them can help you.”
“Great. Thanks. I’ll do that.” Shane starting walking but stopped short. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. I work downstairs and don’t get to see a lot of you guys.”
“Leigh Mills. And you are?”
“Shane Sullivan but everyone calls me Sully,” he replied.
“You mean like the airline pilot?”
“Yeah. Without the ‘having saved hundreds of lives’ thing going for me.” He started again. “Thanks for the info, Mills.”
“You got it, Sully.”
Shane continued toward the elevators and rode to the first floor again. The Forensics lab was in the far eastern corner of the building. He walked inside the dimly lit area packed with desks and equipment. There were special rooms designed for identifying bullets and even a room used to stage reenactments of murder scenes just to be sure their coordinates were correct. The techs he searched for were in a corner in a room behind a glass wall.
He pushed through the door. “Morning. I’m helping out Alvarez and Montoya concerning the Boyce investigation. It’s tied to the Diaz/Goodfellow case. I’m not sure if you’re…”
“We know the case.” One of the technicians kept her back to Shane while she worked on her computer. “What do you need?”
“Montoya is in the field and he and Alvarez have been waiting to see if any more prints had come back from the office of the victim, Tommy Boyce.”
She glanced at her colleague. “You see anything come back on that yet?”
“Let me check.” The man typed in commands on his computer. “Looks like. Yeah, actually. We just got a match on two more sets this morning.” He turned to Shane. “Finley Dawson and Franklin Perry.”
Dawson. That figured. But who was the other guy? “Is there a file on Franklin Perry?” Shane asked.
The man shuffled through the report. “Perry’s in the system because his company has been contracted with the city on public works projects. I don’t know any more than that.”
“Thanks, man. This is great. I’ll pass it along to the guys,” Shane replied.
Allison opened her front door to a bright morning and the sun glaring in her eyes. “Thanks for coming over.” She stepped aside.
“After you called last night letting me know you were home, I wanted to get to the station first thing this morning and see if they had all the prints back.” Shane brushed by her and into the kitchen. “Please tell me you have coffee?”
“In the pot.” She followed him. “So, are all the prints back?”
“Two more sets were recovered. Your buddy Fin Dawson popped up.”
“He’s not my buddy. And the other?” Allison grabbed a mug from the cabinet and handed it to him.
“A guy by the name of Franklin Perry. I don’t have a background on him yet but apparently, he was involved in a couple of public works projects for the city a while back. That’s all I know right now. You have that video from Boyce’s office?”
“You left it with Fin? Why? Allison, I need to see it. What if one of the men in Boyce’s office was this Franklin Perry guy? We have his prints. It wouldn’t be hard to confirm facial-recognition from that video with any other surveillance Montoya might find down the road. What if he was the killer?”
“We left it with him because there were still several more hours of files to go through. Fin said he’d get with us this morning when he finished reviewing it all.”
Shane threw back his head and moaned. “How can you put such blind trust in this guy, huh? You don’t know him. He’s going to have to turn it over to us. That’s all there is to it. You said you thought you’d seen the same car in that video too. I mean, come on, Allison.”
“Shane, I know you’re one of them…”
“One of them. You mean a cop?” He held her gaze. “Allison, this isn’t up to you to decide. This could be evidence. Critical evidence. Do you want me to lose my job? Because that’s what’s going to happen if we don’t turn this over to Montoya.”
“We don’t even know if it’s the same man or the same car. Shane, I don’t know what I saw that night. I wish I did. I told you, I—I froze. I’ve never been so scared out of my mind before. I don’t know if the car that pulled up to Tommy’s office was the same one I saw that night. It could be. And two men entered his office, not one. I only caught a minor glimpse of the driver coming out of that garage. I saw no passenger. There are similarities, yes, but I just can’t be sure.”
“Then let me take you off the hook here. You don’t have to be sure, okay? It’s a possibility and that’s enough to run on,” he replied.
“Fin mentioned he was going to see if the plates on that car were visible in any of the remaining footage as well. He knows someone at the DMV who can run plates.”
“I can run plates. And it would be legal. You’re stalling, Allison. Why?”