Dangerous Stakes

by G. K. Parks

  “But we have the gun,” Brad insisted.

  “Yeah,” I watched Axel’s attorney stride out of the room and into our breakroom to grab a bottle of water, “but something tells me it isn’t enough.”

  Brad picked up the phone. “I’ll see if narcotics has made any large coke busts lately or if they know about any dealers working near the hotel. Maybe they can explain why there is cocaine residue in the ceiling.”

  While he followed up, I reread Hart’s statement and ran a background check. Hart didn’t own a white SUV either. Reaching for Spark’s member list, I started at the top. Someone on this list had to own a white SUV. And I would be damned if it wasn’t the same white SUV the killer drove.

  “You son of a bitch.” I got up and went back into the interrogation room, shoving a pad of paper and pen in front of Axel. “Employee names and contact information. Now.”

  He cocked his head up at me. “You could say please.” After a brief staring contest, he picked up the pen. “Shouldn’t you already have this information? You’ve been on the inside for three months. You know who works at my club. You know their names. Hell, Liv, I thought they were your friends.” He continued writing, seemingly taking his time to think about the fifty or so people he employed. “Is this how you treat your friends?” He pushed the pad across the table. “Y’know, if anyone has a right to be pissed, it’s me. You betrayed me. It wasn’t the other way around.”

  “You’re not the victim here. Stop perverting the situation into something it’s not.”

  “I’m not.” A smile danced across his lips. “How do you think it would play out in front of a jury of my peers? Do you even think the DA’s going to indulge the police in their witch hunt?”

  “Two people are dead. Tell me what you know.”

  For a moment, Kincaid’s expression softened. “Someone went through a lot of trouble to cover up his crime. I didn’t do this, but whoever did wants you to waste time. You need to let me go. You need to look elsewhere.”

  I went to the door.

  “Liv, please.” That time, I heard something in Axel’s voice I’d never heard before — desperation.

  I barely made it to my desk before the phones rang. Not just my phone, but half the phones in the bullpen. The last time something like this happened, we were dealing with an emergency.

  “What?” I asked into the receiver, watching Fennel’s expression as he listened to the caller on his line.

  “DeMarco,” it was Mac, “five minutes ago a device detonated inside the hotel. We’ve evacuated the building and set up a perimeter. But you need to get down here ASAP.”

  “Casualties?” I asked.

  “None. It wasn’t that kind of device.”

  Twenty

  “Jesus.” I peered through the gaping hole blown in the wall. “You’re sure no one was hurt?”

  “Nope. They blew out the back of the mechanical room which shared a wall with the closet in the executive suite. Whoever did this went to a lot of trouble to rob the safe.” Mac flipped through feeds on the tablet, showing the mobile version of the hotel cameras. “The hotel security system resets monthly. It’s when old data is wiped from the drives. It’s automatic. Whoever did this timed it just right.” She held out the blank screen. “We got nothing.”

  I knelt beside the charred metallic edge. Everything was covered in a layer of dust. “Check for cocaine.”

  “I think that’s drywall,” Mac said.

  I looked at one of the CSU techs. “Yes, ma’am.” He reached for a swab.

  Fennel joined us, whistling at the damage. “Damn.” He rubbed the stubble on his cheek, a gesture I’d grown accustomed to seeing whenever he lost his train of thought. “The bomb squad cleared the building. Fire department checked for structural damage, but it was contained. From the remnants we recovered, it looks like a shaped charge aimed to break into the safe.” He flipped through his notepad. “According to housekeeping, the room was vacant. Mr. Hart has a standing reservation but hasn’t been back since his car was stolen.”

  “Again with Hart. His name’s popped up one too many times.”

  “I sent a few unis to pick him up,” Brad said.

  “Does the hotel have any idea what was inside the safe?” I asked. I’d never seen a full-sized wall safe in a hotel room, but then again, I’d never stayed in a five-star executive suite either. Apparently, these weren’t your normal accommodations.

  Brad shook his head. “They reset the code whenever a guest checks out. Otherwise, they don’t touch it.”

  “Great.”

  The tech held up a swab with a bright purple tip. “Good call, Detective.”

  Massaging my temples, I stepped into the hallway. The security cameras were still deactivated. The entire reset took two hours. The only people who knew about it were hotel staff, but hotel staff should have had access to the room and the safe’s override code. They would have had no reason to blow through the wall.

  “Whoever’s behind this isn’t with the hotel,” Brad said, reading my mind. He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You okay?”

  “It’s not about the cars. It’s about what’s inside them. That’s what Becca told me, and she was right. Hart’s an alleged businessman, but he controls half a dozen shell companies.”

  “You think he’s dealing.”

  “I think he’s the supplier. He runs an import/export company. He’s in the perfect position to smuggle in contraband. Becca knew something was up. She wouldn’t give me a name, but she knew who was behind this.”

  “Hart’s a member of Kincaid’s club. Kincaid could be dealing for him.”

  “Could be.” Becca practically said as much, but I’d never seen drugs inside Spark. Perhaps, Kincaid made it a point to keep them out of sight. “I don’t know.”

  “Really?” Brad’s eyebrows went skyward. “Need I remind you he was in the bathroom with the ceiling tiles and the cocaine dust?”

  “I know. I just don’t know if he’s moving them inside Spark. I spent three months waitressing, and I never saw anyone use or deal. It’s a club, Brad. Name any other club where you haven’t seen pushers passing out X or something worse.”

  “Maybe you missed it. Maybe they kept it away from you.”

  “I doubt it, but Kincaid might be moving them elsewhere. It’s the Vegas experience. He sets up these events at Spark, and either closes down the club for private events or moves product outside the club’s walls so it won’t track to him. Fox should know what’s going on. After all, he wanted to party with Becca. He admitted as much when he told us about their time together.”

  Brad thought about it. “Kincaid could be interested in the cars for obvious reasons since he’s running underground races, and he can keep his hands clean by delegating the dirtier aspects of the business to his general manager.”

  “There’s just one problem. They’re both in custody.” My mind flashed back to the bar. “Emilio.” I picked up the radio. When we scooped up most of Spark’s employees and customers, Emilio managed to slip through the cracks. He could have emptied out the safe while the hotel was evacuating, and no one would have been the wiser. “Who has access to the mechanical room?”

  “Anyone with a black keycard,” Brad said.

  “Like Juan Rodriguez?”

  “It looks like we finally know why someone stole the card.”

  “They took the maid’s master key first. Probably went into Hart’s room before he arrived to check out the safe, realized the override code wasn’t set to the default, and decided to improvise,” I suggested.

  “No, this was too well-planned. Every step was intentionally executed. Assuming you’re right about Hart, someone knew why he was checking into the hotel and what he was bringing with him.” Fennel pulled out his phone. “I’ll see if the DEA’s heard anything.”

  “Hart and whoever he was meeting must have been using the charity function as a cover for the exchange. Either Hart was double-crossed, or someone else learned about it and
decided to rip him off.” Squeezing my eyes closed, I leaned against the wall. “They’ve been in front of us this entire time.”

  “We’ll get ‘em.”

  Unfortunately, that wouldn’t bring back Becca or Juan. After several radio calls back and forth, I got Emilio’s address. When I arrived, a few unmarked cruisers were parked outside.

  “He’s not home,” a plainclothes officer said, “but we found the white SUV.” He pointed to the parking garage across the street.

  “Let me know the minute he comes home.”

  Cautiously, I entered the garage. A few undercover cops were positioned at the exits. We didn’t want to tip our hand. The last thing we needed was to scare off our target. A mobile crime scene unit was parked beside a crumpled tarp and the white SUV.

  “He did his best to hide it,” one of the techs said, pointing at the tarp. The SUV didn’t have any plates.

  “Did you check for explosives?” I asked. Given what happened at the hotel, I wouldn’t have put it past Emilio and his accomplices to have left a booby-trap.

  “It’s clear.”

  I grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the box and put them on. Crouching at the rear door, I noted the bloodstains that had soaked into the upholstery. Becca. Swallowing the bile, I moved to the front seat and checked for car keys.

  “Keys?” I asked.

  The tech shook his head.

  “Did you photograph and print the inside?” I asked, spotting the fingerprint powder on the console.

  As soon as I got the affirmative, I reached beneath the steering wheel, feeling for the wires. A few sparks later, the engine roared to life. “Come on.” I pressed a few keys. “Bingo.” The SUV had a built-in navigation system. I scribbled down the previous locations and examined the tiny routes on the map. The car had been stopped near the alleyway where Becca worked at 2:41AM the morning she was dropped off at the hospital. It remained parked for approximately fifteen minutes until it drove across town, detouring to the hospital before going back to the docks. Hours later, the SUV returned to the hospital, stayed for almost an hour, then drove here and hadn’t left since.

  Scrolling back through the data, I placed it at the hotel during the time of the heist, and after that, it went to the docks. What was at the docks? And where the hell were you before that? I continued to move backward through the trips. But the GPS only stored the last eight destinations. It arrived at the hotel from Spark, and before that, it had been parked near Juan Rodriguez’s apartment.

  The killer knew Juan. The murder was intentional. We needed to dig through Juan’s history with a fine-tooth comb. Someone in his life had to know something.

  “We’ll do another canvass, and I’ll speak to his parents again,” Brad promised after I called to fill him in.

  “Show them photos of everyone and anyone.”

  “You know, my badge says detective too.”

  “Then why didn’t you do that in the first place?” I asked. It wasn’t a fair question.

  “Bye, Liv.” Brad knew better than to deal with me when I was frustrated.

  The radio chirped. “We’ve got movement. Waiting on a positive ID.”

  I slid out of the front seat and went to the exit. Someone was entering the apartment building. I gestured to the plainclothes officers to secure the exits. They repositioned, and I turned off my radio.

  Slowly, I followed the man up the steps. He wore a khaki-colored jacket with the hood pulled up. He had the same build as Emilio, but I couldn’t be certain it was him. Khaki jacket stopped outside Emilio’s apartment and fumbled with the keys.

  “Police,” I announced, my gun aimed at him. “Hands in the air.”

  He took a step back, complying with my demands. “What did I do?”

  “Shit.” I turned on my radio. “It’s not him. Maintain eyes.” I tucked the radio away and jerked my gun at the door. “Turn around. Put your hands against the wall.” He didn’t hesitate to obey, and I holstered my gun and patted him down. “Who are you?”

  “Pearson Riggs.” He held up the keys. “I just rented this place for the week.”

  “Where’s Emilio?”

  “I don’t know. He said he was going away on a trip and wanted to rent out his place. I’m just here visiting my cousins. They live in a studio, so I needed a place to stay.”

  “How long have you been staying here?” I asked.

  “Since yesterday.”

  “We’ll have to verify your story.” I nodded at the door. “In the meantime, why don’t you invite us in?” I glanced back at the officer, and we followed Pearson inside.

  His story checked out. And aside from being frazzled, he graciously let us search the apartment. Since he was the current custodian of the property, the search was legal.

  “DeMarco,” the officer held up several photographs of the hotel and schematics on the blown safe, “it looks like Emilio’s our guy.”

  “Yeah, but where is he?”

  Twenty-one

  Fennel and I met up at the station. He’d come straight from speaking to Juan Rodriguez’s parents. Brad had shown them photographs of every employee and member, but they didn’t recognize anyone from Spark. Like most twenty-somethings, Juan kept his private life a secret from his parents and an open book to his hundreds of friends on social media.

  “Mac’s scrubbing his data again,” Fennel said. “What’d you find at the docks?”

  “Water. Boats. A duck.”

  “And you think I’m a pain in the ass?”

  I cracked a smile. “I’m sorry about before.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m used to you.” He nudged my shoulder. “So nothing?”

  “Not nothing.” I bit my lip and stared through the slats into the captain’s office. “Grayson’s trying to get a warrant. It turns out Mr. Hart has several cargo containers at the dock which are scheduled to be loaded onto a ship in two days. Right now, we’re just sitting on it, hoping Emilio will pop back up. The white SUV’s made two trips in the last few days. It can’t be a coincidence. Grayson’s hoping we’ll be able to open an investigation into Hart. The killer targeted him. We need to know why.”

  “Did we get any info on the white SUV?”

  “VIN’s been etched off. No paperwork. No plates. No inspection stickers. Nothing. The car’s been professionally cleaned. The techs are hoping to pull something off the engine and figure out where it originated, but it’s a long shot. Prints on the center console came back as a match to Emilio. However, most of the interior was wiped. Becca’s prints were on the outer edge of the rear car door, so she was still conscious when he threw her in the back. From the spatter inside, he probably hit her a final time once he got her in the car.”

  “I wish she had gotten a hold of the guy,” Fennel mused.

  “Based on her injuries, she probably couldn’t.” My gaze went to the stairs, which led to the holding cells. “We don’t have much of a case against Fox, but he admitted to soliciting sex. So there’s that.”

  “Have you asked him about Emilio?”

  “He doesn’t know where he is and hasn’t seen him since they left Spark. The exterior cameras show them parting ways, so we can’t prove Fox is lying.” My eyes traveled to the interrogation room where Axel Kincaid remained. “Axel knows. He has to.” I stood up straight and pulled my shoulders back. “Round three.”

  “Ding. Ding.”

  Kincaid lazily watched as I entered the interrogation room. He looked like a lion, unsure if he wanted to be bothered chasing down the gazelle. Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his arms over his chest as best he could, despite the cuffs.

  “Where’s Emilio?” I asked.

  Kincaid made a show of looking around the room. “Not here.”

  “Where?”

  “How should I know? I haven’t spoken to him in days. You should know that. You have my phone records.” The last call Kincaid placed to Emilio was the night I told him his pal had gotten handsy with me at the bar. Axel turned to his attorney
. “Mind getting me a latte from the café down the street?”

  The attorney snorted and looked at me. “Just remember, you can’t question my client without counsel present.”

  “Liv can do whatever she likes,” Kincaid said. “I’ll waive my right.”

  “Mr. Kincaid, respectfully, I strongly recommend you reconsider.”

  “Noted.” Axel jerked his chin at the door. “And don’t get me any of that non-fat, non-sugar, soy crap.” The door to the interrogation room closed with a slam. “Where were we?”

  “I believe you were about to confess,” I suggested.

  “Nice try, but since you want a confession, here it is.” He spoke softly, so I had to lean in to hear his words. “I fired Emilio and told him to stay the fuck away from you. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t care what you believe. It’s the truth.”

  “Fine, let’s say I believe you. You’ve known Emilio for years. Where would he hide?”

  Axel assessed me. “He’s responsible?” I didn’t answer, but Axel was a poker player. Unfortunately, he could read tells. “That son of a bitch.”

  “Tell me where he is,” I repeated. “He double-crossed you. He betrayed you. You help me bring him in, and I’ll make sure you get a fair deal.”

  “I’m not a rat.”

  I only had one move left, so I laid my cards on the table. “Emilio went through with the hotel heist. He cleared out the safe. He has the drugs. Everything. He’s in the wind. You have to cooperate, Axel. If you don’t, you’re going down for all of it. He left you holding the bag, probably since you pissed him off.”

  Kincaid thought for a moment, the wheels turning in his head. “I’ll cooperate on one condition. You let me go.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Find someone who can.”

  With a final annoyed huff, I returned to my desk. We weren’t going to cut him loose. Not after three months undercover at his club, serving drinks and dancing in that cage. No. He was not going to just waltz out of here, especially when we found the murder weapon in his desk drawer. Sure, he rarely locked his office, but no one in their right mind ever stepped foot in Kincaid’s office without his express permission. They were all too afraid of him. Or too afraid of getting caught.