by G S Fortis
David shakes his head.
“This is the fourth dead detective reported this morning.”
David’s jaw drops.
The other detective adds, “Someone’s going around killing cops.”
* * *
As soon as David hears about the deaths, he orders Paige and me into his car. He gets on his phone and starts making numerous frantic phone calls. More police cars arrive. Crime-scene tape goes up, and within a half an hour, we have a police base camp set up. More detectives arrive in unmarked but still obvious police vehicles. The medical examiner soon follows in his paneled van.
Then the news crews show up. First there are a few individuals snapping pictures on smart phones to post online and share via apps as citizen journalists. Then come the local news vans and Los Angeles tabloids. Within an hour, it’s a full-blown circus.
Paige and I are still sitting in the back seat of the Dodge when someone shouts, “Where’s Resnick?”
I turn to see David’s captain, Reginald Hollis. He’s a tall African American man with a barrel chest and clean-shaven head. He bears a constant scowl, like a disappointed football coach. Hollis hurries out of the car and takes long strides past the other officers before disappearing into the house.
“He looks pissed,” I say.
“Yeah, and it sounds like he’s pissed at David.”
I nod.
“You have to admit,” Paige says, “David’s taken a lot of heat for you the past few days.”
“I know.”
Hollis’s voice booms from inside the house. A couple of uniformed officers scurry outside, taking shelter from the storm inside. I can only imagine what David must be dealing with. He can’t possibly explain to his boss what’s going on when I haven’t given him the full picture. He has spent all this time trusting me at every turn, and I haven’t told him the truth.
I open the car door.
“Where are you going?” Paige slides out and follows me.
“I’m tired of waiting in the wings,” I say as I charge to the door. “This whole wait in the car while the men do the work thing is crap.”
In order to get past the guarding police officer without benefit of badge or credentials, I do my best to imitate the confident stride Captain Hollis used. When the cop allows me to pass without a second glance, I’m surprised it worked. Then again, why bother stopping someone this deep into the crime scene?
There’s a wide strip of plastic on the floor leading through the house, and I follow it into the living room. Several crime-scene technicians are busy collecting evidence from the scene—dusting for fingerprints, analyzing a computer, rifling through mail. At the far end is the den, where David and his captain are having a heated conversation. I trust that my arrival will help ease the tension, so I march right inside.
The moment David sees me, he moves to intercept. “Wait in the car!”
I brush right past him and extend my hand to his captain. “Darcy Caine, private investigator.”
Hollis ignores me and addresses David over my head. “Who is this, and what is she doing here?”
“Darcy Caine,” I repeat. “I’m the PI hired by Carmen Viramontes to find her daughter.” David tries to pull me away, but I stand my ground. “I have reason to believe my case might have something to do with Detective Snyder’s death—and perhaps the death of the other detectives.”
Hollis points his long finger at me. “Young lady, if you have information pertaining to this investigation, you had better reveal it.”
I point my finger back at him. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Sir.”
He turns to David. “Seriously, who is this?”
David changes tactics and now ushers Hollis out of the den. “I’ll handle this, sir. I’m taking her to the station for a statement.”
As soon as Hollis is out of earshot, he whirls on me. “What the hell, Darcy? Are you trying to get me fired?”
“I’m trying to help you.”
He rubs his face with both his hands in frustration, stretching it into a funny expression. “Does she drive you this crazy?” he asks Paige.
“Every day.”
“Hey!” I say to her. That wasn’t nice. I turn back to David. “I’m serious. This has something to do with the disappearance of Elizabeth Viramontes.”
David acquiesces. “You think Elizabeth has something to do with the seven dead detectives?”
“That’s righ—seven?” I ask. The number has grown since I’ve been in the car.
David nods. “Seven.”
I take a deep breath. “The bloody prints. Those belong to Hugo Escalante.”
David looks into the living room, where the crime scene technicians are photographing the stairs. What he probably doesn’t notice—but I certainly do—is another technician carrying down a plastic bag filled with a handful of gray feathers. Melchora was here, too.
“Carmen’s thug?” He turns to me. “Why is Hugo Escalante going around killing detectives? What does any of this have to do with the kidnapping of Elizabeth Viramontes? What does Snyder have to do with this?”
I steel myself. I have a theory, but I need David to listen to me until I finish. “You said Ed worked in—”
“Detective Snyder,” David interrupts.
I’m already losing him. I remind myself that he just lost his partner. “Sorry. Detective Snyder worked in the Gangs and Narcotics Division.”
“That’s right.”
“Did all the other detectives killed today work in GND?”
“No,” David says definitively. “Not all of them. And they weren’t from the same divisions, either.”
“Well, Detective Snyder was no longer with GND, but did the other detectives previously work in GND?”
David stands there, staring at me. I can see the wheels turning in his head. Finally, he says, “Don’t move,” and walks away. I follow him. He turns back to look at me.
Before he can say anything, Paige chimes in. “You know she’s not going to listen to you.”
“Let’s go,” he grumbles and keeps walking. I follow on his heels as he approaches a technician with a tablet computer. “Cortez, can I see that?” David grabs the computer from him. He taps into the device then turns to Cortez. “Who were the other detectives found today?”
“Let’s see. Bill Bryce at Rampart. Miguel Nuñez at Rampart. Simon Shaw at Hollenbeck. Michelle Lin at Pacific…”
David waves him off. “Okay. Stop.” He keeps typing into the tablet. Reads. Types again. Reads. Types again. Reads.
When he looks at me, I can tell my theory was accurate. All the detectives recently murdered have worked in Gangs and Narcotics at one time or another. David tosses the tablet back to the technician.
“Do you want the other names?” the tech asks.
Instead of answering, David grabs me by the elbow. I allow him to pull me this time. We head into an empty room.
Paige follows, and David closes the door once the three of us are inside. By the look of the desk, filing cabinets, and stacks of papers, this must have been Snyder’s office. There’s even a framed picture of the woman who was murdered with him—his wife.
David takes a seat in a chair and appraises me. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”
Paige leans against the desk with her arms crossed, and I suddenly feel like I’m about to make a presentation to my classmates. Here goes. “All the detectives were at one time or another involved with the LAPD investigation into the Galeana Cartel.”
“How did you know?” David asks.
“I told you. This has something to do with Viramontes.”
“You know there are some things I can’t discuss.”
“Can we cut the BS and work together on this? People are dying, David.” He doesn’t answer, but I can tell I’m finally getting through to him. “How did you know I was working on her case?” I continue. “Why all the activity around her?”
&
nbsp; Paige turns, angling her body toward David. I take a step forward, and suddenly, he’s on the hot seat as we converge and hover over him. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “A few months ago, Carmen Viramontes reached out to the LAPD. She wanted to make a deal. Testimony. Evidence. Names. In exchange for immunity and permanent residence in the US for her and her daughter.”
Carmen was trying to go straight. That must have been cause for alarm if anyone in the cartel found out.
“I can’t imagine there would be a lot of people happy about that,” Paige says, echoing my thoughts.
“Not just that,” David adds, “but her whole empire is incredibly complex. The electronics business—a money-laundering front. Her bank, same thing. There are networks upon networks invested in this operation. Farms—coca, marijuana, poppy. Smugglers. Distributors. Not to mention the competitors she was willing to implicate. A woman like that threatens to unravel an empire…”
“And everyone becomes an enemy,” I finish.
If Hugo were with the spirit when they killed Ed—Detective Snyder—then he must be working with Melchora. Hugo must have found out what Carmen was trying to do.
“The LAPD was working with the DEA on this one,” David says. “I’m not in Gangs and Narcotics anymore, but this task force was close to getting all the evidence they needed to shut down the empire and take down her accomplices and competitors.”
“Until Elizabeth was kidnapped,” Paige says.
“That makes sense,” David adds. “A buddy who was on the Galeana case told me that Carmen Viramontes went radio silent two weeks ago. After all the work, all this time, she suddenly became a ghost. We weren’t sure if she was alive or had left the country. But that would have been around the time Elizabeth disappeared. A few days later, some girl with black hair and yellow eyes shows up at her front door and gains access to one of the most heavily fortified drug compounds in Los Angeles.”
Darcy Caine, to the rescue.
“How were you communicating with Carmen in the first place?” Paige asks. “You said no one has ever seen her.”
“We were talking to the only person she trusted.”
“Leona,” I say.
David nods. Leona did a lot of the talking when I met with Carmen, not only to communicate for her but to protect her as well. She was probably the only person Carmen could trust.
“So let me get this straight,” Paige says. “Carmen Viramontes sends Leona to talk to the LAPD and DEA to broker a deal for protection. Hugo finds out and kidnaps Elizabeth to stop her.”
I give Paige a look, silently begging her not to reveal too much. We finally have David on our side.
“Carmen stops the deal and hires Darcy to find her daughter.” Paige points at me. “Hugo tries to stop you and ends up killing Lupe at the museum.”
Yes and no. Santa Muerte and Melchora tried to stop me. Hugo wasn’t there. But he knew what I looked like, which was why Santa Muerte tried to kill me.
“Then Hugo finds out Leona was working as the liaison,” Paige continues, “brokering the deal on Carmen’s behalf. So he murders Leona.”
“And tries to kill Carmen, too,” I say. Hugo, Melchora, Santa Muerte—they must all be working together.
Paige turns to David, her brow furrowed as she tries to understand everything. “The other detectives were no longer in narcotics. Why kill them? Why kill Detective Snyder?”
“Clean house,” David says. “Get rid of everyone who knows anything. Why stop with the current investigators? Go back as far as you can.”
“Were any of the victims on the current case?”
“At least two,” David says.
My next question is difficult to ask. “David, did you ever work on the Viramontes case?”
He stiffens. “Two years back. Didn’t go anywhere at that time, so we had to let it go. Not enough evidence for the DA.”
It’s pretty clear what this means. Hugo and Melchora must have a list that includes David’s name. He’s in as much danger as I am.
“Well, David, I think we’re officially in this together.”
David looks up. A defeated chuckle escapes his lips. He’s a hunted man now.
“Shit,” he says.
Chapter 34
____◊____
DAVID REPORTS TO CAPTAIN Hollis with our findings and our theory. Paige and I stand beside David’s car and watch the exchange. The moment David explains the connection between the detectives and my investigation, everything shifts to DEFCON 2. Police officers scramble, the scene is sealed off, and the entire force retreats into the vehicles and off the site.
David jogs to his car and points for us to get inside. I’m so sick of riding in the back. I commandeer shotgun before Paige has a chance.
A caravan of police vehicles and unmarked cars hurries down the hill and through the streets of Los Angeles. I have a front-row seat as I watch motorcycle cops block traffic so our motorcade can quickly make its way downtown. Every detective in the city is now a target, including David and the other officers in other cars.
As we approach the skyscrapers downtown, SWAT vehicles merge into our group. On either side are fully armored vehicles. We’re a convoy now.
We don’t so much as hesitate at a stoplight or intersection. In a few minutes, we’re back at the Central Police Station. Vehicles from other convoys merge into our queue as we take a tight turn and head down into the parking structure.
Cars screech to a stop inside, and we jump out of the vehicle. Police in full tactical gear guard our arrival as we hurry into the entrance. I hold Paige’s hand, and we follow David through a series of halls. Other civilians are ushered out to the lobby as we continue to follow David to the detectives’ bullpen.
“Sit here,” David commands, gesturing toward Snyder’s desk. His tone is authoritative, but when he looks at me, his eyes plead that just this once, in front of all his detective friends, I comply without sassing him.
Fine.
Paige and I sit across from Detective Snyder’s former desk and watch as David directs a photographer to take photos of it. This is a crime scene now. Flashes of light fill the room.
Captain Hollis arrives, and he and David listen to an investigator report the findings of the murder.
“ME’s initial report estimates time of death was between oh three hundred and oh four hundred this morning. Cause of death for both victims was most likely trauma to the front upper torso. Cause of injury is still unclear. ME reports the hearts of… the hearts of both victims were missing.”
David shoots me a look. He’s still trying to understand this particular mystery of who is tearing the hearts out of the victims. He’s probably wondering if it’s another cartel fear tactic. I can’t give him an answer to that yet.
The medical examiner continues. “One pair of bloodied footprints—size-ten cowboy boots—were found leading away from the crime scene, down the stairs, and outside. There was no sign of forced entry…”
All this I already know. My eyes are focused on Snyder’s desk and the flashes of light that glint off his belongings. Flat-screen monitor, keyboard, and mouse. Landline. Mesh pencil cup filled with pens and a pair of scissors. Stacks of manila folders overflowing with sloppily inserted pieces of paper. Opened Coke can. Stapler. White mug with coffee stains.
Opened Coke can.
Snyder was a lean guy. He didn’t look like someone with a big soda habit, but every time I saw him—at my apartment, at Carmen’s—he had a can of soda.
“There were signs of forced entry at Detective Shaw’s home—”
“Did Detective Snyder drink soda?” I ask loudly.
All eyes turn to me. Hollis’s gaze is clearly full of contempt. “What is she doing here?” he barks at David.
David shakes his head, but finally, he’s willing to listen. “Hold on, Sir.” Then he asks me, “What?”
“Was he a big soda drinker?”
“No.”
I gesture toward the desk. David looks then nods. “Right. No, he chewed.”
Chewed. He chewed tobacco—and spit tobacco into the can—or presumably, the floor. Or carpet.
I remember the stains on the carpet, like a leopard print, in the house in Sterling Terrace. I’m quiet as all this goes through my mind. David steps closer, not interrupting but knowing I have something to say. I scan my audience—chief of police, detectives, sergeants, beat cops. What I have to say is going to piss a lot of people off.
“Detective Snyder was an informant for a drug cartel.”
All eyes turn to me again. No pair is opened as wide as David’s. In the deafening silence, I hurry to keep talking before someone shoots me.
“He was meeting with members of a rival gang that’s been working to take over the Galeana Cartel. That’s how Hugo knew the names and addresses of all the detectives who were murdered last night.” My eyes laser in on David’s, needing at least him to believe me. “That’s how they found out where Paige and I lived, and that’s how they found us hiding at Fiona’s.”
I wait for David to respond. He stands there in shock. He’ll have to wrap his head around the fact that his partner was working with a drug cartel. I wonder if I’ve lost him.
“That’s a pretty serious accusation, young lady,” Hollis says pointedly. “Do you have evidence to back that up?”
I stand up. “I can take you to their meeting place. You’ll find all the evidence there.”
* * *
I tell Captain Hollis and David about the hideout in Sterling Terrace. I mention the map we found in the old Victorian house, which I now realize must have pinpointed the addresses of all the detectives. I show them the photo I took with my phone. At first glance, it’s difficult to discern the details of the various streets. However, the vicinities do suggest a correlation with the addresses of the murdered detectives. I then mention the empty soda cans and stains on the carpet—stains, I also now realize, that were caused by tobacco spit.
Hollis is dismissive, but David pulls him away to talk in private. Paige and I continue to listen to the chatter around us. As of now, eight detectives were murdered last night. All remaining detectives, especially those with connections to the Galeana Cartel cases, have been pulled into their respective stations for safety.