by Style, Linda
“The evidence from the Marigold shooting doesn’t match either one.”
Okay. That didn’t confirm or rule out anything, only that if one shooter had made all three hits, he hadn’t used the same gun. That the bullets taken from Alex’s home and the ones from her apartment came from the same gun confirmed for her that Alex was the target. She’d suspected as much, but now she had proof.
After Diego’s warning that she could be in danger, she’d wondered if the bullet at her apartment had been meant for her. She didn’t need to wonder anymore.
“Thanks, Josey. Can I get a copy of the report?”
The petite blonde handed Crista a copy she’d already made. “Service with a smile.”
Crista felt better than she had since she’d started working the case. This narrowed her search for the gun, which in turn would narrow her search for a suspect.
“I’m running a photo search right now to see if there might be a match with any bullets in other crimes.”
“Great. Let me know when you get something.” If the results showed the gun had been used before, the crime scene investigation from that case might give her a clue about the owner of the gun.
Crista left the CSU for the parking garage, got in her car and drove out. She made the first turn and headed toward the barrio to see Diego. He’d warned her about coming into the neighborhood and asking questions, but she wouldn’t let that keep her away. Aside from her job, rebuilding her relationship with Diego, establishing some semblance of trust between them, was the most important thing in her life.
As she pulled to a stop in front of the house, she saw a tricked-out Harley in the drive. Was Marco here? Trini? Her stomach churned. Trini always rode a Harley.
But that was stupid. Trini had only recently been released from prison, where would he get the money for a bike like that?
She managed to push the past from her mind and eased her way up the steps. Talk to Diego. That’s all she was here for. At the door, she listened for voices. Nothing. She knocked once. When no one showed, she knocked again. The door jerked open a crack and her brother peered at her through the slit.
“Hey, Diego,” she said.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk.”
“I can’t right now. Someone’s here.”
The warning in Diego’s eyes indicated it was in her best interest not to pursue the matter.
“You don’t want to come in,” he said under his breath.
Trini was there. That had to be it. And Diego was right. She truly didn’t want to go in if her ex was inside.
“Okay, I’ll leave. But I have a quick question for you.”
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I’ve been asked to have Thanksgiving at…a friend’s home. I explained that I’d already asked you to my place, and they invited you to come, too.”
“So go.”
“I don’t want to go alone. I want you to come with me. They’re nice people and being with them reminded me of how our family was before Papa died,” she said, hoping he remembered and would like to feel that closeness again.
He didn’t respond instantly, but his eyes softened. Finally he said, “What friends?”
“Alex Del Rio and his family. I’ve gotten to know them while working on the case.”
His face lit up with interest. “He’s the guy running the new center.”
“That’s right.”
He looked down, then asked softly, “Does he know about me?”
She nodded. “I think you’ll like him. You’ll like the whole family. And if you decide you’d rather not come along, I still want you to have Thanksgiving with me at my place.”
Just then Crista heard Trini’s scratchy voice. A voice she’d recognize anywhere. “¿Qué pasa, Diego?”
“You better go,” her brother growled.
“Okay, but get back to me about Thanksgiving as soon as you can. It’s only two days away.” The words had barely left her lips when Diego shut the door.
As she walked to the car, it was all Crista could do to keep her shoulders from sagging. Diego was keeping bad company and there seemed nothing she could do to stop it.
Diego. Diego. Her heart ached for the innocent boy he’d once been. For the man she wanted him to be. For the man he could be.
Crista slipped into the driver’s seat and sped away, her mind reeling. A heavy dread started to settle in her chest, but she shook it off. There might be a point where she’d have to come to grips with the fact that she couldn’t help Diego—she drew a deep breath through her teeth—but she wasn’t there yet. She would think of something.
In the meantime, she had to focus. There were other things to do. First, she’d go back to the station for a gun search. Man, she hated facing Englend, but if she was lucky, she’d get some names from the database. If she didn’t find anything there, she’d head for the gun shops. Pawnshops. Anyplace where someone might purchase a .38 caliber semiautomatic handgun. If she had a name or two, she might be able to convince Englend she was close to an arrest.
As Crista turned the corner, she glanced in her rearview mirror and noticed a black truck behind her. Her skin prickled. She gripped the steering wheel tighter and kept watching behind her all the way to the station. The vehicle was still there. Either she was getting paranoid or she was being followed.
But she was only a couple blocks from headquarters and she doubted whoever it was would follow her into the police garage.
Making a quick right turn and then a left, she pulled into the parking garage and circled up the ramp. Feeling better, and a little foolish at the same time, she glanced over her shoulder just to be sure. Nothing.
One more circle up the ramp to the fourth floor and she pulled into her designated space, gathered her briefcase and pulled the door handle to get out. Glancing up, she froze.
The black truck cruised up the ramp. There was no plate in front. And with dark tinted windows on both her Jeep and the truck, she couldn’t see inside. Not even enough to tell if the driver was a man or a woman.
She watched the vehicle take an empty space at the end of the row, and then waited to see who got out. No one did.
She waited. Still nothing. Okay…she was a law enforcement officer and she was in the police parking garage. While she knew all the vehicles on her floor, it could be that one of the detectives simply had a new one. But why then had the truck been behind her all the way from the barrio?
Crista exited the Jeep and started toward the truck. Easy enough to find out who it was. She was halfway across the lot when the truck pulled out, tires screeching in reverse and then forward again as it sped down the ramp. She stood there for a moment, then hurried back to her car, got out her digital camera and went back to take some photos of the tire tracks, smudged as they were. There was nothing to compare the photos to since there were no marks from the other scenes, but she took the photos anyway. Just in case. She didn’t get the make of the truck, but it was one of the big models.
Finished, she hurried to the end of the hall straight for the CS unit. She stopped at the desk inside. “Laura, do you have any new vehicles registered for that end space in the garage?”
Laura looked at her with a quizzical expression. “No.”
“Any visitors coming in today?”
She shook her head. “Not on my list.”
“Thanks.” Crista’s nerves felt like rubber bands twisted to the max. Well, who wouldn’t be edgy after being followed.
At her desk, she put her things away, turned on her computer and punched into NCIC, the national database on criminal activity, and then entered the information on the gun that had been used in both shootings, searching for any local criminal who might have used that type of gun before. If she’d had a license number on the truck, she would’ve punched that in, too. But she didn’t.
The captain wasn’t at his desk, so she left him a message about the truck. He’d probably laugh. She had no proof of anyth
ing. But a black truck had sped by her apartment when they’d been shot at, Sam had drawn a black truck in her picture, and now today, a black truck had followed her. Were they the same? She didn’t know. What she did know was that none of it was her imagination.
After waiting what seemed like an excessively long time, a list of names popped onto the screen. She printed out the list and started the elimination process, ruling out those without any known gang affiliations and those who lived out of the area. Of those that remained, one guy belonged to the Barrio Azteca, another the Latin Kings, and the rest belonged to the Pistoles and Los Locos.
She highlighted the name of a Pistoles gang member. Pedro Castillo, who’d been arrested three years earlier by two of the officers in her unit. Garcia and Munez.
According to the records, the weapon had never been recovered. If she could find out what Castillo had done with the gun she might have a lead. It wasn’t all that strange to find that a gun used in one crime had been used in another. But if the officers who’d interrogated Castillo couldn’t get him to divulge what he’d done with it, she probably couldn’t, either.
The chirp of the phone got her attention. She hoped it was Josey. “Santiago.”
“What time are we supposed to be at this guy’s house for the dinner?”
Crista’s spirits lifted. “One o’clock. How about if I pick you up at noon.”
“It’s better if I come to your place.”
“Okay,” she said, suddenly a little anxious about the whole thing now that Diego had actually agreed to come along. As a kid, Diego had been utterly charming when he wanted—or downright obnoxious. She wanted to tell him to be on his best behavior, yet if she did, she might scare him off. “I’m glad you’re coming,” she said, then gave him her address. Hanging up, she felt a sense of satisfaction. She’d made a connection with Diego. Maybe only a small one, but it was there nonetheless.
She picked up the phone again and pressed Alex’s number at work, still wondering if spending the holiday with his family was wise. But she realized that even if it wasn’t, it was what she wanted to do.
“Alex,” she said when he answered. “It’s Crista.”
“Well, hello. This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I thought I’d better let you know that my brother and I will be delighted to spend Thanksgiving with your family.”
“Wonderful. Sam will be happy—and I am, too.”
Crista’s stomach fluttered. She wasn’t used to people she worked with getting that close and it felt awkward. “Uh…you said around one o’clock before.”
“Right. Will that work for you?”
“Yes. That’s fine.” It would allow her to get some work done in the morning.
Alex cleared his throat, then said, “I’m concerned about Sam’s safety.”
“Has something happened?”
“No, but I’m worried that something might.”
Crista’s muscles tensed. “We’re working really hard to find the perpetrator. Aside from that…well, I wish there was more the police could do.”
“Yeah. I know. It’s not your fault. At any rate, I hired someone to be on watch.”
“A bodyguard?”
“He doesn’t call himself that, but yes. I’ve also been thinking it might be a good idea for you to talk with the guys I recruited to work at the center.”
Crista’s interest was piqued. “Do you think they can help?”
“I don’t think so, but you never know. I spoke with them about the drive-by and told them you were investigating the case and would like to talk to them.”
“What was the response?”
“Not much. But I know they don’t like the idea of talking to the police. It sends a message that they’re not trustworthy.”
“You told them that wasn’t the case.”
“Yes. I hope they understand.”
“Okay then, give me their names. I’ll take it from there.”
“It would be better if I go with you. If I’m there they won’t feel as threatened.”
She’d do it any way he wanted as long as she could do it. “Okay.”
“The best place for you to meet them would be at the center.”
“Fine. When?”
“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Friday afternoon might be good.”
That was two days away. “How about right now?”
There was a long silence on the line. Then Alex said, “I can get away in about an hour.”
“Perfect. Where should I meet you?”
“I’ll pick you up. I’m only a couple blocks away.”
There was a benefit to that. Her red Jeep was quite recognizable, and if she rode with Alex, no one in the barrio would know she was in the neighborhood asking more questions.
“Sure. Two o’clock. I’ll be out front.”
When they finished, Crista hung up and felt another burst of energy. Within a few hours she had more leads than she’d collected in a week. Her adrenaline surged. She was going to solve this case!
But she was ambivalent about telling Englend about the new evidence from Josey. If he was going to take her off the case, she’d just be giving it to her successor. If she kept the information to herself, she might be able to make an arrest before Englend had a chance to do anything.
Just as she thought it, she saw the captain walk into his office. Her heart stopped. Eddie Fontanero was at his side, and they were talking and laughing like old friends. They probably were. Both had been with the department for about the same length of time.
Her nerves drew tight with tension. Tension exploded into panic. She had to get out of here. If Englend didn’t see her, he couldn’t take her off the case.
She turned her back to them and gathered the information she needed, grabbed her briefcase, stuffed the papers inside and slipped away from her desk. Skirting the wall on the outer perimeter of the office, out of the captain’s line of vision, she exited the side door and took off down the hall toward the garage.
Her heart pounding, she burst through the door and glanced at her watch. Alex was picking her up in twenty minutes, but she didn’t want to leave her car in the garage or Englend would know she was still around and wait for her to come back. Her only options were to park the vehicle someplace else—or call Alex back and meet him at the center.
But Alex didn’t want her to show up at the center without him, so she climbed into her Jeep and drove a half mile from headquarters before pulling into a metered parking spot. She searched for Alex’s direct number on her cell listings to see if he could pick her up at the restaurant on Vine, a half block away. She punched in the number. No answer. Damn. He might’ve gone out for something, intending to pick her up after that.
Okay. She’d leave the car here, walk back to the building and wait for him in front as she said she would. Fifteen minutes later, and after chucking as much silver into the meter as it would eat, she was hiking the half mile back to headquarters, hoping like hell she didn’t see anyone and have to explain.
When she was still a block away, she spotted Alex’s Lincoln Navigator at a stoplight and ran toward him waving her arms. As she got close, he lowered his window.
“Going my way?”
Puffing, not so much from the activity but from worry that she’d miss him and he’d go into the office to find her, she said, “Absolutely.”
She hurried around the SUV and hopped in the front seat next to him.
Alex didn’t say a word, and when the light changed, he slowly drove ahead.
Crista fumbled with the seat belt, finally securing it in place. “I suppose you’re wondering what I was doing?”
He glanced at her, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Kinda.”
“It wasn’t anything exciting. I went to get some coffee with a friend and I guess I thought I had more time than I did. On the way back, I saw you go by. I didn’t want to miss you, so I ran to the light where you’d stopped.”
“Oh-kay.” The look on his face said he did
n’t buy it.
“So,” she said. “Where’s the center located?”
“It’s near the shipping channel on Canal Street in an old building that wasn’t being used.”
“Right. You mentioned you’d had a run-in with the owner.” Crista had tried to track Tom Corcoran down for an interview, but so far the man had eluded her.
“It was nothing serious. We worked it out. The building was in bad condition, so we’re doing some reconstruction. As I mentioned, some of the work is being done by the neighborhood youths I’ve recruited to work at the center.”
“Are you going to tell me their names, or do I have to guess?”
He cracked a smile. “Right now I have Charlie, an older guy from the neighborhood acting as a supervisor, and there are four guys are doing the main work. Ramon, Daniel, Julio and Richard. Another younger boy, Tommy Ramirez, comes in off and on, but he’s too young to work with tools. He likes to hang around and I figure it’s better for him to be here than on the street.”
She nodded. “You really do think you can change things, don’t you.”
He looked at her and then back to the road again. “Not overnight. But little by little. Education is key.”
Looking at him, Crista realized all she really knew about Alex was what she read in the case file. “Where did you go to school?”
“USC.”
“But you grew up in northern California.”
“Like most kids, I wanted to be on my own. I wanted to party and have the freedom I didn’t have at home.”
“And did you party?”
“For a while. When my grades fell, my father refused to pay my expenses, which forced me to go back home and work at the vineyard to earn money to go back to school. When I had to pay my own way, things started to look different. So I did a stint with the military, and after that I went to Wharton and majored in business.”
“You have a business degree?”
He nodded. “And an MBA. For all the good it’s doing me now.” He shrugged. “I should have gone into education.” He glanced over again. “How about you? Where’d you go to school?”
Compared to his education, hers was minimal. But she was proud of what she’d accomplished. She’d done more than anyone ever expected her to do. “I went to a community college and received a two-year degree in criminal justice. I’d like to get a bachelor’s degree someday, but there never seems to be enough time.”