by Style, Linda
“Not when you spend all your time on the job or at the gym.”
She did tell him that, didn’t she. And he had a point.
“Apparently, finishing school isn’t as important as the other things you do.”
“I guess not.” Did he think less of her for not having a bachelor’s degree? Not that it mattered. She’d learned long ago that she couldn’t live her life for others. She had to be happy with herself.
“What’s important is that you like what you do. I learned that the hard way,” Alex said.
“I love what I do. I’ve never thought of doing anything else.” Which reminded her that her job was on the line as they spoke. She didn’t know what she’d do if Englend brought in Fontanero. Her job was everything to her, even if it was in a unit she didn’t exactly love.
“To paraphrase Mark Twain, ‘Every job is a good one—unless you hate to do it.’”
She glanced at him. “I’ll have to remember that.”
“That’s how I felt when I was working in the family business. While it was a great place to be, with people I cared about, I didn’t want to commit my life to the vineyard. I’d wake up every day hating to go to work. This job has given me something I didn’t have before.”
“Really? What’s that?”
“Passion.” His eyes lit. “A feeling that I can make a difference. Without that, it’s just going to work every day and bringing home a paycheck at the end of the week.”
That was one point where they agreed. There was nothing she’d rather do than law enforcement. By keeping people safe, she felt as if she made a difference in the world. But Englend was making it difficult for her to do that job. And her options were limited. She could file a grievance against him, but that was about it.
There were a lot of grievances being filed within the department these days. More in the past two years than the previous ten, it seemed. Look at someone wrong and it’s sexual harassment. File a grievance. It seemed the trend, especially with new female recruits. If they only knew how they were screwing themselves and their careers.
The old guard wasn’t dead and anyone who believed so was living in a fantasy world. Sure, lots of things had changed for the better, even from when she’d come on board. But to say all cops were equal… No way. If you complained, they’d get you for it. File a grievance against another officer and you were dead meat.
There was a point where you simply had to say no more—only she didn’t know if she’d reached that point yet.
“Penny?”
Alex’s honeyed voice cut into Crista’s thoughts. “Excuse me?”
“Penny for your thoughts? You were deeply involved in something.”
She waved a hand. “Not really. I was just thinking about the case. It’s a tough one.”
“Yeah. Maybe this meeting will help.” He pulled into a dirt parking lot next to a two-story building that looked as if it should have a Condemned sign on the front.
“It will. One way or another.” She hoped for Alex’s sake she’d be able to rule out his boys as possible suspects, and she hoped even more that one of them might have heard something on the street that could help.
Alex parked, they exited and went inside together. The building was a shell, which made all the pounding and sawing echo even louder. A radio blared rap music in the background. The dry scent of sawdust lodged in her nose. Several stacks of two-by-fours rested against the gutted walls and sawdust covered the floor around a boy who was standing by a table saw in the middle of the large room. An older man stood next to him—probably the supervisor. The boy’s head came up when they entered the building, then he waved at Alex.
“Hey, Ramon.” Alex crossed the room to reach the teen, who appeared to be about sixteen or seventeen, and shook his hand.
Crista wondered why Ramon wasn’t in school, why all of the boys weren’t in school, but then realized the time. School would be out already.
“Ramon, I want you to meet a friend of mine.” Alex turned to Crista. “Detective Santiago.”
The teenager’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Ramon,” Crista said, reaching out to shake his hand. When he didn’t reciprocate, she shrugged and said, “I’m here to help Mr. Del Rio.”
Ramon turned to Alex for confirmation.
“The drive-by at my place,” Alex said. “Remember?”
“I was here working,” he said defensively.
“I know,” Crista said. “I’m simply looking for more information that might be helpful in solving the case, so Mr. Del Rio and his family can feel safe again.”
Ramon had brown puppy-dog eyes, eyes that said they’d seen too much in his short life. His hair was a light caramel color and he wore faded jeans and a long T-shirt, both about two sizes too big. When he reached for a piece of wood, she noticed the cholo tattoo on his right forearm. Cholo meant “gangster” and the tattoo, a man with a hat, mustache and goatee, meant the boy had been transitioned away from his family into the American street-gang culture.
“I haven’t been on the street since I agreed to help you, Mr. D. I don’t know nuthin’.”
“I’m just covering all bases, Ramon,” Crista said in Spanish, thinking it might make the boy more comfortable. “I thought someone on the block knows the ropes and might have heard something.”
He stood a little taller, but shook his head. “I don’t know nuthin’.”
Crista’s conversation with the other guys went the same way. The only kid she didn’t talk to was Tommy because he wasn’t there.
“That wasn’t too productive,” Crista said to Alex on their way out of the building. “But it was nice to see that your boys are committed to doing a good job here at the center.”
“Yeah, which is why I didn’t want to take the chance that they’d resent the intrusion. But when I realized Sam could be in danger I couldn’t leave any bases uncovered.”
“I appreciate it. I’d still like to talk with the other boy, though.”
“I’ll tell him the next time I see him. If I see him.”
“You think he’ll be back?”
Alex opened the car door for Crista. “I don’t know. He hasn’t been here for a week.”
Crista’s interest piqued. “Really? Do you know what day that was?”
“Before the shooting.”
When Alex climbed in on the other side, she said, “Maybe you can give me his home address.”
“If I knew it, I would.”
That the boy hadn’t been here since the shooting raised a flag for Crista. “Did he come around a lot before?”
Alex held up a hand. “I know what you’re thinking. But don’t. I heard from one of the other boys that Tommy has a lot of family problems.”
“And you think that’s why he hasn’t been here?”
Alex started the SUV. “I don’t know. The last time we talked, I told him if he wanted to hang out he had to show me he was doing a good job in school. That’s a condition for all the boys. As far as I know he’s not involved in any gang activity yet, and I hope he comes back.”
Okay, so Alex didn’t know all that much about the boy. It didn’t matter. She had his name. She’d ask around. She’d check the school.
“Where to now? Do you have time for a bite to eat before going home?”
She’d love to. She hated eating alone. “I better not.”
He reached out and placed his right hand over hers. “You have to eat someplace.”
His hand was warm and reassuring. She felt acceptance in his touch. Acceptance and respect. Something she hadn’t felt much of from the men in her life, and the knowledge sent a shiver of excitement through her. His sincerity disarmed her, and she fought an urge to pull him close, to feel his body against hers and maybe discover what she’d been missing all her life. He squeezed her hand softly, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. Desire curled low in her belly.
“I’ll grab something later. Right now I have some work to finish at the stati
on,” she lied. She was about to come undone if he didn’t stop that right now. And considering her sexual deprivation for the past couple of years, the man could be in serious trouble if she accepted his offer. “But thanks anyway.”
He released her hand and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. She saw the sting of rejection in his eyes. “Rain check?”
She could think of nothing she’d like more—and nothing that was more wrong. If Englend found out, she’d not only be off the case, she’d no longer have a job.
“Maybe.”
He turned to look at her, his mouth tipped up slightly as if pleased with her answer. “Okay. So I guess that means I take you to your car.”
Yes. Her car—which she’d parked a half mile from the station. “Great. You can just let me off in front of headquarters. I have a couple things to do before I go home.”
CHAPTER TEN
ALEX DROPPED CRISTA off at the Travis Street entrance of the HPD, and she got the distinct feeling that he wanted to lecture her about taking time to have a little fun instead of working so much. But he kept his opinions to himself. Good boy.
As soon as he drove off, she tucked her chin and hurried the six blocks to her Jeep hoping none of her colleagues drove by and saw her.
The walk was invigorating and it gave her time to process some of the information from the boys who worked for Alex, spare as it was. She felt a couple of them knew more than they had said. And now that she’d been there, she might be able to go back and talk to them again—without Alex. While Alex thought they’d be more comfortable with him there, she knew the reverse could be true.
The boys revered and respected Alex, and if any of them had information, they might not say so in front of him because he might think less of them.
The ride home seemed longer than ever and she felt a sense of relief when she pulled into the parking lot. It had been a long day, and she was both mentally and physically exhausted. She hadn’t felt that way for years.
She went inside and trudged up the stairs, each step an effort. Almost to the third floor, she noticed the hallway light was out. Her pulse accelerated. She glanced around, her gaze circling, scanning. The shadowy halls were eerily quiet, but nothing seemed out of place. When she was tired, she sometimes overreacted.
As she continued toward her apartment, she fished in her purse for her key. At the door, her breath caught. It was open a fraction of an inch.
Without flinching, Crista drew her gun and flattened her back against the wall, listening. Nothing. She glanced at the lock and the door frame. No evidence of a break-in. Inching the door open with her toe, she reached inside and switched on the light. Waiting, she heard nothing but the hum of the fluorescent light. She kicked open the door, making as much racket as possible—a police tactic used to intimidate and scare the hell out of anyone who didn’t expect it. Gun raised, she edged inside.
Her gaze shot first to the right and then to the left. Nothing. Had the caretaker come in for something and forgotten to close the door when he left? What reason would he have for coming inside? She eased her way from the living room into the kitchen. Nothing out of place there, either. Still skirting the wall, she crept down the hall toward her bedroom, stood out of range beside the door and shouted, “Don’t move or you’re a dead man!”
Still nothing. Slowly, cautiously, she placed one foot in front of the other and entered the room, gun poised for action.
Everything was exactly as she’d left it. Weird. Just plain weird. She went back to the living room, double-locked the door and stood with her back against the wall. She let out a sigh of relief, and then went to Calvin’s cage and lifted the cover.
What the—! Calvin was gone. The cage door—closed. How could he get out? Had someone taken him? Maybe Calvin was making a lot of racket and someone complained so the caretaker came up and removed him? No, that didn’t make sense. Calvin didn’t make noise when he was covered.
“Calvin. Calvin, are you here?” She dashed around searching everywhere for the bird.
Oh, God. The apartment door had been open. If he’d somehow gotten outside, he couldn’t survive.
Fear for Calvin filled her with dread. She hadn’t realized how much the silly bird meant to her till this very moment. She looked in the closet, on the bookcase, under the table in the kitchen, atop the cabinets. Her heart sank. He wasn’t anywhere.
“Awk!” a faint squawk sounded.
“Calvin. Calvin, where are you?” She heard thumping coming from somewhere near the bathroom. She bolted down the hall and still calling his name, she burst into the bathroom. She didn’t see him anywhere and ripped back the shower curtain.
Her mouth fell open. Calvin was thumping around in the bathtub, covered with something black and greasy—like oil. “Oh, Calvin. Poor Calvin.”
On her knees, she picked up the bird in her hands and cradled him to her chest. Tears fell on her cheeks. “Who would do such a thing to you?” What kind of sick mind would hurt a helpless bird? She stroked his wings and the back of his head. “You’re a mess,” she sniveled. But he was here—and he was alive.
Still holding the bird, she called the police to report the incident. When they came, they took the information and said that since there was no evidence of a break-in, there wasn’t much they could do. She knew that before they arrived; she’d done the same many times. Take the information, talk to the neighbors, file a report. Do nothing. Because there was nothing to do without a lead of some kind.
While the officers did their thing, Crista called a twenty-four-hour lock service, and then sat Calvin in the kitchen sink and washed his feathers with a soft sponge and a gentle detergent. She remembered hearing on the news that after one of the big oil spills they’d used dish detergent to clean the seagulls.
When Calvin was as clean as she could get him without removing all his feathers, she dried him off, put him back in his cage, gave him some fresh water and food and prayed he’d be okay—that he wouldn’t suffer any permanent problems.
“Better get those locks replaced,” one of the officers said on his way out.
“I already called someone,” she responded, then double-locked the door behind him. Weary, she flopped onto the couch to wait for the locksmith. Animal cruelty. She couldn’t fathom it. Had vandals broken in and was this some sick person’s distorted idea of fun? Or was it something more serious?
A warning maybe? If she put this incident together with the truck she’d thought was following her, she might conclude she had a stalker. Trini was her first thought. Diego’s warning could have been about Trini and had nothing to do with her asking questions in the wrong places.
But the pattern didn’t fit Trini’s M.O. His method was to let her know he was there, watching her, stalking her. That way she’d never feel safe. In addition, that scenario didn’t answer the truck question. So far, a black vehicle had been involved in the Encanto shooting, the one at her place and today, a black truck had been following her. But the Encanto shooting had happened before she’d had the run-in with Trini. He hadn’t even known she was back.
Which meant, even if he was at her apartment, he wasn’t the person in the truck. What she didn’t know was if there was a connection between the shootings and the assault on Calvin.
Someone who thought she was getting too close, as Diego said.
Another thought assailed her. If Englend learned of tonight’s incident, he’d have more ammunition to take her off the case. If she was being threatened, the captain might think she couldn’t do her job properly. Hell, he already thought that. Her head hurt. Her body was riddled with fatigue and her eyes felt as if she’d rubbed them with sandpaper.
She glanced at Calvin again. How could anyone… How could they! Her fatigue quickly morphed into anger. Anger at whoever had done this. Anger at the shooters who’d hurt Samantha and with herself that she hadn’t been able to solve the case—that she’d allowed herself to get in such a precarious position.
Well, dammit.
She wasn’t going to sit idly by and watch her career go down the tubes just because Englend wanted an arrest. She wasn’t going to let some stalker intimidate her and she wasn’t going to allow Alex and Sam to live in fear.
How she was going to fix all that, was the million-dollar question.
MORNING BROUGHT Crista’s problems into a clearer light. Lying in bed, she took a few minutes to stretch and sit up. As she did, she decided there were things she could do something about and things she couldn’t. As an officer of the law, she knew if someone was stalking her, the police couldn’t do anything without proof. If she could prove it was Trini, she’d get a restraining order.
The only thing she could do on the Encanto case was keep working on it, get the evidence and make an arrest. And if Englend was going to cut her legs from under her, she wouldn’t stand for it.
With Englend, she had two options. File a grievance against him for gender bias or keep her mouth shut. She flopped back on the pillow. She needed to talk to someone. She needed advice. But who?
Her friend Risa knew all about being in a position where your job is on the line. But that was a different situation. Risa had been accused of shooting her partner and was found innocent. Gender bias hadn’t played a part. And what made her think Risa would want to give Crista advice now that their positions were reversed?
Crista’s stomach knotted with regret that she’d abandoned Risa because she’d been worried about her own job.
Lucy, Abby, Mei, Crista and Catherine—they’d all had reasons for distancing themselves, and Crista wasn’t all that sure anymore what those reasons were. Except for her bitter disagreement with Lucy. Lucy had all but said flat out that she thought Risa was guilty, and then she’d suggested they “trust the system” to make the right decision. Crista knew from experience that trusting the system was a crock.