Hat Dance (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 2)

by Carmen Amato

  Emilia blinked. The magazine on the top of the stack was Que Paso Acapulco. The cover featured a photo of a statue dedicated to author and poet Carlos Fuentes. Emilia bolted out of the desk chair and scooped it up. “This is last month’s edition,” she gulped.

  Mercedes raised her eyebrows. “You can have it if you want. They’re free, you know. I collect them for the girls to cut up and make collages with when they need a break.”

  “Last month.” Emilia could have slapped herself. They’d been in such a rush to track down the places in the current month’s edition of the magazine that no one had thought beyond it. Emilia hurriedly flipped to the index of advertisers.

  There it was. Page 24. An eye-popping ad for the Toby Jones Beach Club. Two for one drinks every Wednesday night. Live steel drum band every Saturday in October.

  Emilia wanted to jump up and down, jig across the room, howl in triumph. She closed the magazine and grinned at the perplexed dancer. “Do you have dinner plans?” Emilia asked. “I have a tab at this place with great mojitos.”

  Chapter 28

  On Monday morning Emilia felt recharged and ready to go. Of course, Kurt had been right. The mojitos had been cold, the food spectacular, and the conversation easy and relaxed.

  Dinner at the Palacio Réal last night with Mercedes had been a much-needed break from work and the situation at home. The chef at the restaurant, whom she’d met before, was a Frenchman. He came out of the kitchen just to greet her and say how glad he was that she’d dropped by even though Kurt wasn’t there. The exchange meant that Emilia had to tell Mercedes a bit about Kurt, but it was nice to finally be able to tell someone. Mercedes was quite impressed, which made the telling all that much sweeter.

  The dancer had also agreed to take on a new student. Emilia told Mercedes about little Maria Garcia Lira, maid to the Cisneros family who dreamed of being a dancer some day. If Maria wanted to take lessons on her days off, Mercedes would only charge half the usual rate for a beginner class. Emilia would pay part of the cost.

  Emilia trotted happily into the squadroom, last month’s Que Paso Acapulco in hand. Although she now had greater sympathy for Lt. Rufino’s erratic behavior, it was going to be nice to show him how wrong he’d been at the fire. She skidded to a stop as she saw four men in suits, none of whom she recognized, boxing up the files on her desk.

  “Hey,” she exclaimed. “Just what the—”

  “Cruz!” Lt. Rufino pointed at her from his office doorway. “My office.”

  The men continued to pack as she passed her desk. “Teniente,” Emilia began as soon as she was inside Lt. Rufino’s office with the door closed behind her. “What is going—”

  “The El Pharaoh case is being handed off to the state attorney general’s office,” Lt. Rufino said. He sat behind his desk and waved a hand to indicate she should sit down. “There’s been some sort of legal something. They say they can’t give us any more time.”

  “Teniente, this is not good.”

  Lt. Rufino leaned forward. “What’s the problem, Cruz?”

  “Someone has taken a lot of the key evidence,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” Lt. Rufino was clear-eyed and calm, the complete opposite of the angry inebriate she’d seen late Saturday night. The steel travel mug wasn’t on the desk, and he looked starched and professional in his usual dark suit and narrow tie.

  “The euros are gone,” she said leadingly.

  Lt. Rufino frowned. It was clear he didn’t remember their previous exchange about the missing euros. Emilia wondered if he had also forgotten his tirade at the fire. She nervously rolled the magazine into a tube. “They were probably the only currency that wasn’t fake.”

  “Are you saying we had a break in the chain of evidence?” Lt. Rufino asked.

  Emilia wanted to shout Yes! Gomez and Castro! “It would appear so, teniente,” she said.

  He passed a hand over his face and sighed. “We’ll have to leave it up to the state attorney general’s office. It’s their case now.”

  Emilia scooted forward on the chair. She couldn’t just let Rico’s case evaporate like this. Couldn’t let Castro and Gomez get away with whatever they’d done. “Send me over there for a week, teniente,” she suggested. “Just a week. I’ll help them make the case, make it stick.”

  Lt. Rufino fingered his moustache, seeming to give the idea some thought. Emilia waited, willing him to agree.

  He reached for the place on his desk where the mug usually sat. It wasn’t there. He blinked, straightened up, and shook his head. “This unit has higher priority cases and we haven’t delivered. We’re under a lot of pressure from Chief Salazar’s office. So this decision stands.”

  “Teniente, please.” If she had to beg she would. “This was Portillo’s case.”

  Lt. Rufino opened a desk drawer and looked through it as he spoke. “From all that I hear, Portillo was a good man, and I understand your need for closure, Cruz. But things change. We move on to the next thing. See you at the morning meeting.” He closed the drawer and began to rifle through the papers on his desk.

  Emilia moved to the door, searching for a way to say that they had both experienced loss. He’d lost a family, she’d lost a partner. This case had been her little bit of vengeance, her tribute to Rico. Surely he’d understand that.

  But there was nothing about the man behind the desk that invited familiarity.

  She walked into the squadroom. Silvio was at his desk with a cup of coffee. “Getting a little more love from el teniente?” he asked.

  The rest of the detectives were already over by the coffee maker. The men from the state attorney general’s office were gone, as was everything from the El Pharaoh case. Emilia threw the copy of Que Paso Acapulco onto his desk. “Toby Jones advertised in the October edition,” she said. “There are probably others. We need to add those advertisers to the list. Maybe go back another month as well to be sure.”

  “Shit.” Silvio gulped down more coffee, opened the magazine, and found the ad. “Can’t believe we didn’t think of this before. You showed this to el teniente? What did he say?”

  Emilia shook her head. “We discussed the El Pharaoh case. The state attorney general’s office just came and took all the files. You must have seen them leaving as you came in.”

  Silvio swung his eyes to Castro and Gomez. The two younger detectives were at their desks, talking to each other about the weekend’s fútbol games as they surfed their inboxes.

  “The case is gone,” Emilia whispered furiously. “Who knows what those two have done.”

  Silvio finished his coffee.

  Emilia locked up her shoulder bag and banged on her keyboard until her computer came to life, so angry she was nearly seeing double. She skimmed her inbox, trying to simmer down. When Macias and Sandor came in, she and Silvio showed them the previous month’s Que Paso Acapulco and decided how to follow up. Emilia would expand the list they’d used Saturday night while Silvio kept on the hunt for the club cab truck, calling more repair garages and car dealerships. Macias and Sandor would make the rounds of the additional restaurants to see which had been contacted by Guetta and his associate. Next, the detectives would again interview everyone who’d been at Toby Jones. See if Murillo had finally gotten permission to discuss the origin of the grenades with the army at campo militar. If he had, they could add Guetta and friend to the discussion.

  At least they had a plan, Emilia thought, as Lt. Rufino came out of his office for the morning meeting, steel travel mug in hand. They were onto Guetta and his friend. They had a simple motive, a clear pattern, and a better list of locations where the two extortionists could potentially show up. They could end this craziness this week.

  “Listen up. We’re going to be doing some housecleaning,” Lt. Rufino announced. “Closing out some inconclusive cases and taking on some new ones. Notably, there has been another Los Matas Ejercito video, and the demonstrators are collecting in force again around campo militar as well as in front of
the alcaldía.”

  He went to the stand-alone computer and clicked to play a video.

  It was the same as the others. Three men in black seated at a long rectangular table covered with a white cloth. The homemade “LOS MATAS EJERCITO” banner strung on a white wall in back of them. The man in the middle delivered a statement virtually identical to the other videos, accusing the army of terrorizing the citizens of Acapulco and endangering the life of the city’s beloved mayor.

  “Like Carlota was going to Toby Jones’s Saturday night,” Macias snickered. He got a baleful glance from Lt. Rufino.

  Emilia jiggled her knee with impatience. The Los Matas Ejercito bunch was a distraction, nothing more, except that social media turned every video they made into a rallying cry for demonstrators who had nothing else to do. At least she wouldn’t be going back to police any of the demonstrations; with the plan they’d just drawn up, all the detectives would be too busy.

  Silvio got up and poured himself more coffee. He remained standing.

  The video ended and Lt. Rufino glanced at the senior detective before continuing. “Before we deal with the new video, the El Pharaoh money laundering case has been transferred to the state attorney general’s office. They may have a few questions for us, but we won’t be taking any new action. Second, for those who haven’t heard, there was another fire last Saturday. Chief Salazar’s office will take over the arson investigation. The extortion theory is still in play. However, no one is abandoning the assassination angle just yet. But Torrez Delgadillo’s death will make that a difficult avenue to pursue.”

  Emilia half-rose out of her desk chair. “What did you say, teniente?”

  “Torrez is dead,” he affirmed. He looked at Emilia, Sandor and Macias, but avoided eye contact with Silvio. “Killed in prison early Sunday morning. Chief Salazar’s top assistant, Captain Vega, will take over the case. He wants statements from all of you who were at the Toby Jones fire. I don’t have to tell you that Chief Salazar’s office has not been impressed with your progress on the case. Captain Vega will get every assistance. Is that understood?”

  Emilia stopped listening, only able to hear the blood pounding in her head. Madre de Dios, what had she done? Torrez Delgadillo had been a good man, someone caught in a pincer between Carlota’s ambition and the Sinaloa cartel. Obregon’s words came back to her. I think you just declared your allegiance, Cruz.

  Obregon had solved the problem by having Torrez killed. If he was dead, the political issue evaporated. Carlota could still ride the popularity wave as the would-be victim of an assassination attempt. Nobody had to ask her for a favor. Maybe the Sinaloa cartel had gotten to Torrez first with a sicario inside the prison, but the timing pointed to Obregon.

  She’d been a fool to trust Obregon. She’d known who and what the man was, and she’d actually trusted him. All that talk about calling in a marker and liking the way she thought. Emilia had swallowed it like a fish swallowing a steel hook.

  “They haven’t committed any crime,” Silvio boomed out, and Emilia was suddenly pulled back into the meeting.

  “Chief Salazar wants these videos stopped,” Lt. Rufino said testily. “They’re inciting violence. Demonstrations.”

  “They haven’t committed any crime,” Silvio repeated, more loudly this time. “Some jokers want to dress up in masks and black shirts and say that the army is corrupt. It’s not a matter for the police. A lot more important things are coming through from the dispatch desk. Loyola and Ibarra can’t keep taking all the rota assignments. There are just too many and the bodies are piling up at the morgue. Cruz and I can take the new cases.”

  Lt. Rufino took a step backwards. “You and Cruz are assigned to Los Matas Ejercito,” he said. “Start by finding everyone who rabidly supports the mayor and check if they have a video camera. Macias and Sandor should have a list of her supporters from the El Tigre investigation.”

  “If we’re serious, we start with video forensics,” Silvio said.

  “I expect you know all about video forensics, Detective Silvio?” Lt. Rufino asked. He drank from his mug.

  “There are a dozen video companies in this city,” Silvio said. “There’s going to be some expert that can read those videos and give us a better starting point.”

  The tension in the room was heavy and dense.

  “You and Cruz are assigned to Los Matas Ejercito,” Lt. Rufino repeated, his voice shrill. “The rest of you have your assignments as well. Dismissed.” He scuttled into his office. The door banged behind him.

  Emilia pushed her way out of the squadroom, needing to get outside, find some place where she could breathe. Silvio caught up with her before she got to the rear door near the holding cells.

  “Hey!” He swung her around by her upper arm. “Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you.”

  “Let go!” Emilia jerked away, blundered her way to the door, and shoved it open.

  It was crisp and sunny outside. Emilia found a piece of shadow and leaned against the wall, gulping air to keep from crying.

  Silvio loomed over her, one hand against the wall by her head. “What’s the matter with you? This better not be about Murillo and your man problems.”

  “Torrez,” Emilia managed. She pulled in air but couldn’t catch her breath.

  Silvio stared at her.

  “It’s my fault he’s dead.” Emilia bent over and felt the emptiness rattle in her chest.

  “You’re losing it, Cruz,” Silvio said. He pulled her around the corner, away from the curious eyes of the uniforms guarding the impound yard and the glaring sunlight glinting off the roofs of the confiscated vehicles. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Torrez.” Emilia dashed a hand across her eyes. “I talked to him. At the prison.”

  “When did you talk to him?”

  “Thursday,” Emilia said. “I talked to him on Thursday. Less than a week—”

  “When were you going to tell me?” Silvio snarled.

  “Listen to me,” Emilia shouted and Silvio flinched in surprise. Emilia lowered her voice. “He gave me his alibi. He was up in the hills paying off the Sinaloa cartel so they’d stop snagging the workers off Macario Urbina’s place.”

  “Ah, shit,” Silvio breathed. “Sinaloa got to him in prison.”

  Emilia shook her head. “Obregon. I told Obregon.”

  “What the fuck?” Shock seared across Silvio’s face.

  “I asked him to get Torrez out of prison. Torrez hasn’t been handing army tax notices to restaurants. The whole Carlota assassination thing was a public relations stunt and Obregon knows it.”

  “Why Obregon?”

  “I saw him at the gym Friday night and he asked about the investigation.” Emilia leaned back against the cool concrete wall, desperately wishing she could turn back time. “One thing led to another and I told him that Torrez had an alibi. That he’d been paying off Sinaloa but would never admit it because that would implicate Macario Urbina. And he’s loyal to his boss.”

  Silvio passed a hand over his face. “You told Obregon that Macario Urbina is paying off Sinaloa and didn’t think he’d use that somehow?”

  “I asked Obregon to talk to Carlota,” Emilia said. Her explanation now sounded like a child’s logic. “Get her to get Salazar to back off. They’re so invested in the whole Carlota assassination thing that she’s the only one who could get them to back off on Torrez and put the attention onto the extortion ring. Macario Urbina would owe her a favor if she did.”

  “But instead, Obregon simply got rid of the problem,” Silvio said bitterly. “You know who Obregon is. What he’s capable of. Rayos, Cruz!”

  “I killed him,” Emilia said. She pressed both hands to her temples, her breath still forced. Torrez was dead, just like Lt. Rufino’s family, and it was all her fault. “He had a family and he didn’t want to talk because he was protecting Macario Urbina. He was a decent man.”

  “And you got him killed,” Silvio said.

  “Do
n’t you think I know that?”

  “Fuck, Cruz, I don’t know what you know and what you don’t. Another surprise just like that Missing Persons case.” Silvio slapped the wall next to her. “First, you might have wanted to share the fact that you’d been to the prison and talked to Torrez. Second, you might have wanted to share with your partner some shit idea about asking Obregon for a favor.”

  “Suddenly you’re my partner?” Emilia exclaimed.

  Silvio threw out his hands in exasperation. “We ride together every fucking day, Cruz. You should have told me.”

  “Did it ever occur to you.” Emilia doubled up her fists. “That maybe I would have said something if every conversation with you wasn’t such a fucking battle?”

  A muscle in Silvio’s jaw jumped. “I never wanted to work with you and this is why.”

  “You never wanted to work with me because you don’t want to work with anybody.” All of her resentment at his constant grating attitude tumbled out in a furious rant, unlocked by anger at both herself and Obregon. “You’re a bully. A good detective, the best we’ve got. But you knock down everybody. Me. Lt. Rufino. He hits back by taking things away from us. That’s why we lost Rico’s case and the arsons. Because you can’t show anybody a little decency.”

  “I can’t show any decency?” Silvio shot back. “Do you know what it’s like every fucking day? You, me and Portillo’s ghost. Rico was a good guy, but he wasn’t the best cop that ever lived and he wasn’t a fucking saint.”

  “You pendejo!” Emilia raged. “Don’t you dare talk about Rico to me.”

  “You’re not the only one who ever had a partner die,” Silvio said harshly. “But if you’re a real cop, you let them sleep.”

  “No, you don’t.” Emilia was beyond livid. “You take it out on some poor lieutenant whose wife and daughter were murdered. You didn’t know that, did you? They were murdered and left on his doorstep, and that’s why he drinks. Because there’s a nightmare in that poor man’s head that he’ll never get rid of!”