by Carmen Amato
The senior detective ignored the murmur of grumbles and waved Emilia and Rico into el teniente’s office. It looked the same as it always did; gouged green walls, big metal desk, a bulletin board with notices, an overflowing inbox; the sign-in logs for the detectives, the dispatch clipboard, a modern flat screen computer monitor, a tall metal filing cabinet.
“Tell me,” Silvio said tersely as he closed the door. His plain white tee hugged his body. His shoulder holster was a worn leather extension of his lateral muscles.
Rico dumped his leather jacket and gave a rapid-fire account of what they’d found at the Palacio Réal marina, the condition of the body and boat, and their short visit to the Inocentes’ Costa Esmeralda apartment. Silvio blinked when Rico described the place and the strange conversation with Maria Teresa Inocente, including her remarks about her brother-in-law, but otherwise he just listened.
“So he was shot and dumped on the boat?” Silvio finally asked when Rico had wound down. The three of them had stayed standing, each of them taut with tension.
“Hard to tell what happened exactly,” Rico shrugged. “Most of the back of his head was pulp. We’ll have to see what the coroner says.”
“How messy?” Silvio asked. The rest of the sentence hung in the air. Cartel hit?
“Just enough,” Rico said. “There was a plastic bag over the head. From the blood trail, we think he was killed somewhere else and the body dumped on the boat. We still need to get time and cause of death but the back of his head was pretty well gone. Maybe a shot to the side of the head. Hard to tell with the head wrapped in a plastic bag. Forensics will run the fingerprints. Boat had obviously been traveling and ran out of gas.”
“Possible witnesses?” Silvio folded his arms, the veins in his forearms rigid against thick muscles.
“We’ll have to talk to people in the apartment building, the apartment marina, the hotel marina,” Emilia said. She was still holding the laptop from his home office. The office still felt as if Lt. Inocente would walk in any minute and be furious to find them there. “The hotel staff and guests to see if anyone saw the boat from the beach or the hotel. All the windows face the ocean.”
Silvio gave Emilia a look as if irritated that she’d stated the obvious. “There was press already at the hotel,” he said. “Did you talk?”
“No,” said Rico. “Some of the hotel people took pictures but the manager got them out of the way pretty quickly.”
“It’s already made it to cable news,” Silvio said darkly.
“Shit,” Rico muttered.
“Get your report written up in the next 30 minutes,” Silvio said.
Emilia indicated the laptop. “We have his laptop and some other things from his home office. Forensics might be able to find something.”
Silvio threw her another exasperated look, then wrenched open the door. “Go find some coffee. I’ll call the chief of police’s office and then we’ll get this rolling.”
Rico and Emilia walked out. Silvio closed the door behind them.
The squadroom burst into questions again. Castro was the loudest. “It’s really el teniente?”
“On his own boat,” Rico said. “It was bad.” He emptied his jacket pockets of the boat registration papers while Emilia dumped the laptop on her own desk and dug out her notebook.
The other men started firing questions at Rico. Emilia sank into her desk chair, shrugged out of her jacket, unlocked the drawer and stuffed her bag into it. The clock on her computer said that barely 90 minutes had gone by since they’d stood on the pier at the Palacio Réal and watched the Water Patrol craft maneuver next to the maroon speedboat. She turned on her computer while Rico held forth.
“—should have seen that apartment,” she heard him say. “What a bitch of a place. Punta Diamante view. Next to a movie star, probably.”
The office door slammed open and Silvio came out holding el teniente’s clipboard. “Murder investigation,” he said shortly. “Victim is Lieutenant Fausto Inocente, chief of detectives, Acapulco.” Emilia felt an almost physical jolt as he made eye contact with her and then with every other detective in the room, which had gone perfectly quiet as soon as he started talking.
“You’re all on the case,” Silvio continued. “We’re not dropping anything else, but this is top priority.” He gave a brief and accurate recap of what Emilia and Rico had found out. There were a few questions that Rico answered and a couple of clarifications about the boat. Silvio’s eyes swept the room again. “We don’t know what’s behind it so don’t do anything fucking stupid on this one.”
Emilia felt the same shiver of fear she’d felt with Rico when they’d talked about the situation. She might think Silvio was a bully and a thug but she knew he was no fool. Whatever had gotten el teniente killed could well reach back and bite anyone who was known to be looking into his murder.
Silvio tossed his clipboard down on the nearest desk, which belonged to Gomez.
“Hey,” Gomez spat.
Silvio ignored him. “Fuentes and I will set up a command center here. Get a hotline going and call in for some uniforms to ride the phones.” He gestured at the far wall covered with pictures and details of other ongoing investigations. “If any of that stuff is yours, grab it now. We’ll use that as the main murder board.”
Fuentes, Silvio’s partner, found a pad of paper and started scribbling furiously. Macias got out of his chair and methodically started clearing the wall.
“Portillo and Cruz, you stay on family and body. Talk to the brother and get the coroner’s report.” He pointed to the laptop on Emilia’s desk. “Loyola and Ibarra, you’re on forensics. See what the techs got at the boat and get the laptop looked at. See if it gives you anything about who he was in contact with, any plans he had for last night, whatever.”
His contacts, Emilia thought. Other dirty cops. People who kidnap small kids. American tourists named Hudson.
“Cell phone?” Silvio directed his question at Rico, who shook his head.
Silvio went on. “Okay, Gomez and Castro, get back to the Palacio Réal hotel. Start interviewing everybody. Staff, guests, security service. Who saw that boat and when. Macias and Sandor, you’re at the apartment building. Portillo can give you the address. Get over there, talk to everybody who came and went last night. Who handles the marina, sees boats go in and out.”
Silvio picked up the clipboard. “That’s our starting point. Everybody back here by 6:00 pm with whatever you’ve got.” He checked his watch. “Eight hours.”
There was a shuffling of shoes and the sounds of chairs scraping as everyone moved.
“What about any cases he was working on?” Emilia asked into the din.
The chair banging stopped. “His cases?” Silvio asked. Someone snickered.
“His wife said that he’d told her he was working on something to shut down cartel activity. Something big.”
Silvio lifted his eyebrows, the most animation she’d ever seen on his face that wasn’t a scowl. “You go right ahead and check that out, Cruz,” he said and turned away.
Somebody snickered again. Probably Castro.
Chairs creaked, feet shuffled, computers wheezed into life and phones clicked as the squadroom hustled into action. The usual rivalries and raucous jokes were missing, however. Voices were tense and low as if everyone was torn between trepidation and determination.
Emilia pulled out the CD’s she’d thrown in her purse and handed them over to Loyola and Ibarra along with the laptop, then started writing up the victim report as Rico wrote out the address for the apartment building for Macias and Sandor. The latter two detectives were good investigators and their resentment at having a woman in the squadroom was a little less overt than that of Gomez and Castro. Both were known to be good at piecing together details from a murder board and Emilia was surprised Silvio had reserved that job for himself and Fuentes rather than give it to Macias and Sandor. She wondered if Silvio wanted Sandor out of the building; Sandor had threatened to qu
it so many times over the lack of decent office equipment that it had become a tiresome joke.
Gomez and Castro were the first to leave. As they barreled out the door they collided with two men coming in. Castro’s “Who the fuck--” was cut short. Emilia caught a sharp movement out of the corner of her eye and looked around the side of her computer screen to see what was going on. Every other detective’s attention was likewise directed to the doorway. Gomez and Castro came back into the squadroom.
The two newcomers surveyed the room. One of them looked vaguely familiar, as if he’d been in the newspaper lately. He was in his late thirties, with longish dark hair slicked back from a high forehead and the sort of angular cheekbones that spoke of a strong indio heritage. He wore a black leather blazer over a black tee shirt and cuffed pants. There was a slight bulge under the left arm. He looked around as if he owned the place. Emilia stopped typing. The man exuded power.
The other man was bigger and blockier, with a square chin and a nose that had been broken too many times. He was also well dressed in expensive casual clothing.
“I’m looking for a Detective Cruz,” the black-clad man announced.
Emilia felt all eyes shift to her. But before she could say anything Silvio crossed the room. “Detective Franco Silvio,” he said to the man in black.
“I know who you are,” the man replied. “I’m here to talk to Cruz.”
Emilia slowly stood up.
“In the office.” The man jerked his chin at Emilia and then he and his cohort pushed past Silvio and headed into el teniente’s office.
Silvio swung over to Emilia. “What the fuck’s this?” he hissed.
“I don’t know,” she flashed back. Rico came to stand next to her and Silvio gave him a what-the-fuck-do-you-think-you’re-doing look but Rico stood his ground.
The three of them went into the office. The man in black sat in el teniente’s chair and jiggled the locked desk drawers. “Shut the door,” he said without looking up.
Silvio complied and the man came out from behind the desk.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked Emilia.
Emilia gave her head a tight shake. With five people in the room it felt crowded and Emilia felt that cold spurt of wariness she always did when she was the only woman in a crowd of unfriendly men. “I’m sorry, señor.”
“I’m Victor Obregon Sosa, the head of the police union for the state of Guererro,” he announced. “This is my deputy, Miguel Villahermosa.” The other man didn’t acknowledge the introduction but it was clear Obregon had not expected him to do so. “We’re here to make sure that the investigation into Fausto Inocente’s death is handled properly.”
Rico bristled, as if he was offended that the union would butt in. Emilia waited for him to say something stupid but Silvio shot him a murderous glare and Rico kept his mouth shut.
“We’re barely two hours into the investigation,” Silvio said, obviously making an effort to keep his temper. It had been less than 40 minutes since the call to the chief of police. “It came in as a routine dispatch call. Cruz and Portillo were given the assignment, made the discovery, locked down the scene, and notified the next of kin.”
“So let’s hear it,” Obregon said and flapped a hand.
Silvio nodded at Rico.
“We got a report of a drifting boat,” Rico began. “It was off the beach at the Palacio Réal hotel--.”
“No,” Obregon interrupted. He folded his arms. “Cruz.”
Emilia stole a look at Rico. His face was like thunder. She swallowed hard. “As my partner said, the call was to investigate a drifting boat off the beach at the Palacio Réal. The hotel chef and manager saw it from the beach early this morning, thought there were bloodstains on the side. We met Water Patrol at the hotel and they towed in the boat.” She took another breath and tried to sound as professional as possible. “Lt. Inocente was in the bottom of the boat, with his head encased in a plastic bag. It was pulled tight and knotted around his neck. When the crime scene technician opened the bag it appeared that the back of his head was caved in. We’ll know more when the coroner examines the body.”
Obregon nodded. “Any other injuries?” He spoke directly to Emilia.
She shook her head. “No bullet holes in the hull of the boat, no evidence of a struggle. Blood on the deck under the body, likely from the head wound. Blood had also soaked through his shirt and there was some on the upper edge of the boat hull. Technicians took samples but they’ll probably all come back as his.”
“Anything else?”
“The boat is his. His wife gave us the registration papers.” Emilia paused, discomfited by Obregon’s stare. The tension in the room was palpable. She swung her gaze to Rico and plowed on. “They live in the same area as the hotel. The wife wasn’t much help regarding his whereabouts last night. The last person who could pinpoint his whereabouts last night was their maid. Said he got a phone call late in the evening and went out. Took the boat keys but nothing else.”
“Wife didn’t see him?”
“She had gone out to a charity event,” Emilia said. “Of course we’ll be checking to verify her story.”
Obregon dropped into el teniente’s chair and tipped it back. A thin silver chain showed inside the loose neck of the tee. His skin was smooth and his jaw was tightly defined. He looked like someone who worked out a lot. And liked showing off the results.
“So Cruz, tell me how you’re going to proceed,” he said, as if Rico and Silvio weren’t even in the crowded office.
“We’ll set up a hotline and get detectives out talking to everyone at his apartment building and the hotel to see if we can piece together his last hour. He was apparently close to his brother. We’ll talk to him as well. Look at his phone records to see if we can find out who the late night caller was. Coroner’s report. Forensics on his laptop. See if we get any prints off the boat.”
Obregon nodded and straightened the chair. Even that simple movement belied grace and power and focused intent. “This is how the investigation is going to go.” He pointed at Emilia. “You’re appointed acting lieutenant. Do whatever you want with these clowns”--he snapped his fingers at Silvio and Rico--“and the other cases you’ve got but I want you to personally head the Inocente investigation.”
Both Silvio and Rico froze as if they couldn’t believe what they’d just heard.
“Chief Salazar has already been notified. You’ll report directly to my office every few days until this thing is over.” Obregon indicated Villahermosa who’d stood by the door unmoving during the entire conversation, like a large, menacing statue. Obregon’s deputy was even bigger than Silvio, with legs the size of tree trunks. Another former boxer, no doubt. “Villahermosa will be on call to assist as well.”
The tension in the room was now tinged with menace. Emilia struggled to keep breathing normally.
“Cruz is a junior detective.” Silvio’s voice was tight. “She doesn’t have the experience or the seniority to be acting lieutenant.”
“Cruz has my full support,” Obregon said.
“With respect,” Silvio said. “We understand that. But she’s not the senior detective here.”
“Nobody’s asking for your fucking opinion,” Obregon blazed. His eyes drilled into Silvio. “Cruz is in charge as of now. Thanks for coming.”
Villahermosa pulled open the door and jerked his chin at Silvio and Rico. They both walked out.
Emilia stood rooted to the spot as her mind jumped around. Why had he chosen her? Did the union have the authority to put her in this position?
Obregon motioned to Villahermosa and the man left the office, too. And then it was just Obregon and Emilia. He walked round the desk again and rifled through a few of the papers on the desktop.
“The mayor has a press conference tomorrow and she’ll want to say something about the Inocente investigation,” Obregon said as he looked through the papers. “Be nice if you could have this all wrapped up by then.”
Emili
a felt as if she’d been gutted. She forced a single word out around the tightness in her throat and the dryness in her mouth. “Sure.”
She must have sounded sassier than she felt because he looked up and laughed. “At any rate, we’ll meet beforehand to review what you’re going to tell her. Let’s say tomorrow 4:00 pm.”
He glanced at his watch, an expensive-looking silver job with three knobs on the side. “That gives you more than 24 hours to come up with something significant.”
Emilia licked her lips. “I won’t even have the phone records by then.”
“You’ll have something for the press conference,” Obregon said nastily. “Some nice sound bite about the diligence of the Acapulco police and how they’re sad but determined.”
“You want me to say this to the mayor?”
“Inocente was as dirty as they come.” Obregon turned his attention back to the overflowing inbox. “You’re going to turn up a lot of bad things. When you do, you tell me or Villahermosa. Not the other detectives and not the chief of police. You don’t arrest anybody, you don’t get yourself shot, you don’t do anything. I’ll take care of that part.”
Emilia’s heart hammered like a warning bell in her chest. “I think Silvio should be in charge of this investigation. He’s the senior detective.”
“If you find that the wife popped him,” Obregon went on. “And you know it beyond a shadow of a doubt, go ahead and arrest her. Otherwise come to me first. Nobody else.”
“Did you hear what I said?” Emilia said.
“I’m trying to clean up the police in this state,” Obregon said as he plucked a folder out of the box. As he flipped it open his hands knotted with veins, as if he had a lot of practice clenching and unclenching his fists. “I’m sick of the corruption and men like Inocente making deals with the cartels. People like him protect their empires, feed it with drugs and private armies. When you find out who killed Inocente we can probably roll up whatever cartel he was in bed with.”
“Why me?” Emilia asked. She was talking to his bent head as if he couldn’t be bothered to look her in the eye. The warning bell was deafening and Emilia knew she had to get herself out of this situation. Silvio should have this job. Or Loyola. They’d know how to deal with Obregon as well as how to conduct a major murder investigation. “You heard what Silvio said. Almost all the detectives out there are senior to me. There will be a lot of resistance. From all the other detectives. Enough to keep the investigation from going forward.”