by Carmen Amato
“So you’ll handle it.” Obregon read something else out of the inbox.
“You don’t understand.” Emilia slammed her hand down on the desktop to get his attention.
“Good,” he said, finally looking up from whatever he’d been reading. “You’ve got a fire in the belly. You get those detectives talking to everybody in that fucking hotel. Everybody who lived near him. Whoever even heard of Fausto Inocente. And if the boys don’t do what you say, shoot one of them. The rest will fall in line.”
He was serious.
“I don’t know who you think I am, señor,” Emilia gulped. “But I’ve only been a detective for two years. Mostly I’ve handled the crap cases. You need a seasoned investigator on this one. Get one of the other detectives to be acting lieutenant.”
“You’ve made quite a mark in two years, whether you know it or not. Recovering the Morelos de Gama child was a big deal,” Obregon said.
“The media made it out to be more than it was,” Emilia parried. “The case was handled in Ixtapa, not here.”
“We’ve been watching you.” He tossed the file onto the desk and regarded her. “Our girl detective. You’re a hungry one. You want to get someplace.”
“I’m sorry,” Emilia said. “Not this.”
“You’re the only woman here.” Obregon’s glance was searing.
“This is because I’m a woman?”
“Yes. Everybody knows women are less corrupt.” Obregon came around the side of the desk and Emilia resisted the urge to shrink away from him. “You do this or you won’t even be able to be hired on as the lowliest transito cop in any police force in this state.”
He leaned down and put his face close to hers. “You know he was corrupt. Up to his neck in shit. Well, I’m the person putting an end to it in the state of Guerrero and you don’t get to choose sides.”
Emilia didn’t move. It was hard to breathe. He smelled like leather and cigarettes and an unexpected whiff of spicy cologne.
“I’ll be calling you on this office phone so you’d better move in today.” Obregon stepped back and ran an appraising eye down Emilia’s body. “And look good tomorrow. You want the mayor to take you seriously.”
“I’m junior around here,” Emilia said stubbornly. “You want a fast result, you get Silvio.”
“You’ll do whatever the fuck the I tell you to do.” Obregon’s voice was flat. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough for you, Cruz. If the union puts you and your mother out on the street you won’t work as a whore in this town much less as a transito. So you show up and be nice to the mayor and tell her something clever for her little television press conference. Inocente’s name and where the body was found and how you’re working night and day to solve this terrible crime.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
The meaning of You and your mother struck home, as no doubt it was intended to do.
“I want doors on the stalls in the detectives’ bathroom,” Emilia heard herself say. “And a copier that works. And paper for it. And ink.”
The corner of Obregon’s mouth twitched. “Anything else?”
“I’ll let you know,” she said tightly.
Obregon handed Emilia a card. There were two cell phone numbers printed on it. “You only use these numbers to get in touch with me,” he said.
Before she could respond he pulled open the door and shouted “Attention.”
Emilia followed Obregon as far as the doorway. The detectives were all there, as was Villahermosa. Obregon strode to the center of the squadroom, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Most of you know me. I am Victor Obregon Sosa, the head of the police union for the state of Guerrero.” He revolved slowly and most of the detectives stood a little straighter as his eye rested on them for a moment, creating the same malice-tinged tension he’d first brought into the squadroom. “As you know, Lt. Inocente was found dead this morning. His death will be investigated as a homicide by this unit until his murderer is found and dealt with.”
There was a low sound of shuffling feet. Somebody coughed.
Obregon jerked his chin in the direction of Lt. Inocente’s office where Emilia leaned awkwardly against the doorjamb. “Detective Emilia Cruz will be acting lieutenant for the duration and in charge of the investigation into Lt. Inocente’s death.”
Eyes swiveled to Emilia. Rico was openly shocked as he sat on the end of his desk. Silvio’s face was like granite. He was the only one who kept his gaze on Obregon.
Emilia didn’t acknowledge the stares. She kept her eyes on the ancient copier.
Several of the detectives shifted uncomfortably in the silence. “One of our own has died,” Obregon said. “And we will conduct a thorough investigation, find whoever did this, and punish them according to the full measure of Mexican law.”
He nodded at Emilia. “See you tomorrow, Cruz. Four o’clock.” His eyes revealed nothing. “Good luck.”
Obregon and Villahermosa walked out. As soon as the door shut behind them the squadroom erupted into a bedlam of shouting.
Chapter 8
Silvio fired his gun into the ceiling and everyone went silent. A large overhead fluorescent light made a sizzling noise and went out.
“No doubt Lieutenant Cruz has something to say to us,” Silvio said mockingly.
Emilia had never hated anyone as much as she hated Franco Silvio at that moment. She was still in the doorway to el teniente’s office and her mind was stuck on the image of Obregon’s face close to hers, his voice laced with threat. Was Obregon really so interested in cleaning out the narcos in Guerrero? Or was he looking for a way to take over Inocente’s corrupt activities? Did he know about the counterfeit money?
Either way, she was sure he’d picked her because he knew she’d be out of her league. With her in charge, the investigation into Lt. Inocente’s death would be unlikely to get in the way of whatever agenda he was pursuing.
Emilia picked up the dispatch clipboard from the corner of the desk and walked a couple of steps into the squadroom to face the group. How many of these men had been involved with Lt. Inocente and his shady activities? How many would help because they felt it was their duty as police detectives? How many would actively impede her simply out of spite?
More importantly, how many would realize she was wholly unprepared? Silvio, certainly. Loyola and Ibarra, too; the former was the oldest man and had once been a teacher while Ibarra, an over-caffeinated chain-smoker was a quick thinker. Macias and Sandor were both experienced and smart. Fuentes was probably the smartest, a slim serious college boy who watched everyone and everything.
“As Señor Obregon said, I’ll be acting lieutenant.” Emilia marveled at how calm her voice sounded. “There’s going to be a lot of media attention, he says, so we want to do this right.”
She took a deep breath, clutching the clipboard tightly to disguise the fact that her hands were shaking. The hostility in the room was nearly overwhelming. Silvio looked furious, as did Rico. Fuentes looked at the other detectives, seeming to study their reactions.
Castro sat on his desk, noisily chewing bubblegum. His partner Gomez had a deck of cards in his hands, shuffling them over and over. Loyola folded his hands expectantly while Ibarra looked bored. Macias and Sandor were hunched together as if guarding a secret. They were often together like that, when Sandor wasn’t complaining about the copier or something else unlikely to ever be fixed, as if they were a small detective force apart from the rest of them. They were also both college men.
Emilia checked her watch as if she was brisk and efficient and not scared. Ideas from other cases and what she knew of the various detectives’ strengths and weaknesses began to bubble up. “We’re going to stay on track. Silvio can take the hotline and the murder board. Fuentes, you go with Portillo for the hotel interviews. Talk to all the guests before somebody checks out. Talk to their security, too.”
Silvio turned around and started looking at a notice from the norteamericano Fe
deral Bureau of Investigation that had been hanging on the bulletin board for the last six months. Gomez’s cards fanned together with a snap inside the bridge of his hands.
“Loyola and Ibarra, you’ve got forensics. Fingerprints and computer, right?”
Loyola nodded once.
Emilia ground on. “Macias and Sandor, you’ll hit the apartment building, see if you can find somebody who saw him leave. Talk to the people who run the building’s marina. Who was there last night. Who usually took out the Inocente’s boat and when. How do boats get in and out.”
“Do they have security cameras at the marina?” Macias asked. Silvio shot him a look.
“That’s a good question,’ Emilia said. She silently vowed to someday thank Macias for taking her seriously. “You’ll need to find out, see what they have after 10 pm.” She looked at Gomez and his maldita playing cards. “Gomez and Castro, check out Lt. Inocente’s wife’s alibi. Said she was at a charity ball. I’ll give you her ticket. We need witnesses, times she came and went. Who she was with.”
“Oh, yes,” Silvio said to the bulletin board. “No doubt this is a domestic killing.”
“We’ll tie up all the loose ends,” Emilia shot back.”
“What about you?” Rico asked.
“I’ll follow up with the brother and talk to the coroner.”
“What about el teniente’s cases?” Castro called out.
“I’ll check those, too.” Emilia swallowed. She was surprised no one had walked out yet. “Start asking questions of all your regulars, see if there’s anything. Get the word out that we want tips from people who were around Punta Diamante last night after 10 pm.”
“You think we got snitches in that neighborhood, Cruz?” Gomez drawled. His cards ruffled together.
“Whoever got him probably doesn’t live there,” Emilia countered.
Silvio finally turned and leaned against the bulletin board. “Anything else?” he asked roughly.
“I’ll need a volunteer to help search Lt. Inocente’s office,” Emilia said. Her glance flickered over the detectives, wondering if anyone had some crisp counterfeit Estados Unidos bills in their pocket. Maybe whoever volunteered had been in on something with el teniente and was now worried that it would be discovered.
“I’ll do it,” Castro said.
He shoved himself off his desk and walked over to her. Emilia’s heart sank. He was the last one she would have picked. Castro was a jerk, his head was as empty as a drum, and if he was involved he’d know the bare minimum. Plus there had been that bathroom fight. They’d barely spoken since and Emilia had always managed not to be alone with him.
“Fine,” Emilia said. “Whatever we find you and Gomez can run down along with the wife’s alibi. Names, addresses, business cards, whatever.”
“You think el teniente kept the name of his killer in his desk drawer?” Silvio asked, a hard edge of sarcasm in his voice.
“We’ll regroup at 6:00 pm as planned,” Emilia said, ignoring the jibe. “Until then I’ll be at the brother’s and then at the coroner’s to get the autopsy report.” She looked around the room again. The atmosphere still throbbed with hostility but there was a new feeling of purpose as well. Might as well see how far she would sink before she drowned. “Standing meetings at 9:00 am every morning for the duration,” she said. “Any questions?”
“Yeah.” Gomez rifled his cards into a tidy deck and slapped it on his desk. “You fucking Obregon?”
The room went perfectly still. The fluorescent light gave another soft death rattle.
“Six o’clock,” Emilia said, the blood pounding in her ears. “Back here. Everybody.”
☼
Rico shouldered Castro out of the way and slammed Lt. Inocente’s office door behind him. “What the hell,” he said in a furious whisper. His face was vermillion. “I’m not your partner anymore?” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that? Nobody made you a real lieutenant, chica.”
“How much are we going to learn if we just stick together?” Emilia whispered hotly from behind the desk. Rico could be so boneheaded sometimes and she was suddenly unaccountably angry at everything that had happened that day. “You estupido. Which of these detectives was in it with Lt. Inocente? We need to mix it up, see what they say when they’re tired or angry.”
“So you couldn’t tell me your plan first?”
“When did I have time?” Emilia waved her arms in frustration. “I didn’t ask for this. Obregon and his goon just walked in here and bam, everything went upside down. You were there, remember?”
“All right.” Rico inhaled and simmered down. “But why stick me with Fuentes? I got nothing to say to a little kid like him.”
“Fuentes is all right,” Emilia said. “He’s smooth. Let him talk to the snotty hotel guests.”
Rico’s eyebrows went up. “And what’s the deal about getting somebody to clean the office? Get one of the fucking cleaners to box up all this crap and send it to his penthouse in the sky.”
Emilia rolled her eyes. “You know we have to look through it. Who is going to be worried about what’s in this office?”
“You think Castro’s going to tell you that he played lookout for Lt. Inocente?”
“I think Castro volunteered because there’s something in this office he doesn’t want me to find,” Emilia said, nearly at the end of her patience.
“Oh.” Rico stared at her blankly and then blinked as he got it. “Okay. I get it.”
“Good.”
“Fuck.” Rico ran an agitated hand through his hair and paced in front of the desk. He stopped abruptly. “You feel good about Obregon?”
“No,” Emilia said truthfully. “I don’t trust him. He said no arrests, that he’d handle that.”
“So he’ll make the arrests?” Rico frowned.
“Yes,” Emilia said. “Unless I can prove the wife did it, I’m just supposed to tell him what we find. No arrests. He’ll do that.”
“So he can pick up whatever racket Inocente was in.”
Emilia nodded. Sometimes Rico got it.
“You could have refused,” Rico said.
“I tried. Obregon said I’d never work again,” Emilia said. “In the entire state. And you know he can do that.”
“Sure,” Rico said and she didn’t know if he believed her or not. He gave her a sideways look. “I’ll deal with Fuentes. But you should have told me first.”
Emilia sighed and sagged onto the edge of the desk. “Sorry.”
Rico put his hand on the doorknob and spoke with his back to Emilia. “When this is over, I don’t know if we should be partners anymore.”
Emilia felt her heart clench. “Don’t do this to me, Rico.”
He opened the door and walked out.
Emilia sat behind el teniente’s desk and tried the drawers, just as Obregon had done. They were still all locked except the file drawer at the bottom, which held sports clothes and a pair of running shoes.
“Am I supposed to help now, or what?” Castro said.
Emilia jerked up to see Castro in the doorway, lanky in a rock band tee shirt and jeans. He had a narrow Asian cast to his face and his jet black hair was pulled back in a ponytail wrapped with a leather thong. Gomez hovered in back of him, gum popping loudly, similarly dressed with a copycat ponytail, a stained Barcelona team jersey and a scruffy beard that Emilia was sure he wore just to have more testosterone on display than his partner.
“Beat it,” Silvio said. He shoved both of them aside and came into the office. He slammed the door and leaned against it with folded arms.
“So are you fucking Obregon?” he asked.
“Sure,” Emilia said tartly. “Just in case somebody offed el teniente and I wanted the worst job in the world.”
“You been here two years, Cruz,” Silvio snarled. “You don’t have the right to be in charge of shit.”
“I didn’t exactly apply for the job, Silvio.”
“I’m not taking orders from you,” he said.
>
“Let’s work together for once, Silvio,” Emilia said, trying to sound like Kurt Rucker on the pier. “You know this is going to be a big deal. We can’t afford to mess it up.”
“I never wanted a woman detective in here.” Silvio was a big man and if he wanted to make her feel trapped he was succeeding. “I’ll do everything I can to fuck you over until you quit.”
Emilia couldn’t help but laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know,” she said.
It wasn’t the answer he’d expected and Silvio was momentarily lost for words.
Someone pounded on the door. Silvio yanked it open. Castro stood outside. “Am I supposed to do the office or not?”
Silvio stalked into the squadroom. Emilia watched him grab up some papers on his desk and leave. She wondered if he’d come back, if he’d set up the hotline and start the murder board. Or was he on his way to tell a murderer that some fool chica was in charge of the investigation and he was going to sabotage her, make sure she never found out anything.
Before she could really focus on that thought Castro said something and homed in on a small refrigerator in a corner, all but hidden by chairs on either side of it. He shoved aside the seating and pulled open the door. Emilia heard the clink of cans.
“You want a coca?” Castro held out a cold can of cola.
It felt strange to take a dead man’s things but it was an unexpected offering. “Thanks,” Emilia said. She popped the top. The soda was like heaven, cold and sweet and the caffeine gave her a much-needed jolt of energy. “We’re going to have to call a locksmith. All the desk drawers--.”
Castro took a long drink from his own can, burped, set it down on the corner of the desk and pulled out a small tool that looked like a combination between a pocketknife and a screwdriver. In just a few minutes he’d opened all the desk drawers except the top one. That had a different type of lock impervious to Castro’s little tool.