It was almost six o’clock when the doctor declared her fit to leave, but sent detailed instructions about being woken up every two hours to check for concussion. She gave these instructions to Lau. “My sister will do it,” Cameron said.
Lau took her to Señora Accosta’s house to get Nate and then walked with Cameron and Nate back to her house. A black and white was parked on the curb. Lau went over to talk to the patrol officers as Cameron headed into the house.
“Your sister home?” he called up to her.
“I’m sure.”
He hesitated on the sidewalk in front of the house. “I’m okay,” she assured him. “Thanks, Ryan. I appreciate you staying.”
“Of course.” He walked back down to his car at the end of the block.
Cameron watched Lau’s taillights disappear around the corner, then made her way into the house. She laid Nate in his crib and listened to him fuss, hoping he would settle quickly.
Rosa wasn’t home. It didn’t look like she’d been there all evening. In the kitchen, a large, black case with evidence bags and tags and pens sat open on the kitchen table where it had been abandoned after the shooting. All the actual evidence that had been collected was gone, but in the rush to get to the new scene, they’d left stuff behind. Cameron knew that the case, and the rest of the police presence, would have to be dealt with in the morning.
For now, she had only one thing to do before she slept. Her gun in hand, she tucked the flashlight under her arm and slid open the back door. She closed it behind her, heeding the distinctive screech it made when it closed. She’d know if she heard that again while she was outside. Gripping the flashlight in her offhand, she walked down the three stairs to the side of the deck. Her head pounded with every step. She wished she’d accepted the last dose of Advil before she left the hospital. In the dark, she scanned for anything out of the ordinary. The light in the back switched on with her motion. When she was comfortable that she was alone, she got down on her hands and knees and shined the light under the deck.
“The DVD under the deck,” Diego said. She was sure. She scanned slowly up, down, left, and right and then moved six inches clockwise and repeated the same. By the time she’d gotten halfway around, she was ready to give up. Up, down, left, right. Up, down, left… She stopped, spotting something plastic and blue. It was the bag the New York Times came in on wet days. She didn’t get the Times, but Diego always had. Knowing she would recognize the bag, he must have grabbed it from one of her neighbors.
She set the light down and, checking behind her, got down on her belly to pull the bag out. She caught it between two fingers and yanked it closer. It was thin and hard. Not a newspaper.
She got her fingers around it and pulled it out, wiping the dirt across her pant leg.
She returned to the house through the back door, opened and closed it with a screech and set the alarm, before ducking into Nate’s room. She moved the rocking chair in front of the small TV and DVD player where Nate watched Baby Mozart. She ejected his movie and loaded Diego’s.
She was about to flip on the TV when she heard the beeping alarm. Someone was coming in the front door.
Moving quickly, she opened Nate’s door. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Rosa said. “There’s a police car out in front.”
“I saw it,” Cameron said. “It’s there in case he comes back.”
Rosa ran her hands over her arms. “I’m glad we’re setting the alarm.”
“You were out late?”
Rosa rubbed her face. “Did you get my messages?”
“I lost my phone. I dropped it when I fell. Mrs. Yee brought it back this afternoon. She didn’t speak a word to me. I know she speaks English.”
Rosa frowned. “What do you mean—” She noticed the bandage on the side of Cameron’s head. “What happened? Are you okay?” Rosa reached out to touch it and Cameron winced.
Rosa took her sister’s hand and led her to the kitchen table, sitting her in a chair and flipping on all the lights. Cameron squinted under the glare of the kitchen lights as Rosa inspected her head.
“Oh, Dios, Cam. Did they come back? When did this happen?”
Cameron explained about seeing Diego, the story about Nate being kidnapped. Rosa gasped, turning toward Nate’s room.
“He’s fine. He was with Señora Accosta the whole time.”
Rosa sank into a chair across from her.
“Ricky told someone in the department about Nate. Somehow someone got that information and they used it to lure Diego out. They used my baby as bait, Rosa.”
Rosa let out a string of Spanish curses. “Why would Ricky do that?”
Cameron held her head. “I don’t know.”
“Are you all right, really? What did the doctor say?”
Cameron pointed to the counter. “You have to wake me up every two hours to check for a concussion.”
Rosa read over the instructions. “Okay. Are you taking anything for the pain?”
“Just Advil.”
The two were silent for a minute or so.
“I don’t think he’s guilty, Rosa.”
“Oh,” Rosa exclaimed, remembering something. “That’s why I was calling you today. There was a new woman at work today. Wanda hired her, but she came in with a note from Diego to me.”
“Diego’s a pretty common name.”
“No. It was a note from your Diego.” She rose and disappeared into the front hall, returning with her purse. She pulled out a folded page and handed it over. Cameron read the words.
“She said Diego got her an apartment, and he offered to help pay her wages,” Rosa said.
Cameron saw the last line of the note: Love to you and her and baby.
Cameron shuffled the pieces in her mind. “But, why? Why did he help her?”
Rosa shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure, but she looked like she’d been through something pretty rough.” She rose from the table and glanced at the clock on the wall. “You need rest. I’ll wake you up in two hours.”
“How about three?”
“Two,” Rosa said sternly. “So, you’d better get to bed.”
Cameron hugged her sister and made her way back to Nate’s room. She switched the TV back on, lowered the volume to two and pushed play on the DVD player. The video started in what looked like a warehouse. The camera was likely mounted somewhere near the ceiling and aimed down at a torn card table with three folding chairs. There was nothing on the table or wall, no windows in view. She increased the volume a few notches. There were voices, but she couldn’t make out the words.
The camera view broadened, the motion of the image startling her. Two men stood on one side of the room. One she didn’t recognize, the other was Ray Benjamin. Both of them wore bulletproof vests and raid pants and boots. Ray’s attire struck her as odd. She hadn’t thought of Ray doing much fieldwork.
Someone tossed a navy gym bag through the door and into the room, barking an order that she couldn’t interpret, though she was pretty sure it was in English. She studied the bag. It was similar to the one Diego had, though she couldn’t swear it was the same. Then, another bag was tossed in, and a man walked through the door, carrying a third. He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, his head turned away from the camera.
His stride, the way he held his shoulders, Cameron knew him before she saw his face. He moved to the far side of the table, kicking the chair backward before heaving the bag onto the tabletop.
He unzipped it. As his hand came out with a fist of cash, she saw his face on film for the first time—Sergeant Michael Lavick. He held a couple of the stacks of bills up, smiling and shaking the money at the other men like some sort of lewd gesture. The other men were smiling, too, but it paled in comparison to Lavick’s delight. She read the date stamp, written on the screen in awkward white block letters.
It was the week before she’d gone to the station—six days, actually—six days before she’d discovered that Diego Ramirez was alive. Who filmed
this and why? Blackmail? Was it possible that Lavick didn’t know he was being filmed?
Restless, she opened Nate’s door and walked down the hallway to Rosa’s room. She knocked, but there was no answer. Twisting the knob, she stepped into the room, hearing Rosa’s heavy breathing. Cameron hesitated before sitting on the edge of her sister’s bed. “Rosa?”
Rosa opened her eyes with a jolt. “Are you okay?”
“I have a question about the woman at the salon.”
“What?”
“The woman that Diego sent in.”
Rosa rubbed her eyes. “What are you talking about? What time is it?”
“It’s midnight, Rosa. Listen to me.”
She pushed Cameron away. “I have to wake you up in an hour and a half. Let’s talk about it then.”
“It can’t wait.”
Rosa sighed. “Fine. What?”
“The woman at the salon, what’s her name? Where is she from?”
Rosa shoved at her sister again. “That’s more than one question, Cameron. I’m tired.”
Cameron felt desperate. “Just tell me where she’s from.”
“Fine,” she groaned. “She’s Czech.”
“Czech?” Cameron repeated.
“That’s what I said. Her name is Ivana, and she’s from the Czech Republic.” Rosa rolled on her side and pulled the covers over her head, effectively ending the conversation.
They said Diego killed an immigrant woman, wiped her clean, threw her in the dumpster and then he—or someone using his name—had taken another Czech girl and paid her rent and found her a job. It made no sense. He was either killing or he was helping. But, which was it?
Chapter 28
It was six thirty on Saturday morning when Cameron texted Hailey Wyatt. Call me. She’d been up with Nate since four thirty. Between that and the every-two-hour wake-ups for her possible concussion, she was too tired to sleep. After five minutes, she texted again. On the fourth try, Hailey called back.
“This had better be really good.”
“It is,” Cameron said.
“Cruz, it’s Saturday morning, and I’m not on call.”
Cameron told Hailey what she’d learned about the woman who had been brought to Rosa’s salon. “It’s possible it’s a coincidence, but—”
“I don’t believe in those,” Hailey said. “Worse than religion.”
“It seemed too weird to be true,” Cameron agreed. “Either it was him or someone using his name.”
“I need to talk to this Ivana woman about the other dead girl. Where can I find her?”
“I’ll get the address from Rosa. Where should I meet you?”
Hailey hesitated.
“I need to do this.”
“Not a word to anyone, and if anything comes up, we never had this conversation.”
“Deal.”
“Meet me in front of the Hall at quarter to eight.”
Cameron calculated how long it would take her to wake Rosa, feed Nate, find a picture of Diego, hide the DVD somewhere safe, and get to the Hall of Justice. “I’ll be there.”
“I’ll be in a gold Taurus like every other guy at that place,” she said, referring to the inspectors’ cars.
“Except for the guy part.”
“Maybe that’s why I have so much trouble with this job.”
“I’ll find you,” Cameron said and set off to wake Rosa.
Rosa agreed to watch Nate for a few hours before she went to work. Cameron promised to be back as soon as she was done with Hailey. Cameron waved at the cop car in front of the house and left without any explanation about where she was going.
Cameron stood in front of the Hall of Justice in a pair of black jeans, black boots, a black jacket, and a tan baseball hat. If it weren’t San Francisco, she might stand out. As it was, she looked like almost every other woman on the street. Since it was Saturday, the business suits weren’t out. In this district, though, a “business suit” meant a whole range of things—hookers and pimps at one end, the attorneys and inspectors at the other.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Ricky. “Cruz,” she answered.
“You feeling okay?”
“No. I feel like shit.”
“I’m sorry. I know you’re upset with me.”
“You don’t know, Ricky. From where I’m standing, everyone is guilty and you put Nate in danger. How can I possibly trust you?”
“I understand how it looks, Cameron. I did tell someone. Someone I was involved with.”
“Involved?” she repeated.
“I need a little more time and I’ll explain everything. Evelyn and I are going to New York tomorrow morning to deal with her aunt’s estate. I’ll call as soon as I’m back.”
She spotted Hailey as soon as she was within a hundred yards by the fact that her curly head of hair barely showed over the headrest.
“I have to go.” Cameron ended the call before he could respond.
Hailey swerved to the curb and paused while Cameron got one leg in before driving off again.
“This is being treated as a low priority case,” Hailey said. “They don’t even want to pursue the prints on the girl.”
“Why?”
Hailey glanced over, then back at the road, her foot to the floor. “I think because they’ve got enough to fry Ramirez already. Why spend the resources to prove whether he did or did not kill the Czech? We know he killed Benjamin. We have an eyewitness.” Hailey motioned to Cameron.
“A postpartum, sleep-deprived one.”
“Plus, I guess they found the gun used to kill Axsater.”
“The one they matched to Benjamin.”
Hailey’s lips thinned. “Different gun.”
“I thought the ballistics on Axsater were matched to Benjamin,” Cameron said.
“That’s what the lab told me,” Hailey said. “But there was a screw up—some new guy explained it all wrong. It turned out they were two different weapons. They only have the one in possession. It’s a .45, registered to Ramirez.”
That was wrong. “No. He hated .45s. Too bulky for a backup, he said. He only had the one standard issue and a .38 backup. It was the only one he ever carried.” It was the old .38 that he was superstitious about, but she didn’t say that.
Hailey changed lanes. “The gun that killed Axsater was registered to Ramirez and it was definitely a .45.”
“If you were going to kill a cop, would you register the gun you planned to use?” Cameron asked.
“Nope. And I wouldn’t register the truck I was going to transport a bunch of illegals in either,” Hailey said, then added, “Unless I was suicidal or a total fucking moron.”
“Well, he’s neither.”
“I wouldn’t figure.”
For a few minutes, neither spoke. Hailey followed the dash’s navigation system to the address in the Tenderloin where Rosa had dropped off Ivana the night before. Ivana wasn’t due in the salon until ten, so they hoped to catch her at home.
Hailey double-parked, threw her police pass on the dash and the two women emerged from the car. The streets were quiet at this hour. It was too early on a Saturday morning for people to be milling about. Those who worked regularly got paid on Friday. It was a big night out, especially in these neighborhoods.
Cameron pulled open a cracked glass door that led to the apartment where Ivana lived. She studied some dried blood on the wall. It looked recent. Friday night was known as fight night—men came home drunk, women wanted to know where the money was. Men drank it away. She’s pissed, he’s pissed.
When Cameron had started with the police, general call took those. Friday was always the busiest. Now, the department had a division to deal with domestic abuse. Cameron couldn’t imagine anything more depressing. The woman calls the cops, gets him hauled away on Friday, then wants him out by the end of the weekend so he can get back to work on Monday and do the whole thing over again.
Hailey examined the blood, too. “Looks fresh.”
Cameron agreed. The color was reddish, not yet the dark brown it would eventually become with exposure to air. The two stopped at the list of apartments and scanned the names. Some were typed, others handwritten. They were all old and yellowed. Then Cameron spotted familiar handwriting. “This one.”
“P. Warren?” Hailey asked.
“All the King’s Men. It’s his favorite book.” She paused. “Or, it was.”
“Let’s try it.” They walked up the stairs and knocked on apartment F. There was a lot of shuffling inside and finally, silence.
“We are looking for Ivana,” Hailey said. “We’re friends of Rosa’s.”
“She not here,” came a small voice from inside.
“Bingo,” Hailey whispered.
“Please, open the door.”
No response.
“We need to find her. It’s very important.”
“She no come from work.”
Cameron and Hailey exchanged glances. “She didn’t come home last night?”
“No.”
Cameron pulled a photo out of her jacket. It was one of her and Diego. Hailey watched as she folded herself out of it and showed the section with Diego. She lifted the photo to the peephole. “This man? Have you seen him?”
There were a series of whispers from inside. “No. No see him.”
“You need to open the door,” Hailey said again, laying her fist into it.
The voice came back loud and firm. “No.”
Cameron kept the picture raised. They didn’t have probable cause to go in, and forcing their way in wasn’t her preference. “Who is your landlord?”
Whispers. “Down—number A,” someone finally said.
Hailey tried a couple more tactics to draw them out without success. “Fine, we’ll try the super.”
They went back down the stairs and knocked on the door to Apartment A. After a few minutes, Hailey hit the buzzer twice and knocked again with her fist.
Finally, a petite Asian man opened the door, wearing only a wife-beater undershirt, striped boxer shorts and white athletic socks that came almost to his bony knees. He eyed Hailey up and down slowly, clearly enjoying the sights. Finally, he yelled like an insolent child. “What?”
The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set Page 72