Hailey looked him over just as slowly while Cameron remained back, holding the picture of Diego. The man blinked at them, then rubbed his eyes with his fists. He stood awkwardly, his toes pointed out, his back arched and his hips out. “What you want?” he said, swinging his finger at Hailey.
Cameron showed him the picture of Diego. “You know this man?”
The man grabbed the picture from her grasp and opened it up. He touched her face on the photo. “This you.”
Hailey pulled her badge out and lifted it for him to see. “She asked if you’ve seen that man.”
The man glanced down at the picture again. “I know him. So, what?” He shoved the image back at Cameron.
“How do you know him?”
He pointed his finger between himself and the photo, his back arched. “We do business.”
“What kind of business?” Cameron asked.
“Not for police.”
“Tell us how you know him, or we’ll take you to the station and you can tell us there,” Hailey said, the edge to her voice making her anger clear.
“He pay rent from me.”
“Rent for an apartment?”
He nodded.
Cameron motioned up to the building. “Which one?”
“He not home. It for his friend.” The man turned to Cameron and added, “His girlfriend.” He offered a little wicked grin like he’d told a good joke.
“Which apartment?”
“F.”
“What’s the woman’s name?”
“I don’t know name. She have accent, brown hair, big boobs—” He pointed to Hailey. “Like you.”
Hailey started forward. The man darted backward. He tripped on a chair that was precariously placed in the middle of the room and fell over it, landing on his backside.
Hailey reached in and slammed the door closed, she and Cameron on the outside, him on the inside. “Little prick.”
They walked back to the car in silence. Cameron was struggling to sort out the details. “There were at least three other women in that apartment.”
“He’s not screwing those women.”
Cameron didn’t answer. She couldn’t think straight. The cop in her was overshadowing the part of her that wanted to believe Diego wouldn’t murder a woman and toss her in the dumpster. Rosa had said the girl was badly beaten. Even with the evidence, she couldn’t get herself to believe he’d done that.
“I’ve got to get home,” Hailey said on their way back to the Hall.
“Thanks for letting me tag along.”
“If you can get me a name and description, I’ll put something out on Ivana.”
“I can do it,” Cameron said.
“She’ll turn up,” Hailey said.
It didn’t seem likely to Cameron.
“It’s not enough, but I can’t offer more now.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t enough,” Cameron said. “I’m a big girl.”
“You didn’t have to say anything,” Hailey said gently. “This whole thing stinks to hell.”
Cameron thought about the DVD of Lavick but knew Hailey wasn’t the right person for that. She wasn’t sure who was. “You know anyone who can unlock a jump drive?”
“The Computer Intrusion Squad cop from Chicago is pretty cool,” Hailey suggested. “You could try her.”
“Think she’s trustworthy?”
Hailey sighed. “As anyone else you’ve got.”
When Hailey dropped her off, Cameron jogged back to her own car. She took the drive home at a much slower pace despite how anxious she was to see Nate. On the front mirror was a note from Rosa that she’d had to go to the salon and Nate was with her. Cameron noticed a round spot on the floor.
She crouched down and touched it, the viscous liquid unmistakable. Blood.
Cameron slammed the front door. “Show yourself!” she screamed in a whispered hiss, so as not to alert the police car out front. Stepping around the spot, she ran into the kitchen. It was empty, the evidence case on the table. She went from room to room and found nothing. Finally, she made her way back to the hallway and searched the floor for another drop of blood. She found it on the perimeter of the living room. And another beside the back door. She opened the door and scanned the deck, but there was no one there.
She started back inside when she thought about the DVD he had left. Down on her knees, she saw another blue bag.
He’d left something else. Excited, she crawled in and grabbed it. It felt empty, but her fingers touched something in the bottom. She pulled the bag into her lap and saw a smear of blood on the bag. She looked around, but he was gone. He’d been there and left. It meant he was alive, but for how long? She was supposed to want him punished, caught. She was so relieved he wasn’t dead.
Despite what she’d seen with her own eyes, she believed him. Pushing aside her own battling emotions, she pulled open the bag and removed a folded white note. She recognized the paper from a small pad Rosa kept by the phone. Diego had been in the house. How long ago?
In the familiar scrawl, Diego had written:
I had to borrow the DVD back. Axsater wasn’t me. Working on who. For now, guard this. We can frame it when this is over.
P.S. D/W is old. What if someone ran it?
She was stunned. It was like one of their old notes. He was shot and injured and making jokes about her bizarre hiding place? But, it also let her know that he had a plan. He was figuring things out. For the first time since all of this had started, she had hope.
She shook the contents of the bag into her palm and looked down at the warped piece of metal that had once been a bullet. A year ago, she would have laughed out loud. Diego Ramirez was fine. He’d been shot, but he was okay enough to sneak back in for the disk and leave her his bullet. Now, despite herself, a tiny smile rose from her chest. She was happy—not in the dumb, thrilled way that happiness sometimes was. Maybe it would never be that way again. That sort of giddy happiness required a naiveté that she had lost.
But, she was happy in a smaller, more instinctual way. Diego wasn’t dead. She closed her fingers around the bullet as the happiness descended and was replaced by something else. It wasn’t another emotion so much as the lack of one. It was acceptance that how she felt did not matter in this situation.
Happy, sad, angry, those were personal emotions. Ones she seemed to feel much more at the surface of her skin since Nate was born. Emotions couldn’t guide what happened, but they did guide her response. It was that emotion, coiled in her gut, that led her to believe in Diego’s innocence. She would follow that in an effort to right whatever wrongs had been done.
In the end, whatever she did might not be enough. She could still lose him. The realization that followed was how empty the fight for justice could be.
Chapter 29
Luis let his head loll back and tried to open his eyes. The light was blinding. “Qué hangover.” He tried to sit up but couldn’t. He pushed off the couch and onto the floor. He needed to go to the bathroom, but all he could manage was to press onto all fours and vomit. It splattered across his hands and arms. The stench of alcohol burned his eyes.
In the bathroom, he threw up twice more. Resting his elbows on the sink, he splashed his face and rinsed his mouth. He swiped toothpaste across his tongue and added water to make mouthwash. He sank down to the cool tile floor, holding his head in his hands. It had never hurt so much.
Moving slowly, he grabbed the aspirin bottle and shook three white pills into his palm. He took them with an old glass of water by the sink. The smell was slightly sour. He shuddered with nausea. For a few minutes, he didn’t move. Last night was a blur. He got paid. He took a wad of cash and met with a couple of the guys at a strip club on Mission. He didn’t usually do that, but Candi had other plans.
There was a girl. He rubbed his head, trying to remember her name. After splashing his face again, he yanked the hand towel off the bar, carried it into the living room, and dropped it on the pool of vomit to deal with
later.
He half expected to find her in his room, but the bed was empty. The sheets were strewn on the floor, but that was nothing new. Twice a month, a lady cleaned and did his laundry. The rest of the time, it was a sty. It would have been nice if Candi tidied once in a while, but that probably would have cost him extra.
He tried to picture the new girl as he scanned the room. Where had they done it? He was sure they’d done it. He always did it with them. He glanced at the bedside clock. It was eight fifteen. An early riser. Candi never left before ten. Where the hell was Candi last night? When he asked, she said something bitchy about not having to answer to him. “Fucking bitch,” he mumbled in English. His English was getting better, especially the curse words.
He couldn’t make sense of anything now. The only option was to crawl back into bed. The pounding in his head softened as he pulled the sheet up over his head.
He woke to the noise of a jackhammer. At first, he was sure it was inside his head, but it was an actual jackhammer on the street behind his. The clock said ten thirty. He didn’t hurt as much. Mostly, he was hungry. He dressed quickly and was halfway out the door when the phone rang.
“Oh, Luis, I’m so glad I caught you,” Candi cooed.
He grinned. Calling to beg him back… well, maybe he was into a new girl now. He halted mid thought. What the hell was that girl’s name?
“Luis—”
“What?” he snapped, trying to remember her damn name. How many drinks did he have? The first two with the guys then the round with her and one more. Four total. They talked price. She was cheaper than Candi. Not as pretty, maybe, but still pretty. A hell of a lot better than Laura. And big tits. Candi’s weren’t small, but these were the kind you could really sink into. He remembered admiring them while they were at the bar. She had bought that last round.
“Luis, are you listening?”
Candi sounded like his wife. “What do you want?”
“I need to come by.”
“I’m going out for a while.”
“I’ll wait until you’re back. Or, just leave it unlocked.”
He thought about that. He wasn’t really in the mood right now, but the guys always said a blow job was the best hangover cure. “Okay. I’ll leave it unlocked. Be here in a half hour.”
“See you then,” she said, all sugar.
He hung up. His head felt a little better. Obviously, her date last night hadn’t gone that well. He left the door unlocked, patted his coat pocket for his wallet and sauntered out the door. The city air was cold and wet. Used to the dry heat of Oaxaca, he normally dreaded the cold. Today, with his stomach tight and his throat dry, the cool weather felt good.
He walked the three blocks to his favorite pizza place and went inside. Mario was working and they exchanged hellos. “The regular?”
Luis thought of Candi.. “Sure.” If Candi wanted pizza, she could get her own. While it cooked, Luis sat at the narrow bar, back to the wall. The smells were making his stomach toss around. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was hungry or going to be sick again.
“Ready. Eleven dollars, thirty-seven cents,” the woman said.
Luis sat up and pulled out his wallet, one hand on the pizza box. He wasn’t even going to make it back to his place. He’d eat the first pieces right there. He opened the cheap leather wallet his boys had given him for his birthday and dug his fingers into the bill section. He halted. It was empty.
His stomach lurched as he held the wallet upside down, waiting for the rainfall of bills. He had more than a thousand dollars last night. He had planned to make a deposit in his safe box. He had been running late and the bank was closed. A thousand dollars. He can’t have spent it all. He set the wallet down and patted his coat pockets. Nothing. He dug through them—inside, then outside.
The woman pulled the pizza box back, shaking her head.
“But, I have money. I don’t—” He picked up the wallet again. Oh, Jesus. Where was the money? The wallet had nothing. His jacket had nothing. He patted his pants pockets but knew there was no money there either.
The woman behind the counter wore a nasty scowl. He considered grabbing the box and making a run for it. “I just forgot it.” He felt the pizza box warm on his hands, its grease stains calling to him. “I’ll bring it later. It’s only eleven bucks.”
She shook her head and took the pizza.
He didn’t let go of the box. “I come all the time. I’m a good customer.”
The woman shouted something he didn’t understand. Mario shrugged without speaking.
Luis stood at the counter, breathless. He couldn’t pry himself from the pizza, but he had to go find his money. The possibility that he’d lost it made his stomach cramp up. He tried to slow his breathing to keep from throwing up. Suddenly, he couldn’t. He ran out the door and back up the street pausing to vomit behind a trash can. A cold sweat broke out on his back, and there was wetness on his upper lip and forehead.
That was all the money he had. He took the other money out of the safe deposit box to buy a new suit and shoes. Spent it all, and he didn’t get paid again for a week. He stopped and heaved on the stair, but his stomach was empty. Oh, Jesus, how would he eat?
He reached his floor, close to tears and pushed through the door. Candi was in the living room, picking things up off the floor. “Oh, thank God you are here.”
“I need the money you owe me, Luis.”
“I can’t find the money. I had it all last night and now—” He stopped talking and moved to the couch where his coat had been. He ripped the cushions off and dug into the couch frame before stumbling into the bedroom. Could he have put it somewhere?
Candi followed him. In her arms was a stack of clothes. Hers. “What do you mean you can’t find the money?”
He ignored her and picked things off the floor, shaking them before tossing them in the corner.
It wasn’t there. He knew it wasn’t. He’d taken one thousand eighty-four dollars out last night and lost it. All of it. Oh, Jesus. He had to send money to Laura. His stomach clenched like a fist. He was going to throw up.
Candi started talking, but he pushed by her and ran for the bathroom.
His stomach heaved. There was nothing in him but stomach acid. He was sure he was going to die. He limped from the bathroom and crossed the room to Candi. He put his arms around her. “I lost all my money.”
She pushed him off, holding his shoulders and shaking him. “What do you mean you lost all the money?”
He sniffled, his head swimming again. “I had it last night, in my wallet. We went out.” He paused. “I met a girl.” He thought about the girl. Oh, Jesus. His money was gone. She stole it. That bitch stole it. But, how was that possible?
Candi fastened a hand to each hip. “What girl?”
He sat down on the couch. The cushions were on the floor so he sat on the hard frame. He hurt too much to talk about it. “I don’t know.”
“What was her name?” Candi pressed.
He covered his head with his hands. “I don’t remember.” He cried.
Candi towered over him. “You don’t remember her name? Where did you meet her?”
She was acting like his wife. This was her fault—she was the one who’d gone out with someone else. “A club on Mission. We had some drinks.” He started to tell her that was all, but he didn’t know. He scanned the room. Had the girl come back to his place?
“How many drinks, Luis?”
“Not that many,” he said. “Three or four.”
Candi was quiet. Luis nursed his headache by rubbing small circles on his temples. Eleven hundred dollars, gone.
He patted the couch. “Come sit down. Sit down and hold me, Candi. I hurt all over.”
Candi paced the apartment. He didn’t watch. He just heard her—clack clack clack in those damn shoes. His head throbbed. She was putting her stuff in a bag. “What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.”
He tried to rise from the couch
but couldn’t. “What? You can’t leave.”
She laughed. “Why not?”
Why not? “Because you my girl, right?”
“Wrong.” She pulled the bag over one shoulder and turned for the door. Then, as though remembering something, she stalked into the bathroom.
“Wait, Candi. I can find the money or I’ll get more. Just wait.”
She came out of the bathroom with a bottle of shampoo that he was pretty sure was his, but he didn’t say anything.
She tucked it into her bag and took a last look around the room.
“When are you coming back?” he asked.
“I’m not, Luis. This gig is over. No money, no Candi, and you already owe me two hundred from last week.”
His head pounded again. “I said I’ll find the money. I put it somewhere,” he lied. “You wait. I’ll find it and pay you.”
Candi came over and her face softened.
He thought she was going to sit down. He reached up to her, but she didn’t touch his hand. “I only had a few drinks.”
“She drugged you, you idiot.”
He blinked.
“Let me guess. She bought you a drink after you offered to buy her for the night. Maybe you went to say goodbye to your friends and when you came back, she had a drink for you. You drank it, got in a cab with her, and you don’t remember anything else after that?”
He was sweating again. A little drip curved across his face. “I—I—” He couldn’t form the words. “Why would she do that?” It was so mean.
Candi roared in laughter and the noise split his head. “Because she’s smart, you fucking idiot.”
“Please, don’t go,” he called as loud as he could. It came out a whisper.
Candi stopped at the door. “I’ll be back for my two hundred bucks, Luis. You’ve got a week. If you don’t have it, I’ll send Marco.” She left and slammed the door behind her.
He cried out at the sound. Candi had left; all his money was gone. He was starving. He pressed his face down on the bony frame of the couch and smelled vomit. He rolled over, his head pounding too hard to think. Pushing his face into the back of the couch, he cried a little.
The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set Page 73