Cliff Diver (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 1) (19 page)

“Where’s the call
going?”

“You go eat with
the mayor.” Emilia took out her keys to signal she was done with the
conversation. “I don’t think she liked me.”

Obregon shifted
slightly on the Suburban’s fender. “A personal call, Cruz?”

Emilia jingled the
keys. “I’ve got to go.”

Obregon pulled himself
away from the fender and she had the impression of a sleek cat. He was dressed
in black again; jeans and a leather jacket and a snug tee shirt that outlined
the contours of his chest. His hand hovered near her head but didn’t touch her.
“A couple of stitches? Carlota will be very impressed.”

“Look,” Emilia
said. She jingled her keys again. “We’ve got a witness says Inocente took his
boat out just before he was killed and he’d done late night boat trips before.
Lots of fingerprints on the boat, still haven’t identified them all. Running
down some of his gambling issues. Might be connected with the family business.
He was fighting about them with his brother. And the wife was humping her
sometime boyfriend while her husband was getting his head smashed in.”

“So,” Obregon
said, as if her recitation hadn’t impressed him. He exhaled a thin stream of
blue smoke as if he had all the time in the world. It curled and dissipated in
the humid evening air. “Anything you’re not telling me?”

“Sure,” Emilia
said, hitching up the strap of her bag so it didn’t rub on a bruise. “The mayor
could get her wish and it’ll be a nasty personal thing.”

To her surprise,
Obregon took the cigarette out of his mouth, tipped his head back, and shouted
with laughter.

“Glad I could be
so amusing.” Emilia pressed the button on the key fob and heard the click as
the driver’s door unlocked.

“They had to call
an ambulance for Gomez, you know,” Obregon said. “Concussion, broken nose,
busted rib.”

He moved closer
and she got a scent of leather and cigarettes.

“Is that what you
do all day?” Emilia heard herself say. “Follow me around?”

He flicked away
his cigarette, reached out and caught Emilia by the upper arm and drew her to
him. Being that close to him was like being clasped by a magnet; there was no
choice, just a compelling pull.

As his head bent
to hers, Emilia stiffened. “You don’t have permission,” she said.

Obregon paused and
she saw his jaw tighten. When Emilia pulled away he let her go. “We could make
a very good team, Cruz,” he said softly.

Emilia’s heart
thumped like a train going off the rails. In the rising darkness, his body bent
toward hers, Obregon almost had her. The instinct that told her he was
dangerous warred with simple lust and the fact that it had been too long since
she’d been kissed. “Tell Villahermosa to put new doors in the detectives’
bathroom,” she said.

Obregon smiled.
His teeth flashed in the twilight. He reminded Emilia of an animal stalking its
prey.

“Don’t forget
about Monday with Carlota,’ Obregon said.

Emilia willed
herself not to move. “Fine.”

“Next time, Cruz.”
It might have been a promise or a warning. Obregon strode off to the sedan. The
engine started as soon as he touched the door handle. Maybe it was Emilia’s
imagination but she thought she heard laughter before Obregon slammed the door
shut.

Chapter 15

Emilia and her
mother, along with Tío Raul and Tía Lourdes and her cousins and everyone else
they knew, went to Mass at San Pedro de los Pinos every Sunday and joined Padre
Ricardo for the social hour afterwards.

The dark-haired
priest always greeted his congregants in the tiny garden as they left the
church. Padre Ricardo Suarez Solis was at least 50 years old, with the energy
level of a teen. He was constantly organizing social events, holy day events,
children’s religious instructions, food drives to help the needy in other parts
of the country, teen groups, women’s groups, fatherhood lessons. His
imagination and efforts were constant and for many he was the center around which
the social life of the
barrio
revolved.

“Emilia,” he said.
“Your mother tells me you’ve been working too much.”

“A big
investigation, Padre.”

Sophia had on one
of her flowered dresses and her hair was loose and trailing down her back. The
combination made her look younger than Emilia. “Padre.” She gave him one of her
widest smiles. “This is Ernesto Cruz, my husband.”

The priest didn’t
skip a beat. He shook hands with Ernesto. “Welcome to our little community,
Señor Cruz.”

“
Gracias
,
Padre.”

“Will you join us
for dinner next Saturday?” Sophia asked. “It’s Ernesto’s welcome home party.”

Emilia swung
around to stare at her mother. Wasn’t it bad enough that the entire
barrio
was talking about them? About how feather-headed widow Sophia was trying to
pass off a complete stranger as her husband? Was her mother now going to rub
their noses in it with a party?

Emilia felt Padre
Ricardo’s warning hand on her arm. “That would be very nice, Sophia. Thank you
for the invitation.”

Sophia pulled
Ernesto Cruz to a group of ladies talking over cups of fresh
agua de jamaica
or coffee and began to introduce him around. Emilia raised her eyebrows at
Padre Ricardo and they walked a little way away from the rest of the
congregants.

“His name really
is Ernesto Cruz,” Emilia said. “He’s a knife grinder she found in the market.”

“Found?”

“He’s a vagrant.
Came to Acapulco on a bus from Mexico City.”

Padre Ricardo
raised white eyebrows. “And your mother has taken him in?”

“My father’s name
was also Ernesto Cruz.” Emilia hastily looked backwards over her shoulder. Her
mother was in her element, one arm linked through that of Ernest Cruz, the
other holding her best Sunday purse. Emilia turned back to Padre Ricardo. “He
has the same name as my father and Mama has gotten it in her head that he’s her
Ernesto Cruz come back to her.”

“But your father’s
been dead for years.”

“So you see the
problem, Father.”

“I do indeed.”
Padre Ricardo searched Emilia’s face, his eyes lingering on the bandage and the
purpled bruising around it. “Is there something else you’d like to tell me?”

“Ernesto has a
wife in Mexico City,” Emilia said. “He told me that when they found out their
sons had died trying to cross into the United States he just picked up his
grinding wheel and left. His sons were following some
pollero
who left
them stranded and they died. I don’t even think his wife knows where he is.”

“What does your
mother think about that?”

“She says he’s my
father.” Emilia let her hands fall to her sides helplessly. “She refuses to
believe anything else.”

“Can you try to
find his wife? With your resources, Emilia . . .” Padre Ricardo left the
suggestion hanging in the air.

“I can’t even
begin to try and find his wife to tell her where he is unless I at least have a
name. He won’t give me that. Not even what
delegacion
she lives in.”
Emilia shook her head. “I’ve checked to see if there’s a missing persons out on
him but there isn’t.”

“Dear me.”

“He knows my
mother thinks he’s her long lost husband. At least he’s still sleeping on the
sofa.”

“You could make
him leave if you wanted, couldn’t you?”

Emilia sighed.
“That’s just it, Father. I think something is broken inside him. He’s like some
hurt dog that I can’t kick. And she’s convinced he’s her husband come back to
her. I don’t know what will happen if I make him leave.”

“And what about
you, Emilia?” Padre Ricardo shook his head. “What happened to your head?”

“I know the answer
to that one.” Her cousin Alvaro joined the conversation. He was two years older
than Emilia and still a uniformed cop. “Beat the crap out of another detective.
Word is he had it coming.”

“Oh, my.” Padre
Ricardo frowned.

Emilia gave Alvaro
a quick hug and kiss. “We don’t need Padre Ricardo to get all upset.’

“I always taught
her to take care of herself,” Alvaro said.

“You did.” Emilia
let him give her another one-armed hug. She’d grown up with Alvaro and his
older brother Rubén but now the only time they saw each other was Sunday Mass.

“When was the last
time you took a break, Emilia?” the priest asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Sounds like today
would be a good day.”

“I’ll think about
it, Father.” Emilia gave the priest a swift kiss and moved away so the next
parishioner could speak to him.

Alvaro moved with
her, grinning as if Emilia had won a prizefight.

“So the story is
all over?” Emilia asked.

“All over,” Alvaro
verified. “Did you really lay him out with a metal shelf?”

“It was the door
to a toilet stall,” Emilia sighed. “Nothing to get too proud about. I’m not
sure what happens next.”

“He try--?”

“Yes.”

“I taught you
good, didn’t I?”

“Pretty good.”
Emilia feinted a punch to the gut and Alvaro pretended to double up.

“But what’s this
shit about you getting promoted to lieutenant?” Alvaro kept his fists up. “A
big promotion and you don’t call me?”

“
Por Dios
,”
Emilia groaned. In a few brief sentences she told him about Lt. Inocente’s
death, Obregon’s intervention, and what the investigation had so far turned up.

“The big union
guy, eh?” Alvaro looked impressed. “Obregon started out as a uniform here in
Acapulco, you know. Him and that sidekick Villahermosa. Everybody says they
came right up the ranks together, always one and two.”

“They’re still one
and two,” Emilia said. “Every time I’ve seen Obregon, Villahermosa’s been
there.”

“I heard they do
everything together. Even girls.” Alvaro made a smacking sound. “You get what I
mean?”

That was a nasty
thought, especially given what had happened last night in the administration
building parking lot. “Yeah.”

“You watch your
step,
prima.
”

Alvaro’s son
squealed behind him and he turned and scooped up the toddler. The boy shrieked
with happiness and Emilia dangled her keys for him to try and grab. Alvaro
bounced the child, keeping the keys just out of reach, and they all laughed.

As a uniformed
cop, Alvaro had played it safe. He hadn’t annoyed anyone higher up the chain,
hadn’t tried to move ahead. Neither had he ever had to patrol the worst
neighborhoods. He was now in charge of the central evidence locker and had two
junior uniformed assistants.

He’d been married
for half a dozen years and his wife Daysi, who didn’t work, was pregnant again.
They lived in a nice house not too far from what Emilia could afford on a
detective’s salary, which was roughly double that of a beat cop in Acapulco.
Alvaro and Daysi had furnished it nicely and Emilia knew they had a color
television, a computer, and modern appliances. Even a microwave. Daysi had a
smartphone, too.

Emilia hadn’t told
Obregon about Silvio and the counterfeit money. She didn’t tell Alvaro, either.

Chapter 16

Going to the Palacio
Réal on a Sunday afternoon was sort of a break, Emilia argued to herself as she
swung the Suburban into the circular drive and handed the keys to the valet.
She would get some questions answered and look at the finest beach in all of
Acapulco and maybe use her coupon for a free drink. An hour to relax and
pretend that the luxury hotel was somewhere she belonged. And if she happened
to run into the hotel manager, well, for once she wasn’t wearing jeans and a
tee shirt. She’d left on her starched go-to-church white blouse and added a
skinny black skirt and flat black sandals. No ponytail but hair parted on the
side so it could hide the bandage over the stitches. Her gun was in her
shoulder bag rather than in its holster.

The lobby of the
Palacio Réal was enormous, with the long check-in desk on the far right side
and a vaulted passageway leading to the concierge area and corporate offices,
according to a polished brass sign. The concierge desk was staffed by the
blonde woman who’d been at the pier with Kurt when Lt. Inocente’s boat had been
brought in. The woman again wore the hotel’s signature floral dress, which set
off her slender arms, graceful neck, and bright blue eyes. Her hair was
artfully caught up in a tousled bun with blonde wisps framing her face. The tag
pinned to her dress read “Christine Boudreau” and gave her hometown as Geneva,
Switzerland. Emilia wondered how she’d gotten all the way from Geneva to
Acapulco.

She gave a perfect
hotel smile. “How may I help you?”

Her Spanish was
perfect, too, but the smile dimmed when Emilia showed her badge and asked if
the hotel could verify a dinner event held in the Lido Room. She gave the date
from the receipt copies Kurt had given her.

Christine picked
up a telephone and used a pencil to press some buttons so as not to spoil her
nail polish. Emilia couldn’t resist putting her own hand on the counter. Her
nails were short and unpolished. The knuckles were bruised from the last punch
to Gomez’s face.

After a brief and
muted telephone conversation, Christine said she’d have to use the computer in
the catering office. It might take some time; would Emilia like to come back on
Monday when the catering manager was there?

“I’ll wait in the
bar,” Emilia said.

Christine’s smile
flickered once before she promised to bring the printout to Emilia and of
course she’d make sure the bartender gave her a complimentary soft drink.
Emilia responded with the semblance of a smile and walked through the lobby and
down a few steps into the vast central expanse of multi-level terraces open to
the ocean. A white grand piano anchored the patio and a pianist wearing a white
linen shirt played some song Emilia didn’t recognize. The Pasodoble Bar was on
the left side of the lowest level, the mosaic of its name a beacon of blue tiles.
Tables and chairs were dotted about but somehow none obscured the view of the
bay for the people soaking up the salty breeze and tasting frothy cool drinks
from multi-colored straws.

Emilia walked to
the lowest level and slid into a chair facing the ocean. A waiter materialized
with a tall frosted glass of cola on a tray. As he arranged it on a coaster he
let her know that Christine would have the information shortly.

The breeze coming
off the ocean was fresh and clean and the waves made gentle rushing sounds as
the water lapped at the sand. Far to the left, around the edge of the curving
beach and the rush-topped
palapas
for sun worshippers, Emilia could make
out the path that led to the hotel’s marina.

She sipped her
cold drink and tried to not feel out of place. Most of the women had on a sheer
printed caftan over a bikini, although some of the younger ones just had a
pareo knotted around their hips. Thin hair braids threaded with colorful string
and chunky necklaces seemed to be in fashion with skimpy bikini tops. Emilia
knew she’d look good in a bikini top; she was in better shape than any woman
there, but she just couldn’t picture herself lounging around all day with
nothing more important to do than show off her body and how expensively it had
been decorated.

“So Acapulco’s
finest work on Sundays?”

Kurt Rucker
dropped into the chair adjacent to her. He was dressed in his by-now-familiar
uniform of khaki pants and crisp button-down shirt. Today it was white with a
blue stripe. The cuffs were rolled to his elbows, hiding any possible monogram.

“I’m following
up,” Emilia said. She’d never imagined that she would feel so foolish. She was
there on legitimate police business, yet now it felt as if she was chasing him
just a few days after she’d turned him down.

“So I hear.” He
slid a sheaf of printer paper across the table. “There was an event the night
that your Lt. Inocente stayed at the hotel. Baseball awards banquet in the Lido
Room.”

Emilia scanned
what he’d handed her. It confirmed what Maria Teresa had said.

In addition to the
catering reservation form, menu for the event, and guest list, there was a list
of those who would be recognized at the event. Juan Diego Inocente Diaz was to
receive the Most Valuable Player trophy and Bruno Inocente would be honored for
his support to the team. The latter award was probably on the display shelves
at Bruno’s house.

She got out her
notebook and leafed through the pages to find her timeline for the Ruiz case.
“Alejandro Ruiz Garcia was arrested the day after this event,” Emilia said. “We
found the Morelos de Gama boy three days later.”

“Your lieutenant
and the Hudsons probably hooked up here the night of the sports banquet.” Kurt
gestured to the waiter who immediately brought him a clear drink in a tall
glass.

Emilia looked at
it inquiringly.

“Water,” said
Kurt.

“That’s right. I
hear you’re in training.”

“Always. What
happened to your head?”

“Oh.” Emilia
touched the bandage. The breeze had blown her hair out of place. “Nothing.”

He didn’t move but
Emilia felt a surge of tension in the man’s body like surf pulsing up the
beach. “Is there someone in your life who’s not treating you right?” Kurt
asked.

“What?” It took
her a moment to get his meaning. “No, no. It was a stupid thing at work.”

“I’m not going to
believe that you walked into a door.”

Emilia gave an
embarrassed little laugh. “A fight with Gomez over bathroom décor.”

“You had a fight
with a guy named Gomez?”

“One of the other
detectives.” As she sat there in the beautiful bar, looking at the ocean and listening
to the piano, the fight seemed as if it had happened to somebody else.

“Don’t ever lie to
me, Emilia.” Kurt’s voice was totally without humor.

His face was
tense. It struck Emilia that Kurt Rucker would be a dangerous enemy. Certainly
he looked able to beat either Gomez or Castro to a pulp; he was extremely fit
and his fighting skills would be that of a soldier. But he’d be even more
dangerous than Obregon who wore his menace in front of him like a shield. Kurt
hid his power behind a mask of congeniality and crisp shirts. Kurt would have
the element of surprise.

“I’m not lying,”
Emilia said. “You should see Gomez.”

“Was this before
or after you brought food to work?”

“I never did,”
Emilia said. “Just sent him to the hospital on an empty stomach.”

“Damn, Emilia,”
Kurt exclaimed. “How big was this guy?”

“Gomez?” Emilia
considered. “About as tall as Rico. But skinny. Seriously out of shape.”

“And you walked
away with just this cut on your head?” He slid his hand along her jaw and
gently tipped her head so that he could see the bandage.

“Well,” Emilia
admitted, a little lightheaded from his touch. “I’m a little sore in spots.”

“I’m quite sure
you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met,” Kurt said.

His hand was still
on her check. There was permission this time; an unspoken asking and an equally
silent granting. Emilia closed her eyes and held her breath and the feel of his
lips on hers was going to be like honey on her fingertips--.

Someone said
something to Kurt in English and he drew away from her. Emilia opened her eyes.

It was Christine,
standing by their table, the breeze gently ruffling her dress. “Kurt, the tour
group.” She spoke in Spanish this time then beamed her perfect smile at Emilia.

Kurt and Christine
had a brief conversation in English that was very friendly and punctuated with
laughter as if they had shared a private joke. Kurt glanced at his watch and
turned back to Emilia. “I have to go. I’ve promised to take a tour group up to
El Mirador. It’s an investment group connected to the hotel chain so I can’t
get out of it.”

“Of course.”
Emilia groped for her bag and the baseball dinner papers. “I have to go
anyway.”

“Why don’t you
come?” Kurt asked. Christine was still standing by the table, smiling brightly.

“To watch the
cliff divers?” Emilia shook her head. “I shouldn’t. I can still put in a couple
of hours reviewing the case before tomorrow. I have to have breakfast with the
mayor.”

“Carlota will be
thrilled that you understand the importance of tourism to her city.” Kurt put
his hand on her arm and leaned forward. “Two hours. I think you owe me at least
that much after turning me down flat for dinner.”

“You’ll be
working,” Emilia protested, although she knew it sounded feeble. “You need to
be with your guests.”

“They’re all
Japanese. Won’t know a word we’re saying.”

He said something
in English to Christine who smiled, all those Swiss teeth flashing, but it
wasn’t as bright as before. Kurt stood and pulled out Emilia’s chair and they
followed Christine back through the bar to the lobby.

☼

The El Mirador
Hotel on the Plazas las Glorias was one of the landmarks of the old part of
Acapulco. It overlooked La Quebrada, the famous cove where the cliff divers
performed their death-defying stunts every day for the assembled tourists.

It was nearing
sunset and the crowd was gathering on the plaza for the last show of the day.
As the street vendors hawked trinkets people milled around, waiting to see the
divers climb up the cliff to the small flat rock that made for a natural dive
platform more than two hundred feet up the side of the mountain. The water was
sapphire blue and the sky was painted with streaks of pink and gold.

The guide for the
Japanese tourists staying at the Palacio Réal had introduced Emilia as a friend
of the manager. Kurt went through some sort of bowing ritual with the Japanese
tourists. When he indicated Emilia they bowed to her, too, forcing her to
reciprocate. Kurt said a few things to the guide, who only spoke English and
Japanese, and Kurt translated for Emilia’s benefit what he said to the guide
and so the ride to the plaza in the hotel van had been a three way
conversation; English to Japanese to English and finally to Spanish. Emilia
said little, just watched Kurt and the easy way he interacted with the guide and
the tour group. It was the same as when he’d moved people away from the crime
scene on the pier the day they’d found Lt. Inocente’s body. He was comfortable
being in charge, with a natural authority so different from Obregon’s
aggression or Lt. Inocente’s stealthy watchfulness. Silvio had a bit of it, a
confidence in his own decisions and the ability to lead and plan.

“You with me?”
Kurt asked.

Emilia blinked,
realizing that her thoughts had been light years away. She smiled at him.
“Sure.”

He smiled back,
his eyes twinkling like the ocean, and for a moment they were the only two
people standing in the plaza in the twilight.

The crowd
chattered noisily until the first man was standing on the dive platform.
Everyone went quiet as the diver went through some stretching motions, then
raised his arms over his head. He wore a small red racing suit.

The plaza was
perched on the edge of an adjacent cliff and the diver was far away enough to
look small. But Emilia could tell he was young, with the body of a gymnast. If
his dive didn’t have enough forward momentum to clear the sloping cliff face,
or he didn’t land in precisely the right spot amid the rocks jutting out of the
water, his body would be shredded.

The Japanese
tourists next to Kurt said things to each other in their strange language,
almost whispering as they took picture after picture. They moved to get a
different shot and Kurt was bumped against Emilia. He didn’t move, just let his
body stay in contact with hers. Emilia didn’t move either.

The diver stretched
to his full extension then pushed off. His back arched and his arms went wide
and he looked like a crucifix as he sailed over the rocks. His arms rose over
his head and his hands came together right before he impacted with the water. A
spume of froth shot skywards and he disappeared into the depths as the crowd on
the plaza gasped and applauded.

The diver popped
out of the water beyond the rocks and the crowd applauded again. It took a few
minutes before the next diver climbed onto the tiny platform on the cliff face.
He was older, with a black suit and a heavy torso, and a less athletic look
than the first diver. When he carefully turned his back to the ocean the crowd
murmured excitedly.

“He’s got guts,”
Kurt said. The back of his hand brushed against hers.

The diver launched
backwards off the cliff face and twisted in the air. As his body rotated close
to the cliff the crowd gasped, but he made a clean entry into the ocean, the
water rippling out around him. The applause was wild.

As the sun set,
they watched the other men laboriously climb up the cliff face to the small
natural platform, stretch and limber their muscles and dive past the rocks to
the perfect spot in the ocean far below.