Cliff Diver (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 1) (20 page)

“That’s me,”
Emilia said as the youngest diver in the red suit stood poised on the platform
again. The sinking sun was blood-streaked behind him, blotting out his swimsuit
so that he looked naked and raw.

“What do you
mean?” Kurt asked. His hand turned and a finger stroked the inside of Emilia’s
thumb and forefinger.

“That’s me.”
Emilia’s hand turned of its own accord and gently played with Kurt’s. He was
looking at her, not at the cliff divers, and Emilia heard herself babble
nervously. “Going off a cliff, not ready for it. Not knowing if I’m going to
hit the rocks and be smashed to pieces or not.”

Emilia watched as
the young diver swung his arms and rolled his neck and she wondered if he was
doing it for the crowd’s benefit or if it was a release for his fear. He
hunched his shoulders forward, then pulled them back. His knees bent and his
thigh muscles rippled and then he launched himself into the air. For a moment
he was silhouetted against the spectacular sunset and then he curled himself
into a somersault. The crowd gasped in unison as his body rotated and his hair
seemed to kiss the cliff face. Then he stretched out, straining for distance,
and completed a soaring arc that plunged him into the water like an arrow shot
from a bow and Emilia felt the strain and the pain and the rush of cold water.

“The investigation?”
Kurt’s hand stopped playing and grasped hers gently but firmly.

“Have you ever
been too scared to do something,” Emilia asked. “But you did it anyway?”

“Yes.” Kurt gave
her hand a gentle squeeze. “Jumped out of a plane a couple of times.”

Emilia looked at
him in astonishment. “
Madre de Dios
. I could never do that.”

“I was wearing a
parachute. And there weren’t any cliffs or rocks or water. Just desert and some
hills.”

“And war,” Emilia
said, recalling their conversation in her uncle’s garage.

“That, too.” This
time when he squeezed her hand she squeezed back and their hands stayed tightly
gripped together.

Emilia drew a
shaky breath. She looked away from Kurt and at the next diver climbing onto the
platform in the rock. “Do you think they’re scared to stand there like that?
One wrong move and they’ll lose their balance before they’re ready.”

“I think they’re
scared up there no matter how many times they do it,” Kurt said. “They just
learn to control it. The same way a soldier or a Marine does. That’s the
definition of courage, I think. Being afraid and doing it anyway.”

“I can’t do it.”
She realized that she was clinging to his hand as if to a lifeline. “I can’t be
acting lieutenant anymore.”

“You don’t want to
finish the investigation?” Kurt asked.

“It’s a mess.
There are too many odd pieces.” Emilia couldn’t help what poured out. “I want
somebody to tell me what to do.”

“You don’t need
anyone to tell you what to do,” Kurt said.

“It’s just that
with all these pieces,” Emilia said, thinking of Silvio. “I don’t know which is
the most critical thing. I’m afraid of what I don’t know.”

Kurt shook his
head. “You’ll be all right. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman quite so
fearless.”

Emilia bumped him
with her shoulder. “Where did you get that idea?”

“I’ve spent some
time with you in stressful situations.” He paused. “Or did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget.”
The crowd cheered another dive but Emilia had missed it. She was holding hands
with a
gringo
in public but it felt as if they were alone, caught up in
a moment of fragile intimacy.

“I’m glad you
didn’t.”

“You aren’t what I
thought you were, the day we first met,” she said.

He bent his head
closer to hers. “Just some arrogant
gringo
with a snotty shirt, right?”

Emilia grinned.
“The initials.” He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. His
mouth smelled like cinnamon. “Did I stare?”

“A little,” he
said and grinned back. “I thought that you were a diamond that got mixed up
with the coal.”

“Hardly.”

She was saved from
more conversation by the end of the show. All of the divers climbed up the
adjacent cliff to the plaza and walked together through the crowd to the
applause of the onlookers. The tourists put money in the hat that was passed
around. Kurt put in 200 pesos; the Japanese tourists stopped taking pictures
long enough to do the same.  

As the divers
passed, their bodies gleaming with droplets and coursing with adrenaline,
younger women in the crowd looked at them appraisingly.
Four times a day
these men are gods to the crowds and to themselves
, Emilia thought. They
probably weren’t paid much. Most of their pay came from tips gathered after
each show. Then they’d go home and drink beer and eat
tortillas
and be
ordinary again.

Kurt tugged at her
hand as the Japanese tourists headed for the hotel minivan. “Will you have
dinner with me tonight?” he asked. “We don’t have to go back to the hotel with
the group.”

“What about
Christine?”

“The hotel
concierge?”

“Yes,” Emilia
couldn’t help herself. “She seemed to expect you back.”

Kurt shrugged.
“Christine can manage on her own.”

Emilia resisted
asking about his relationship with the pretty blonde woman. It shouldn’t matter
anyway; tonight had already been reserved for her mother. “I can’t tonight.”

“But another
night?” He still had her hand clasped in his.

“Yes,” Emilia
heard herself say.

The Japanese
tourists chattered away and snapped more pictures. Emilia found herself smiling
and posing like she hadn’t a care in the world.

☼

Emilia had
promised Sophia she’d be home for Sunday dinner. It was the first meal she’d
had at home besides morning coffee since the investigation into Lt. Inocente’s
death had begun.

She and her mother
hadn’t talked in weeks it seemed, and Emilia made an effort to connect with the
simple easy things that were comfortable for her mother; cooking and movies,
and letting Sophia tell her what had been on last night on
Sabado Gigante
,
the Saturday variety show everyone watched. Sophia recounted in detail the
fashion show and the musical groups and the quiz segment and the woman who won
a new washing machine for answering a question about China.

Emilia got the
ingredients ready for
arroz rojo
as they talked, following Tía Lourdes’
recipe, which was different than the way Sophia had taught Emilia to make it,
because of course Tia Lourdes was not from Acapulco but from Mexico City.
Everyone knew that people from the city,
los chilangos
, had no real
cooking style to call their own. Emilia chopped up white onions then dumped
them into the big pot with garlic and oil. The oil sizzled around the tiny
white cubes and the smell was tantalizing. It was a relief to do something so
familiar, something that hardly required thought.

“Your father wants
to know why you aren’t married,” Sophia said.

“Mama,” Emilia
said, completely taken aback. “My life is none of Ernesto Cruz’s business.”

“Alma Romo’s son
is back from Monterrey. He’s got a good job now working at the water park.”
Sophia wiped iodine solution off tomatoes and brought them to the table. “We’ll
have him over for a meal. So you can get to know him.”

“Mama, I’m not
interested in some guy from the water park.” Emilia stirred the sizzling onions
and garlic with a wooden spatula. “What does he do, cut up fish for the
dolphins all day long? I want something more than that.” Kurt’s eyes came to
mind. They were the color of the sea and sometimes when he looked at her, she
felt that he could see everything that was in her and that it was all good.

“You already have
a boyfriend,” Sophia said delightedly. “Someone from school. I’ll tell your
father.”

Emilia looked up
guiltily. She’d held hands with Kurt and agreed to have dinner with him and it
was the best secret she’d ever had. “Don’t talk about me with Ernesto Cruz,
Mama.” Emilia poured rice into the hot pan and stirred the grains into the
onions and garlic, feeling her mother staring at her expectantly. “Looking at
blood and mangled bodies and trying to figure out who was the cheater who
survived to kill the other cheaters doesn’t really make me a fun date. If I
ever find somebody it has to be on my own. Someone who can deal with me and
what I do.”

Problems crowded
in again, over powering the good feeling she’d had since the trip to El
Mirador. The messiness of the Inocente investigation. Rico’s distance. Silvio
and the counterfeit money. Obregon’s strange directions and the way he made her
feel both scared and aroused. And tomorrow Carlota Montoya Perez would again
try to squeeze her into a corner.

Emilia was tired,
too. Tired of the other detectives ignoring her or fighting her or doing a shit
job because of her. She was tired of being scared of Silvio. Tired of worrying
if she and Rico were in danger. She stepped to the table, took a tomato that
Sophia had cut in half, squeezed it over a cup until the pulp and seeds
dribbled out and set the remainder on the chopping board. “I can’t have some
knife grinder gossiping about me in the
mercado
. You know we don’t talk
about my job.”

“No.” To Emilia’s
surprise Sophia’s shoulders crumpled and tears started running down her face.
“No, don’t say that.”

“Mama, I’m sorry.”
Startled, Emilia hastily wiped her hands. “I didn’t mean to sound angry.”

“That’s what
happened to your father, you know. He saw things that weren’t meant for him and
those things took him away from us. And they’ll take you away from me, too, and
there’ll be nothing left.” Sophia didn’t wipe away the tears that cascaded down
her face and dripped onto her lap.

“What are you
talking about, Mama?

Sophia started to
rock back and forth in her chair. “No. They’ll kill you just like they killed
my poor Ernesto. My poor beautiful Ernesto.”

“Mama, nobody’s
going to kill me.” Emilia didn’t know if her mother was lucid or not. She
turned off the stove and sat at the table. “Talk to me.”

Sophia took a
ragged breath. “Ernesto was a driver, you know, for a fancy
norteamericano
family
that lived high above Las Brisas. Hollywood people. And their house was so big
that they gave him his own little house up there. That’s where we lived.”

“You never told me
that.” Emilia didn’t remember living anywhere as a child except with Tía
Lourdes and Tío Raul.

“It was
beautiful.” Sophia’s eyes were still watery but she smiled. “There was a pool
and six maids and someone else to park the cars. Your father didn’t do that. He
was too important because he drove the big car just for el señor and la señora.
Parties all the time in the big house. We were invited sometimes and your
father was so proud. Many times we ate dinner in the big house, too. Afterwards
la señora and I would play with you. She bought you dresses, you know. Ernesto
would play pool with el señor and smoke cigars. And then sometimes in our
little house Ernesto would smoke cigars. They were expensive but he had gotten
accustomed to expensive things.”

Emilia didn’t dare
say a word. This story was spilling out of her mother and it was something
Emilia had never heard before. All she’d ever been told was that her father was
a mechanic like his brother, and a chauffeur, too, and that he’d died in a car
accident.

“He thought he was
living just the same as el señor and that was wrong. He took too much and God
punished us because Ernesto had forgotten himself.”

“What happened?”
Emilia asked quietly. It was a fragile moment and she didn’t know if she’d
never get her mother to open up like this again.

“One day he and el
señor went somewhere. They were such good friends that el señor didn’t sit in
the back of the car anymore. He sat up front like they were equals when
everyone knew they weren’t. And a truck hit them right in the face and they
both died. La señora was very angry because if el señor had been in the back
seat he would have lived and only my poor Ernesto would have been crushed. She
was angry and we had to leave and say goodbye to our little house near the big
house and goodbye to Las Brisas and everything your father thought would last
forever.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.
That must have been so hard for you.” Emilia swallowed back a lump in her
throat. “I only remember you crying and crying at Tío Raul’s house. I think
it’s my first memory.”

Sophia wiped her
face with the towel used to dry the vegetables.

Emilia leaned
forward, not sure if she’d have such a chance again anytime soon. “Mama,” she
said softly. “You can’t keep pretending that the man in the front room is my
father. He has a wife in Mexico City and he needs to go back to her.”

As if he’d heard
the conversation, Ernesto Cruz pushed open the door to the kitchen and stared
at them.

“Mama,” Emilia
whispered urgently. “Listen to me.”

Sophia dropped the
towel and straightened her spine. “I think we should buy you a new dress,
Emilia. Something for school parties.”

“Mama,” Emilia
groaned. She turned to the man in the doorway. “Ernesto, we can’t keep
pretending and letting her tell people something that isn’t true. What about
your wife in Mexico City?”

“Sophia’s been
good to me,” he said apologetically. He went back into the other room, letting
the kitchen door close behind him.

“No one is going
to take Ernesto away from me again,” Sophia sniffed.

Emilia watched as
her mother retreated into that mysterious place again, where Sophia was 19 and
Emilia was an intruder.

Chapter 17

Emilia cleared off
the tabletop next to the coffee maker and slung down a box of sweet rolls and a
bag of gourmet roasted coffee subsidized by Gomez’s bankroll. She took the
coffeemaker carafe to the public bathroom and washed it out, then made a new
pot of coffee. Twelve cups. The smell of fresh coffee filled the empty squadroom.
Emilia poured herself some and took it to her old desk instead of
el
teniente’s
office.

She logged in and
read the latest updates. Chief Salazar had officially released Lt. Inocente’s
body to the family. The funeral would be on Wednesday. The city’s
undersecretary for tourism said that Acapulco was enjoying a boom in visitors
from other areas of Mexico due to the decline in the city’s petty crime. He
didn’t mention any statistics and Emilia couldn’t recall having seen anything
that said petty crime was down. She hoped he wouldn’t be in the meeting later
that morning with Carlota.

There was nothing
in her inbox from the telecommunications office about the phone records or the
security staff about unlocking the last drawer in
el teniente
’s desk.
But she did have two emails from Chief Salazar’s secretary; the first saying
that he wanted to speak with her and the second cancelling the summons and
telling her that her aggression toward another officer last Friday had been
referred to the union for adjudication.
Madre de Dios
, Emilia swore to
herself. She re-read that last several times, knowing that it meant that
Obregon would have yet another thing to hold over her head.

Ibarra and
Loyola’s voices filtered in from the corridor. Silvio’s bass rumbling came
through as well and then all three of them were in the squadroom. None of them
acknowledged Emilia. They separated to their respective desks and for a while
nothing was heard except the click of keyboard keys and the occasional jeer.
Out of the corner of her eye Emilia saw Loyola look at Gomez’s desk. The stall
door was gone.

At 9:00 am Emilia
printed out the day’s dispatch assignments and attached them to the new
clipboard. She could all feel their eyes on her unfamiliar outfit: her Sunday
skinny black skirt paired with a black and white blouse and the
maldita
high heels again. And the thick turquoise necklace that had been the reward to
herself when she made detective.

“Fashion show
today, Cruz?” Silvio asked.

“I wish,” Emilia
said, determined to follow Kurt’s advice. She made a show of taking out pen and
paper. “The mayor wants a briefing on the investigation with a list of all the
detectives and their contribution to the investigation.”

It was a very
effective lie and had the intended effect even if only three detectives were
there. But they’d tell the others.

Silvio went to
fill his coffee cup, froze for a moment when he caught sight of the caricature
pinned to the wall above the machine, then filled his coffee cup and sniffed
suspiciously at the brew before drinking. “Castro and Gomez are both off sick,”
he said.

Ibarra gave a deep
smoker’s cough.

The voices of Rico
and Fuentes were heard before the two detectives appeared. Silvio’s eyes swung
from Emilia to the newcomers.

“What the fuck?”
Rico said by way of a universal greeting.

“Morning meeting,”
Emilia reminded him.

Rico went to the
coffee maker and sniffed much as Silvio had done. “Good. I’ll start,” he said
as he poured himself a cup of coffee and took a roll, ignoring the caricature.
“We got some luck. The El Pharaoh keeps extensive records. Lt. Inocente was a
good customer. Guess if you pay off a big tab once they let you keep going. He
was a member of their Club del Oro and stayed pretty close to the debt limit.”

Fuentes stepped to
the table and selected a roll, looking his usual put-together self. Emilia
realized that he reminded her a little of a younger non-
gringo
Kurt
Rucker. Well-groomed, sharply pressed. Quietly confident. “But all of their
staff has an alibi for Tuesday night. They were all working.”

“Somebody from the
El Pharaoh would have hired a hit.” This from Silvio. “They’re high rollers.”

“But why?” Rico
inhaled some coffee, his roll already gone. “He’d paid out good once, they got
no reason to think he won’t again. They saw him as cash in hand. A compulsive
loser who liked to give them money. Didn’t meet anybody who didn’t like
Inocente’s gambling style.”

Loyola went over
to the table, got a roll, and leaned against Silvio’s desk. “Got a tie-in with
that,” he said, his long face smug behind his glasses. “Finally got all the
fingerprints identified. Matches for the whole family, plus two more.” He
looked around the room to make sure everybody was paying attention. “Two
hookers. They were in the system. Both work the El Pharaoh.”

The room went
silent and Ibarra mimed for applause.

“Let’s bring them
in,” Silvio said.

To Emilia’s
surprise he looked at her. “Of course,” Emilia said. “That explains the sex
right before he died."

“Two boats out
there that night,’ Rico said, jabbing his finger at the picture of the maroon
speedboat on the murder board. “He stiffed them. Argued. Whatever. Hooker or
her pimp bashed in his head. Dumped his body back on his own boat. Hooker and
friend took off in their own.”

Silvio nodded.
“Macias and Sandor are making the rounds of the marinas this morning. They got
somebody says they saw a boat that night around 2:00 am with a light blinking
on and off. Looks to be the right place for it to have been Inocente’s boat.
But didn’t the coroner say he’d died around midnight?”

“Flashlight was
left on.” Rico refilled his coffee cup. “Anybody saw his boat drifting at 2:00
am would have been seeing the flashlight rolling around on the floor of the
cabin.”

“Okay.” Silvio
added the 2:00 am sighting to the murder board.

“Last thing,”
Ibarra said. He went to the murder board with a couple of printouts in one
hand. “Forensics got into the laptop. It wasn’t hard, apparently, which means
nothing on it was worth hiding. They recovered a bunch of emails to somebody
with a segurrosg.com email address. Looks like a fight over money that he had
and was supposed to give back. A loan or something, maybe. Accused the person
he was supposed to pay back of ruining his marriage, hurting his kids. Real
angry stuff.”

“The brother’s
company is Seguros Guerrero,” Rico said and grabbed the printouts from Ibarra.
“Segurrosg.com is the website.”

“Okay, maybe he
had money from the company?” Ibarra looked from Silvio to Emilia.

“The emails went
to Bruno Inocente’s accountant’s email address,” Rico said, reading the
printouts. “
Cristo,
this is harsh stuff. Maybe he wrote this when he was
drunk as well as mad.”

“Maybe we need to
talk to the brother again,” Fuentes said. He gone back to his desk after selecting
his roll and had been taking notes.

“And the
accountant,” Emilia said. She was inwardly thrilled with the way the meeting
was going. So many detectives were there and they were having the sort of
conversation she’d wanted to have each morning; comparing notes, discussing the
case. “I’d like to know what they say before we go over to Lomas Bottling this
afternoon.”

“The water thing
again, Cruz?” Silvio sneered.

The convivial mood
of the last few minutes popped like a soap bubble.

“It’s a loose end,
Silvio.” Emilia pretended not to see the thunder in his face as she unclipped
the dispatches and handed them to Loyola. “You two are up next.”

“What?” Loyola
looked at Silvio.

“Silvio took the
last one, Rico got the assignments before that,” Emilia explained. “You two are
next. Just keeping it fair.”

It took two beats
before Loyola caught her drift and his attention came back to her. “Okay,” he
said uncertainly and the meeting was over.

Emilia went into
el
teniente’s
office to find the old press release file so she could remember
what she’d told the mayor before. Silvio followed her in. He loomed in the
doorway, broad, bulky, wearing his gun in its shoulder holster, white tee shirt
stretched over heavy muscles. The usual scowl tightened his face. “What’s with Gomez?”
he said.

“Are you asking if
I’m going to bring a complaint against him?” Emilia kept the desk between them.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know.”
That was the truth. Gomez deserved to be thrown out but Emilia knew she’d be
crucified if she brought charges against a detective who, from his file,
obviously had someone influential looking out for him. Chief Salazar and senior
officers would close ranks, accuse her of leading on the other detective and
clamoring that Lt. Inocente had been right in not wanting a female detective in
his squadroom in the first place. Gomez would say she had told him to meet her
there, that he’d thought she was his girlfriend, that she’d wanted to have sex
with him. They’d work up any lie that would pit his word against hers. Emilia
had seen those tactics hush up a dozen rape victims. Few rapes ever got
prosecuted.

“He went after
you, didn’t he?” Silvio surprised her by saying.

“Yes.”

“And got the shit
beat out of him by a girl.” Silvio’s eyes raked over her. “You got on high
heels today and he’s home with busted ribs and a face like a moldy
jitomate
.
Castro’s babysitting.”

The other
detectives had probably turned up just to see how good a beating she’d gotten
from Gomez. “So what are you suggesting?” Emilia demanded. “That he should be
able to come right back and act like nothing happened?”

“I’m saying that a
lot of guys want to do what Gomez did,” Silvio said. “That’s why you don’t
belong here. But if he stays it’s a reminder that they can’t.”

“A
lot of guys
,
Silvio? What that’s supposed to mean?”

“
Rayos
,
Cruz,” Silvio swore. “I’m trying to show you how things are.”

“The case got
bumped to the union for adjudication,” Emilia flung back. “So Gomez can do his
explaining to Obregon.”

“That must suit
you just fine,” Silvio snarled. “His little
chica
in trouble and Obregon
comes rushing in.”

“It’s not like
that with Obregon, Silvio,” Emilia blazed. The
pendejo
had jumped to
exactly the opposite conclusion regarding Obregon. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re
still sniffing around after that water company,” Silvio said. “So you can waste
some time for him. You stalling so he can cover up some shit?”

Emilia folded her
arms, wary now. “I told you. We’re going to tie up all the loose ends.”

“Those loose ends
just got tied up for you on a
plate and you don’t even know what to do
with it.”

“I have to go talk
to the mayor,” Emilia said tightly. “Tell her how fucking helpful you’ve been.”

Silvio stepped
aside at the last second as Emilia headed out of the office with the press
release file. She swung by her old desk to get her bag and left. Fuentes looked
as if he wanted to say something to her but she couldn’t stay in that
maldita
squadroom one more minute.

☼

“So you see, I’m
very interested in making sure we bring along talented professional women. That
Acapulco sets a standard for opportunities for women in Mexico.”

“That would be
very helpful, señora,” Emilia said.

“Take you, for
example,” Carlota said. The mayor was a vision in another two-piece outfit,
this time a heather purple tweed with cream piping, decorated with an enormous
amethyst brooch. Her shoes were matching cream suede sling backs with a slight
platform. She put down her fork and looked earnestly at Emilia. “You’re our
first female detective. Self-educated. Handling big cases. A role model.”

Silvio would
roll over dead if he heard this.
Emilia managed a smile. “I wouldn’t say
that, señora.”

“You should be
making contacts now, Lieutenant,” Carlota said. She took a small bite of the
omelet on her plate. “Planning your next career move.”

“I’ve only been a
detective for two years, señora,” Emilia said. “I’ll probably stay in the job
as long as I can.”

“No, no,” Carlota
put down her fork and waved a hand in dismay. “That won’t do. Now, who is in
your network?”

“My network?”
Emilia asked.

Breakfast with the
mayor, in a private alcove off the main office, was turning out to be a
learning experience. Emilia had briefed the mayor on the progress of the
investigation as they were served champagne and orange juice cocktails and
small plates of smoked salmon and shrimp
seviche
with lemon and capers.
By the time they’d gotten to the omelets studded with green peppers Carlota had
deftly changed the subject to Emilia’s career.

“Your professional
contacts,” Carlota clarified. She ate in small bites. Although she dabbed at
her lips frequently with her gold linen napkin the woman’s lipstick never
smudged. Her nails were a mocha tone and her hair was a perfect sheet of dark
silk.

“Well,” Emilia
considered. “I guess that would be the other detectives. Maybe Antonio Prade,
the coroner.”

“The coroner?”
Carlota looked thoroughly shocked. The napkin was dropped into her lap. “A man
who spends all his time with dead bodies is hardly a professional contact.”

Emilia ate some of
her own omelet to keep from having to reply.

Carlota took up
her fork again. “My point is that you have a very promising career in front of
you. But you have to build a network, meet the right people, and have them open
doors to the next level.”

“I see.” Emilia
glanced at her watch as she reached for her coffee cup. It was 11:15 am. Loyola
and Ibarra should have found those hookers by now.