Cliff Diver (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 1) (23 page)

There was an
abarrotes
shop on the corner, a closet-sized place selling candy, cigarettes, soda, and
telenovela
magazines that were a month old. Emilia selected a bottle of sports drink. “I
hear there’s a place to make a bet around here.” She smiled at the older woman
behind the tiny counter hemmed in by cartons of Chupa Pops. “My husband wants
me to do it for him. He got work today.”

The woman jerked
her head to indicate the next house over. Silvio’s house.

“They take the
bets over there?”

“Ask for Franco.”

“Thanks.” Emilia
turned to leave.

“Not today,” the
woman scoffed as if Emilia had said something stupid.

“You mean later?
Tonight?” Maybe Silvio only took bets at night when he was home.

“Only Fridays.”

“Why only
Fridays?”

The woman
shrugged. “Place your bet on Friday. Games on Saturday. Pay up or pay out on
Monday.” She gave a cackle. “If Franco says anybody wins.”

So Silvio’s book
was a basic bet on
fútbol
games that were played on Saturday nights.
Emilia gave him points for organization but not for imagination. She took a
small bag of chips down from a peg and put them on the counter with some money.
“Franco’s the bookie? Is he, you know, okay?” She let hang the notion that a
mere slip of a girl might be afraid of a bookie.

The woman made
change. “Franco’s okay. Nobody pushes him around.” She gave Emilia a hard look.
“You tell your worthless husband to place his own bets. A pretty thing like you
should be home making babies.”

Emilia smiled
coyly and left.

Silvio’s house was
one of the few that had been whitewashed recently and the gate looked new and
very heavy. Unlike the others, however, the gate was open and a heavyset woman
was scrubbing the sidewalk in front with a broom that she occasionally dunked
in a bucket of water. A couple of small children hung around by the wall of the
neighboring house, watching the woman and giggling from time to time. She
looked up once and smiled and waved at them before continuing to scrub the
path.

Emilia stayed on
the opposite side of the street, eating her chips and drinking the cold sports
drink. There was a small
florista
stand with a large dented Herdez
vegetables sign over it. Emilia lingered, ostensibly looking at the blooms. She
wasn’t sure why she’d come or what she’d thought she’d see. She finally bought
two ginger stems and crossed the street, planning to pass the house and the
industriously sweeping woman.

As she passed the
gate she saw that the courtyard space between the gate and the house was full
of plastic tables and chairs, almost as if it was a restaurant.

“You’re welcome to
come.” The woman with the broom stopped sweeping and came to the gate. She
looked at Emilia critically. “If you have children to bring.”

“I’m sorry?” Emilia
paused with the gate between them. For some reason the woman made her feel
guilty for indulging in the sports drink and chips.

“You don’t have to
hang around like you’re afraid to ask.” The woman was at least ten years older
than Emilia but still striking. Her eyes were dark and intelligent and her hair
was glossy and thick. There was a weariness about her, however, and her
polyester dress was old and bagged out of shape. She wore plastic flip flops
that were worn down at the heels. “Food’s only for the children. Tuesdays and
Thursdays. Whatever you can pay. It doesn’t matter if you can’t.”

“Oh.” Emilia was
nonplussed. “I thought . . . I didn’t . . . I thought this was the place to
make bets.”

“Oh,” the woman
said. “Come back on Friday for that.”

Emilia smiled and
walked on, needing to escape the poverty and the fear and the whole hideous
investigation.

The rest of
Gomez’s money was in her bag. It was time to go shopping.

Chapter 21

“Is this a school party?”
Sophia asked as she zipped up Emilia’s new skinny black dress.

“Yes, Mama.”
Emilia stuck her gun and cell phone into her Sunday purse. She bit her lip,
deciding, and finally added a comb and a clean pair of underwear. The events of
the last two days had left her in a reckless mood. She’d spent the rest of the
money she’d taken out of Gomez’s pocket on some music CDs to play in the car,
the cocktail dress and a pair of red high-heeled sandals. “It might be a
sleepover kind of party.”

Sophia nodded vaguely
and left Emilia’s bedroom. Emilia heard her calling to Ernesto in the kitchen
as she went. Emilia went into the bathroom and got her toothbrush to add to her
purse.

She got to the
Palacio Réal about 7:00 pm. Kurt met her in the lobby and ran an appreciative
eye over the outfit. “Thank you for coming,” he said formally.

“Thank you for
inviting me,” Emilia said. His look made her feel decidedly female and it was a
very good feeling. “Nice shirt.”

He was wearing a
shirt with initials on the cuffs and as he grinned she knew he’d worn it on
purpose. “Shall we have a drink?” he asked.

“Yes.” Emilia let
him lead her through the lobby and to a table near the grand piano, but not so
close that the music impeded conversation. “Can I recommend a
mojito
?”
he asked as he pulled out a chair for her.

“You may,” Emilia
said. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had pulled out a chair for her.

The
mojitos
came and they toasted each other and watched yet another spectacular Acapulco
sunset. The Pasodoble Bar at night was even more elegant than it had been
Sunday afternoon. It was a million miles away from her mother and Ernesto Cruz
and poor Bruno Inocente trying to protect his
pendejo
brother’s
children. Even further from Los Bongos and crumbling neighborhoods where
everybody knew Franco the bookie.

“So tell me how
things are going,” Kurt said. He leaned back in his chair, obviously
comfortable in his luxury hotel and tall frosted glass.

“I don’t want to
talk about work tonight,” Emilia heard herself say. “I’m off duty.”

“I like the sound
of that,’ Kurt said. “Tell me what you like to do when you’re off duty.’

Emilia looked away
from him. The waves drummed up on the sand, slid away, drummed up again. There
were still a few people skipping in and out of the surf; a bronzed couple held
hands and flirted with the water and each other. As the rum and mint and lime
juice kneaded her muscles and the tide rinsed the sand Emilia thought about his
question. “I have no idea,” she said after a while. “I haven’t been off duty in
years.”

“Let me guess,”
Kurt said. “You’re very bad at relaxing.”

Emilia sipped her
mojito
and looked at Kurt out of the corner of her eye. “I usually don’t try.”

“Tonight is
different?”

“Maybe,” Emilia
admitted.

The corner of
Kurt’s mouth turned up. “How can I help?” he asked.

A heavy wave
foamed in. The young couple on the beach clung to each other and laughed.
Emilia shook her head. She’d thought she could put aside everything tonight but
the conversation above Los Bongos and Silvio’s duplicity were still running
through her head. “It’s hard to shut off work. This investigation.” She gave
Kurt a feeble grin. “That sensation of diving headfirst into the rocks.”

“It’s not going
very well, is it?”

“Actually, I’ve
had a couple of breakthroughs,” Emilia admitted.

“Really?”

“I think Silvio’s
involved in the death of Lt. Inocente.” Emilia hadn’t meant to say that, but
the words spilled out.

“The senior
detective?” Kurt frowned. “The one you thought should be in charge of the
investigation?”

She nodded,
desperately needing a sympathetic ear. “Victor Obregon, the union chief, warned
me about him. But I think that . . . I don’t know what I think. But this could
be bad.” She realized that she was gripping her hands together so tightly that
her knuckles were white. “Really bad.”

“Let’s go
someplace more private,” Kurt said and stood up. “Talk this out.”

“I’ve ruined the
evening already, haven’t I?” Emilia said.

“There’s nothing
you could do in that dress that would ruin this evening,” Kurt said, sliding
out her chair and Emilia smiled in spite of herself.

He picked up both
their glasses, made eye contact with the bartender, and led Emilia through the
hotel to an elevator. They went up to the fifth floor and he led her to a small
efficiency apartment. “This is home,” he said.

Emilia looked
around. “It’s nice,” she said. The decor was simple and impersonal, just what a
hotel apartment should look like, but the two racing bicycles by the door and
some framed pictures of yellow-haired people connected it to him. The space was
furnished with a kitchenette and small seating area with a loveseat, two
armchairs and a television. A king sized bed with matching bedside tables was
pressed into a wide alcove. Kurt opened glass doors, revealing a broad balcony
overlooking the bay. Far below Emilia could see the bar they’d just left.

They settled into
two chaise lounge chairs with the drinks on a low table between the seating.
“So tell me about Silvio,” Kurt said. “Why would he be involved?”

“I got Lt.
Inocente’s phone records. He was the last person to call Lt. Inocente’s cell
phone.” Emilia sucked down some more
mojito,
very conscious that she had
seen Kurt’s bed. “The maid said Lt. Inocente got a call about 10:00 pm and left
the apartment. Silvio was that call.”

“You found this
out from phone records?” Kurt was incredulous. “You mean this guy’s never said
anything?”

“Nothing,” Emilia
said. “It’s been a week and he hasn’t said a word.”

“I see your
concern.” Kurt sat sideways on the chaise, elbows on knees, his entire
attention focused on her. The evening breeze ruffled his hair. It was just long
enough to curl.

Emilia recounted
the conversations she’d had over the past two days. Without appearing bored,
Kurt listened to her story about the breakfast date with the mayor, the brief
excitement they’d had when they connected the fingerprints to the two hookers,
the fact that Ruiz had probably been a member of the El Machete gang and that
at least the cousin knew that Ruiz had carried counterfeit money. The words
spilled out in a relieved gush; Obregon’s suspicious motives, the mayor’s
pressure, Bruno’s offer, Silvio’s cell call to Lt. Inocente. That spiraled into
Silvio moonlighting as a bookie, the fact that he’d been seen with a wad of the
same counterfeit money used to ransom the Morelos de Gama child, and how he’d
responded to the dispatch message about a possible counterfeit bill discovered
by the Bancomer Bank.

“So that’s your
case?” Kurt asked. “Silvio and Inocente were in this together, kidnapped the
child, somehow got paid in counterfeit, and then had a falling out? Or that
Silvio was set up?”

“It could be
either.”

“Do you think
Silvio killed Inocente?”

“Rico didn’t buy
it.” Emilia toyed with the straw in her
mojito
glass. “His wife feeds
street kids twice a week. Everybody in the neighborhood knows when the free
meals are offered and that Silvio runs a book. Bets on Friday, payouts on
Monday.”

“You’re saying
that woman isn’t married to a killer.”

“I don’t know.”
Emilia finished her
mojito
. “The security guard at the marina said he
saw Lt. Inocente take the boat out alone. He punched in the code to open the
boat gate and left. No one has said that a person matching Silvio’s description
was near the marina.”

Kurt ran a hand
through his hair. Emilia’s fingers itched to do the same. “Maybe the phone call
was just talking about work and Silvio forgot to mention it,” Kurt said.

“The other angle
is this water company.” Emilia put her empty glass on the low table. “The
Inocente family sold Agua Pacifica water to the father of the kidnapped child
we found in the car. Bernal Morelos de Gama. He owns Lomas Bottling. Both his
brother Bruno and the family lawyer said they sold the company to use the money
to pay off
el teniente’s
gambling debts.”

Kurt’s eyes widened
in surprise and for a moment Emilia forgot about everything else. “That’s all a
little too coincidental,” he said. “You sure the gambling thing isn’t the key
here?”

“That’s what we
thought.” Emilia nodded. “Because he’d owned money to El Pharaoh. And . . .
used . . . girls from there. But we can’t make it fit.”

There was a
discreet knock on the apartment door. Kurt left the balcony and came back with
two more
mojitos.
Emilia accepted one and sipped. The second
mojito
was even better than the first; cold and crisp and tart.

“Did you say they
sold Agua Pacifico?” Kurt asked when he’d settled onto the other chaise again.

“Yes.”

Kurt shook his
head. “I tried to change the hotel’s water vendor a couple of months ago. Price
had gone up and it’s a major expense for a place as big as the Palacio Réal.”

“Did you change to
Agua Pacifico?”

“No,” Kurt said.
“Got a recorded message. You know, press two for whatever. Pressed all the
buttons and finally got a blurb that they cannot accommodate new customers at
this time.”

“That’s odd.”
Emilia thought back to the conversation with Licenciado Hernandez. “There are
two water purification plants, both with brand new equipment. The one we saw is
turning out 500 jugs an hour and the manager said they’re actively seeking new
customers.”

“They aren’t going
to get them that way.”

“Silvio accused me
of not knowing what I was doing,” Emilia said. “He thinks the water company is
a dead end.”

“Or like you said.
He doesn’t want the investigation to go near the water company because he’s
involved.”

Emilia sighed and
looked out over the bay again. She’d messed up the first date she’d had in a
million years. A date with the most interesting man she’d ever met. One who
listened to her, took her seriously, a man she didn’t have to fight in order to
gain his grudging respect. A man with yellow hair and the body of a triathlete.
Of course she’d ruin the evening.

“It’s not all bad
news,” Emilia said with a weak attempt at humor. “The food thing worked. Had
everybody at the meeting this morning.”

“What did I tell
you,” Kurt said.

The sun had set
over the bay. Below the balcony, the waves made foamy white lines across the
sand as the tide rolled in. The muted sounds of piano music and low conversations
carried to them on the night breeze.

“How about a swim
before dinner?” Kurt asked.

Emilia gave a
laugh. “A swim?”

Kurt stood and
pulled her out of the chaise. “It’s impossible to brood about work while you’re
swimming.”

“I didn’t bring a
suit,” Emilia protested.

“It comes with
dinner.”

Kurt was strong
and still had his hands on her shoulders, keeping Emilia close to him in the
narrow space between the two chaises. The two
mojitos
had done an
excellent job and she knew she wouldn’t say no to anything he suggested. Maybe
the evening wasn’t ruined after all.

Twenty minutes
later Emilia followed the woman who ran the hotel spa to the pool on the second
level. Kurt had taken her to the spa and turned her over to Gloria, an older
woman who helped Emilia pick out a dark red two-piece bathing suit from the spa
boutique. It wasn’t a bikini but it wasn’t a grandmother suit either and Emilia
knew she looked good in it. The manager wrapped a sheer red and gold
pareo
around Emilia’s hips and tied the ends together in a knot so that it formed a
long straight skirt, then carefully folded Emilia’s clothes and put them in a
Palacio Réal shopping bag.

A table next to
the secluded pool was set for two. Candles flickered in the night air, the
flames reflecting off wineglasses and heavy silver.

The deck around
the pool was lit by enormous pillar candles. The wicks were low, making the
cylinders of wax luminous with a faint yellow glow. Big pots of bougainvillea
were lit from below and their blooms were faint pink smudges against the night
sky. A waterfall spilled into the pool from the level above them. The water at
that end was so deep that the cascading water seemed to be absorbed into it,
turning the tall rush of water into a quiet churn.

Kurt sat on the
edge of the pool, his feet dangling over the side. He wore some type of long
dark shorts. In the candlelight the tanned skin of his chest and arms was
bronze and his hair was a halo.

“I thought you
might like a bite of something first,” he said and Emilia realized there was a
plate of appetizers on the edge of the pool next to him. “But seeing you in
that suit . . .” His voice trailed off.

Emilia put down
her purse and the shopping bag and unfastened the
pareo
. She laid it
carefully across the back of the chair by the table.

There were stairs
into the pool by the waterfall. She stepped into the water and then dove,
reveling in the silk of the water over her skin and the feeling of freedom she
always had underwater. She scissored her legs and bobbed to the surface to see
Kurt watching her from his perch on the edge of the pool.

“You’re a good
swimmer,” he said.

“I grew up in
Acapulco,” Emilia said and dove under the water again.

There was a splash
and by the small lights on the bottom of the pool Emilia saw Kurt twist
gracefully under the water. He was a strong swimmer, the muscles of his
shoulders and chest rippling. He reached out for her and she grabbed his arm
and rolled, somersaulting both of them through the clear water. Emilia felt his
hands on her wet skin and it was shatteringly exquisite. They whirled together
under the water until her lungs were bursting and she had to push upwards. Kurt
came with her and they broke the surface at the same time.