King of Swords

Chapter 16

“What do you mean, they can’t find him?” Briones screamed into the phone. “We brought him in last night, and I’m scheduled to interrogate him this morning. How the hell does a prisoner go missing in lockup overnight?”

“I don’t know what to say, Lieutenant. I’m checking it out now. Theoretically, it’s impossible. Maybe we filed him under the wrong name, or there was some other administrative error,” the duty sergeant speculated.

“Do you have any idea who this man is? He’s the one who arranged to have Capitan Cruz killed,” Briones yelled, still aghast that the little man had disappeared.

“I understand, sir. Listen…captives don’t just stroll out of here whenever they like. We’ll find him. Give me an hour to sort this out. I just came on duty at nine,” the sergeant assured him.

Briones looked at his watch. It was nine-thirty. “Call me back as soon as you find him.”

He swore as he slammed down the handset. A perfect sting, the perp caught red-handed with the murder weapon while the body was still warm, the killing memorialized on tape, and he vanishes into thin air? What the hell was going on?

Briones recalled the only words the man had spoken. Gringo-tinged Spanish in an almost femininely-high voice telling him he’d made a big mistake. And a smirk that had made Briones’ blood run cold.

The man had refused to talk since then, all the way into headquarters and through booking. Not a sound. Just a steady look that projected arrogance and irritation, as though Briones had interrupted a favorite TV show, or demanded to see his license after a traffic stop. What he hadn’t behaved like was a suspect who’d just been apprehended for murder in an open-and-shut case. It had been worrisome, and now that he was nowhere to be found, that small kernel of anxiety had blossomed into a full-blown panic.

His phone buzzed again. Briones snatched up the handset. It was the front-desk receptionist.

“There’s a woman on the line who’s asking to speak to you, Lieutenant Briones.”

“A woman? Did you get a name? Did she ask for me, specifically?” he asked.

“One moment please,” the receptionist responded and put the call through, further annoying an already agitated Briones.

“Lieutenant Briones. Is Captain Cruz all right?” the voice asked, vaguely familiar but not so much so that he knew who it was.

“Uh, yes. May I ask who I’m speaking with?” Briones fielded.

“I’m sorry. This is Dinah. Dinah Tortora. From the pawn shop? My father-”

“Yes, yes. I remember, of course. How can I help you?”

“I called to speak to Captain Cruz, but the woman who put through the call said he wasn’t there because he’d been shot,” Dinah explained with a worried tone.

God damn it. What did the operator think she was doing? News of Cruz’s shooting was sure to end up all over the papers, which he’d hoped to avoid. He made a mental note to go down and beat her senseless when he hung up the phone.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, Dinah.” That cat was obviously already out of the bag, so he saw no harm in confirming it.

“How did it happen? Is he all right? How badly is he hurt?” Dinah asked in a jumbled rush.

“In the line of duty. He should be fine,” Briones said, guarded from there on out.

“Is there any way I can see him?” Dinah asked.

“I don’t think so. He’s still at…he’s still in the hospital, Dinah.”

“Oh. Well, I thought he’d want to see what I found. I guess it can wait…” her voice trailed off.

“What you found? What do you mean, what you found?” Briones asked, now on alert.

“It’s some sort of a diary, with contact names. I was going through a box my father gave me just before he died — it was almost like he had a premonition. I remember I thought it was strange. He asked me to hold on to the box for him. I forgot about it with the shock of seeing his…finding him. But I was thinking about what Captain Cruz said, so I went and got the box and pored through it. There are some bank statements and similar stuff, but also an agenda with names and numbers in it. Names I’ve never heard of. But I thought maybe it might help you with the case,” Dinah offered.

“Dinah, I’m going to the hospital later. What time can you be here?”

Briones was livid. The same sergeant was on the line, giving him an impossible answer.

“What do you mean, he was released?” Briones couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The man’s a murderer. We have him dead to rights.”

“I wasn’t here, but I called the night sergeant, and he remembers the man. A Gringo. They let him make a phone call, don’t ask me why, and a few hours later the computer updated with a list of those to be released in the morning, at seven, and his name was on it. Nobody questions the computer. If it says release a man, you release him,” the sergeant explained.

“How did he get access to a phone? What the hell is going on down there?” Briones was speechless at the incompetence involved.

The sergeant lowered his voice. “You know how it works, Lieutenant. I’m sure money changed hands, but nobody will ever admit it. All I know is what the night sergeant told me. The prisoner made a call, and then the computer listed him as one of the prisoners to release. End of story.”

“No, not end of story. I want to know who authorized the release. Someone has to sign the order. And what about the man’s name? Surely you had a name to book him under? And prints? You still print prisoners you process, correct? Damn it, man, what have you got? I need to find this prick, and every minute you delay is another advantage for him,” Cruz warned.

“I’m looking it up. Yes, I see he was booked under the name…oh…you’re not going to like this.”

“What?”

“He gave his name as Juan Perez,” the sergeant told him — the Spanish equivalent of John Doe.

“Good God in heaven. Tell me this gets better. Please.”

“Well, we did take photos and print him, so that’s something,” the sergeant said, still reading.

“Send me the prints and everything else you have on him. Now. On the intranet.”

“Yes, sir. Again, none of this was my doing. The night sergeant probably had no idea who this man was…”

“You mean Juan Perez? No, I suppose he probably didn’t. And now, neither do we. I want that in my inbox within five minutes, Sergeant,” Briones ordered, hanging up the phone, incredulous at the exchange. Just when he thought he’d seen everything…

His rumination over the incompetence of the justice system was interrupted by his phone buzzing yet again. He grabbed it and stabbed the offending line button.

“What is it now?” he barked.

“There’s a Senorita Tortora to see you, here at security, sir. In the lobby by the phones,” the security team head from the detail in the lobby said.

“Ah. All right. Thank you. Is there any way you can escort her up here?” Briones asked.

“Sure. I’ll have one of the men bring her to your office immediately, sir.”

A few minutes later, a beaming young officer arrived with Dinah in tow. Briones noticed that most of the cops on the floor had stopped whatever they were doing, their attention riveted on her. She wore jeans and a pastel blue blouse, with only a light dusting of makeup highlighting her features, but the effect was dazzling.

He thanked the officer, who lingered a while before Briones gave him a hard stare as he offered Dinah a seat. She accepted, placing her purse on her lap, and waited in silence.

“One moment please, Dinah. I’m just finishing up something. I need to send an e-mail, and then we can get going,” he told her as he studied his screen before entering a series of rapid keystrokes and hitting return.

“No problem. Take your time. I expect you’ll tell me what happened to Captain Cruz on the way to the hospital?”

“I’ll tell you as much as I’m allowed. Okay, I think that should do it. Did you take the bus here?” he inquired politely, shutting off his monitor.

“Yes. I don’t really drive much. It’s too terrifying in this city. People are maniacs. Although, now that I have my father’s car, I should start. I just haven’t worked up the courage yet…”

“Trust me, I know. All right then, I’ll drive. Right this way,” he directed. He’d sent the prints and photo off for pattern matching, tying in Interpol as well as Mexican national databases, so hopefully the man was on record, somewhere. That was all he could do until they got a match. If they got a match.

Twenty minutes later, as they fought their way through traffic, the IT clerk in the basement inputted the data and began the search. He’d send the requestor a message if and when they got a hit. The databases in Mexico were primitive — most weren’t linked together — so there were no guarantees that the target would show up, even if he was a known killer in, say, the Yucatan, because the regional offices rarely updated their records with the central system. Sometimes it took years to bring the information current. The operator glanced at the man’s prints with little interest, typed in the Juan Perez name, and leaned back in his chair to devour the second half of his sandwich.

Cruz was surprised when Briones appeared in his doorway trailed by Dinah. He felt self-conscious lying in the bed with an array of tubes connected to him, looking like an invalid, but Dinah quickly put him at ease.

“Lieutenant Briones was kind enough to tell me about your near-miss, Captain. I’m glad you…you pulled through,” she said awkwardly.

“That makes two of us. It’s nothing, really. I hope he didn’t make it sound like a bigger deal than it really was,” Cruz downplayed.

“He said you were shot twice?” Dinah said, slightly puzzled, glancing at Briones for confirmation. He nodded.

“I’d hardly even call it shot. Pea shooters. I’ve had dog bites that have hurt worse than this.”

She regarded him skeptically — the IV bag, the pulse oximeter, the heart rate monitor, a crash cart waiting in the corner.

“Must have been some dog,” she replied diplomatically.

“So, to what can I attribute this visit? Are you doing volunteer work at the hospital? Am I now a charity case?” Cruz inquired with a grin.

She explained about the box and the book. Cruz’s eyes widened. She approached the bed and placed the book in his hands. He noticed she smelled like flowers, and honey, or maybe it was caramel. It was good, whatever it was.

He paged through to the last few entries. His eyes darted to Briones. “Lieutenant, please take this and run all the numbers, starting with this last one. It looks like a Mexico City phone number. Can you input the data using your iPhone?”

Briones nodded. He moved to Cruz’s bedside and took the book, then took a seat by the door and began snapping photos of each page as Dinah and Cruz talked.

“I’m hoping that this will help with my father’s case. Maybe one of these names will have something to do with it, or give you a new avenue to pursue. Has there been any progress…?”

“I have a team working on it, but I’ve been, well, otherwise occupied for the last few days…”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I should have known. Getting shot would take priority over case updates, right?” Dinah said sheepishly.

“I try to maintain time for both, but sometimes…” Cruz took in her face. “How are you doing? You holding up?”

“It’s hard. I try not to replay the image in my mind, but it keeps…well, you know better than anyone.”

“I do. But how do you know I do?” Cruz stared at Briones, who was absorbed in the book.

“Lieutenant Briones told me about your family. I have to apologize. I was such an ass the other day,” Dinah said.

“Nonsense. You’d just been through an awful experience.” Cruz raised his voice so Briones couldn’t miss it. “So what else has he told you about, besides my family tragedy and shooting? Did he fill you in on my diet, or my vacation plans?”

Briones looked up from his task, guilt tarnishing his face.

“Don’t blame him. I can be a ruthlessly-efficient interrogator. Ask any second grader. It’s impossible to keep secrets from me,” Dinah said. They both smiled. He noticed how her face lit up the room as she did so. He liked it.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile, Capitan. I’m glad the shooters didn’t sever the nerves that do that,” she said. They must have been thinking the same thing. His wife used to be able to read his mind in the same way. “Whereabouts were you hit, if you don’t mind me asking?” She seemed genuinely curious.

“I got nicked in the chest, and plinked in the right leg,” he explained.

“I hope it didn’t do any permanent damage.”

“No, everything is in as good a condition as ever,” he replied. An embarrassed silence hung over them, interrupted by Briones.

“Dinah, can I ask you to step outside for a few minutes? I have a few urgent matters I need to discuss,” he said.

“Of course. Forgive me. I know you two must have a lot to catch up on. I’ll just go down the hall and get something to drink. I’ll be back in a few minutes, all right?” she asked.

They both nodded, captivated by her simple charm. She seemed sincerely embarrassed she’d monopolized Cruz’s time. His eyes followed her as she departed, and Briones caught it.

“She’s quite a woman, no?” Briones remarked.

“I suppose. I hadn’t noticed,” Cruz said unconvincingly.

“She seems to like you. You’re a lucky man, Capitan,” Briones teased.

“Your calling me lucky after I’ve been shot and almost poisoned is beyond the scope of my reasoning, Lieutenant.”

“I’m just saying.” He flipped his notepad open, and began reciting the events since Maria had been hauled from his hospital room. When he finished, Cruz was stunned.

“Great work on turning the conduit, but…how the hell does a man who shot someone in front of you, and who paid to have me killed, waltz out of lock-up and vanish? Just how can that happen? Am I hearing this right? Or is this humor of some sort?” Cruz’s agitation was increasing with each question. The heart rate monitor blipped faster, and his blood pressure was spiking.

“I know. I wish I was joking. Oh, wait a second. This might be something on the case,” Briones said, as his phone beeped to alert him he’d received a priority message. He skimmed the contents for a moment, and then re-read it. When he met Cruz’s eyes, all the blood had drained from his face and he looked chastened.

“What? What is it? Did they locate the man, or ID him? Talk to me, Lieutenant.”

Cruz didn’t think the news could get any stranger or any worse than the story about the killer getting away.

He was wrong.