His Texas Touch. AlTonya Washington
below her breath. “I’ll get my own ride.” She slammed the phone down on his laughter.
Not surprising, the ringing resumed again.
“Damn you,” she greeted.
Khouri burst into laughter then. “Hell, girl, I swear it’s too early in the morning even for me to be on your bad side.”
“Sorry, Khou…” she groaned, knocking a fist to her forehead when she heard her brother’s voice. “Just had a bad call.”
“So Dad got to you, too, huh?”
“No…what’s up?”
“I was calling to ask if you knew what this meeting was for.”
“Meeting? Today?”
“Ten a.m. sharp.”
“Damn.” The wall clock above her fireplace read 9:10 a.m. “Well…maybe it’s somethin’ good,” she hurriedly reasoned while collecting files and shoving them into her white leather valise. “How’d he sound when he called you?”
“Pissed. I’m guessing this ain’t one of those pats-on-the-back meetings.”
Avra stilled, thinking back to the tense conversation with her father the day before. “Guess we’ll find out soon,” she said, deciding against sharing the father-daughter discussion with her brother.
“See you there, all right?”
“Yeah.” She waited for Khouri to break the connection first. “Damn,” she muttered.
* * *
“Thanks for comin out, B. I know it was short notice.” Sam was shaking hands with Chief of Detectives Bradley Crest when the man arrived in his office at Machine Melendez.
“Not a problem.” Brad clapped Sam’s shoulder when they were done shaking hands. “I’ve been meaning to come out or call to check on Mr. Dan. He didn’t look too good when I left that day.” Brad’s blue eyes harbored a probing intensity as he removed his hat.
“It’s not easy for him to hear these murders are targeting his employees.” Sam tapped his index knuckle against the corner of his mouth as he thought of his father. “Man’s not as young as he used to be.” Something about the muttered acknowledgment struck a chord with Sam. Tugging on the cuffs of the shirt hanging outside his trousers, he went over to lean against his desk.
“Everything all right, Sam?” Brad worried the brim of his hat.
“Any new developments in this thing, Brad? Specifically, have y’all found any connections between Martino Viejo and the other victims?”
Brad bowed his head. He knew what Sam was really asking. “So far no links between Viejo and the address the others shared.”
Samson didn’t mind letting his relief show. He drew both hands through his dark straight hair and let out a sigh.
“The guy—Viejo—sure accomplished a lot in a short span of time.”
“Yeah,” Sam murmured with a grunt meant to be a laugh. “And I hadn’t even heard of him till he died.”
“From what we’ve gathered so far, he kept a pretty low profile but made a respected name for himself dealing with the public on behalf of MM.”
“Guess that explains why dad’s so upset over his death.”
“Makes sense.” Brad settled his lean, wiry frame into a chair. “Losin’ an employee that valuable…gotta hurt.”
Sam understood Brad’s point. For some reason he just didn’t buy it. He chose to keep that part of his opinion to himself.
“You still don’t have a lead into who killed him?” Sam asked instead.
It was Brad’s turn to grunt a humorless laugh. “All we know is who didn’t kill him. Whoever it was cleaned up very well behind himself.”
“Can you pin the other murders on Arroyo?”
Brad looked uneasy then. “None of this goes past this room.” His stony expression brooked no argument.
Sam only spread his hands, silently implying that he knew that better than anyone.
“Hell—” Brad threw up a wave “—this thing’s got me edgier than a deer in headlights. Whole thing’s a mess.” He pushed out of the chair he’d occupied and stalked the spacious scope of Sam’s office. “The leads we think we have all tend to crisscross and fizzle. We got absolutely nothin’ to go on ’cept an address no map or GPS can locate.”
Sam was back to massaging his jaw as he considered all the detective shared.
“Truth is—” Brad sighed “—we can only pin two of the murders on Arroyo—he was sloppy. Aside from the evidence we recovered, those murders pointed to him because they were so similar. The others…” Brad studied the stitching in the brim of the hat. “Once you toss in the similarities with the vics, nothin’ else seemed to fit.”
Sam frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
“That either Arroyo switched up his style from sloppy to smart for three of the murders or there’s a second killer.”
The silence that settled then was only interrupted by the shrill ring of Brad’s cell. Less than a minute later, he was making his way out of the office.
Sam remained seated on the corner of his desk, deep in thought.
* * *
“Surprised to see you here, man,” Luc Anton greeted once he’d knocked on Danilo’s office door and strolled inside.
Dan shrugged, barely looking up from the papers he shuffled. “Important for the staff to be reassured given what’s happened.” He stopped with the papers and clenched his fists. “Tino’s death… It’s a huge loss.”
“And I commend your courage for being here,” Luc noted; his voice was soft yet the subtle hint of curiosity was there.
Dan heard it and smiled as he returned to sit behind his desk. “Say what you came to say.”
“What? I’m commending—”
“Luc.”
“Tino’s death could open up a can of worms wide enough to swallow us.”
“Martino Viejo was a good worker.”
Luc’s brow creased, adding more wrinkles to his weather-beaten skin. “And you think that means he didn’t keep certain reminders of earlier times? Let’s not forget that was how he rose so high.”
“He would’ve never resorted to blackmail,” Dan snapped.
“Are you serious? Or are you getting Martino Viejo confused with the staff or your sons who think the sun rises and sets with you?” Luc spat a soft, vicious curse. “You’re a fool if you think the cops won’t find something while investigating that kid’s murder—something that could put us all in trouble.” He raised a finger. “You need to get in front of this before it’s too late.”
Dan’s pitch stare narrowed. “That a threat, Lucas?”
“It’s a fact, old friend.” With those words, Luc left the room.
* * *
“He called in all the reporters?” Avra was asking Khouri when they stepped into the main meeting room at Ross Review.
The area was filled to capacity with writers, editors and anyone else even remotely involved with the department. Khouri and Avra found two seats close together but not in the same row. There were hushed, indecipherable conversations. Someone complained about there not being more coffee at the buffet that had been set up along a far wall. Shortly afterward a door slammed and all heads turned to Basil Ross, who had just entered.