Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1) (20 page)

“As long as he’s going home and not somewhere else.”

“We’ll just follow him for a while and see where he goes.”

Two minutes later, Short and Round pulled out and we followed, a discreet fifty yards back. We got lucky. He turned into the neighborhood. He was going home, just a few hundred yards away. He drove to the house directly across from the cemetery on East Maple Street—the same one we had noted on our drive-by. He pulled into the driveway and waited for the automatic garage door to open.

“Keep on driving the same speed,” I said. “Just drive right on by.”

As we passed the house, I was able to get a glimpse inside the two-car garage.

“See that?” I asked.

“She looked. Yeah—silver Mercedes. Hello, Eddie Salazar. What do you want to do?” she asked.

My heart was beating quickly, the way it does whenever I’m zeroing in on a bad guy. I thought for a second as Toni continued driving slowly down the street. “Turn right up here. I’m halfway tempted to pull up to the guys in the front yard and ask them if Eddie’s there. But that won’t really accomplish anything except tip him off.”

“And maybe get us shot,” Toni added. “Think about it. Right now, we have the upper hand. We know where he is, but he doesn’t know that we know.”

“True,” I agreed. “Let’s call Dwayne.”

~~~~

An hour later, at seven in the evening, we were at the Seattle Police Department headquarters downtown. After I’d called Dwayne on the cell phone from the car and told him what we’d seen, he agreed to meet with us in his office. Our goal was to go over what we had and bring in the King County District Attorney’s office to discuss strategy and options. We didn’t have any real evidence that Eddie Salazar had done anything to Gina, all we had were suspicions based on threats he’d made to Kara and implied to us. Still, it didn’t hurt to go over what we had with the DA to help develop legal strategies.

We met in the conference room on the eighth floor. Toni and I, Dwayne and Gus, and Harold Ohlmer and Denise Freeman from the King County District Attorney’s office huddled around half of the large conference table.

Some ADAs were a pain in the ass, more intent on protecting their win/loss record in preparation for an eventual run for governor than they were in yanking bad guys off the street. Ohlmer had a strong reputation for not being one of those guys. He was a tall, lanky, gray-haired assistant DA who was known as a straight shooter among law enforcement personnel. He’d been an assistant DA in King County for twenty-five years, and he was not interested in elected office. I knew him only by his reputation. I’d heard that he was keenly interested in putting bad guys away and that he was willing to take chances, within the law, in order to do this. He didn’t need an ironclad case in order to prosecute. Ohlmer had the demeanor of someone who knew what he was doing. We were lucky to have him on our side. His partner, on the other hand—I didn’t know anything about her. All I could tell was that Denise Freeman was young. She seemed to be along just for the education.

We spent an hour walking the DAs through the events of the past week, bringing them up to speed, culminating in our discovery of Eddie Salazar’s apparent residence less than two hours ago.

When we finished, Ohlmer said, “Thank you very much for the briefing. It seems very thorough. Before I comment, is there anything else anyone wants to add?”

No one responded, so he continued.

“Let me start by saying that, like all of you, we would love to see this case resolved and the guilty persons put away,” he said. “Furthermore, if that young lady is still alive, our first priority is to rescue her, and second, to prosecute the case. In that order.”

Made sense to me. I nodded my agreement.

“That being said,” he continued. “Can somebody tell me what crimes, if any, this man Salazar has committed? If you’re asking me to go to the judge on a Saturday night and ask for arrest warrants, what’s the crime?”

There was silence in the room as we considered the question.

“If we want to arrest him, this is supposed to be an easy question,” he said.

He waited another few seconds, then said, “Let me help you out. While we may suspect him of a lot of things, I see us actually able to charge Mr. Salazar with a felony assault on Kara Giordano at this time. It’s obviously against the law to beat someone as he has, and I can definitely get us an arrest warrant for that. It’s not what you’re after, but it will give us a good, solid legal reason to get him off the street. Except, apparently there’s one pesky little problem, which your collective silence seems to confirm. The victim’s disappeared and there’s no one to testify against him. Is my understanding correct?”

“It is,” I said. “Unfortunately, as we pointed out in our briefing, after our interview yesterday and particularly after the altercation at her condo, we advised the victim to find a secure location and hole up for the moment. We asked her to call us once she’d done that and let us know how to reach her. Apparently, she’s taken our advice as to the first part—she left. We guarded her exit and made sure she got on the road safely. But for some reason, she’s decided not to take our advice as to our second suggestion: she hasn’t called in yet to let us know how to get in touch with her.”

“She probably thought you had shifty eyes,” Dwayne joked.

“I suppose,” I said. “But in any case, she’s not available to act as either a victim or a witness. At least not now, not until she calls in.”

“That’s what I thought,” Ohlmer said. “That means that the warrant for felony assault is off the table for now. At least until we’re able to produce a victim. Beyond that, though, what has the man done? You’ve presented several possibilities. Theories, really. Kidnap, murder, drugs—who knows? This woman Kara Giordano says he told her he wants to kill Gina. But by her own admission, she doesn’t know anything else. I don’t think a hearsay threat made to a third party—a party who isn’t even available—rises to the level of probable cause for us to charge this man with any crime against Gina Fiore. I hate to say it, but except for the assault charge, which is off the table for the moment, I’d say we are unable to bring charges against Mr. Salazar. Right now, we seem to be long on hunches, but short on evidence.”

Ouch! Unfortunately, the guy’s logic was right on. We could be absolutely certain in our gut that he was guilty, but without evidence leading to probable cause, he’d never be arrested, and certainly never convicted. I’ve had good defense lawyers take apart my cases in the past by whittling away at my evidence. They’d point out a weakness in our procedure and, bam, the judge tossed the evidence. Next thing you knew, the squeaking noise you were hearing was the sound of the hinges as the guilty guy walked out the door. I hate when that happens, so I always try to be super careful. I understood where Ohlmer was coming from. If we were going to do this, we’d better do it right.

He stood up to go. “Unless there’s anything else,” he said, “I believe we’ll be running along. I’d like to get home to my wife, it being Saturday night and all. In summary, I’d say you need to get back to the drawing board and bring forth some real evidence before we can charge him with anything. Meanwhile, if you’re worried that he poses a threat to Gina Fiore, perhaps you should consider inviting him in for an interview. If he won’t agree to that, why not simply show up on his doorstep and try talking to the guy. If he’s already murdered her, you’ve got nothing to lose. You need to start pressing him. If he’s trying, but he hasn’t found her yet, then you’ll probably disrupt his search plans. Most folks can’t play offense and defense at the same time. Either way is good for you.”

I couldn’t argue with his logic. We said our good-byes to the DAs and then sat back down at the table.

“Guy makes things pretty clear, doesn’t he?” Dwayne said.

“Yeah,” I answered. “I may not like what he has to say, but it’s hard to argue with his thought process.”

“Gus and I suspected that he’d say what he did. But sometimes it helps for the team to get together and hear it.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “Seems we have two choices now: surveillance or interview.”

“We could always do both,” Gus said. “See what we can see.”

“Or both,” I agreed. “Harold raises an interesting point about disrupting Eddie simply by visiting him. Sooner the better, I say. How about a Sunday morning visit to the house in Kent to rattle his cage and let him know we’re alive? Tomorrow morning—say nine o’clock?”

“Turns out we’ve got a prior commitment,” Gus said.

“This is important,” I said. “When can you get free? What time do you think?”

“I mean we have a prior commitment—you guys and us. It’s early—won’t cause us to put off our visit to Mr. Salazar by more than an hour or so.”

“Really? What’s up?” I asked.

“One of my informant’s leads might be paying off. We’ve got a meeting set up with a guy who knows something about Eddie Salazar and his background.”

“Really?” I was suddenly intrigued. “When and where?”

“Paddy Murphy’s. Eight thirty.”

Paddy Murphy’s is one of Seattle’s most famous Irish bars and restaurants. It’s at First and Madison in downtown Seattle. “Paddy Murphy’s. Been a long time.” I turned to Toni. “Ah—a real authentic Irish breakfast,” I said in my best Irish brogue. “Toni, darling, prepare yourself for a wee bit o’ heaven. Sure, you’re in for a treat. Then we can pay a little visit to Mr. Salazar—this time on our terms.”

~~~~

Toni dropped me off back at the office. We agreed to meet at eight the next morning. I spent the drive home thinking about the long day we’d had. Long, hard, frustrating, but ultimately productive. We’d gotten lucky, and we were zeroing in on Eddie Salazar. We might not be able to bust the little bastard just yet, but starting tomorrow, he was going to hear from us. He’d have to start looking out for us, and that meant there was that much less time he’d have to hunt for Gina.

Then again, the move wasn’t without risk. Eddie Salazar had friends, and they weren’t the kind of guys you’d meet for lattes at Starbucks. We’d found that out the hard way. We were going to have to be careful. I sent Toni a text message telling her to bring her vest tomorrow. I’d decide in the morning whether or not we’d put them on. I thought back to my squad leader in Afghanistan, Staff Sergeant Harry Wendall III. Sergeant Wendall was a Southern boy, full of wonderful sayings. One of his most memorable was when he’d check our gear before going out on patrol. He’d invariably yell out, “Vests are like rubbers, ladies! Much better to have one and not need it than need one and not have it.” Hooah.

Chapter 12

MY DAD FIRST
brought me to Paddy Murphy’s in 1985. That day, after the Seattle Gaels Irish football club played their Saturday morning game, half of the folks in the stands formed a parade and moved the party over to Paddy’s to watch the “real” games tape-delayed from Ireland. Given my wee tender years, my dad and I were restricted to the restaurant-only side of the establishment. But it didn’t matter. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Today, the place smelled exactly the same as when I was a kid, except no more cigarettes. The televisions in the corners had the sound off and were tuned to taped versions of last year’s All Ireland Gaelic Football match between County Cork and County Down. Because of the hour, the crowd was not too heavy yet. The bar was nearly empty. Once my eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the bar, I saw Dwayne and Gus seated alongside a third fellow at a table near the back of the restaurant by the kitchen doors. Gus waved us over.

“Hey guys,” he said as we drew near. They all stood as we approached.

Dwayne said, “Toni and Danny, this is Mr. Javier Galindez.” Galindez was a round, middle-aged Spanish man with swept-back gray hair. He was dressed neatly in gray slacks and an untucked light blue short-sleeved shirt. “Javi is an old friend of mine from the days when I was a patrol cop. Javi used to own a small grocery store in SoDo, but you moved that—when?”

“We moved in 2002 to Kent,” Javi said. “I’m very honored to meet you,” he said, reaching to shake my hand. He spoke with the slight accent of a man who had emigrated from Mexico and worked hard to master his adopted country’s language. “Dwayne has told me much about you and your heroic service to our country. It is deeply appreciated.”

“Thank you,” I said, shaking his hand. “You know that Detective Brown has been known to exaggerate from time to time?”

“Two Purple Hearts plus a Silver Star for personal gallantry, young man,” Javi said. “That’s not easy to downplay. That’s genuine hero stuff.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the kind words. Please allow me to introduce my associate, Ms. Toni Blair.”

“Toni Blair—just like the former Prime Minister of England,” Javi said.

“Right,” she said, smiling.

“But prettier, and with more tattoos,” I said.

“And I can probably whip the Prime Minister’s skinny little butt,” Toni said, drawing laughter from the group.

“I don’t doubt it, young lady,” Gus said. He pulled a chair out for Toni. After she sat down, the rest of us followed.

Our waitress came over to take Toni’s and my order. “Number one,” I said, without referring to the menu. “Two eggs, sunny-side up, bacon, black-and-white pudding with rosemary potatoes, black coffee,” I said, reciting a childhood favorite of mine.

“Ah, you’ve been here before, I see,” the waitress said.

“I have, indeed.” I answered. “My father used to bring me here when I was a kid. Very fond memories.” I looked at Toni. She was intently studying the menu.

“You’ll not be finding any tofu here, darlin’,” I said in Irish brogue.

She looked up and smiled. “Darn,” she said. “Number one you said? Let me see.” She checked out the menu, then said “Okay, I’ll have the same thing as him then. Just throw on some Lipitor sprinkles for me, will you?”

Everyone laughed. “You are a funny young lady,” Javi said, laughing.

Toni laser-beamed him with one of her best smiles. He seemed to melt.

After we were done ordering, I said to Javi, “Dwayne says you know something about Eduardo Salazar.”