Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1) (22 page)

“That’s too bad,” Dwayne said. “You’ve got to watch that.” Dwayne looked past Martinez into the home. “Mind if we come inside and take a look around?”

“You got a warrant?”

“Not right now, but we can go get one,” Dwayne said.

“Then go get it.”

“Let me ask you this, first,” Dwayne said. “Have you ever been arrested?”

“Why?”

“Why? I’m guessing you have. I see the ‘M’ ink all over your shoulders. I’m thinking you’re a member of the Mexican Mafia and that you’ve spent some quality time at one of the lovely state resorts run by the Washington State Department of Corrections—maybe Walla Walla. Am I wrong?”

“Stockton, California,” Martinez answered.

“California!” Dwayne said. “Even better.”

“Why do you say that?” Martinez asked, confused.

“Because I wanted you to know that you are going to be well taken care of after today,” Dwayne said.

“What are you talking about?” Martinez asked.

“What I’m talking about is this,” Dwayne said. “Look behind you on that shelf.”

Martinez turned.

“See the plant in the red vase sitting on that shelf over there?” Dwayne asked. “See that thing next to the plant? Tell me what that is.”

Martinez said nothing.

“It’s a gram scale!” Dwayne answered for him, as if delighted. “That’s right. A gram scale, in plain sight from the front door. And just to the left of the scale there, what’s that?”

Again Martinez said nothing.

“Right again!” Dwayne said. “It’s a big-assed bong. And it looks like a whole collection of roach clips, papers, you name it.” Dwayne pointed to something else. “And what’s that rolled up in that baggie? Would that be marijuana there?”

“Looks like he’s all set up to do some entertaining,” Gus said.

“Sure does, doesn’t it?” Dwayne said.

Martinez was stone silent.

“Now,” Dwayne said, “last question. What do they call all that stuff here in the state of Washington? The legal definition? Not counting the pot, of course. We just call that pot.”

“Paraphernalia!” Dwayne said, answering his own question. “You are too good at this, Mr. Martinez, really. Drug paraphernalia, to be exact. And you know what that means, don’t you?”

“Yes—you’ve got it!” he said excitedly. “It means you’re under arrest for possession of drug paraphernalia. Why don’t you go on ahead and put your hands behind your back.” He grabbed Martinez, spun him around, and leaned him against the wall. He frisked him.

The three men on the porch again started to get up, but Gus was watching them. “Sit your punk asses back down. Now!” he ordered. They sat. “Danny? You watching these mutts?” He asked.

“We’ve got ’em,” I answered.

“
Chingada!
” Martinez said to Dwayne before turning around. “This is bullshit. I’ll be out in an hour.”

“An hour? Really? What do you think, Gus? Think this mutt will be out in an hour?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Gus said. “Say,” he added, “you wouldn’t happen to be on parole, would you?”

Martinez was stone-faced and said nothing.

Gus smiled and said, “I thought so.”

“We’ll just have to have us a little chat with your PO,” Dwayne said. “Maybe not just an hour then, huh?” Dwayne said. “What do you think?”

Dwayne led Martinez back to a solid post at the front porch and handcuffed him to it. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. He turned to the other men.

“Gus, let’s cuff these other guys up just to be safe.” He asked one of the patrol officers to come up to the porch to help out.

Between the two of them, Dwayne and Gus had exactly three remaining pairs of handcuffs; they used one for each of the remaining men. They shoved each back down into a sitting position.

After they were through, Dwayne turned to us. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have illegal drug paraphernalia in plain view from the doorway of the residence. I deem that to mean that we have sufficient probable cause to enter the residence and seize said drug paraphernalia. When we do this, we'll need to secure the residence for our own safety. We'll be taking a quick peek around, just to make certain there are no other bad guys lurking about. Make sense?”

“Agreed!” Gus answered enthusiastically.

“Good,” Dwayne said. He turned to Toni and me. “Your job—” he turned to include the officer on the porch, “—and yours, too, is to watch these guys. I’ve got four bad guys here now. Count ’em: one, two, three—plus the idiot cuffed to the post makes four. I want four bad guys here when I come out. Try not to let them get away while we’re inside. And if a number five or six suddenly materializes, you sing out, you got that? Don’t be a hero.”

“Got it.”

Dwayne made the call to Kent PD in the back, and he and Gus entered the building.

While the police secured the inside of the house, we kept watch outside. Five minutes after they’d entered, Dwayne popped back out.

“No one else inside, guys.”

That answered one question. Neither Eddie nor Gina was there.

“Silver Mercedes?” I asked.

“Nope. Not here,” Dwayne said. He went back inside.

A few minutes later, Martinez started laughing.

“Something funny there, Armando?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure is, holmes.”

“What’s that?”

“I might be going to jail, but you know that girl you said you’re looking for? The sweet little one with the big
chi-chis
?”

I nodded.

“She ain’t coming home, esse. You ain’t never going to see her again.”

I stared at him, but said nothing.

“Yeah, she dancing with the angels now.”

I continued to stare.

“And something else,” he said. The smile left his face and was replaced by an angry, mean look. “After this here is all over,” he said. “After this is all over and I’m out, I’m coming for you and that sweet little bitch there.” He nodded toward Toni. “I’m going to cut you up bad. Then while you’re bleeding out, I’m going to fuck your lady there right in front of you like she ain’t never had it before. Fuck her ’til she screams.” He paused and then smiled again—a dangerous, evil smile. “Then I’m going to kill you both.”

I stared hard back at him. I wasn’t smiling. I don’t respond well to threats. In fact, they piss me off. “That right, Armando?” I answered. I leaned closer to his side and slipped a business card in his vest pocket. I spoke softly. “Here’s my card, so you won’t have any trouble finding me. I’ll look forward to meeting up with you. By the way, how’s that nose?”

His smile vanished. He glared at me, eyes full of hatred. “Fuck you and your
puta
,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Have fun in prison.” I slapped him on the back of the head—just a little going away present for threatening Toni. I didn’t mean to slap him hard, but I guess I was a little pissed. He wasn’t ready for it, so his head snapped forward and his already broken nose smacked into the post he was handcuffed to with a sickening crunching sound. He screamed and fell to his knees. Seconds later, blood gushed down his face onto his shirt. Dwayne had to call the paramedics. He pretended like he was pissed.

Chapter 13

WE DECIDED AS
a group that since we weren’t overflowing with leads, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to watch the Salazar house for a while in hopes of catching Eddie coming back. Kent PD had arrested Armando Martinez on drug paraphernalia charges and on possession of controlled substance charges for the three ounces of weed and five grams of blow that we found after we searched the house. Upon checking police records, they discovered that he was indeed on parole, and, in light of his transgressions, California wanted him back for five more years.

They decided not to arrest the three other guys who’d been sitting outside since they weren’t actually in the house and none of them even appeared to be permanent residents of the home. No doubt Eddie would hear that we’d paid him a visit. Hopefully, though, he’d feel the need to come back—perhaps to talk to someone, perhaps to retrieve some item that we hadn’t noticed.

Since we were just looking for someone and not actually gathering evidence to be used in a prosecution, SPD decided it would be okay to team up with us and take turns on surveillance. This was helpful because everyone’s resources were limited. Logan PI would take even-numbered days; SPD would take the odds. Monday morning, August 22, we were up first.

Our strategy was to move back to low-key tactics. Now that we’d sent the message to Eddie, we needed to get out of sight again, or we’d not likely see him. The job called for clandestine surveillance, one of Logan PI’s specialties. We’ve even got a few “stealth” surveillance vehicles—two service vans and an old Winnebago—that are set up on the inside to make surveillance duty something less of the grueling pain in the butt that it otherwise is. All our stealth surveillance vehicles have a desk with a couple of comfortable chairs, a refrigerator, and—most important—a small bathroom. They all have video recording equipment for use in recording the comings and goings of our targets. We curtain off the working area in the back from the driver’s seat in front. No one ever suspects us.

Today, Doc and Kenny took the first shift: eight to noon. We approached at a quiet time when nobody was out. I had them park the Winnebago across the street from Salazar’s house, about four houses down. This put the Salazar house in front of us, to the left. The cemetery was on our right, to the south. After I made sure they were squared away, I drove back to the office. Monday morning traffic in Seattle being what it is, I didn’t get in until just after nine.

~~~~

Toni was reading the
Seattle Times
with her feet up on her desk, eating a Red Vine, when I walked into the office. She saw me and said, “Hey, boss. Guess who called and left a message this morning?”

“I give up,” I answered.

“Kara. She left a number.”

“Kara! Excellent. Let’s give her a call on the speakerphone.”

“It’s an Ohio prefix.”

Ohio? Must have been a long drive—all the better to hide from Eddie. I was anxious to talk to her. At the least, I needed to know how to get in touch with her. Ideally, I’d like her to agree to testify against Eddie on the assault charge. That way, we could get an arrest warrant, and SPD could hunt him down and bust him. This would be much easier than finding him, inviting him in for an interview and playing a game of twenty questions.

We went to my office and dialed the number. Three rings in, an elderly lady answered. She put Kara on when I identified myself.

“Hello, Kara,” I said. “I’m very happy to see that you’re all settled. That was smart.”

“We’re good,” she said. “We’re scared, but we’re okay. I wanted to let you know where we are. We’re staying—”

“Hold on,” I interrupted. “We don’t need to know where you are. Keep that to yourself. We see your area code, and we have a general idea. That’s good enough for now. Mostly, we just need your phone number so that we can get in touch with you, if need be. Now we have that, too. Thank you for calling.”

“No problem.”

“Did you have a good trip? Any problems?” Toni asked.

“Long. We drove straight through the weekend.”

“Good. Is Nick there with you?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s good, too. Did you tell anyone here where you were going?” Toni said.

“No. After we left the apartment, we drove straight up I-5 to Everett and found a motel for the night. We did a little shopping at the mall the next morning, and then we left. We got most of the stuff we needed. We didn’t sleep much that night.”

“At least you’re safe now,” I said. “Have you told the people you’re staying with not to mention that you’re there?”

“Yes, I’m staying with—” she stopped herself, then said, “Yes. I’m sure that won’t be a problem on this end.”

“Excellent. I’m glad we won’t have to worry about that,” I said. “Let me bring you up to date on what’s going on here. Based on what you told us, our team did a search of cemeteries in Kent. We found one that looked promising, and Toni and I did some driving there Saturday afternoon. We didn’t notice Eddie Salazar’s Mercedes, but we got lucky and spotted one of his guys at a nearby convenience store—one of the guys that jumped us in your parking lot. Remember the name Armando Martinez? Turns out he was one of the guys we bumped into at Ramon’s Cantina, and he was also the guy at your apartment whose nose Toni shattered. We followed him to a house across from the cemetery.”

“That was Armando Martinez?” Kara asked.

“Yep.”

“And the house he went to was across from a cemetery—just like Gina said?” Kara asked.

“That’s right. When he opened the garage to park his car, we could see inside. There was a silver Mercedes parked there.”

“Awesome,” Kara said. “Did you call the cops? Did they arrest him?”

“We called them, but they were unable to arrest him,” I said.

It was silent for a second. Then Kara said, “Why not?”

“We don’t have enough evidence yet to arrest him for anything involving Gina. The only thing we can arrest him for now is for assaulting you. And we didn’t know where you were or how to get ahold of you on Saturday. All we knew is that you’d said you didn’t want to testify.”

The line was quiet for a few seconds, then Kara said, “Shit, that’s just great. If I don’t say anything about this creep, then I have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life. If I do say something, then maybe he gets put away, maybe he doesn’t. Either way, after he’s out I still have to look over my shoulder.”

“It’s worse,” I said. “If you agree to cooperate on an assault charge, he’d probably get convicted. For assault though, he wouldn’t be put away for very long. He’d be out in a year—maybe less. The only reason to testify against him now would be in the hope that while he’s in jail, we can pin something to do with Gina on him. Then it could turn into a long sentence.”

The line was silent. “I know it sucks,” I said. “But that’s a pretty clear assessment.”

A couple of seconds later, she said, “All the way driving out here I got more and more pissed off at this bastard. He’s trying to hurt Gina, and he might try to hurt me.”