King of Swords (Assassin series #1) (16 page)

Julio glanced at Cruz.

“Of course. I’m terribly sorry. It was thoughtless of us. Please. We’ll just be right here.” Julio motioned at the area by the front door and moved there, pulling Cruz’s sleeve. He stepped over as well.

“Will that work for you?” Cruz asked.

“Thank you. I’ll see where he is.” She slipped through the door as she spoke.

They waited patiently, Julio tapping his foot, Cruz cleaning his nails. She returned to the little showroom area a few moments later, puzzled.

“That’s strange. He’s not here. He’s always here. Hmm. I wish he would carry his cell phone; then I could call him. He leaves it in his apartment upstairs, or in the car. He’s lousy with things like that,” she explained. “I didn’t get your names…”

“I’m sorry. Very rude of us. This is Señor Albon, and I am Raphael Contreras. And you are?” Julio extended his hand.

“I’m his daughter. Dinah Tortora. Pleased to meet you both. Is there something I can help you with since my father has, erm, disappeared for a few minutes?” she asked, shaking their hands in turn.

“We were really hoping to speak to him in person. A delicate matter he was helping us with,” Julio said.

Dinah looked confused.

“Delicate matter? Hmm, okay…you know, if you don’t mind, I’ll run upstairs and check on him. Now I’m a little worried. Maybe he slipped and hurt himself or something,” Dinah said, and made for the front door. Both men stepped aside, Julio making a courtly mini bow. They watched as she left the shop and made a right, going to the apartments.

“What’s with the Don Juan act?” Cruz chided.

“Are you kidding? She’s gorgeous. What, are you blind?”

“Her father is
El Rey
’s agent. We’re working. Does that ring any bells?” Cruz reminded.

“Party pooper. I didn’t get the hit man vibe from her. Did you? I don’t think she knows anything. That’s where my money’s at.” Julio winked.

“Maybe. But there’s no way to be sure–”

They were cut off by a scream of horror from the apartments.

Chapter 9

Cruz and Julio raced to the small apartment entrance’s foyer, to be greeted through the glass door by the sight of Dinah staggering down the stairs from the corridor above, obviously in shock, with blood on her hands and dress. The street door was locked, so they had to wait for her to reach them and open it, tears streaming down her pale face as she grabbed at the handle reflexively.

Once the door was open, Cruz grabbed her by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong, Dinah? What happened?” he asked, processing the blood on her and fearing the worst.

“It’s…my father…”

Julio looked up the stairway with trepidation, and then back at Cruz.

He nodded, and Julio mounted the stairs while Cruz hugged Dinah, who was sobbing against his chest and howling her agonized grief. He had done this hundreds of times in his career, but it never got any easier; each time took a little out of him. Her slender torso shuddered as she struggled to breath, fighting for air between strangled exclamations of pain. Any doubts he had about whether she was involved in her father’s business slipped away – this wasn’t a woman accustomed to the business of death.

Julio returned from the apartment looking wan. He was in the cesspool every day, dealing with the parasites of humanity, not in a combat squad, so he wasn’t used to seeing corpses on a weekly basis. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“It’s bad.”

“Call Briones, and have him get a full crime scene team here. Take care of Dinah. I want to go take a look at what we’ve got,” Cruz instructed, gently pushing Dinah into Julio’s arms.

At the top of the stairs, he was greeted by a short corridor with four entries, one of which was now ajar, and one of which squeaked on its hinges as he slowly walked to the open door. An old woman’s head poked out, scowling with disapproval.

“What’s all the yelling about?” she demanded loudly.

“There’s been an accident. Go back inside, and lock your door,” Cruz answered.

“What, are you fighting with a girlfriend? Did you hit her? Is that the story?” the woman stormed, sure that Cruz was up to no good.

“
Señora
, please. This is now a crime scene, so go inside, bolt your door, and an inspector will be by later to take a statement.”

She spat an expletive under her breath, and then the door slammed shut, the sound of multiple deadbolts engaging filtering into the hall. The other occupants were probably all at work, so for a while there would be some peace in which to process the scene. That was the only good news so far.

He pushed the door open cautiously with his toe, avoiding touching the knob even though he knew Dinah had already done so. It creaked open. Cruz entered the tiny living room, wishing he had his gun with him, and stopped when he saw the body lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. He’d seen hundreds of corpses in his time, but nothing like this – the man was nearly bisected, from his shoulder to his hip. Cause of death wouldn’t be too tough on this one. What the hell could cause this kind of butchery? A splatter pattern at least six feet wide surrounded the body, evidencing that he’d been cut down where he lay.

He scanned the room and answered his own question. A plaque holding a short Japanese dagger in its scabbard was mounted to the wall, and the pegs above the dagger were empty, dust clearly indicating where a longer katana had resided. Cruz took several more steps into the room and saw the weapon lying on the floor, covered with blood, the scabbard discarded nearby. The blood was fresh, no more than an hour old, he knew from jaded experience. Soon the flies would come, but as of now, it was just the two of them.

Jaime Tortora, whatever his sins, had seen his last morning, and their hopes of closing in on
El Rey
had died with him. Unless they could find some clues in his shop or his homes, this was, as they said, a dead end. The timing couldn’t have been worse, forcing Cruz to confront the ugly thought that had been circling in his head; nobody but he, Briones and Julio had known about this meeting, so either they had a leak within their ranks, or
El Rey
had decided to egress from the business and close down his conduit.

Cruz would like to think it was the latter, because it confirmed what he already now believed; that the assassin was planning a hit on the G-20, and getting paid enough to exit the game for good. Perhaps Tortora had contacted him with news of the new potential client he was going to meet, and that had triggered the ugly murder. Maybe Felipe had bragged to the wrong person, and this had nothing to do with
El Rey
. Possibly, it was a burglary gone wrong, or retribution for something else. Or perhaps it was all coincidence.

But Cruz had long ago given up believing in coincidence.

No, either Briones or Julio had passed on information, or Felipe had talked to the wrong people, or the timing was just wildly unfortunate and it was unrelated, which Cruz didn’t believe for a second. He gingerly stepped towards the bathroom and saw a disposable raincoat, covered in bloody spray, discarded on the floor. So much for the burglary theory. Looking at that, he could do a quick equation in his head and piece together what had happened. Someone who knew the apartment, knew about the swords, had entered unbeknownst to Tortora and waited for him, perhaps hiding, suited up to prevent the spatter pattern that would be inevitable when using the sword.

Cruz slowly turned. There was a large armoire behind him that jutted two feet into the room, behind which was the window to the street, framed by long curtains. He closed his eyes and imagined the scene. That’s where the killer had stood, waiting. But how would he have known when Tortora would return to the apartment? Cruz thought for a few seconds.

Of course
. Because he got a call after opening the shop, instructing him to come to the apartment. From someone whose orders he would follow to the letter.

The killer had waited, hidden in the corner by the curtains, shielded from view by the armoire, confidant that Tortora would enter shortly. Tortora had come in, and then walked to the small kitchen bar, and the killer had stepped from his hiding place, taken several long strides, and struck before his victim turned to register his presence.

So how had he gotten him to that location, where he could do the deed within seconds of moving into the room?

Cruz studied the splatter of blood and saw that there was a vaguely rectangular area that hadn’t been hit on the edge of the breakfast bar counter. Something had rested there, and was now gone. He peered over the body into the kitchen, but saw nothing amiss. Returning to the bathroom, he noted a bloody bath towel tossed into the small shower stall.

So the killer had wiped off whatever it was, and taken it with him. Cruz considered possibilities, then reached into his jacket and dialed Briones.

“You mentioned a vagrant you bumped into. Think carefully. Describe him to me,” Cruz instructed.

“Hmm, he was about your height, maybe a little taller, no beard or mustache, short hair cut like mine, medium brown skin. Wearing filthy brown slacks and navy blue pull-over sweater with holes in it. I don’t remember what kind of shoes, but I think they might have been boots.”

“Was he carrying anything?” Cruz asked in a quiet voice.

“You know…he was. It was a satchel, one of those old-fashioned types with two straps holding it closed. Dirty brown leather, or suede. You know what I’m talking about?” Briones asked.

“I know the kind.” Cruz cursed inwardly. “Lieutenant, do you think you could describe his features well enough for a sketch artist to do a rendition?” he asked.

“Sure. I think so. But why…?”

“I think it might be important. You may have just been one of the only living people to have ever seen
El Rey
.” Cruz sighed.

“You’re kidding me…you aren’t, are you? Shit – sorry, sir. Okay, I’ll try to remember everything I can, but the sooner the better. You know how details get lost the longer you wait and the more distractions that take place…”

“Call headquarters and get Arlen down here, and have her bring her pad. I want a face today,” Cruz ordered.

“Will do.”

Cruz hung up. He could envision the satchel in his mind’s eye. Sitting on the counter.

So a call comes in after Tortora has opened his little shop at nine a.m., telling him that a bag full of something important – money, maybe – had been left in the apartment for him to deal with, and to do so immediately. Tortora ducks out of the shop, knowing that there won’t be any customers at that time of day, and goes to his apartment. He doesn’t have to ask how the satchel got there. The killer is a man for whom locks present no problems, or who has a key. Doesn’t matter. Tortora opens the door, closing it behind him so he’s not disturbed. He sees the bag where he was told it would be, walks to inspect it, and before he knows what’s happened, is cut in two by the trusted caller, who he had no reason to suspect or fear. The killer grabs the satchel, goes to the bathroom to clean it off, wipes it down with one of the towels, then sheds the raincoat. Perhaps he also wiped off his face, which might have gotten some blood on it. Cruz made a mental note to warn the crime scene unit to check the towel and the curtain for hairs or other DNA trace materials. It was worth a shot.

So then what does the killer do?

Cruz swung around, considering. He probably does a cursory search, and then grabs the keys to toss the shop office as well. Presuming he was looking for something. If that was the case, it would explain why he was in the alley. He had just completed his search of the office and was leaving the scene of the crime.

The timing suggested that he knew Tortora had a meeting at ten. Again, could be coincidence, but he doubted it. The scenario that made the most sense was that Tortora had contacted the assassin to alert him that he had another gig available, and
El Rey
decided he wasn’t going to be needing Tortora or any more jobs, so elected to eliminate the only way to trace him. It all meshed together. Especially if he was going to take out a couple of presidents – he had to know that at that point it would just be a matter of time until someone rolled and they got to Tortora.

The puzzle pieces gelled and he saw the whole picture.

Only problem being that it wasn’t proof. It was circumstantial evidence that a skeptic could explain away a dozen different ways. So they were still screwed on securing anything they could use to sway the arrogant pricks at CISEN, much less the NSA.

Cruz had seen enough.

He returned to the foyer, drawn by the sound of Dinah crying, and decided it was time to show his cards.

“Dinah, I’m Federal Police. I came to have a discussion with your father about a matter I thought he could assist us with. I’ve ordered a forensics team, and they’re on their way to process the crime scene.” Cruz’s heart fluttered when she looked up at him, eyes huge and streaming tears, the minute amount of mascara she’d worn streaking her face. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss. Believe me that we will do everything possible to find your father’s murderer. But I need your help. Can you open the back of the shop for me so we can process that area as well? I didn’t see any keys upstairs, so it’s possible that the killer did this to gain access to his office,” Cruz said.

“Police?” Dinah was in shock, her skin now the color of alabaster. She wasn’t really with it, speaking as though from a great distance. “Yes. I’ll open it…” She grabbed at the door handle, nearly collapsing in the process. Julio attentively held her elbow, helping to steady her.

“Did your father have any enemies?” Cruz probed, as they proceeded to the shop next door. “Do you know anyone who might have a grudge or a reason to kill him?”

“Enemies? No…no, everyone got along with him,” she replied absently as she fumbled with her keys. Julio held the front door of the pawn shop open for them, and they eased through it. Dinah approached the back office door with the key held out, but couldn’t steady her hand sufficiently to insert it into the lock. She extended an arm and supported herself against the wall, holding the key ring out to Cruz, silently seeking his help.