There was a set of handcuffs already inher fist, ready to go. She took advantage of Cesar’s winded shock, and the gunthat had fallen to the floor and spun away underneath a storage unit in thechaos, to roll him over with a force that was perhaps unnecessary.
“Cesar Diaz, I’m arresting you onsuspicion of murder,” she managed to gasp out, snapping the cuffs onto hiswrists and attempting to regain control of her own breath. She rolled her neckslightly, testing it out. No major damage done, and he had gone down like asack of potatoes. She would mark that one in the win column.
She looked up to see Shelley crashthrough the kitchen doors at the other end of the space, with the commander hoton their heels, and managed to give them both a breathless grin.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Zoe leaned her chin on one hand, takingin Cesar Diaz. Even despite the handcuffs and the chain connecting him to thedesk he was seated at, he looked defiant. The effect was somewhat undone by thesweat soaking through the armpits and neck of his shirt. His sleeves wererolled up to show off his tattoos, which, it seemed, were just everywhere inthis case.
It was one of those tricks the mindplays: once you notice something and draw particular attention to it for thefirst time, suddenly you see it everywhere. Of course Cesar Diaz had tattoos—hewas a gang member who had just come out of jail. Zoe pulled her eyes back fromhis biceps and returned them to his face, and the ten-degree tilt of his chinthat was supposed to indicate confidence.
“You going to ask me some questions orwhat?” he asked, his eyes darting back between Zoe and Shelley, narrowed toslits of distrust. He was trying to appear cool, unruffled. “Because if you don’t,I would like to go back to my cell.”
His cell was exactly where he would begoing back to. The paperwork Shelley was leafing through at Zoe’s side, usingher regular technique of ignoring the suspect until they felt the need to fillthe silence, was the list of items found at the bar. Guns, drugs, all in largequantities. The kind of contraband that Cesar Diaz wasn’t supposed to bearound. It seemed Los Angeles Del Infierno had been busy behind the LAPD’sbacks, gathering quite a supply. He had violated the terms of his earlyrelease. He was going right back to jail, and probably for a good while.
“We’re just trying to determine, Mr.Diaz, exactly how long you’ll be enjoying our hospitality,” Shelley said,pretending to still be engrossed in the papers. “You see, all these violationsare bad enough. You’re definitely going back inside.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Diaz said, shifting hishands on the table. The handcuff chains clinked together with his movement. “Boring.I got a good lawyer. You ain’t seen me doing nothing.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Shelley shrugged. “Beingin the proximity of these items, and of convicted felons, is enough to put youaway. I guess you’re thinking your lawyer will get you a lighter sentence. Thething I’m figuring out is whether we can get you life.”
“Life?” Diaz made a face, his featuresscrunching together. “Where do you get an idea like that? Hija de puta, thinkyou can play me. I’m not telling you nothing about nobody. You ain’t gotnothing on me that could be life.”
“You don’t think murder is a strongenough charge?” Shelley lifted her eyes, meeting his properly for the firsttime. “The standard sentencing is life.”
Diaz reacted with total confusion. “Murder?”
Zoe took that as her cue, opening thefolder she had been nursing and sliding over a photograph of Callie Everard. “Doyou know this woman?” she asked.
Diaz glanced down at the shot, then backup. His face bore a deep frown, running three creased lines across hisforehead. “I know that bitch. Used to run around with Clay Jackson. I ain’tseen her in a long time.”
“Except for when you cut her throat andset her body on fire in a public street, you mean?” Shelley asked.
Zoe took her cue again, this time movinga picture of Callie’s burned body in front of Diaz. She was in situ, as she hadbeen left by her killer, the smoke still rising from her charred corpse, makingit difficult to see the details of the alley behind her.
Diaz recoiled, his eyes widening inshock. “What the… que chingados…”
“We also know about your first victim,”Shelley said. “You attacked him in the same way, didn’t you?”
Zoe slid over two more photos: JohnDowling, alive and dead.
“Chinga su madre! Put this away,I don’t wanna look at it no more!” Diaz shoved the pictures hard across thedesk, his chains rattling and yanking his arms back as the pictures spun acrossthe space and landed in Zoe’s open hands.
“Afraid to look at your own handiwork?”Shelley asked, shaking her head. Despite Diaz’s outburst, she remained calm,unflappable. “Don’t you like what you see?”
“I never did that!” Diaz was shouting,his voice rising louder and louder as the interview went on. “Dios mio,I could never do that. Not to a woman. I don’t hurt women, got it?”
“Not even… what was it? Bitches?”Shelley said, laying heavy emphasis on the word he had used himself.
“No! And this guy, this ese, Idon’t know him. I don’t know who that is. That’s just crazy. You’re crazy! Ididn’t do any of this!”
There was a moment of pause in the room,as Shelley and Zoe both observed their suspect. He was breathing heavily, hiseyes darting toward the still-visible photos and away, as if he couldn’t stophimself look at them. He seemed to be in some distress. Nothing like thearrogant, cool customer he had been a few moments before.
Zoe looked at Shelley. After a moment,her partner looked back. She nodded then, clearly understanding the messagethat Zoe was trying to send: it didn’t seem like this was their guy.
“I want your whereabouts for these daysand times,” Shelley said. “Yesterday, around midday. And then I’ll need anaccount for the whole of the twelfth, day and night.” They needed proof, afterall. Just believing someone’s denial was not really enough. They
