“So let me get this straight,” Paige says. “Carmen Viramontes sends Leona to talk to the LAPD and DEA to broker a deal for protection. Hugo finds out and kidnaps Elizabeth to stop her.”
I give Paige a look, silently begging her not to reveal too much. We finally have David on our side.
“Carmen stops the deal and hires Darcy to find her daughter.” Paige points at me. “Hugo tries to stop you and ends up killing Lupe at the museum.”
Yes and no. Santa Muerte and Melchora tried to stop me. Hugo wasn’t there. But he knew what I looked like, which was why Santa Muerte tried to kill me.
“Then Hugo finds out Leona was working as the liaison,” Paige continues, “brokering the deal on Carmen’s behalf. So he murders Leona.”
“And tries to kill Carmen, too,” I say. Hugo, Melchora, Santa Muerte—they must all be working together.
Paige turns to David, her brow furrowed as she tries to understand everything. “The other detectives were no longer in narcotics. Why kill them? Why kill Detective Snyder?”
“Clean house,” David says. “Get rid of everyone who knows anything. Why stop with the current investigators? Go back as far as you can.”
“Were any of the victims on the current case?”
“At least two,” David says.
My next question is difficult to ask. “David, did you ever work on the Viramontes case?”
He stiffens. “Two years back. Didn’t go anywhere at that time, so we had to let it go. Not enough evidence for the DA.”
It’s pretty clear what this means. Hugo and Melchora must have a list that includes David’s name. He’s in as much danger as I am.
“Well, David, I think we’re officially in this together.”
David looks up. A defeated chuckle escapes his lips. He’s a hunted man now.
“Shit,” he says.
Chapter 34
____◊____
DAVID REPORTS TO CAPTAIN Hollis with our findings and our theory. Paige and I stand beside David’s car and watch the exchange. The moment David explains the connection between the detectives and my investigation, everything shifts to DEFCON 2. Police officers scramble, the scene is sealed off, and the entire force retreats into the vehicles and off the site.
David jogs to his car and points for us to get inside. I’m so sick of riding in the back. I commandeer shotgun before Paige has a chance.
A caravan of police vehicles and unmarked cars hurries down the hill and through the streets of Los Angeles. I have a front-row seat as I watch motorcycle cops block traffic so our motorcade can quickly make its way downtown. Every detective in the city is now a target, including David and the other officers in other cars.
As we approach the skyscrapers downtown, SWAT vehicles merge into our group. On either side are fully armored vehicles. We’re a convoy now.
We don’t so much as hesitate at a stoplight or intersection. In a few minutes, we’re back at the Central Police Station. Vehicles from other convoys merge into our queue as we take a tight turn and head down into the parking structure.
Cars screech to a stop inside, and we jump out of the vehicle. Police in full tactical gear guard our arrival as we hurry into the entrance. I hold Paige’s hand, and we follow David through a series of halls. Other civilians are ushered out to the lobby as we continue to follow David to the detectives’ bullpen.
“Sit here,” David commands, gesturing toward Snyder’s desk. His tone is authoritative, but when he looks at me, his eyes plead that just this once, in front of all his detective friends, I comply without sassing him.
Fine.
Paige and I sit across from Detective Snyder’s former desk and watch as David directs a photographer to take photos of it. This is a crime scene now. Flashes of light fill the room.
Captain Hollis arrives, and he and David listen to an investigator report the findings of the murder.
“ME’s initial report estimates time of death was between oh three hundred and oh four hundred this morning. Cause of death for both victims was most likely trauma to the front upper torso. Cause of injury is still unclear. ME reports the hearts of… the hearts of both victims were missing.”
David shoots me a look. He’s still trying to understand this particular mystery of who is tearing the hearts out of the victims. He’s probably wondering if it’s another cartel fear tactic. I can’t give him an answer to that yet.
The medical examiner continues. “One pair of bloodied footprints—size-ten cowboy boots—were found leading away from the crime scene, down the stairs, and outside. There was no sign of forced entry…”
All this I already know. My eyes are focused on Snyder’s desk and the flashes of light that glint off his belongings. Flat-screen monitor, keyboard, and mouse. Landline. Mesh pencil cup filled with pens and a pair of scissors. Stacks of manila folders overflowing with sloppily inserted pieces of paper. Opened Coke can. Stapler. White mug with coffee stains.
Opened Coke can.
Snyder was a lean guy. He didn’t look like someone with a big soda habit, but every time I saw him—at my apartment, at Carmen’s—he had a can of soda.
“There were signs of forced entry at Detective Shaw’s home—”
“Did Detective Snyder drink soda?” I ask loudly.
All eyes turn to me. Hollis’s gaze is clearly full of contempt. “What is she doing here?” he barks at David.
David shakes his head, but finally, he’s willing to listen. “Hold on, Sir.” Then he asks me, “What?”
“Was he a big soda drinker?”
“No.”
I gesture toward the desk. David looks then nods. “Right. No, he chewed.”
Chewed. He chewed tobacco—and spit tobacco into the can—or presumably, the floor. Or carpet.
I remember the stains on the carpet, like a leopard print, in the house in Sterling Terrace. I’m quiet as all this goes through my mind. David steps closer, not interrupting but knowing I have something to say. I scan my audience—chief of police, detectives, sergeants, beat
