He glanced through the preliminary autopsy report. Time of death had already been nailed down, but a cause of death hadn’t been determined yet. The medical examiner would want to look at the toxicology report before making anything official.
The rest of the pages slipped through his fingers as he thumbed through them until he got to the autopsy photos. He spread a few of them out on the desk and studied Melody’s head wound. Must’ve been more than the blood loss that killed her.
The medical examiner had taken photos of the tattoos on Melody’s body. Sam’s throat got tight when he made out one on Melody’s thigh that said survivor. Damn, he should’ve intervened when he saw her drunk.
He peeled up another photo from his desk of a tattoo across Melody’s lower back. Squinting, he read out loud, “Chris.”
Who the hell was Chris? Was that Melody’s sponsor’s name? Family member? Sam ticked off Jolene’s family members on his fingers but didn’t recall a Chris. One of her friends?
Friends. He shuffled back through to the beginning of the file, and pulled out the list of fingerprints in the apartment. Hadn’t he seen a Chris on this sheet?
His gaze tracked down the page and stumbled over one name—Christopher Contreras. How had this guy been in Melody’s apartment enough to leave several prints and merit ink on her body without anyone knowing about him? Jolene had never mentioned a Chris to him.
If the police had ID’d Contreras’s prints, he had to be in the system, and Sam would bet good money the guy wasn’t in there for being a teacher or public servant.
The keys on his computer clacked as he accessed the NCIC system again. He entered Contreras’s name and got a hit. He brought up the guy’s information, his blood humming as he read through Contreras’s priors and his current address in Tucson.
He stabbed the key to send the file to the printer and picked up the phone.
Jolene answered breathlessly on the third ring. “Sam?”
“Are you ready? We’re going to pay a visit to Gabe Altamarino, aka Chris Contreras.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jolene stepped onto the porch of her grandmother’s house, fanning herself. It almost felt cool out here compared to the heat generated by the family inside.
As Sam’s car rolled in front of Gran’s driveway, Jolene launched off the porch, a thousand questions bubbling at her lips. She grabbed at the car door before Sam even put the car in Park.
He popped the locks and she swooped inside, pulling the seat belt in after her to save time. “Who the heck is Christopher Contreras?”
“Chris Contreras is Gabe Altamarino.”
“How do you know that?” She snapped on her seat belt and rapped on the dashboard. “Go, go.”
Sam plucked up a folded sheet of paper nestled on the console between them and shook it out. “Is this Gabe?”
Dark eyes pinned her in their gaze from the thin face of a man with a goatee and wavy hair swept back from a high forehead. “It’s Gabe.”
“That’s what I thought.” He dropped the sheet of paper where it floated to her lap. “His real name is Chris Contreras.”
“Is that name in the criminal database you use?” She folded the paper to escape those eyes. She hadn’t much cared for Gabe in person and didn’t like him any better in one dimension.
“No. That was the problem. I entered Gabe Altamarino in the system and no criminal record was returned. I then...uh, looked at Melody’s autopsy photos.” He squeezed her fingers. “Sorry.”
Jolene swallowed. “What did they tell you?”
“Melody had a tattoo on her lower back with the name Chris. Did you know that?”
“Haven’t hung out at the pool with Melody since we were kids. I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen her lower back in years.” She pinched the crease on the paper to make sure Gabe stayed in there. “How did you make the connection between Melody’s tattoo and Chris Contreras?”
“In the same file that contained the photos, there was a list of fingerprints found in the apartment—ours were listed—so were those of some guy named Christopher Contreras. The name didn’t ring a bell when I first saw it. Figured it was some friend of hers, maybe someone in the program. Then I saw the tattoo and had a hunch. When I looked up Contreras, saw his rap sheet, saw his photo, I guessed he might be Altamarino.”
Jolene clasped her knees with her hands, her nails digging into her flesh. “That would explain why he’s still alive, wouldn’t it? He must’ve noticed the other Pink Lady mules’ disappearing act and figured a name change would go a long way toward saving his life.”
“Exactly. He resurfaces as Gabe Altamarino, starts going out with Melody and keeps seeing her even when Wade tells him to get lost.” Sam rubbed his chin. “I just can’t figure out how Wade knew about Gabe’s criminal past if he were no longer Chris Contreras.”
“I don’t think Gabe made a secret of the fact that he was a reformed bad boy. Maybe he got in front of that story so Wade wouldn’t do any checking on his own and dig up Gabe’s real name.”
“Gabe must’ve put together that list of mules he gave Melody for safekeeping, and he probably knows why those mules disappeared.” Sam flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “And he must have some idea how that land is linked to Pink Lady and the disappearances and the casino.”
“He’s not going to want to tell us, is he?”
“Maybe we won’t give him a choice.”
“Are you sure you have the right address for him in Tucson? Why would he give an accurate address if he’s trying to hide out?”
“He doesn’t have a choice about that, either. He’s still on parole. His parole officer has to have a correct address for him, or he goes back in the slammer. And if
