King of Swords

the papers, which he’d hoped to avoid. He made a mental note to go down and beat her senseless when he hung up the phone.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, Dinah.” That cat was obviously already out of the bag, so he saw no harm in confirming it.

“How did it happen? Is he all right? How badly is he hurt?” Dinah asked in a jumbled rush.

“In the line of duty. He should be fine,” Briones said, guarded from there on out.

“Is there any way I can see him?” Dinah asked.

“I don’t think so. He’s still at…he’s still in the hospital, Dinah.”

“Oh. Well, I thought he’d want to see what I found. I guess it can wait…” her voice trailed off.

“What you found? What do you mean, what you found?” Briones asked, now on alert.

“It’s some sort of a diary, with contact names. I was going through a box my father gave me just before he died — it was almost like he had a premonition. I remember I thought it was strange. He asked me to hold on to the box for him. I forgot about it with the shock of seeing his…finding him. But I was thinking about what Captain Cruz said, so I went and got the box and pored through it. There are some bank statements and similar stuff, but also an agenda with names and numbers in it. Names I’ve never heard of. But I thought maybe it might help you with the case,” Dinah offered.

“Dinah, I’m going to the hospital later. What time can you be here?”

Briones was livid. The same sergeant was on the line, giving him an impossible answer.

“What do you mean, he was released?” Briones couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The man’s a murderer. We have him dead to rights.”

“I wasn’t here, but I called the night sergeant, and he remembers the man. A Gringo. They let him make a phone call, don’t ask me why, and a few hours later the computer updated with a list of those to be released in the morning, at seven, and his name was on it. Nobody questions the computer. If it says release a man, you release him,” the sergeant explained.

“How did he get access to a phone? What the hell is going on down there?” Briones was speechless at the incompetence involved.

The sergeant lowered his voice. “You know how it works, Lieutenant. I’m sure money changed hands, but nobody will ever admit it. All I know is what the night sergeant told me. The prisoner made a call, and then the computer listed him as one of the prisoners to release. End of story.”

“No, not end of story. I want to know who authorized the release. Someone has to sign the order. And what about the man’s name? Surely you had a name to book him under? And prints? You still print prisoners you process, correct? Damn it, man, what have you got? I need to find this prick, and every minute you delay is another advantage for him,” Cruz warned.

“I’m looking it up. Yes, I see he was booked under the name…oh…you’re not going to like this.”

“What?”

“He gave his name as Juan Perez,” the sergeant told him — the Spanish equivalent of John Doe.

“Good God in heaven. Tell me this gets better. Please.”

“Well, we did take photos and print him, so that’s something,” the sergeant said, still reading.

“Send me the prints and everything else you have on him. Now. On the intranet.”

“Yes, sir. Again, none of this was my doing. The night sergeant probably had no idea who this man was…”

“You mean Juan Perez? No, I suppose he probably didn’t. And now, neither do we. I want that in my inbox within five minutes, Sergeant,” Briones ordered, hanging up the phone, incredulous at the exchange. Just when he thought he’d seen everything…

His rumination over the incompetence of the justice system was interrupted by his phone buzzing yet again. He grabbed it and stabbed the offending line button.

“What is it now?” he barked.

“There’s a Senorita Tortora to see you, here at security, sir. In the lobby by the phones,” the security team head from the detail in the lobby said.

“Ah. All right. Thank you. Is there any way you can escort her up here?” Briones asked.

“Sure. I’ll have one of the men bring her to your office immediately, sir.”

A few minutes later, a beaming young officer arrived with Dinah in tow. Briones noticed that most of the cops on the floor had stopped whatever they were doing, their attention riveted on her. She wore jeans and a pastel blue blouse, with only a light dusting of makeup highlighting her features, but the effect was dazzling.

He thanked the officer, who lingered a while before Briones gave him a hard stare as he offered Dinah a seat. She accepted, placing her purse on her lap, and waited in silence.

“One moment please, Dinah. I’m just finishing up something. I need to send an e-mail, and then we can get going,” he told her as he studied his screen before entering a series of rapid keystrokes and hitting return.

“No problem. Take your time. I expect you’ll tell me what happened to Captain Cruz on the way to the hospital?”

“I’ll tell you as much as I’m allowed. Okay, I think that should do it. Did you take the bus here?” he inquired politely, shutting off his monitor.

“Yes. I don’t really drive much. It’s too terrifying in this city. People are maniacs. Although, now that I have my father’s car, I should start. I just haven’t worked up the courage yet…”

“Trust me, I know. All right then, I’ll drive. Right this way,” he directed. He’d sent the prints and photo off for pattern matching, tying in Interpol as well as Mexican national databases, so hopefully the man was on record, somewhere. That was all he could do until they got a match. If they got a match.

Twenty minutes later, as they fought their way through traffic, the IT clerk in the basement inputted the data and began the search. He’d send the requestor a message if and when they got a hit. The databases in Mexico were primitive — most weren’t linked together — so there were no guarantees that the target would show up, even if he was a known killer in, say, the Yucatan, because the regional offices rarely updated their records with the central system. Sometimes it took years to bring the information current. The operator glanced at the man’s prints with little interest, typed in the Juan Perez name, and leaned back in his chair to devour the second half of his sandwich.

Cruz was surprised when Briones appeared in his doorway trailed by Dinah. He felt self-conscious lying in the bed with an array of tubes connected to him, looking like an invalid, but Dinah quickly put him at ease.

“Lieutenant Briones was kind enough to tell me about your near-miss, Captain. I’m glad you…you pulled through,” she said awkwardly.

“That makes two of us. It’s nothing, really. I hope he didn’t make it sound like a bigger deal than it really was,” Cruz downplayed.

“He said you were shot twice?” Dinah said, slightly puzzled, glancing at Briones for confirmation. He nodded.

“I’d hardly even call it shot. Pea shooters. I’ve had dog bites that have hurt worse than this.”

She regarded him skeptically — the IV bag, the pulse oximeter, the heart rate monitor, a crash cart waiting in the corner.

“Must have been some dog,” she replied diplomatically.

“So, to what can I attribute this visit? Are you doing volunteer work at the hospital? Am I now a charity case?” Cruz inquired with a grin.

She explained about the box and the book. Cruz’s eyes widened. She approached the bed and placed the book in his hands. He noticed she smelled like flowers, and honey, or maybe it was caramel. It was good, whatever it was.

He paged through to the last few entries. His eyes darted to Briones. “Lieutenant, please take this and run all the numbers, starting with this last one. It looks like a Mexico City phone number. Can you input the data using your iPhone?”

Briones nodded. He moved to Cruz’s bedside and took the book, then took a seat by the door and began snapping photos of each page as Dinah and Cruz talked.