Unlock the Truth

Chapter Four

Five minutes later, Zeke and Dena reined in the horses on a small rise. Zeke looked down at the main road through the scrubby bushes then to the citrus groves, and then all the way back to the hacienda. It was damn amazing land. As a teenager he’d loved riding José along this ridge, but he’d hardly been out this way since he’d returned home. He cleared his throat and waved in the direction of the tall wire fence.

“Those are the tops of the girders, of the hotel.”

Dena nodded. “Do you know exactly where Carli…where her body—?”

“Near where the pool will go in, construction’s been held up for months, they only resumed two weeks ago.”

Below them, a car barreled along his private drive and he turned to check it out. He couldn’t hear the boom of the bass on the radio, but knew it would be thumping. A mile or so behind the Honda, a telephone repair truck kicked up some dust.

“Who is that?” Dena asked.

“Irma’s son, Manny.” Zeke shook his head and smiled. Manny had a back entrance and a shady tree where he parked his car. His garage, he called it. “Damn. I forgot the phone company hadn’t finished their work.”

“Do you need to go back?” Dena asked.

“No, I guess not. Irma or Manny will take care of it. Bob Carmine knows what he’s doing. He had to return to the office for some supplies.”

Dena’s expression turned serious and she seemed to lose color. She sat astride the horse, her back ramrod straight.

“Do you know this Bob Carmine very well?”

“He’s a young guy, a friend of Manny’s—”

“Does he ever call himself Bobby?”

Her gaze flitted from the road to him, and then back down to the truck again. Zeke could sense an element of panic. Nancy gave a snort and moved a little. He reached over, stroked her neck. What had Dena all fired up over Bob?

“His little boy might go by Bobby.”

“He’s married?”

“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s this about?”

Dena’s body relaxed. “I thought I recognized the name, that’s all. But the guy I know goes by Bobby.” She shrugged. “And he isn’t married.”

“Oh, okay.”

He didn’t believe her, although she gave him a smile. She intended to leave today. He had enough worries with his own investigations, and the last thing he needed was an amateur sleuth on his property. Still, he was alerted to her interest in Bob. The cops had never mentioned anything about anyone with that name.

Dena turned and looked around. “Is all of that your citrus farm?”

“No.” Zeke stared toward the rows of citrus trees beyond the hotel property line. “West Coast Citrus’s property butts up against the hotel land, over there, and then it runs behind the edge of those low lying mountains behind my property.”

“Do you get along well with West Coast?”

“We do okay.” Her questions had started to annoy him. Why did she ask him about his competitor? He needed to get this done and get back home. Maybe quiz Bob.

“I’m going over.”

“What?” Zeke frowned “There’ll be caution tapes everywhere.”

“I’ll be fine. I tried to get on the property last night.”

“Are you crazy?” The woman aged him by the second. “You could be in jail today.”

She huffed. “I know. But I thought it worth the risk.”

His mouth twitched. A determined woman. “So, what happened?”

“The coyotes came.”

He laughed, and she turned toward him, her face serious.

“It wasn’t funny,” she said. “And some furry animal scared me.”

“Sorry.” Zeke couldn’t stop the grin though. “It was most likely a feral cat. My mother used to feed them. She liked the black ones. And the coyotes would have been miles away.”

“I don’t think so—”

“There are fences everywhere,” he said, and swept one arm wide. “Besides, coyote voices carry in the still of the night.”

“Fine,” she said abruptly, and shifted in the saddle. “But I ran.”

“Smartest thing you’ve done since you got here,” he muttered, and stared at the no trespassing signs. “Maybe we should get permission. I know the developer.”

“And what if the answer is no?” Dena asked. “I was turned away when I tried before. Anyway, we’re here now. I’m going over. I’ll go alone if you don’t want to come.”

Zeke’s heart gave a jolt. He couldn’t let her go alone. He’d become protective of her, wanting to help, to make this as non-traumatic as possible. Hell. He didn’t even know her.

“Besides,” Dena said. “If I get caught you’re off the hook. I’ll say that you followed to prevent me from going in there.”

He blew out a gust of air. He’d become complacent. There was nothing he was aggressive about anymore. Not one damn thing. Until these murders were solved, he’d stay at Three C’s, he knew that. Then he’d be gone in a flash, back to the law practice, if they’d have him. Or maybe he’d start his own firm. He pressed his lips tight and climbed off the horse. He tied the reins to a tree, and then raised his hand to help Dena dismount.

The area had been combed by the Riverside Sheriff’s Department and he doubted she’d find anything. His attempts at investigation had been lame compared to Dena’s. His thoughts ran wild for a minute, trying to justify his actions. If they stayed on the top side, away from the recent findings, on the outside of the caution tapes, it’d be okay.

He found a gap in the fence, and then widened it and stared through. Carli’s grave had been dug deep in the sandy soil, and a couple of large rocks had been rolled on top. Stanton had told him the killer had wanted to protect the body from wild animals. To his mind that was one of the reasons it had to be a local because they understood the desert and its midnight marauders. He hadn’t told Dena about that. She paced up and down now and frowned, agitated he guessed by his slowness. He widened the gap even further.

“Think you can get through here?”

She hurried over, petite without the spike heels she’d worn yesterday, and leaned down. They were so close he could smell the sweetness of her skin.

“Perfect,” she said, and slid through. “What about you?”

He coughed. He’d been overcome with the desire to trace the sweep of her neck with his tongue, kiss her smooth skin. Good thing she intended leaving town. “I’ll manage. We’ll have to keep to the path,” he said, and looked up, but Dena was halfway down the slight rise.

Damn. In the distance a cop car faced the main road and blocked the entrance into the area. Zeke knew criminals often returned to the scene of the crime. It wouldn’t look too good if he was found here. Sweat trickled down the nape of his neck. But he couldn’t desert her. He sucked in his gut and squeezed through the gap.

Wanting to give her some privacy, he pressed his back into the trunk of an old gnarled tree a short distance away and waited. She’d said her relationship with her mother wasn’t good. They had that in common, along with the death of loved ones. He should have tried harder, broken down the walls his mother had erected. He tried to shut out the memories, but they bit into him. Unlike him, Dena still had a chance to repair her relationship with her mother.

A piece of caution tape fluttered on the slight breeze like a windsock. Could that be where they’d uncovered Susie’s body? He picked his way through the rubble and sand, and halted at the tape, remembering with sadness some of his and Susie’s earlier fun-filled times. He prayed her death had been quick. Minutes later, he trudged back. Dena sat still on the same rock, a tiny presence set against the stark desert floor, odd in some ways, but kind of spiritual. He wondered if she’d sensed anything.

She stood. “We can go now,” she said, and brushed past him.

He followed her up to the fence, and once through it breathed a sigh of relief. Neither of them spoke. He untied the horses, gave Dena a boost, and tried not to think about her closeness, or how he liked the silky feel of her skin and her flowery scent.

They rode back in complete silence.

****

In the guest bedroom at the hacienda, Dena zipped up the skirt of her business suit and reached for her jacket. She didn’t really want to leave Three C’s Estates. She shrugged. She’d imagined what it might be like to live here this morning, when she and Zeke had gone out for the ride. The desert was beautiful in its own way.

She glanced in the floor length mirror, and satisfied with the result, picked up her purse.

Her admission that she liked the desert came as a total surprise. She’d often told Carli, “If I want to live in a sandy location, I’ll take mine with an ocean view.” She’d rarely visited.

Dena grimaced. There’d been no spiritual revelation at the hotel site. And no clues. Had this whole trip been for nothing? She’d been convinced that something of Carli’s spirit would be at the site. Silly, she supposed. A twinge of sadness washed through her. There hadn’t been a tingle of anything.

She put her purse on the end of the bed, and remembering her thoughts on Zeke’s neighbor, pulled out the paper file from the laptop case. Cyril Johnston owned West Coast Citrus and was Zeke’s only competitor in the Coachella Valley. She scanned through her notes, tapped the papers against her chin. Had he caused the trouble at Three C’s? She put the file back in the case, walked to Zeke’s office, and hesitated in the doorway.

A young man stood beside the desk, and from the uniform and the leather tool belt, she guessed he was Bob the phone man. Rocky sat in the chair that faced the desk. Zeke spoke into the phone. “Yes. I do recall the name. My mother spoke of you.” He looked up, smiled and indicated she should come in and be seated.

Dena walked softly to the other chair and put her laptop case down beside it. “I’ve been going over the accounts and intended to contact you, Jim.” Zeke reached for a notepad. “See if you were ready to place an order.”

He wrote a couple more things on his notepad, checked his calendar and circled a date. “Perfect,” he said. “Yes, I’ll overnight at the Bonaventure. I’ll reconfirm with you or Hal.”

So, he’s going to L.A. Dena almost smiled. Maybe they could meet up?

From the upside down calendar on his desk, she saw he’d circled mid-month. Her heart almost skipped a beat. She reminded herself he would be there on business, not to see her. And the Bonaventure, they must be classy clients, or at least have big expense accounts.

“Sorry about that,” Zeke said to the man patiently waiting. He put the handset down in the cradle. “So we’re up and running, Bob?”

The man grinned and ran a hand through his long, shiny dark hair. “You’ll love the speed. Want to give it a test run?”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Zeke signed the service record. “Get a coffee or a soda if you like. Irma’s in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. I’ll see if Manny’s here.” Bob took the paperwork, left a receipt, and nodded to Dena on his way out.

Dena swallowed hard. He fit the profile of a love interest for Carli: young, maybe twenty-four, medium height, dark, muscular, deep-suntan, and an easy swagger. Except, she reminded herself, he didn’t go by Bobby, and he was married with a kid. Carli never got involved with married men. They’d always agreed on that.

“Interesting phone call,” Zeke said to Rocky. “It looks good for Three C’s. I think we’ve got Harmon and Bauer in the bag.”

Dena refocused. She noticed Rocky purse his lips, and while one hand balled into a fist, he flexed the fingers of the other hand. He didn’t look as happy as Zeke did about the phone call. Had they argued? Or could Rocky’s distaste and silence be directed at her?

“They’re buyers,” Zeke said, and smiled at her.

Dena only half-listened, her thoughts still on Rocky. A short siren burst, like one whoop, sounded close by and the tension in the room went up another notch.

Zeke stood and peered through the shutters on the office window. “Rocky, he’s back.” He swung around. Anger flashed across his face replaced quickly by concern. “I’m glad I called you in.”

Dena stiffened. Who is back? Stanton?

“This doesn’t look good,” Zeke said, and splayed one hand against the window frame.“He must have a warrant.”

Rocky hurried to the window, jostled Zeke out of the way. “He could be after Irma’s kid.” He turned and spoke to Dena for the first time this morning. “Manny is always in trouble.”

“This is bigger than some Latino kid running with a gang,” Zeke said quietly.

“I told you it wasn’t safe here,” Rocky said, glaring at Dena. “Good thing you’re leaving.”

Zeke’s skin paled, a whitish circle more prominent around his mouth, and a hard cold glint lit his eyes. His jaw clamped tight. He squared his shoulders and strode to the desk.

“Where the hell is my BlackBerry?”

Dena leaned forward, looked around, unable to spot it anywhere on the cluttered desk.

“I can’t go through this again,” he said, patting at his pocket and lifting pages off the desk. “I need to call the damn lawyer, not that he’s been of much help.” He started tossing papers and books right and left, and Dena got up, walked around the desk and put a hand on his arm.

“Zeke, listen. Give me the lawyer’s number. I’ll call him later, if it becomes necessary.”

He jerked his head up and stared at her. Then he seemed to regain his focus. He shoved the hair off his forehead.

“Sit down,” she urged, and pulled out his office chair. “Take some deep breaths, stay in control. Trust me. I’m a communications expert, remember?”

Irma hurried into the room, her brown eyes round and inquiring. “What is?” she asked.

Dena gave Zeke her complete concentration. Glad that he’d listened and now sat behind his desk. They only had seconds before Stanton would gain entry. “Something’s going on at Three C’s, other than the deaths of two women,” she said, ignoring Irma. “I’m not sure if those deaths are connected to the bigger picture.”

Zeke frowned.

The gate intercom buzzed again. Rocky stared at her, his features frozen, like she’d pushed his head into the cold early morning waters of the horses’ trough.

Zeke looked across the room at Rocky. “Unlock the door. Don’t rush, take your time.”

“What is?” Irma asked again, her voice shaky.

“Police,” Dena said, and turned her attention back to Zeke. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m going to watch over your business, and you.”

He nodded.

“We’ll talk more about the contract later. Write down your lawyer’s name and number. We’ll work on a statement together to release to the public, if need be.” She handed him the pen. “Cooperate with the cops, and maintain your innocence.”

He scrawled the information on a notepad and she ripped off the page and shoved it into her pocket, just as Rocky hurried into the room behind Deputy Stanton.

****

Zeke noticed two Riverside County Sheriff’s vehicles pull up in the driveway. Several cops climbed out. He turned his back to the window, kept his gaze on Stanton, and took a couple of deep breaths. “Let the others in before they break down a door, Rocky.”

“Step away, lady,” Stanton said. He indicated Dena should move toward the window. “I could have you arrested for impeding the law. You two were picked up on the surveillance camera at the hotel site this morning.”

Zeke went to speak, but Dena butted in.

“I can explain all of that—”

“I’ll bet.” Stanton shoved past her, and approached the desk in a slow waddle.

A tall silver-haired guy in civilian clothes entered, followed by another officer, and he stood a moment just inside the door and assessed the scene. Zeke watched him slowly make his way over to the desk.

“Detective Quimby,” he said, and displayed his identification. “We’d like you to come in to give a statement, if you don’t mind, Mr. Cabrera.”

“Not at all,” Zeke said. He nodded, appreciated the decency of the detective. Stanton should take lessons. Irma started to wail, and he felt his shoulders stiffen. He hated to upset the woman who had always mothered him. Fortunately, Rocky wrapped his arms around her and spoke in hushed tones.

“Get her out of the room,” Stanton said, and Rocky led Irma out into the hallway.

Zeke watched the action like a movie in slow motion. He realized Dena kept her hand on his shoulder. It felt good. Rocky tried to calm Irma outside the door. The other officer reached over and shut the door with a loud bang.

“Wrap up the party, Stanton,” Quimby said. “Let’s get down to Indio, okay?”

“Why Indio?” Zeke asked, but kept his voice quiet and steady.

“Almagro doesn’t have a lock-up.” Stanton leaned in close and sneered.

Quimby stared hard at Stanton, jerked his chin up and tilted his head toward the corner of the room. He crossed the room, arms folded across his chest, and waited until Stanton waddled over and stood beside him. From the two bright red spots high on Stanton’s cheekbones, he was being dressed-down.

Zeke caught hushed words that sounded familiar, procedure came up several times. Quimby’s face darkened with anger, but he never raised his voice. In fact his lips barely moved.

“Sorry about that,” Quimby said, and approached the desk with a stiff smile. He picked up a small statue and looked it over then replaced it. “Stanton’s a little too close to the case. I’ve got a warrant for phone records. With your permission we’ll tape this discussion.”

“Sure,” Zeke said.

Quimby beckoned the man near the door.

“Land line, cell phone, what do you need?” Zeke asked, and opened the file drawer of the desk.

“Everything you’ve got dating back a year. We’ll take a full statement at the station. We’ll need audio and video tapes.”

Zeke swallowed hard and nodded.

“The young woman had your telephone number in the pocket of her jacket,” Quimby said. “Like the first victim.”

“Susie did?” Zeke looked puzzled. “Really?”

Dena gasped, somewhere behind him, but Zeke didn’t look around. He took in a deep breath, and held it for a moment. It was the same as in Carli’s case. He eased the breath out. Had someone tried to frame him? He felt sick to his stomach then it hit him. What the hell? This didn’t sound right. His eyes narrowed, opened, narrowed again.

“That’s odd,” he said, after a few seconds. “Susie knew this number. It’s been the same one since we were in high school, and—”

“Save it for the interview,” Quimby said.

Dena moved away, and he felt the loss of her strength. She sat on the corner of the credenza, dropped her head forward and stared at her shoes. She looked pale and he hoped she wouldn’t faint and end up on the rug. When she looked up again, her eyes were damp with tears. Zeke felt his chest tighten, and he wondered if she still believed in his innocence. For some strange reason that had become extremely important to him.

“Will you drive in, or can we offer you a ride?” Detective Quimby asked, a few moments later.

Zeke frowned. He made it sound like they were going to a bar or a football game. About to comment, he recalled Dena’s advice.

“I’ll come in with you guys,” he said, and stood. Might as well get it over and done with, it would just be his recorded statement, that’s all. Not a big deal. He had no idea why he’d been acting like such a pansy.

“Stanton,” Quimby said. “Give your buddy here a lift. I’ll see you back at the station.” He strode out of the room.

“I’ll help in any way I can,” Zeke said, and turned toward Stanton. He felt stronger now, more in control. “Let’s go.”

Thoughts crashed through his memory. Visions of being a kid and home sick from school, his father dead, his mother gone to take care of business, only Irma to care for him. He’d always been alone, and lonely. His mother had raised him well, but once he’d hit sixteen, well, emotionally, she’d shut him out. As a young man, he’d learned not to need anyone. Dena had said he didn’t have to do this alone. He looked over at her. She smiled that special smile. It would be fine. He glanced at Stanton who idly swung the cuffs.

“No cuffs. You have no right,” Dena said, and stepped toward the deputy, her expression fierce. “You can’t cuff him.”

Zeke would have laughed if he could. Dena’s fists were clenched and she seemed about to deck Stanton. She was a spitfire, best not to get on her bad side, ever.

“That’s detainment,” Dena said, and glared at Stanton. “You can’t do that, he’s going in willingly.”

Impressed with her understanding of police procedure, Zeke shot her a quick, appreciative glance. Maybe her expertise came from handling the problems of her celebrity clients.

Stanton ignored her.

Zeke felt him move in close from behind, push him forward, and slyly knee him in the back of the leg. At least he’d put the cuffs away. His old football buddy’s beer belly pressed hard against his lower back, and his coffee-tainted breath fell hot on his neck.

“Where will they take you?” Rocky asked as he re-entered the room.

“Indio,” Zeke said.

Stanton nudged him again. Zeke knew the man enjoyed the moment; he’d splatter his heroic role all over the valley by midnight. God, he hated this. He hated it worse than anything he’d ever dealt with in his life. He felt defenseless and all of the issues that surrounded his prior statement, also taken in Indio, flooded his mind. They hadn’t held him, but the sense of desolation, the loneliness, and then afterward, the quizzical stares, the whispers, those newspaper headlines—

“Sweetheart,” Dena said, and sidled up to him. “I’ll follow you in my car.”

“Stay here. I’ll be home soon.”

“No,” Dena said, with a quick shake of her head. “A woman who loves and trusts her man wouldn’t let him go through this alone. Plus, it was my fault that we were on that property. And you’ll need a ride home.”

Stanton spun around and stared at her.

She smiled and gave a casual hitch to one shoulder. “I’m taking a course to be a private investigator. One day I plan to have my own business. I didn’t cross police caution tape. I’d never do that. I just wanted to get a feel for the place.”

Zeke blinked hard. A P.I.? She was a good actress, missed her calling that’s for sure.

“Save it. He’ll be questioned,” Stanton said.

“And by the way,” Dena said. “Nobody from your department has come out to take a report from me. You know I was shot at today.”

Stanton stared at her again.

Zeke felt more pressure behind his knee.

“There’s strange stuff going on around here,” Dena said.

Stanton sneered. “It might be a good idea if you come along. I’ll take that statement from you. It could take a while to break this guy. You might have to wait for hours.”

Zeke stiffened at Stanton’s words. So, he really did think he was guilty of rape and murder. He kept his eyes straight ahead, wouldn’t give his old buddy the satisfaction of a response. They’d had their childhood rivalries, fights on the football field, but as adults they’d seemed to get along. How could he think this of him?

“I can wait,” Dena said. “Zeke’s situation is of greater importance. Mine could have been kids shooting rabbits.”

Yeah, like she believed that. Zeke shook his head. But he was relieved to know she was back to giving him support.

“Oh, and sweetie, you should take a jacket,” Dena said. “Now where did you put it?”

Rocky moved to the closet in the hallway.

“Here,” Rocky said and shoved the leather jacket forward.

Zeke almost laughed. Stanton wasn’t about to carry a jacket for the suspect.

“I’ll take it.” Dena grabbed it. “Zeke, you hung it up. Wow! I wondered where you’d left it. Geez, Rocky. Zeke and I’ve only been together for two months and look at the improvements. I’ll have him housebroken before you know it.”

Rocky looked confused, but nodded.

Zeke pressed his lips tight, impressed that Dena had worked into her conversation how long they’d known each other. Why she’d said that she was his girlfriend he had no idea, but somehow it was an odd comfort.

“Don’t look like his type,” Stanton said, with a sliver of sarcasm. He stepped around Zeke and opened the front door.

“Oh, and what is his type?” Dena asked.

“He goes for them fiery redheads, small country-type gals, not city slickers. Always has, haven’t ya boy?”

Zeke continued to walk through the courtyard, not about to succumb to Stanton’s jibes. Outside the courtyard gate, Detective Quimby and another officer leaned up against the Sheriff’s vehicle, deep in conversation. Several officers lingered in the driveway. Deep down he wanted to fight back, to lash out verbally and physically. He had to play the game. Go through the hoops. Listen to Dena’s advice from yesterday.

“Hey Zeke, want me to drive you to Indio, save Deputy Stanton’s time?” Dena asked.

She acted natural, and her heels clicked on the Spanish pavers. Zeke realized he liked the sound. It had been way too long since a woman had worn heels in his house.

“Nah,” he said. “I’ll go in with Dave.”

Dena smoothed her skirt. “I’d planned to go back to Los Angeles, to the office today, Deputy Stanton. But now I’ll stay over, of course.”

Zeke watched her. She must be desperate to find Carli’s murderer. He admired her spunk, and she got under Stanton’s skin and that felt good. It satisfied him on some deep inner level. She shot a grin his way. He couldn’t smile back, much as he wanted to, his face had frozen.

“See you downtown, babe,” she said, hurried over and pressed a soft warm kiss to his lips. Then she spun on her heel and waved a hand toward her car door. “See that hole in my car, Deputy Stanton? That’s from a gunshot.”

Stanton’s eyes widened.

Zeke tried to hide his surprise at her kiss. He touched the tips of his fingers to his lips. She really liked goading Dave. Huh, how about that? Now he could smile. Then Stanton shoved a hand on his head and pushed him down and into the back seat of the cop car, erasing all smiles. Imagine that…being transported in the back…in the freakin’ cage.

“No need to unpack my stuff, Irma,” he heard Dena call out as the door slammed. “I’ll do it when I get home.”

He looked back toward the courtyard. Irma stood huddled inside. She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. Manny stood behind her, his young face worried, and beside him Bob Carmine gripped a soda can. What a weird scene. Zeke sensed the beginning of something new and big. Bigger than anything he’d ever known.

Stanton slammed his car door shut. Zeke settled into the seat and closed his eyes for a second. Dena kissed me? And she’s staying at Three C’s? How is that going to work out?

He turned and looked through the rear window as the cop car drew away.

Dena slid into the driver’s seat of her car. Several officers came around from the back of his house and climbed into another car. His heartbeat pounded with indignation.

Had they expected him to run?

No sirens blared or lights flashed as the cars spun around in the driveway and headed out to the main road. That was a plus. Zeke swallowed hard against the nausea that rose in the back of his throat. His head pounded again and he closed his eyes. Susie was dead, murdered.

He could remember her smile and her scent; his first love. Regret tore through him that they’d argued. He should have tried to work things out. Why had he requested that restraining order on her? How long ago had that been, three months, or four?

His eyes smarted and he closed them tighter and leaned his head back against the headrest. This had all the makings of being a long day.