Unlock the Truth (9 page)

“One eleven.” She burst into laughter, relaxed against the seat, and waited for the light to change. He wasn’t a bad guy after all. And on that note she felt a rush of everything positive. It was going to be just fine at the PD.

****

Deputy Stanton sat behind the desk in the front room of the Indio P.D. watching Dena approach. A tiny prickle of irritation worried the back of her neck. He was a Rancho Almagro cop, should he even be here?

She strode forward, her chin up. “I’m here to pick up Zeke Cabrera.”

“It’ll be a while,” Stanton said. He leaned across the countertop and folded his arms.

The other two deputies glanced up then went back to their work. She knew Stanton had waited specifically for her. Like one of Isabella’s feral cats, he was about to pounce.

She shivered and clutched at her purse straps. “Where is Zeke?”

“We’ll need to take a statement from you,” he said, and kept his voice low. “Breaking and entering, tampering with police evidence—”

“Pffft.” Dena flipped one hand. Now she was nervous. Earlier it had seemed fine. She’d even suggested giving a statement. Her heartbeat pounded and she reminded herself to breathe deeply. “I didn’t tamper with anything. Zeke will explain all of that.”

Stanton’s face reddened. She switched tactics, less bravado was called for. She was sensitive to his frustration, didn’t want to anger him. Besides, this was about his childhood friend who had been murdered. And this wasn’t his department; Riverside Homicide Detectives and the Indio PD had to take over, and that must irk him.

“Let’s see what Detective Quimby has to say,” Dena said, and smiled. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, a little chat, perhaps.

Stanton narrowed his eyes.

Detective Quimby entered the room, his face serious. “Ah, Ms. Roman, I’m glad you came in. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Dena’s heart rate kicked up another notch. “Oh, you mean because I was shot at?”

He frowned, looked at her with cool gray eyes that matched his hair color. “I’d like to hear your reasons for being on the restricted hotel grounds.”

Fair enough
.

Stanton smirked.

Dena ignored him and followed Quimby to a small room. She sat opposite him and toyed with her handbag while he shuffled his papers and opened a notebook.

She took a swift look around. There was nothing personal about the room. A large dark gray metal desk, two chairs, pale gray walls and windows that faced the long narrow corridor. If Quimby had chosen a gray suit instead of the navy blue one, he’d have blended right in.

She’d tell him only what he asked. Only what he needed to know. He picked up a pen and held her gaze.

“Dena. May I call you Dena?”

She nodded.

“You do understand it’s a criminal offence to violate a crime scene?”

Dena nodded again and swallowed hard.

“I can overlook this incident if you tell me the truth. Why you were there. What you mean to Zeke Cabrera, and to Three C’s—”

“I can do that,” Dena said, and her voice came out in a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Okay, see, the first victim, Carli Jarvis, she was my sister.”

Quimby scribbled something on his pad without even looking at it. In fact his eyes never left hers for a single moment. Did the guy even blink? Dena shifted in her chair.

Five minutes later she’d spilled her guts, even told Quimby about someone taking a couple of shots at her car. She smoothed both hands over her hair, and blinked away what she was sure was a dazed look. He was good. Damn good. She’d practically given him the account number of her IRA.

“Thank you, Ms. Roman, I think I have what I need.” Quimby closed his notebook. “I’ll have an officer take a look at your car. We’ll make a separate report on that.”

“Has Zeke’s statement been taken?” Dena asked.

“I’ll check. You can wait out front.”

Quimby left the room and Dena grabbed her purse and scurried back to the waiting area. What if her and Zeke’s statements didn’t match? She sat down on one of the hard chairs, grabbed a magazine and fanned herself. Even though the magazine was about bicycling and all of the gear that went along with the sport, she flipped through it. She’d read anything to avoid the interest of Stanton and the two officers.

Had she made things worse for Zeke? She’d told the truth. There was no way she’d lie or be evasive when a police officer questioned her. This morning was different. Stanton was out of line, so it hadn’t mattered then. Had it? She thought long and hard on that one. Quimby hadn’t been fazed when he found out Carli was her sister and she wondered why.

A moment later she slapped her forehead. Thank goodness she’d been effusively honest. She’d bet they’d identified her through her car license plate. It had been parked in Zeke’s driveway. How about that? They knew all about her.

Ten minutes later, Zeke’s mouth was set in a stern line as he strode down the hall and into the front office of the Indio PD. Dena fell in step beside him as they walked outside, careful not to touch him for fear he’d push her away. Had Quimby told him who she was?

“I’ll handle the reporters,” she said, and indicated the few who lounged around outside the glass doors.

If this had been L.A. there’d have been dozens lined up and trucks and camera crews everywhere. She got Zeke through the half-dozen reporters and photographers who lazily called out questions. When he muttered a quick aside that was far from complimentary, she shot him a warning glance.

“Mr. Cabrera will not give any interviews,” she said, and gripped his elbow. “Please respect that he is grieving the loss of an old friend—”

“Would that be Susie Derwin?” a young brunette reporter asked, and shoved a microphone toward Dena. “They went to Rancho Almagro High School, didn’t they?”

“No comment,” Dena said.

“They were an item once, right?” a burly guy asked.

“Excuse me. Are you his lawyer?” another female reporter asked, and indicated to a photographer that he should take a photo of her.

Dena ducked her head, ignored the question, and continued to propel Zeke toward the parking lot. Almost at the car she turned around. “Mr. Cabrera will work with the police department and allow full access to Three C’s Estates. He declines all questions at this time.”

“Do they suspect there are more bodies buried there?” one man asked.

Dena stared at him. That was a question she wasn’t prepared for.
Damn, she hoped not
.

“Mr. Cabrera has vowed he will find the murderer of both young women and has offered a twenty thousand dollar reward for clues that will lead to solving this crime.”

Zeke stared wide-eyed at her. His lips parted momentarily then snapped shut.

“Well that’s generous,” the brunette said. She smiled at Zeke then began to advance toward Dena. “May I have your name and your—”

“Thank you for respecting my client’s privacy. Good day,” Dena said. She waved, and then hustled Zeke into her car.

“Twenty K, how generous of you,” Zeke said dryly as he buckled himself in. He shook his head.

“Look, nobody is going to come forward,” Dena replied, and took a quick look behind before backing out of the parking space. “But if they did, it would be worth it—”

“Yeah, I suppose.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat.

On the drive back to Three C’s, Zeke fell asleep. Shock could do that. Dena knew all about that. He hadn’t had to make bail. He’d given his statement but didn’t seem to want to rehash it with her. All he’d said was it was taped. She understood the physical toll an emotional trauma could take on a body. All she’d done in the weeks after they’d found Carli’s body was cry and sleep. Now she couldn’t sleep at all, but that was because her mind was too active. She glanced over at him. She had questions for him and wanted to use this time they had alone. Who knew when the opportunity would arise again? She coughed a couple of times and he opened his eyes.

“So, it’s okay if I stay for a day or two?” she asked, and pulled up in his driveway.

Zeke nodded. Then he turned to face her and frowned. “Even after being shot at?”

“Especially after being shot at—”

“And after all of the stuff this morning?”

“Absolutely.” She parked, turned off the ignition.

He pursed his lips. “Okay. You can have the same guest room.” He climbed out of the Mustang and leaned against the closed passenger door.

She locked the car and walked around. “You okay?”

“Yeah, but listen Dena, you have to promise me you won’t go back over there again.” He jerked his chin up and in the direction of the hotel site.

“I know.” She kept her expression serious. “I promised Detective Quimby that I’d stay away. I explained about my friend.”

Zeke pushed a hand through his hair and stared at her. He squinted. “You told him?”

“Yeah, I figured it would come out soon enough, so why not?” Several straight vertical frown marks formed between his eyes, then another deeper one creased across his forehead.

“He didn’t think it was odd, that you’re my girlfriend?”

“Well, see I don’t think he ever believed
that,
” Dena said. Then she grinned at him. “He knows it’s not true now. Did he question you about me?”

Zeke shook his head slowly.

Good old Quimby
. “I can’t get into any trouble,” she said. Just in case he needed reassurance. “I mean I didn’t lie to the authorities. They know what I do for a living, and why I’m down here.”

It was quiet for a while, and then Dena slipped an arm through his. “Besides, Stanton had rushed to your place without just cause. He was out of line. I explained to Quimby that I said I was your girlfriend to change the subject, calm him down.”

Zeke remained silent. He sure was a brooder. She looked up at him again. “Stanton’s going to be chewed out for that, for sure.”

Zeke shook his head again. “Poor Stanton, he loves his work. Don’t know why he’d act like that.”

Then he slid his arm out of her hold and walked inside.

****

Zeke headed straight for his office aware that Dena followed him, although uninvited. He turned and stared at her for a moment, and then sank into his office chair. He was bone tired, and yet he still needed answers.

“So, if you aren’t going back to the hotel site, and you’re not my girlfriend, why do you want to stay?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t have a job to go back to on Monday.”

“Brennan fired you?”

“I quit.”

Zeke pulled the chair in under the desk. This was getting worse by the minute. He scrubbed at his face with both open hands. “You want me to call him, explain?”

“No. We talked, it’s all good.”

“This is a mess,” he said, and grimaced. “You lost your job because of me?”

“No, it’s not that at all, silly,” Dena said, and sat in a chair facing the desk. “I wanted to quit soon anyway. I want my own business. But that’s beside the point.”

She frowned when he said nothing, but really he had nothing to add.

“Back to Steve,” she said. “I told him I’d work for you for a while.”

Zeke pulled in a long breath and blew it out. “Fine—”

“I’ll work with you for a few days. Pro bono,” Dena said quickly. “Give you some suggestions on how to create a stronger public image. I have some really super ideas.”

She moistened her lips, and then snagged her bottom lip with her teeth. She was nervous, and he knew that because her speech was rapid. She didn’t have to help him at all. He wondered if her decision was about him, or if she wanted an opportunity to poke around a bit, ask a few more questions. He sighed deeply. He wasn’t doing too well on his own. Maybe they could join forces. Together they might discover the secrets they both suspected Three C’s Estates hid. He’d have to think it over before saying anything more.

“You know,” Dena said quietly. “I’ve wanted to ask you about your competitor here in the valley.”

Zeke frowned. “West Coast Citrus?”

She nodded. “Do they contract their farm hands from the same company?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Could they be blackballing your business?”

Zeke blinked slowly, and then widened his eyes. “I doubt it. But I can’t say I’ve never thought about it.” He tilted his head. Maybe she was on to something? “We have access to each other’s properties. There’s a horse trail around the base of the mountain where there’s no fencing. The old guy and my mother always seemed to get along okay.” He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think they’d stoop that low.”

Dena’s head had snapped up at the comment on easy accessibility to each other’s farmland. That was a clue of sorts. What it meant to her he wasn’t certain. Good thing she didn’t love horseback riding or she might ride out there, check it out. That would be the last thing he needed.

“Why do you say that?”

“We’re competitors,” Zeke said. “But we both farm enough products, other than citrus, to make us different.”

“How so?”

“They do dates and lettuce. We don’t. We do grapes and mango. They don’t.”

He kept his sentences short, abrupt. He wanted her to know the conversation had wound down.

“Why do you think there is this enmity, or hatred, for Three C’s in the town?”

She wasn’t taking a hint. He shrugged. “People like to talk, to speculate—”

“I think it goes beyond that, Zeke.”

“Look, there’s also superstition, and religion,” he said, and sat straighter. “There’s a strong Latino community here. They’re the basis of the farming industry.”

She nodded. “I know. I grew up in Los Angeles. I have many friends who are Latino, and I’ve had workmates and clients who are also. I understand their culture, and while I agree on the superstition angle, it isn’t enough.”

Exhaustion hit him. He scrubbed at his face again. He couldn’t think clearly.

“But, I know you’re tired,” she said, and stood. “I’m going to my room. Why don’t you get some rest and we can talk later.”

“Sure. Thanks, Dena.” He turned and stared out the window. “If you need anything, ask Irma.”

He faced the window, and his shoulders sagged. He felt old, tired, totally drained. And he had absolutely no idea how he’d get through the weeks ahead, and although he hadn’t relished Dena’s questions, he was more than aware of how much he needed her support.