Page 20 of The Grave Artist (Sanchez & Heron #2)

Carmen had hit the twentieth shop or restaurant along Cedar Hills Road during her canvass.

Asking about: A White man. A dark suit. White shirt. Purple tie. Dark hair. Thirties, ish.

“Uhm, well, I guess, I think I saw a bunch of guys like that.”

“Thanks. Have a good day.”

She hated canvassing.

Carmen was about to turn and head back to the cemetery to help Jake interview the girl witness, Sylvie. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She put it to her ear without taking the time to check caller ID.

“Agent Sanchez.”

“I figured it out, Carm.” Selina was breathless with excitement.

Apparently the girl had gotten over whatever had made her hang up so rudely not long ago.

“The ‘goddesses.’ In the note. But I need to run the last part of the clue by you.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised her highly intelligent sister had figured out what the mysterious reference might be. But, for some reason, she was. Perhaps because a part of her still thought of Selina as her little sister, a child. Would she ever see her differently?

She was tempted to say she was busy but remembered Selina’s reaction when she had dismissed the matter of their father’s death earlier. A few minutes couldn’t hurt. “Cool, Lina, what did you find?”

“Just texted it to you,” Selina said, then launched into an explanation of how she’d realized their father had used the first letter of every second word in every second sentence to spell out the names of two goddesses.

She could see how Roberto would have easily been able to construct the note on the fly without anyone suspecting it held a secret message.

Fascinating. Carmen actually laughed at the discovery. “Fortuna and Hygeia. Where does it lead us?”

“I looked them up,” Selina went on. “Fortuna is the Roman goddess of wealth. Hygeia is the Greek goddess of health and cleanliness.”

“Wealth and health?” Carmen muttered, turning the concepts over in her mind.

“I kept getting stuck there.” Selina went on. “Did Dad ever read to us about them? I can’t remember.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

What would his point have been?

Selina suggested, “Maybe a client with a health problem did something illegal to get money for experimental treatment? Dad found out and the client killed him.”

“Maybe. But I don’t know how he’d find out. HIPAA, you know?”

“Right. Let’s keep going.”

Despite the pressure of the case—and the vital need to interview Sylvie—Carmen couldn’t help but be drawn into the puzzle. “Any other thoughts?”

“The English word ‘hygiene’ is obviously based on Hygeia’s name. So let’s think about cleanliness,” Selina said thoughtfully. “And Fortuna was also luck and money.”

An idea rippled through Carmen’s subconscious, working its way to the surface. Something Selina said resonated, but it wasn’t quite there yet. She repeated the three words silently.

Money, luck, cleanliness. Money, luck, cleanliness.

And then the thought that had been a ripple now geysered up.

Not “cleanliness” the noun. But the verb: “Cleaning.”

“Money and cleaning,” Carmen blurted. “Money laundering.”

A pause. “My God, Carm, yes! That’s got to be it,” Selina said. “Dad realized one of his clients was cooking the books, and they found out.”

Damn, Carmen thought, as if punched in the gut.

Another idea occurred. “Any luck with the symbols in the corner?”

“I sent you another text,” Selina said. “It probably means ‘4:19,’ as near as I can tell. Mean anything to you?”

She thought for a moment. “No. Nothing. But the money-laundering lead is credible. And could make the crime federal, honey. RICO—the corrupt organizations law—at least. I still have contacts in the FBI, but we have to give them something more than Greek myths to go on. And I guarantee, no federal judge would issue a warrant based on speculation like this.”

And a warrant service on whom? They had no suspects.

Selina blurted, “Then let’s go and get them what they need.”

She admired her younger sister’s enthusiasm but had to be straight with her, once again. “Lina, this is brilliant. But you’re talking a huge amount of work. And I told you before I can’t run with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, your un-cold case.” Her voice had gone from enthusiastic to snide.

“Lina!”

“Nothing’s more important than finding Dad’s killer. I can’t believe I’m having to say this to you. You just told me no one else is going to investigate this case until we do. Now you still want to shove it to the back burner after what I told you?”

“Yes, something is more important. Finding a killer who’s going to kill again. Maybe any day now. There’s nothing that tells us Dad’s killer is going to murder anyone else.”

“You can’t be sure of that. For all we know, whoever it is could have killed twenty people over the last three years since Dad died. And maybe he is about to kill again!”

Carmen calmed and said reasonably, “You’re right. It’s just, I can’t be sure of it. But what I can be sure of is that another innocent person will die if I don’t follow up on this one.”

“Why does it have to be you , Carmen? Aren’t there thousands of agents assigned to HSI? Can’t one of them take over the case from you?”

Actually, they couldn’t. “Jake and I are the only ones running it on the federal side. And I’m the only LEO assigned to I-squared. He’s a civilian.”

“Well, if you’re not going to follow up on this, I’ll do it myself.”

That again . . .

“Lina, I told you: no.”

“You’re not my mother,” she snapped.

This cut deep. Because, yes, Carmen had been her mother, since she’d raised her after both of their parents had passed.

Still, reasonable. Still, even tempered. “You don’t have the training or the authority to—”

“Then why did you teach me everything you know?”

Yes, she’d taught her sister many things about being a law enforcer. But it was mostly for her own defense. And her “lessons” were no substitute for years in the academy and the trial by fire on the street.

It was then that a single long tone sounded from the police band radio clipped at her waist.

“What’s that sound?” Selina asked.

“An emergency signal. The dispatcher uses it to get attention before making an announcement.”

“What kind of announce—?”

“Shh!”

The dispatcher’s voice cut through the silence that followed the tone.

“All units, code 3. Two forty-five in progress. The park north of Cedar Hills Cemetery. Subject is stabbing a victim near the north entrance of the grounds. Suspect is a White male, six two, two twenty, wearing gray windbreaker and jeans, baseball cap.”

A flurry of LAPD patrol unit transmissions reported that officers were en route to the scene. Carmen abruptly ended her conversation with her sister. “I gotta go, Lina. Leave Dad’s case alone. I mean it.”

Without waiting for an answer, she disconnected. She listened as the dispatcher delivered an update, indicating the suspect had left the scene. Then an addition:

“Responding rescue personnel, be advised that the victim is near the north entrance to Cedar Hills Cemetery. Victim is described as a White male, tall, average build, early thirties, brown hair.”

No!

The site of the stabbing was the exact spot where Jake Heron would be on his way to interview the girl.

She began to sprint.