Page 42 of The Grave Artist (Sanchez & Heron #2)

Selina tilted her head back to look up at Detective Ryan Hall, who was a foot taller. “I’m no investigator, and I need help.”

He gave her a lopsided smile that tugged at her heart.

Hall had gotten home around four in the morning after wrapping up a lengthy investigation. She and the cat had fallen asleep on the sofa, and she had a vague memory of Ryan spreading a blanket over her before he kissed her forehead and vanished into the bedroom.

Now that he’d emerged from his room, tousle-haired and jonesing for coffee, she filled him in about the case and her mission to find the hit man and whoever had hired him, adding her theory about money laundering.

“A code?”

She set the note in front of him.

No priest would give me last rites before what I am about to do, so this will be my final confession, which I will have to give in seconds:

Please forgive me once I reveal my true guilt under oath.

I violated my clients’ trust by investing their savings in a risky fund, and I cannot go on in the knowledge of what I have done and the misery I have caused.

I now can admit to hoping that you, my goddesses, can ever live in peace, amen.

—Roberto Mateo Sanchez

His eyes widened. “Damn. That was smart.”

“There are still some mysteries.” She pointed out the Greek letter/numbers, 4:19, in the corner. And the fact his middle name was underlined. “I can’t figure those out yet. I’ve been online looking for dirt on Dad’s clients, to see if one of them has a record or some mob connection maybe.”

She added that Carmen was busy chasing a serial killer. “So I came to the one person I thought could help. My own knight in shining armor, who also happens to work homicide in the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department.”

“Who’s that? Maybe I work with him.”

She kissed him again. Harder. With better aim.

She and Ryan had been dating only a short time, but she already knew he was the type to pitch in when he saw a need. In other words, he was one of the good guys.

As he opened a can of food for the cat and plopped it onto a plate, he asked, “How’d you get the list of clients? I’d need a subpoena for that.”

“Fell into my lap.”

“Then don’t tell me any more.”

“Deal.”

Hall was wearing dark slacks and a white shirt. He tried twice to knot his tie. Selina took over and got it done on the first attempt. Now he initiated a kiss. It landed on the top of her head.

Not her first choice, but still it sent that wonderful jolt through her.

She nodded to the coffee table, where the list of names sat.

“Find anything?”

“No,” she conceded.

“We always start there too.”

“The police use Google?”

“Yep. Hardly ever does any good, though.”

“Maybe you could run a background check,” she offered with a coy smile.

“I could. If a case were open in Riverside County. Which it isn’t. And if I had the staffing to run fifty names.” He was looking at the list. “Which I don’t.”

“It’s only forty-eight.” She refilled his mug from the fresh pot of coffee she’d made when he woke up. “What do I do, Ryan?”

“Forget background. Start at the beginning. So, Jake was the one who found out your dad was murdered, right?”

“His associate—someone called Aruba—was investigating a dark website where people hire contract killers.” She swallowed the lump forming in her throat at the thought. “And Dad’s name was on it.”

Ryan reached out and pulled her to him. She leaned against his chest, finding comfort in his strength. She wasn’t normally the type to simper and fall into a man’s arms, but this investigation was more personal, and more emotionally taxing, than she would have believed.

“Good. A starting point. The hit man. We always work up the chain. In drugs, it’s user to street dealer to wholesaler to importer to cartel boss. That’s what you and I’ll do.”

Selina thrilled at the two pronouns. “How?”

Hall released her to take another sip from his mug. “He died here, right? LA?”

“Whittier.”

“Still Southern California. Lot of crime, lot of homicides, but there’s still a finite number of professional killers.

” He leaned against the kitchen bar. “There’s somebody I want to talk to.

Guy I put away my first year on the job.

A fixer named Everett Judd.” He pulled out his phone, scrolled and sent a text.

“What’s a fixer?”

“Like a broker. He puts together buyers and sellers—drugs, guns, hit people.”

“So he’s not a killer himself?”

“No, but he’s handled some deals with a few. I remember his ads for hits on the dark web.”

“You’re not serious. Advertising?”

“Yep. Look it up. ‘Silk Road.’ There are others too.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“No.” Hall was texting.

“But—”

“I’ll do the talking. Judd’s a three-time loser.

He’s doing a twenty-fiver for conspiracy and state RICO.

The man doesn’t play well with others. He just shanked his cellmate last week.

Nobody died but he’s in solitary.” He nodded at his phone.

“I just texted a buddy who’s a supervisor at the prison. Maybe he’ll agree to a video call.”

Selina continued briefing Ryan for another twenty minutes before his phone vibrated on the coffee table.

“It’s him.” He picked it up and tapped the screen. “Hey, Tal. Thanks ... Five, ten minutes ... Okay, thanks ... yeah, this number.”

He disconnected. “My friend. He’s head of the block that includes solitary. Cal State Prison.”

“Will Judd answer your questions?”

“Maybe. You never know. The thing you have to remember: Criminals at his level? They’re mostly sociopaths. Sometimes you have normal conversations, sometimes things take a dark turn. But always—and I mean always—they try to manipulate you.”

He finished getting dressed while Selina continued to stare at the list of names.

Had one of them hired Roberto’s killer?

Caliber jumped up and purred and rubbed his head against her leg. She absently stroked the soft fur.

Hall’s phone hummed once more and he walked into the living room, clipping his gun onto his belt.

He glanced at the phone and, answering, gestured her to join him, but to stand to the side.

“It’s a video call. You can listen, but I don’t want him to see you.

A woman would be a distraction.” He added under his breath, “Especially you.”

Fine with her. She had no desire to see Judd. “All right.”

She listened as Ryan navigated his way through the Corrections Department’s communication system. After a couple of minutes, he held the cell phone up in front of him and she knew the video link was live.

A deep, raspy voice sounded through the tiny speaker. “Well, well, well. My old buddy. What do you want, Detective?”

Ryan’s expression hardened. “Information.”

“Like everything else in this world of ours, it’s gonna cost you.”

“After that stunt you pulled last week, there’s no way you’ll get your sentence shortened. In fact, it’ll be extended considerably.”

“You think I’m stupid? I know there’s nothing you or the DA can do for me that way. There’s something else I want.”

“Before we get to haggling, let’s see if you have anything to trade. You know anything about a contract three years ago on a Roberto Sanchez? Whittier. An investment adviser.”

“No, nothing.”

“Okay. Let’s talk about that site on the dark web where you brokered your last deal.”

“You mean the job that landed me in here?” When Ryan nodded, Judd said, “That site was taken down.”

“I know. What I want are the names of other pros who used sites like that for pickup jobs.”

“Well, that’s quite a few people. Gotta give me more to go on.”

“Was there anyone who specialized in staging a hit to look like something else?”

“There was one dude had been a medic. He could get this shit that made people look like they had a heart attack. And somebody else we called the mechanic. He knew how to make brakes fail without cutting the line. That didn’t usually kill you, you know, airbags and everything, but then he’d follow ’em in his car and break their necks after.

Oh, and he could also make an engine explode and it looked like a bad gas line. The guy was a freaking genius.”

Selina felt bile rising to the back of her throat as she listened to Judd’s recitation of—and admiration for—how ruthless killers ended people’s lives.

She detected no sign of remorse, judgment or any other emotion as he spoke.

He might have been discussing players with varying degrees of skill on a sports team.

Ryan pressed for more. “How about making the death look like a suicide?”

A long pause. “Now you’re getting into very specific territory.

That’s hard to pull off. Cops like yourself and coroners, they’re trained to catch that.

But if you can do it, it’s a fucking good cover.

The vics are usually involved in something that could ruin their lives, so everybody’s more inclined to believe they offed themselves.

I know this one asshole who was good at it. How was it done?”

“A jumper.”

“Oh. Him.”

She saw her own shock reflected in Ryan’s face as he urged, “Keep going.”

“Tossing people out the window was his signature move, and before you ask—yeah, he advertised on a dark website.”

“What’s his name?”

“Now see, Detective, that reminds me of the favor I need. The thing about last week? My cellmate? He got a little familiar, so I had to remind him to behave himself. Simple little correction. The screws didn’t see it that way. And they’re gonna send me to some supermax.”

“The Q?”

“Naw, someplace else.” He paused. “I’ve been to one of those before. Didn’t like it. I like it here.”

“You don’t want to be separated from your crew. You’ll have to start all over in another place to run your hustles.”

“Hm. That’s a cynical way to put it. Let’s say a home is a home.”

“I’ll be straight with you,” Ryan said. “I can’t make any guarantees.”

“You got cred, Hall. You’re young, but your word is good. Probably you’ll find somebody who’ll listen. All I want.”

“Okay.”

“Say it.”

“I’ll talk to the DA and DOC about keeping you here instead of sending you to supermax. Now spill.”

“I don’t have a name to give you.”

“Then you’ll be on the next prisoner transport bus, Judd. We don’t have anything more to talk about.”

“Hold on. I just mean his real name. I’ve got his handle. Sweeney. And where he hangs. Or used to. It’s a bar in North Hollywood called Paquito’s. A bartender named Nando works every night. He can hook you up with him.”

“Give me something on Nando. Pressure point.”

Silence for a moment from Judd. “He wants to buy the bar from the owner. To make extra money, he over-orders the booze, then waters it down and lines his pockets with the difference in cost. Oh, and he’s an asshole.”

“The last one kind of went without saying.”

“Yep.”

“Describe him.”

“Bald vampire.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You’ll get it.”

“We’re also after whoever hired Sweeney. You know who took out the contract?”

The big question. Who had wanted their father dead?

But Judd said, “No clue. You’d have to ask Sweeney that.”

“Okay, Judd. I’ll make the calls for you.”

“Thanks, Detective. Hey, lot of assholes in your business. You’re not one of ’em. Oh, and one more thing? About pros like me? We don’t give a shit about anything. This Sweeney? He’d just as soon dust you as look at you.”

“Weapon of choice?”

“If it can be used to fuck somebody up, that’s his weapon of choice. Glock with a Yankee Hill suppressor or a Home Depot screwdriver. Watch your back. And front and sides.”

As he disconnected, Selina thought: one crazy life. She’d just seen two men haggling over stone-cold murderers as if they were on a car lot settling on a price for a used Volvo.

She asked, “We heading out?”

“Not yet. I’ve got to get to the office.”

“Then I’ll go home to change.” She grabbed her purse, kissed him goodbye and then walked out to her car.

She climbed in and started the engine. Before pulling into the street, though, she checked her surroundings.

No sign of any black Ford SUVs.

She committed herself to stay alert on the drive home, keeping an eye out for the Ford, and any other cars that seemed to be tailing her.

Now that she knew the sort of people she was dealing with—Judd and Sweeney and whoever had hired him—she’d have to be extra vigilant.

The last thing she wanted was to lead anyone to her apartment in Functional Fullerton, her enclave, her sanctuary in this Wild West city.