“Which is bullshit. Just another con. I’ve got nothing that points at Lino being gay or bi. Straight hetero. Liked women. He’d have known Ortega. Had to. They grew up in the same area. Computer, full data on Ortega, José, DOB 2025. Same age, same school. I guess the old man supported public education. And look here, got some slaps for illegals use and possession. Stints in rehab.”
She went with the gut. “Computer, list any tattoos on current subject.”
Acknowledged. Working . . . Current subject bears tattoo on left forearm. Describe or display?
“Display.”
“There it is,” Eve said, when the cross with its center heart pierced by the blade came on-screen. “Ortega was Soldado. He was one of Lino’s. Not his spouse, never his fucking spouse. That’s bogus. His captain.”
“The marriage records could have been faked, and post-recorded. Easy enough for someone with the skill to fake the Flores ID as he did.”
“Yeah. Easy enough. Who’s the lawyer?” Eve demanded. “Who’s the lawyer you dealt with on the Ortega thing?”
“I’ll get that for you.”
“I’ll put money that Ken Aldo sought legal counsel, that he made inquiries about declaring his spouse legally dead. Seven years. It takes seven years. He’d gotten through six of them, and was rounding for home. Long patience,” she said. “Just a few more months to go, and if he’d lined up his ducks correctly, he’d inherit—the promise. Big house, businesses, buildings. Millions. Many, many millions.”
“And with that much riding,” Roarke put in, “you’d want to keep your eye on it—I would. Yes, you’d want to have a look at it, make sure it was being tended to.”
“Flores has been missing about the same amount of time. Add the time from when Flores was last reported seen, and when Lino, as Flores, requested the assignment at St. Cristóbal’s.”
“Time between to have the face work.” Roarke nodded in agreement. “To study, plan, have the tat removed, alter records. A few months for that,” he calculated. “More than enough if you focused.”
“What better way to keep an eye on things without anyone making any connection between you and who you are, or who you intend to be when the time’s right?”
“That residential is listed as Ortega’s last address, but there’s a tenant listed.” Roarke gestured to the screen. “Or tenants. Hugh and Sara Gregg. At that location for nearly five years.”
Eve called for their data. “They look straight. Two kids. Both of them doctors. We’ll have to chat at some point. I need coffee.”
She strode to the kitchen to program it, lined up her thoughts.
“Ortega and Lino knew each other as kids, grew up in the same area, went to the same school. Ortega joins the Soldado, which aligns him with Lino. Not high up, as his name hasn’t come up from any of my sources. Foot soldier maybe, or with his grandfather’s money, a kind of treasure chest. They connect again, or may have kept in touch. But after Ortega’s grandfather died and leaves him pretty stinking rich, Lino’s wheels start turning.”
She drank coffee, then pinned Ortega’s ID shot to her board. “Lino gets Ortega out West. Let’s hang. Gamble, screw around. Gets rid of Ortega, pulls out the fake documentation, and reports him missing. Nice and legal. I’ll need the reports on that.”
“Then Martinez would contact the lawyer,” Roarke added. “He has to have the documentation. Surprise, I’m Ken, José’s same-sex spouse, and he’s missing. I’ve told the police. He’d probably cover, ask if the lawyer would contact him if he hears from José, or gets any information. He’s very worried, after all.”
“As legal spouse, you’d have some access to some funds, could petition for more. But he’s not worried about that. He has a plan. He’s got to be patient. Seven years’ patient. But then? Jackpot. Problem is, he can’t keep his hands off Penny, or his mouth from running to her. He actually loves her. He wants to share all this good fortune with her. He’s back—or will be back—and riding high.”
“As Ken Aldo?”
“No, no, that would take the shine off. He’d want the shine. He’d have to come back as himself at the end of it. He’d have that worked. How would you do that?” she asked Roarke.
“Transfer properties—on paper. I imagine as Ken Aldo he’d have a forged will from Ortega, with him as full beneficiary. Once that’s in his hand, some bogus sale of the properties. Aldo to Martinez.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s all paper. It’s all just follow the dots. Lino gets his face back and comes home a rich man, with some bullshit about making a killing out West. Seven years on the down-low, and he’ll have everything he ever wanted.”
She turned to study the holo again. “His father took off when he was a kid. Eventually his mother had him declared legally dead so she could get on with her life. Lino wouldn’t have forgotten that. And seven years. Why would the cops out West sniff around Ken Aldo when there’s no body, no sign of foul play? Instead you’ve
got a screwup, with an illegals record, taking off.”
“Still they’d have looked at this Aldo, wouldn’t they?” Roarke took her coffee to have some himself. “Isn’t that what you do? Suspect the spouse first?”
“Rule of thumb. They’d have run him, asked questions. He was smart, it was smart to pick Vegas for it. Gambling, sex, make sure they’re seen together. Maybe talk Ortega into some high stakes. He wins, he loses, it doesn’t matter. Money, loss or gain, it’s always a motive for taking off. He’d have played that right with them,” she considered. “Admit maybe they weren’t getting along perfectly well, having a few marital problems, but they loved each other. He’s just so worried. He just wants to know José is all right. He had to lay some groundwork for it. If the cops weren’t complete idiots, they’d check with people who knew the MP, who knew the person who reported him missing.”
“It just takes knowing the right people, and how much they cost.”
“Yeah, there’s a point. It’s earlier there, right, in Vegas. The stupid time zone crap actually works for me this time. I can get those investigators’ reports tonight.”