Private #1 Suspect (Private 2)

Cruz let Del Rio and Scotty sleep, took a shift watching the warehouse. He, Scotty, Del Rio, and Justine were working their major cases while Jack spent all day and all night trying to get his ass out of the bad case against him.

Cruz would be happier when Jack was free, when he was back working with them, and he hoped it would happen before the top guys at Private burned out.

Cruz shook Del Rio awake at 3:35 and got back into his fleet car. At four on the nose, he parked again on North Western under the light, across the street from the sign reading Havana.

The street was emptier and more desolate than it had been six

hours before, except for a bunch of rowdies having after-drinks fast food at the Tacos El Patio.

Cruz was thinking maybe he’d go in there and use the bathroom, when the door to Havana opened and a woman in jeans, black cardigan, and black Converse lace-ups came out to the street. He flashed his headlights, and Carmelita Gomez crossed to the car. She glanced up and down the street as she slipped in the passenger side and closed the door.

CHAPTER 73

CARMELITA GOMEZ SMELLED like flowers and cigar smoke. She turned her dark eyes on Cruz. It was like looking at the business end of a couple of nines.

“Karen just told me you wanted to talk about that dead john last year. She’s got a big mouth,” Carmelita said.

“You told her about it, right?”

“The guy was dead. I’m the last one who partied with him. Cops wanted to know. Everyone wanted to know.”

“And now I want to know, but I’m paying for the information. I’ll keep you out of it.”

“Give me the money first.”

“That’s not how it works,” Cruz replied.

The girl opened the door and had one sneakered foot on the pavement when Cruz said, “Wait.”

She got back in and looked at him, not saying anything.

“Here’s three hundred,” Cruz said. “With the two I gave your friend, that’s a total of five hundred. Half down. Now, Carmelita, you have to talk if you want the rest.”

The girl put the money inside the neckline of her top and said, “The killer is a limo driver. He drives the girls to their dates. Then he comes back and kills the johns.”

“Do you think that? Or know that?”

“When I was at Sensational Dates, I was friends with one of the drivers.”

“Name?”

“Joe Blow.”

Cruz’s hand moved fast, like a snake, to the girl’s neckline. He had his hand on the money when she grabbed his wrist and said, “It doesn’t matter what is his name. He’s dead, okay? He OD’d.”

Cruz pulled out the rest of the money, held it in front of her eyes.

Carmelita sighed.

“These drivers. They are a bad group. Ex-cons. Illegals. They make their own hours. Many times, they use their own cars. When the calls go out for a driver to take an escort somewhere, they hear over the radio where the girls are going and they choose the jobs they take.”

“I need a name.”

“The driver who took me to the Seaview the night Arthur Valentine was killed? He was a guy called Billy Moufan. He and I told each other our secrets.”

“For instance.”

“Billy told me one of our drivers had killed the john at the Moon. He didn’t name the name. Just said to be careful.