A Bullet for Carlos (39 page)

Interviews

I
t had been a damn long day already. It didn’t seem possible that I started out the day talking to Frankie, then seeing Maxwell at the golf course. So much had happened and it was only noon. And we still had a full day or more of work to do. We had already interviewed four of the people from the ball, trying to learn anything we could about Mena and Carlos. No one seemed to have known her, though they were aghast upon hearing the news. The men we talked to had nothing good or bad to say about Carlos, but both of the women thought he was the epitome of old-world charm and elegance. The one thing all of them agreed on was that Carlos left somewhere after midnight and before 1:00. The two women, who seemed more reliable, both had him leaving close to 12:45, claiming to know because when he said good night, they were shocked he was leaving so early. Emily, one of the women we spoke to, said, ‘it didn’t end until 2:00, you know. I made note because it was unusual for Carlos to leave early.’ She insisted that she’d seen Carlos say goodbye to Virginia at the door, then he returned to bid them a farewell. ‘He always kisses my right cheek’ one of them said. ‘what a gentleman.’

“Where to now?” I asked. “I hope it’s somewhere close to a food joint.”

“Skip the food. We need to talk to your new friend.”

“Maxwell?”

“Yeah, Maxwell,” Tip said. “I called earlier, and he said he would be at his office today.”

“On Sunday?”

“That’s what he said. Got some big project they’re trying to finish.”

Tip called him when we got to the parking lot.

“I’ll have someone meet you at the door,” Maxwell said.

A reasonably attractive woman
who looked to be in her thirties greeted us. “Mr. Maxwell is expecting you.” She had a strong drawl, and she stared at Tip with a smile that said, ‘here’s my number, call me tonight when I’m naked.’

Tip had that effect on people. When his face twisted in a certain way—especially when he smiled—it caused odd reactions. Women seemed to like it, entranced by the whole scar thing; with friends it made him seem warm and likable; but when he combined it with a hard-eyed glare—and he kept several in reserve—it just plain scared the shit out of people.

A few minutes later Jeff Maxwell emerged from an elevator looking as good as he did last night at the ball.
Last night.
It seemed like days.

“Connie, I didn’t expect to see you this soon.”

I extended my hand, but he ignored it, opting instead for an embrace. Then he turned to greet Tip, shaking his hand. I felt a little uncomfortable with the embrace. If it bothered Tip, he didn’t let it show.

Maxwell led us to a room with a small table and four chairs. Tip grabbed a seat across from Jeff.

“Thanks for meeting with us, Mr. Maxwell,” Tip said in his too-polite Texan voice. “I hate to interrupt your Sunday.”

Jeff brushed his hand in the air. “Please, Tip. Call me Jeff, or Max. Anything but Mr. Maxwell. As for the Sunday thing…you’ll find me here almost every Sunday.”

He faced me with a smile. “After golf, that is.”

Tip never flinched as he watched the interplay. “We’re here to ask about Carlos Cortes, one of the guests at the ball. What—”

“I heard. What a sin about that woman. And she was so beautiful. My God, I must have talked to her for half an hour.”

Tip waited to make sure Jeff was finished, then asked, “How did you hear about it so fast?”

Maxwell laughed. “Connections, Detective. I have a lot of them.”

Tip nodded. “I imagine you do,” he said, and jotted down a note. “So what can you tell me about Carlos’ relationship with Ms. Santiago?”

“Nothing to speak of. I just met her last night. But I did learn that she worked for Carlos. I believe she managed an interior decorating shop for him.”

“And you’d never met her before last night?”

Maxwell squinted his eyes and cocked his head to the side. “I think I was in her shop once, a while ago, but we were never introduced until last night.”

“Didn’t meet until last night,” Tip said, as he scribbled it into his notebook. “And yet you talked with her for half an hour?”

After a quick glance at me, Maxwell shot Tip a raised-eyebrow stare. “Come on, Detective. You saw her.”

“I’ll give you that, Mr. Maxwell. She
was
hard to miss.” Tip waited a few seconds, then said, “Do you remember what time Mr. Cortes and Ms. Santiago left?”

“I’d say 1:45, perhaps a few minutes later.”

That statement brought me to a sense of alert. Definitely not what we’d been hearing so far. I could see by the look on Tip’s face he didn’t believe Maxwell either.

“You seem pretty sure of that.”

Maxwell held his stare. “I am.”

Tip flipped back a few pages in his notebook. “That’s funny, because we talked to two people who said they remember Mr. Cortes leaving around 12:45.”

Maxwell shook his head. “Carlos was definitely there until the end, or near the end…but I
do
remember hearing Mena say she wanted to leave earlier. Maybe that’s what someone heard.”

More scribbles in the notebook, then, “How are you so sure it was 1:45?”

“I
always
know what time it is, Detective.”

“And what time did
you
leave?” Tip asked.

He looked at Tip, then back to me. “We left at about 2:15. No later.”

“And you were up that early playing golf?” I asked.

“I don’t need much sleep; besides, my friends and I have a golf date every Sunday, no matter what.”

“How long have you known Mr. Cortes?” Tip asked.

“Carlos?” Jeff leaned back in the chair in a pose that simulated thinking. “Perhaps eight or ten years.”

“And what is that relationship?”

“We’re lovers,” Jeff said, then laughed, hard. “Just kidding. We met at one of Virginia’s functions. Carlos does a lot with charities.”

Tip set his pen and notebook on the table and leaned forward. “Do you know Carlos is into drugs, not using them, but dealing.”

Jeff got a serious look on his face. “Now you’re kidding.”

Tip’s scar twitched, and his face transformed into that menacing look just before he smiled. “Sorry, Mr. Maxwell, I had to see what you’d say.”

Tip looked at his watch and stood. “That about wraps up my questions,” he said and turned to me. “Connie, you got anything else?”

I knew that was his cue for us to go. I shook my head and got up from the chair. “Nothing here.”

Maxwell made small talk as he walked us to the door, but I could tell it was just that—small talk. He wanted us out of there.

When we got in the car, I said to Tip, “So what do you think?”

“I feel good about it,” Tip said as he slid behind the wheel.

I got in the passenger seat and buckled up. “What’s there to feel good about?”

“We’re making headway. Carlos lied to us. We’re pretty sure some of the people at the gym lied to us, and now Maxwell is lying to us.”

I turned to look at Tip. “Maybe I’m missing something, but how does that help?”

“It doesn’t. I was lying.”

I laughed. Tip’s weird sense of humor was growing on me. “So what are we going to do?”

“We’re gonna pin Tony’s murder on Carlos, then we’ll bust the guy killing these girls. In the meantime,
you
have to figure out why Maxwell is lying to us.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. He’s got the hots for you, and don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed all right. I saw him this morning while I was jogging and he asked me out.”

“Well?”

“Of course I told him I’d go. I actually want to go, but I find it tough getting over the fact that he’s married.”

“You mean besides him being an asshole.”

It didn’t take me long to process that. “Yeah, I guess that too.”

“So you actually like this guy?”

“Do you like Jessica Alba?”

Tip laughed, and nodded his head a little. “All right, I’ll give you that, Maxwell does have a cute ass.”

“That’s twice you’ve said that, Tip. You’re a sick man. Has anyone told you that?”

“Keep that thought until we get to Carlos’ house. We need to rattle his cage a little.”

Tip pulled into a
parking lot across the street from the new condominiums where Carlos lived. “We’re here.”

“This is where Carlos lives?”

Tip got out and started across the street, me hustling to keep up. “You want to fill me in on your plan, cowboy, or are you just going to shoot him?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. I might just shoot him.”

“I still haven’t eaten, you know. We could have stopped for food.”

“Eat shit,” Tip said. “We’ve got work to do.”

“No thanks, I’ll wait for something else.”

Tip rang the bell, and within seconds a man answered. “May I help you?”

His English was perfect, and he looked as if Carlos had plucked him off a high-society show from British television. “We’re here to see Carlos Cortes,” Tip said.

“Mr. Cortes is busy at the moment.”

I flashed a badge, holding it right up to the man’s face. “Tell him the cop from Brooklyn wants to see him.”

“I’ll let him know,” the man said, and closed the door.

“That was good, Gianelli. Nice way to handle it.”

“Thought it would get his attention; besides, it’s better than shooting him.”

The doorman returned in a few minutes, ushering us into a foyer big enough to hold a sofa, several waiting chairs, and an elevator. His heels were loud on the marble floor as he made his way to the open door of the “lift” as he called it. Perhaps he really was from England. Another man waited inside the elevator. He nodded when we got in then pressed the button for the fourth floor.

“Does he own all of this?” I asked.

“All six floors,” the man said.

The elevator stopped at the fourth floor and the man led us across another large foyer toward a balcony. Carlos was sitting at a table sipping a drink when we arrived. Another man sat across from him. Neither of them bothered to stand.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

Tip had his notebook out, but I did the talking in hopes of pissing him off. “What time did you leave last night?”

Carlos turned a little in his chair, facing more toward us. “Why do you ask?”

“Answer the question,” Tip said.

“No.”

“Did you drive Mena home?”

“Why are you asking these questions?”

“She’s dead,” I said, and waited to judge his reaction.

“Dead?” Carlos stood, looking to the man across from him, then to me and Tip. “Mena is dead? How?”

“Murdered. Brutally beaten, raped, and butchered.”

“
Dios mio.
” He sat in the chair again, then took a minute to compose himself. “You need to know that we…Mena and I, had sex last night.”

“It’s good that you told us,” I said, but inside I cursed. I had hoped he would try to hide it. “What time did you leave her house?”

He shook his head, then turned to the man who had been silent this whole time. “Tico, get Manuelo.”

As Tico left the room, Carlos offered us a seat. “Forgive my manners, but at first I thought you were here to be rude.”

“We’re trying our best to keep it professional,” Tip said.

Carlos nodded. “Manuelo will know what time I got home.”

A young man, perhaps in his early twenties, returned with Tico. Carlos addressed him. “Manuelo—”

“Let me ask,” I said, and stood between Manuelo and Carlos.

“Manuelo, I’m Detective Gianelli. This is Detective Denton. We have some questions to ask.”

He looked toward Carlos, who nodded, then Manuelo said, “What would you like to know?”

“What time did Mr. Cortes get home this morning?”

“A little before three.”

Tip wrote in his pad. “You’re sure about that?”

Manuelo faced Tip. “I’m certain. I sleep very light and when I heard Señor Cortes come in I looked at the clock on my dresser. It lights up at night.”

“You said a little before three…how much is a little?” I asked.

“It was 2:42. I remember because of the numbers. You see, 2, 4, 2. Two plus two equal four.”

“Yeah, I can add,” Tip said, “and you speak good English, Manuelo. Are you a citizen?”

Manuelo smiled. “Not only a citizen, but a graduate of your University of Houston.”

“Then why in the hell…” I knew disgust had crept into my voice, but I stopped before I said too much.

Manuelo looked around me to Carlos. “No disrespect to you, señor,” he said, then returned his attention to me. “This is my second job. It pays well and I need the money.”

Carlos stood. “That’s all, Manuelo. Thank you for your help.”

I wanted to stop Manuelo, but a look from Tip told me no.

Carlos said, “If you will excuse me, Detectives, I have business to do and I must arrange for Mena’s funeral. She had no one else.”

“What was your relationship with Mena?” I asked.

“A relationship like many others. She worked one of my stores and we had…mutual interests.”

“Mutual interests. As in sex?”

There was no hesitation with Carlos’ answer. “That was one of them. But we shared…other things.”

“And you didn’t mind sharing her with other men?”

Carlos seemed to get embarrassed. “What do you mean by that?”

I wanted to think I was pissing him off, but I knew I wasn’t. “There were men’s clothes in her closet, and from the looks of them they weren’t yours.”

“I’m quite sure that Filomena had other…friends. But to answer your question, no, I didn’t mind.”

“What time did you leave the ball?” I asked.

Carlos seemed to give it thought, but only a few seconds. “I believe it was shortly before 1:00. I don’t know exactly.” Carlos then asked, “Why do you think she was killed?”

“I’ll bet it was drugs,” I said as we turned to leave, then, “We’ll be back.”

“I feel certain that you will, but the next time call beforehand. I’ll make sure that my lawyer is present.”

“Do you need a lawyer?” Tip asked.

“Everyone needs a lawyer, especially when dealing with people like your partner.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tip asked.

Carlos feigned surprise. “You don’t know? Perhaps you should ask her about her acquaintances in Brooklyn and the Bronx.”