Die Smiling (26 page)

“That he's gettin' better at it.”

“Yeah. Any other cases have this kind of MO?”

“Nope. We got lots of floaters down in the swamp, but none wit' the lip thing. I gotta picture in here somewhere of the vic.”

He searched among the reports and pictures until he found the photograph he was looking for. “Here you go.”

I looked at Esteban Rangos's likeness. He was dark, handsome, even younger than I first thought. College kid, maybe. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place why. “How old was he?”

“Just turned twenty-one. Our undercover guys said the Rangos were looking for the kid's murderer, purportedly had a big reward out for information on who did it and where he could be found. So far as I know, nothing ever came of it. Unless, of course, they found the perp, whacked him quietly, and nobody was ever any the wiser.”

“How about letting me have a copy of this?” I held up the photograph.

“No problem. You really think these two are connected?”

“Yeah, maybe. Our victim's from this area, too. That's a bit too much of a coincidence for me to ignore.”

“And you think Carlos might be the perp?”

“Never know. Maybe that's the reason for that hit man rumor. That's why I'm here, to check out his whereabouts. Were you on him twenty-four/seven?”

“Most of the week. Caught up and stayed on him since Thursday.”

“So he might've been able to get to the lake and do her?”

“Maybe. Want me to check out the passenger lists for flights outta Miami since last week?”

“You know it.”

Ortega picked up the photo. “This thing haunted me, and everybody else 'round here. It was strange that somebody had the guts to kill somebody that close to Jose Rangos. That's a death sentence, if there ever was one.”

“Maybe you're right. Maybe they did catch up to him, sliced off an earlobe or two, and disposed of the body out in the ocean.”

“Yeah, could've happened that way. We kept our ears to the ground, watched the Rangos pretty hard. Hear now and then they're still interested in buying information on the nephew's killer.”

“What about motive?”

Ortega shrugged his massive shoulders.

“We think the Hilde Swensen murder might be some kind of revenge thing, going by the note the perp left on the body. Maybe yours is, too.”

“What note?”

“A sticky note stuck to the vic's shoulder. Said, ‘Smile, and smile, and be a villain.”

“
Hamlet
,” Ortega pointed out without hesitation.

Wow, it'd taken me a couple of seconds to remember which play the quote was from. “That's right. You a Shakespeare buff?”

“Yeah. Mel Gibson said it, right?” Then he laughed. “Just kiddin'. See, fact is, I'm in this amateur theater troupe. I always get cast as Othello.”

Actually, I did remember
Othello
from high school literature. And Ortega was one helluva good Othello, even with
dat accent ting
. “I can see that.”

“Maybe the perp's connected with theater in some way, actor, maybe? Or an English teacher.”

“Could be. Do you mind if I make copies of some of this stuff? Officially. I'll sign for them. I want to read through the murder book and see if I can turn up anything pertinent.”

“You got it.”

“You're not so bad, Ortega. Unless you're planning to tackle me again any time soon.”

“I guess I can refrain from that, if you behave.”

We shared our very first grin. Buds for life. Besides that, I wanted him to help me get that copy of Esteban Rangos's file.

“Like me to have Jake over there run a copy for you?”

Oh, ask and you shall receive. “That'd be way cool, Mario.”

He laughed. “You got it.”

Ortega gathered up the materials and placed them back in the box and headed for Jake's desk. They spoke together a few seconds, then Jake took the box and headed for the back. I watched Ortega turn when a heavyset, bearded man entered the room, then spend a few minutes whispering with him near the door. I didn't like the whispering much. Whispering usually meant bad news was a comin'. As usual, I was right on.

Ortega sat down across from me, and said, “We gotta problem.”

Used to problems, I said nothing, but did know enough to brace myself.

“There's some guy upstairs demandin' to know where you are and what's goin' on. Wants to bail you out if you're charged wit' something.”

I frowned. “Who?”

“Name's Black. Know him?”

Oh, that's my honey, always johnny on the spot with his big, huge pocketbook. No wonder I liked him so much. “He's okay. I flew down here with him. How'd he know I was here?”

“You got me, but that's not the bad news.”

Crap. “What's the bad news?”

“Your friend, Black, up there? He's got Jose Rangos's personal sleazebag defense attorney with him.”

I cringed down into my chair until I probably could've squeezed into a thimble. No wonder Black had jumped to attention when he'd gotten that last phone call at the hotel. I knew he had a few underworld connections in New Orleans, but I sure as hell hadn't heard him mention being chummy with anybody named Rangos.

“He's on the up and up, Ortega. I can vouch for him. He's a psychiatrist that my sheriff calls in sometimes to help with our cases.”

Ortega looked at me and then his skeptical expression changed. “Hey, mon, he's not that guy, Nicholas Black, is he?”

Ah, Black and his famous face. I nodded. “You know him?”

“I've heard of him. I watched all the news accounts when that soap opera star got murdered at his resort last year.” Then I watched the truth dawn across his face. He was pretty readable for a homicide detective. “You're not telling me you're the detective who broke that case. Sylvie Somebody, the actress.”

“Yep, that's me. I'm super famous now. That's why you recognized me right off for a hit man, cuffed me, and ran me in.”

“Hell, I should've recognized you. Your picture's been out there enough, plastered all over the press, even down here. No kidding, that was some grisly shit.”

“Yeah.” Time to change the subject before he wanted to know some grisly shit details, so I asked, “How about arranging a meeting with me and Vasquez?”

“We can do that, but you gotta give me time to run him down again. I suspect he attacked you and bolted because he thought you'd come wit' orders from the Rangos to kill him.”

“Maybe you should give some serious thought to inquiring about the Witness Protection program, Mario.”

“As soon as this last sting goes down, that's exactly where he's goin'.”

“What about him? He have any assaults on his rap sheet?”

“Nope. He's done lots of petty things, but nothin'as stupid as getting in over his head wit' the Rangos.”

“People are telling me he liked to slap his girlfriend around.”

“He might've. I haven't heard about it. No domestics on his record that I know of.”

“Okay. I'm gonna give you my card. Call my cell as soon as you catch up to Vasquez. I'm not leaving here till I talk to him.”

“You got it.” He took out his own card and handed it to me. “Keep me informed about your case. And you might wanna tell that friend of yours up there, Black, that he doesn't need to be hangin' with the Rangos's attorney when he's in town. Might end up bein' hazardous to his health.”

As if Black was afraid of anything, especially mob types like the ones he grew up with. “I'll surely pass that along. How about giving me back my weapons and badge? I feel naked, not to mention vulnerable. Miami's gotta rep for being dangerous.”

Ortega smiled. “You got it.”

We rode the elevator back upstairs, and within minutes I was in possession of my weapons again. Ortega stood back and watched me rearm myself. I felt a helluva lot better, too.

“I want to go back out to that beach house and look around. Do I need your department's permission? I have the okay from the owner.”

“Want me to tag along to protect you from guys like me?”

I gave him a supercilious look that he could never misinterpret.

“Well, after the chief talked to your sheriff, he said you can search your vic's house on your own, but that you're not to go anywhere near Vasquez, not wit' out me along for the ride.”

“Fine. Find him and give me a buzz.”

“Pleasure meetin' you, Detective.”

“Yeah, I just love the feel of Florida cuffs locked on my wrists.”

He smiled and held out his giant paw, Mr. and Mrs. Cooperating Law Enforcement Officers shaking on it. It was like trying to shake hands with a catcher's mitt. His ring size must be 45 and a half.

Outside, in the darkening windows of the lobby, I found Black standing alongside the aforementioned lawyer, who looked like he'd climbed straight out of a Harvard Law School yearbook, tasseled loafers and all, and who apparently bought his dark suits from the same Hong Kong tailor that Black did. They could've been in one of those Doublemint gum commercials, representing the jet-setting, rich, and powerful tycoon kind of twins.

“You okay?” Black said as soon as I reached him. He eyed the bandage on my cheek with overt disapproval.

“I'm fine. Let's get out of here before one of us really does get arrested.”

On the way out, Black introduced me to his nifty lawyer friend. Robert Bannington Sr., the best damn defense attorney in south Florida, of course, but I made sure we parted company just outside the front door and so fast that you'd think the guy had the chicken pox. He got into a black Rolls Royce Phantom with a liveried driver, obviously not a guy on assignment from Miami-Dade Legal Assistance. We headed to our own special little white stretch limousine, our getaway driver waiting for us with the motor idling. Oh, my, the high life. We climbed inside, shut the door, rolled up the window between us and the driver, and Black didn't mince words.

“For God's sake, Claire, what the hell happened this time?”

I matched his frown and perturbed tone with equal abandon. “What happened was that Vasquez was hiding in Hilde's house. He jumped me, but got away when an overzealous cop showed up and grabbed me.”

“I should've gone out there with you.”

“Yeah? Why don't you tell me what was so important that you couldn't?”

Black looked a trifle surprised at my pointed question and threatening frown. Then he metamorphosed into wary as hell. “I don't like your tone.”

“Tough. I don't like your friends.”

“How do you know where I've been?”

“Maybe because you waltzed into the Miami PD with a well-known, sleazy thug lawyer.”

“He's the only attorney I know in Miami, so I gave him a call.”

“Why does that make me feel nervous?”

“He represents lots of people in this town, important people. Sounds like you got pretty chummy with the guys who arrested you.”

“Oh, yeah, we played footsies under the interrogation table I was handcuffed to, and they put Band-Aids on the wounds they inflicted, and everything. I think I'm in love with them now.”

Black looked very slightly miffed by my sarcasm, but remained his usual unruffled shrink self. “Okay, where to, now that all the excitement's over? I take it you want to go back to Hilde's and finish what you started?”

“Oh, yeah, and I've got local permission this time. Want to go along, or do you have some other secret mob friends you're meeting for dinner?”

Over the last months spent in close proximity with me, Black had become quite adept at ignoring me when it suited him. “After what happened to you today? I think I'll tag along, just to bind up your injuries, if nothing else.”

“Very funny.” See, Black's pretty good with sarcasm himself.

Thirty minutes later, we turned off the ocean highway and on to the Swensen sisters' property. Darkness had swallowed up the view so we couldn't see the ocean, but we could hear the angry roar of the surf. Hilde's place was now as black as a tomb, and I suspected empty of desperate boyfriends, too. I felt better with my weapons back in their beds, and I had a feeling Black had a weapon or two hidden somewhere on his person. He usually did. But he was making me very uneasy with his associations, of late.

We paused at the front door, which still stood ajar from my hasty exit in pursuit of Vasquez hours earlier.

“Okay, Black, you know the drill. It's not a crime scene, except for me being attacked here, and nothing's gonna come of that. We have a legit right to be here, so we can snoop to our hearts' content.”