Killer Swell nb-1 Page 4

  The medical examiner’s office was out in the wasteland of business parks known as Kearney Mesa. A triangular area surrounded by three different freeways, the region had slowly transformed itself over a period of about ten years from dusty vacant lots to low-slung white and gray buildings that housed every conceivable type of industry and business. It was nearly the geographical heart of San Diego, but seemed devoid of life or character.

  The ME’s building was off Ruffin Road, and I parked in the lot out front. The office smelled like lemon, and I wrinkled my nose as the glass doors swung closed behind me. The area was small and compact-a chest-high counter, two desks, couple of filing cabinets, a radio on top of a television and VCR in the corner. A hallway disappeared off the back of the windowless room.

  I rang the metal bell on the desk and fifteen seconds later James Minton emerged from the back hall and made a face like I’d forgotten to put pants on.

  “Fuck you want, Braddock?” he asked, his voice a mixture of gravel and whine.

  “Good to see you, too, James.”

  The face remained. “No it ain’t. What the fuck you want?” He held up his pudgy hand before I could respond. “Know what? Don’t care what you want. Go away.”

  I laughed. “I’ve missed you.”

  His hand shrank to a middle finger.

  Minton was medium height, with a gut that was anything but medium. He had on a white coat over a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt that barely contained his girth. A thin dark mustache snaked over his upper lip. The dark hair on his head was thinning, a fact he tried to cover up by buzzing it short. Dark gray eyes stared me down.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “I don’t have time for you. Go away.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Door’s right behind you. Turn around and put one foot in front of the other. You’ll get it.”

  I looked over the counter at him. “Why so bitter?”

  He folded his arms across his chest, reminding me of a fat, angry Buddha. “Last time I saw you, I found you in the back, having moved a body and copying some records. Then that big asshole that follows you around picked me up and pinned me in the corner of the room until you were done.” He pointed a finger at me. “You fucked the whole thing up.”

  “You didn’t answer the bell and I was trying to do my job.”

  He waved a hand in the air, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Whatever, Braddock. You pissed me off and I don’t like to be pissed off.”

  I smiled. “Me either. But I’m not leaving.”

  Minton stared at me for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Two minutes.”

  I nodded. “You get a DB last night?”

  He pulled a clipboard off the wall behind him, looked at it for a moment, then nodded. “Yep.”

  “Kate Crier?”

  Minton looked again, then back at me. “Yep.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Still to be determined.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “One minute left.”

  “Looked like strangulation from what I saw,” I said.

  His left eye twitched. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  He gave a small shrug. “Couple other things I need to look at.”

  “Like?”

  Minton thought about it for a moment, then looked at the clock again. “Like your two minutes are up.”

  “That wasn’t two minutes,” I protested.

  “Was in my world.”

  I didn’t want to push it because if I was going to learn anything about Kate’s death, I would need his help. I pulled a card from my wallet and placed it on the counter. “I’d appreciate a call when you know more.”

  “Well, hell,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I’ll get right on that, Mr. Private Dick. Emphasis on Dick. Just for you.”

  I smiled. “Got two tickets behind the plate for Friday’s game. Dodgers are in town.” I opened the door to the hallway. Minton was the biggest baseball fan I knew. Great seats were his weakness. “Yours, if I get a call by the end of the day.”

  He muttered something under his breath.

  I turned around. “What?”

  His mouth curled into a disgusted frown, most likely due to the fact that I knew he would never turn down great seats.

  “I said,” Minton replied, spinning on his heel and heading toward the back hall, “fuck off.”

  13

  Minton’s statement about a “couple of other things” rang in my ears as I walked back to my car. I tried to remember what else I’d seen when I’d opened the trunk of the car, but the only thing I could recall with any clarity was Kate’s face. I knew there would be no shaking that.

  I was pondering that thought when I saw a guy sitting on the hood of my Jeep. He was twirling my radio antenna like a baton, watching it very closely as if he wanted to perfect the move. Another guy was leaning against the white Lexus parked next to the Jeep, watching him.

  The guy with the antenna looked up. “You Braddock?”

  “No,” I said. “Me Tarzan.”

  He dropped the antenna on the asphalt and looked at his partner. “Funny, you think?”

  His partner rotated his head in my direction, squinting into the morning sunlight. “Very.”

  The guy on the Jeep slid off the hood and tilted his head to one side, cracking his neck. He was about my height, with a square head and more fat than muscle. His face was dotted by acne scars, heavier around the chin. His black hair was slicked back off his forehead, so tight it looked like it hurt. He wore a white tank top, black cotton sweats, and construction boots.

  He looked again at his partner. “So. We gonna do this, Ramon, or what?”

  Ramon was shorter and dressed a hell of a lot better. He wore a gray silk shirt and black linen slacks, expensive leather huaraches on his feet. His black hair was cut short, long sideburns creeping down his cheeks. A gold hoop dangled fashionably from his left ear. His eyes were flat and cold, like steel.

  He held out a hand to his partner. “Easy, Manny.”

  “Yeah, Manny. Easy,” I said.

  Manny scowled, and I doubted that anything came easy for him.

  Ramon looked at me. “Can I ask why you are here, Mr. Braddock? Visiting the medical examiner?” He spoke softly with a heavy Hispanic accent.

  “You can ask. Sure.”

  Ramon eyed me for a moment, then a small smile crept onto his lips. “But you won’t answer?”

  I shook my head and wrinkled my nose. “Don’t really feel compelled.” I looked at Manny. “Sorry. Big word. Compelled means ‘gotta.’”

  Manny continued to scowl. “Dude, you are not funny.”

  “Guys,” I said, preparing for the confrontation. “Sorry, but I can’t hang out with you anymore. Things to do, places to be, you know the deal.”

  Manny stepped in front of my car door and smiled.

  I returned the smile. “In about ten seconds, Manny, you are gonna wish you had chosen breakfast instead of me this morning.” I looked at Ramon. “Unless you have any more questions, I’m going to kick his ass.”

  Ramon shrugged, then nodded at Manny. Manny lurched at me and swung. I stepped inside the swing and thrust my right palm up under his chin. His teeth cracked together, his eyes slammed shut, and he took a step back. I moved to the side, lifted my leg up, and jammed my foot into the side of Manny’s knee. A muffled scream emerged from the broken teeth and blood in his mouth as he crumpled to the ground.

  I stepped back and looked at Ramon. “You next?”

  He didn’t look impressed, which concerned me. He cocked his head to the side. “Mr. Braddock. Do you know the name Alejandro Costilla?”

  I watched Manny curl into a tight ball on the sidewalk. Alejandro Costilla. My life had suddenly become a lot more complicated.

  I looked back at Ramon, trying not to show him anything. “No.”

  Ramon let the same small smile I’d seen earlier crawl back on his lips. “You are a liar, Mr. Braddock.”

&n
bsp; I picked up my antenna and got into the Jeep, the window already rolled down. “I’ve been called worse.”

  Ramon nodded, shoved his hands in the pockets of his expensive pants, and leaned in the window, so his eyes were at the same level as mine. “Yes, I think you are a liar, Mr. Braddock. But that is your choice.” He turned to Manny and offered him a hand, but Manny was busy hugging his knee to his chest and bellowing in pain. Ramon shrugged and looked back at me. “I believe Mr. Costilla will have an interest in speaking to you about your visit this morning.” He winked. “So I’m sure I will see you again. Soon.”

  I drove off before he could really scare the crap out of me.

  14

  “Did you use your Jew Kung Fu?”

  Carter was stretched out on one of the deck chairs on my patio, a pair of sunglasses and blue board shorts the only things on his body impeding the rays of the sun. I sat in the chair next to him, recounting my morning, as we watched the sunbathers and tourists stroll by on the boardwalk.

  “It’s called Krav Maga, moron,” I replied, irritated by his political incorrectness.

  A half-eaten apple rested in his right hand. He waved it in my direction. “Whatever. Did you use it?”

  I’d learned Krav Maga from a guy in college in exchange for a six pack and help with a lit paper. I asked him to teach me because I thought it was cool. I didn’t know that it would end up being a highlight on my resume.

  “Yeah, I used it. The one guy wasn’t there to fight and the other dude wasn’t a problem,” I told him. “That said, there actually is a big problem.”

  Carter sat up in his chair, lifted his sunglasses above his eyes, and let loose an earsplitting whistle that brought the pedestrian traffic on the walk to a halt. He pointed at a woman in a red bikini on rollerblades. “You are hot.”

  When her look of alarm disappeared, she gave him a shy grin and continued on her way.

  Carter turned to me, dropping the glasses back into place. “Big problem?”

  I shaded my eyes against the sunlight. “Alejandro Costilla.”

  Carter stopped in mid-bite and lowered the piece of fruit. “Come again?”

  “The guys that were waiting on me,” I explained. “Costilla sent them.”

  He stared at me for a moment, looked at the apple like it contained poison, then back at me. “Tell me you’re screwing with me, Noah.”

  “Can’t. Wish I could, but I can’t.”

  Carter fell onto his back and dropped the apple onto his bare stomach. “And you dropped one of his dudes?”

  “Uh, yep.”

  He adjusted the mirrored Oakleys that covered his eyes. “Well. Fuck me.”

  “I know.”

  I watched two teenagers at the shoreline strap on their leashes, pick up their boards, and run into the water, gliding the noses of their boards into the waves as they made their way out to the lineup.

  I wanted to chase after them and forget about the new complications in my life. But I knew it wasn’t gonna happen at that moment.

  Carter propped himself up on his elbows. “What the hell do they want with you?”

  “Don’t know,” I answered. “They were waiting for me when I left the ME’s. Said that was where Mr. Costilla’s interest was.”

  “With Kate?”

  I nodded. “I guess.”

  He picked up the apple and finished it methodically. He wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand, then looked at me. “What the hell was she into?”

  It was the same question that had been dancing in my mind since I’d left them. They clearly knew why I went to see Minton. “They know about Kate’s death. Why does it matter to them?”

  “I don’t remember Kate doing drugs,” Carter said.

  “I don’t remember anyone we knew doing the kind of drugs it would take to draw Costilla’s attention,” I said.

  Carter sat all the way up. He faced straight ahead at the tourists, the beach, and the water, but the sunglasses made it impossible for me to tell where his focus was.

  “I don’t like this, Noah,” he said, finally, shaking his head slowly. “Costilla…we don’t want to get near him.”

  I agreed with him, but didn’t know how to get out of it. “Unfortunately, that’s gonna be impossible to avoid now.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  “And I think the longer we wait, the worse it might get.”

  Carter nodded again.

  “Can you set up a meeting?” I asked, knowing that, with his connections, he could.

  Carter lifted the sunglasses up and rested them on top of his head, the black of the frames contrasting with his white hair and bronze face. He cocked his head to the side, one eye open, the other closed. “Yeah. If you really want me to, I will.” He paused. “But you better be sure on this.”

  Reluctance wasn’t something I was used to hearing in his voice, and that bothered me. Normally, he carried enough confidence for the both of us. And most of the rest of the human population, too.

  “I think we have to,” I said.

  He kept the one open eye on me. “Noah, if they’re interested in Kate, there’s a reason. Costilla doesn’t fuck around. And most likely, whatever the reason, you’re not gonna like it. Neither are her asshole parents.” He paused. “That gonna be something you can deal with?”

  Two seagulls buzzed over the patio and out toward the water, chirping like angry lovers. Sitting on the patio, watching the waves, almost always felt cathartic, relaxing. Now, that feeling had turned to fear.

  “We’ll see,” I told him. “We’ll see.”

  15

  Carter had been gone for about an hour, leaving without a word, presumably to set up our meeting with Costilla. I was contemplating what I might say to one of the most powerful druglords known to man when the phone mercifully interrupted my efforts.

  “Braddock.” Minton sounded irritated.

  “That’s me.”

  “I want the tickets delivered to the office by five tonight.”

  “Done.”

  “And if they are anything less than exquisite seats, you can feel free to never set foot in my office again.”

  I thought of about five great things to say about his use of the word “exquisite,” but I reminded myself that I needed his help and held my tongue. “They’re great seats, I promise.”

  “Death was caused by strangulation,” Minton said quickly. “Probably about twelve hours before you found her.”

  Not a big surprise. I’d figured that out on my own.

  “No other trauma to the body that contributed to the death,” Minton continued.

  “No other bumps or bruises?” I asked.

  “None,” he answered. “But the tox screen was loaded.”

  I took a deep breath. “Loaded?”

  “Heroin,” Minton said. “And some alcohol.”

  I tried to process that. “Could she have overdosed?”

  “Nope,” Minton said confidently. “Her windpipe was crushed. Lots of residual, which says to me she was an addict. She had a decent amount in her system, but my guess would be that was a regular thing. The screen showed long-term use, not a binge that would’ve killed her.”

  His words felt like a hammer hitting me in the spine. The thought of Kate using drugs felt as foreign to me as her being dead.

  “Needle marks?” I asked.

  “Nothing fresh, but there was some scarring on the left arm and in between the toes.” Minton paused. “She wasn’t a recreational user. It was a way of life for this girl.”

  My brain spun like a tornado. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive,” he said. “And, Braddock? We didn’t have this conversation. I haven’t even filled out the report yet.”

  “Got it.”

  “Tickets by five,” he said and hung up.

  I set the phone down and tried to picture Kate as a drug addict. We’d smoked a little pot in high school, but mainly for experimentation and fun. Neither of us had much of a taste for
it. We drank our share, but stayed away from anything that got snorted or injected. I couldn’t imagine Kate being involved in anything worse than that.

  But Minton clearly disagreed with my imagination.

  Randall Tower hadn’t mentioned any drug use to me. It wouldn’t be surprising if he didn’t know, though. Most people try to hide their bad habits from the ones they love, but rich people turned it into an art.

  I pondered that as I called my buddy with the baseball tickets and arranged to have them delivered to Minton. He’d confused the hell out of me, but he’d earned them.

  The front door opened, and Carter filled the space.

  “We’re on,” he said, his face expressionless.

  “When?”

  Carter stepped aside, and Ramon, the nattily dressed thug from earlier in the day, stood beside him.

  Ramon smiled and pointed a nasty-looking pistol at my gut. “Now.”

  16

  A ride to the South Bay wasn’t what I had in mind for the afternoon, but when an internationally wanted drug kingpin agrees to meet with you and sends his people to escort you, a sandwich and a nap place a distant second.

  Carter and I rode in the back of a dark blue Cadillac, Ramon in the front passenger seat with another man driving. The other man hadn’t gotten out of the car, and all that I could see was a black handlebar mustache sticking off the side his face, his head the size of a watermelon.

  We drove south on the five, past Lindbergh Field, the ancient El Cortez Hotel, and Balboa Park, home to most of San Diego’s cultural activities. We moved by the on-ramp to the Coronado Bridge and then through the industrial grounds of National City and Imperial Beach to the last U.S. exit in San Ysidro.

  There are three reasons to take the San Ysidro exit. You can park and walk across the border into Tijuana, like the thousands of tourists that do just that every day. You can get off the freeway and head back to where you came from, avoiding the dangerous streets of one of Baja California’s poorest cities. Or you can go shopping at the only outlet mall located at a United States international border.