“Ms. Sandoval believes her estranged husband was murdered, and she wants us to help her prove it.”
“Sounds like a job for law enforcement,” Cruz said.
“One of the higher ups offered your services because she wants the best, and that’s you. The murder took place in Houston, but they have a lead in Miami. You’re familiar with the city, so…”
“Who’s paying? I don’t work for free.” Cruz tipped the bottle to his lips and took another sip. Since this was a private deal, he needed to understand right away who was paying and when, particularly since the lines of this assignment seemed blurry at best.
“You’ll get your usual freelance fee, half upfront and the other half when the job is done.”
Cruz shrugged. “Fine. I’ll listen.”
“Good.” Miles pulled a phone from his jacket pocket and lifted it to his ear. “Send her in.”
Miles went to the door and came back with Karen Sandoval. She approached, looking poised and elegant and wearing a simple navy dress with a string of pearls around her neck. Her dark brown hair was going gray and was worn in a layered, textured style that spilled onto her shoulders.
“Hello, Mr…?”
“No need for names. How can I help you?”
“Okay.” She smiled faintly. “Thank you for seeing me and for taking this job.”
“I haven’t taken it yet.”
Miles glared at him.
“Oh.” Karen glanced at Miles, who nodded for her to proceed. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
“Please, have a seat.” Cruz motioned to one of the empty chairs at the round table. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Water would be nice.”
Karen sat down, and Cruz called out the order for a water. The bartender came over right away and set it down beside her. Seated across from her and Miles, Cruz relaxed and waited.
Karen took a sip of water and cleared her throat. “I’ll pay whatever you need me to, because I need to find out who killed my…estranged husband and why. My husband’s name is Dennis Ray. He was an investigative reporter for the Houston Times, an old and well-respected newspaper. He ended up in jail, accused of using drugs and stealing data in the course of his investigation. No one will tell me what this data was because they claim it’s a matter of national security. I was also told that he committed suicide. I’m not sure I believe that. I’m not sure I believe any of it. He’s not a thief and he wouldn’t kill himself.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t,” Cruz said.
“I’m convinced I’m right, on both counts,” she insisted, her voice firmer.
Cruz flicked his gaze to Miles, whose expression remained emotionless. Returning his attention to Karen, he said, “Forgive me for asking, but how did the two of you end up together?”
That faint smile again. “We met at a coffee shop. He accidentally picked up my order and we had a good laugh about it. The next thing I knew, I was giving him my phone number. My father passed away some years ago, and my uncle became a surrogate father to me. He didn’t approve of Dennis, and when I told him we were getting married, he said I was making a mistake. He didn’t think Dennis was good enough for me and because Dennis is—was—fifteen years younger than I am, thought he was after my money. He wanted me to marry someone in politics, someone with connections. But Dennis was charming and funny, and I didn’t care that he didn’t have money. I had enough for the two of us. I fell in love with him.
“But money became a big issue for us—more for Dennis than me, really. When I had our daughter, Emily, he became distant, withdrawn. He complained that he didn’t fit in at any of our social events, and…well, after a while, he stopped attending functions with me altogether, claiming that he had to work. We grew further apart. Money became a constant bone of contention between us, and I finally asked him for a divorce.”
Pain flickered across her face as she stared down at her hands and played with the wedding rings on her finger.
She lifted her gaze and continued. “After a while, Dennis started talking about a reconciliation, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. We were so different, and for six years we hadn’t been able to make our marriage work.” Her expression became earnest. “One day he told me that he was working on something big—an exposé that was lifechanging. He said he’d noticed a pattern in some data that he’d collected, but every time I asked him about the details, he dodged the questions. I didn’t believe him, but he was so insistent, I started to wonder. I hired a private investigator to follow him. That’s when I found out about…the other woman.” She swallowed.
Miles opened his briefcase and removed a mini-computer that looked like a silver portable DVD player. He pressed his thumb to the biometric panel on top and it snapped open. He shoved it across the table to Cruz.
The dark screen lit up and populated with a series of photos, and Cruz flipped through them. The first few were of buildings, but he stopped when he came to the photo of a woman. He was immediately captivated by one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
She had golden skin and laughing brown eyes and was thick bodied with a round face. In the photo, she wore an off-the-shoulder, loose-fitting dress covered in a gold and blue geometric design, and her pink lips were puckered toward the person holding the camera. In another photo, she was standing with a flower in her hand. The picture looked like it could have been pulled from her Instagram account, with its perfect lighting and the way the sun reflected off her curly black hair.
“The few days my investigator followed him, Dennis spent a lot of time with the woman in the photos. One night he slept over at her apartment.”
“What’s her name?” Cruz asked.
“Shanice Lawrence. She left Texas three days after he died, and we lost track of her for a while but found her in Miami a few days ago. If anyone knows why he was killed, I believe she does, and if she had anything to do with it, I want her punished to the fullest extent of the law.”
Cruz tore his gaze from the beguiling woman in the photos. “They officially ruled his death a suicide?”
Miles spoke up. “The official conclusion was suicide by hanging.”
“What’s the unofficial conclusion?” Cruz asked.
Miles glanced at Karen from the corner of his eye before answering in a grave voice, “We believe he was tortured to death.”
Karen winced and closed her eyes.
Cruz shook his head in disgust. Torture should always be a last resort. For one, it didn’t always yield the answers people wanted, and then there were results like this, where the torturer went too far and the interrogation ended in a mess.
There were better ways to get information out of people. Fear and intimidation worked in a pinch because a prisoner in a bad situation did not want the situation to get worse. Cruz’s favorite method was to get the mark to trust him. It was a delicate dance and took time, but if done right, yielded the best results.
“Any idea what he was investigating?”
Miles nodded at Karen to continue.
“No, but for every major assignment he worked on, he kept a separate notebook. There must be a notebook somewhere that contains the data he had collected, which might help us understand why he was killed. From the little bit of information he gave me, I believe he uncovered something that could get someone in a lot of trouble, and they were desperate to get their hands on that evidence. After Dennis died, my house and car were broken into and ransacked, and I believe they were searching for that information. After what happened to him, and with a child to protect, I moved to my uncle’s ranch in south Texas. I feel safer now, but I need to find that information because I believe it’s the key to understanding why Dennis was killed. Will you help me?”