Chapter 18
18
R iding in the passenger seat with Alejandro driving, Camila tried to put a name to the emotion that filled her.
Happiness.
The only way to describe her current state.
For the longest time, she had lived in a fog of regret and then guilt. Now, because of the conversation she and Alejandro had last night, the veil had lifted, and she was in a good place.
Earlier this morning, a police officer called and notified her that her house was clear to re-enter, and right on time. After visiting with the coroner, who’d agreed to meet them this morning, they had an afternoon flight to Tijuana and would arrive a little after seven in the evening. Now she could easily go into the house to collect her passport and clothes for the trip. She had already turned in her article, so she had the next few days free.
As for the prepaid phone Melissa bought for Doug, Camila’s contact at the police department stated there was no phone logged in evidence. Alejandro and Camila agreed that if he was murdered as suspected, the killers took it. Which means they knew he had called Camila.
When they arrived at the one-story brick building, Alejandro drove around the landscape island in the middle of the lot to an empty parking space, and then they went inside. They had a thirty-minute wait seated in uncomfortable metal chairs in the hall before the medical examiner, Dr. Ray Stenner, arrived with a brisk walk.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting. Please, follow me.” They were meeting in his office instead of the examination room.
“Thank you.” Camila took the chair in front of his desk while Alejandro stood behind her with his shoulder resting on the bookcase, arms folded across his midsection.
Dr. Stenner was an older man with a long face and his dark hair mostly gray. He adjusted his white coat as he sat behind his desk. “Vicky told me about your concerns. I know you write for The Pulse. Is this regarding one of your articles? I remember the series you did—what was it—“Invisible Lives”? Heartbreaking but eye-opening stories about the homeless population.”
“Thank you. I put a lot of time and effort into the stories. I thought it was important to humanize them. I learned a lot about their struggles, their dreams, their past lives, but also how we as a society treat them and how we can do better.”
He nodded. “I agree. I admired your work. How can I help you with this project?”
She didn’t correct him, suspecting he would be more forthcoming with information if he believed she was writing another piece for the magazine.
“I have a question about Doug Duvall. Vicky explained his death was ruled a suicide, but I don’t think that’s possible. The shot was in his right temple, which means he used his right hand—except Doug had an injury that kept him from lifting his arm all the way up. There’s no way he could have put a gun to his own head—at least, not on the right side.”
Dr. Stenner flipped open a folder on his desk. “I understand what you’re saying, and Vicky explained all this to me when she left the message that you’d be following up. However, I’m sorry to tell you, I think you must have made a mistake. Could it have been his left arm?”
“No, I’m certain his right arm was damaged. As a matter-of-fact, he owned a little dog, and he always held her on his left side for that reason.”
“Hmm.” The doctor tapped his chin as he reviewed the file.
Camila looked at the paperwork but couldn’t read the words upside down. She shot a glance at Alejandro, who was zeroed in on the doctor’s bent head.
Dr. Stenner looked up. “I’m sorry, but given the trajectory of the bullet and the weapon found at the scene, the evidence supports suicide—unless you have evidence or information to suggest another party was involved in the shooting.”
Camila’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t.”
“Were his hands tested for gunshot residue?” Alejandro asked.
“Yes, they were, and there was gunshot residue on his right hand.”
“You already have the results back?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes, we do.”
Alejandro straightened. “Test results typically take a few days. I have only seen a fast turnaround for high-profile cases, and I would not call this a high-profile case.”
Dr. Stenner shifted in his leather chair and steepled his fingers. “You’re right, but since Mr. Duvall’s sister was coming to pick up his body, we wanted to have the answers for her right away, so I personally put a rush on the testing.”
“That was kind of you.”
Dr. Stenner’s smile looked strained. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”
“Alejandro Sanchez. I’m a friend of Camila, but I work for The Cordoba Agency—a security company—as a bodyguard and investigator.”
“I see. Well, I assure you, the speed with which the test results are obtained is at the full discretion of the medical examiner, and in this case, I wanted to make sure we had those results for Ms. Duvall before she left. I know this isn’t the answer you both wanted, but it appears Mr. Duvall committed suicide. If indeed his arm was bothering him, maybe the range of motion improved without your knowledge.” He closed the folder.
Camila took his movement as a dismissal. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Stenner.”
“I’m always happy to help. Keep up the good work on those articles.”
Camila rose from the chair, and they exited his office.
Outside, she walked slowly toward the car. “Could I have been wrong? Maybe his arm did get better,” she mused.
“I doubt it,” Alejandro said.
“You doubt what the medical examiner said?”
“He wasn’t telling the whole truth, and I trust you more than I trust him.”
They climbed into the gray Honda, but Alejandro didn’t start the car, his attention trained out the window.
“What’s wrong?” Camila asked.
“There’s something odd about the guy in the old Dodge over there.”
She leaned forward to take a look past him, and sure enough, a man with straight, shoulder-length blond hair sat in a navy-blue two-door. The car was backed into its parking space, and the occupant was looking away from them in the direction of the traffic.
“Maybe he’s meeting someone.”
“Maybe. Or he’s watching us. He was there when we arrived, and we spent at least thirty minutes waiting for the medical examiner. Then when we climbed into this car, he started his vehicle. Now he’s just sitting there.”
Camila instantly became nervous as she recalled the home invasion from the other night. Was he someone else sent to harm them? “What should we do?”
“Find out who he is, and why he’s following us.”
Alejandro started the car, but instead of driving out of the lot, he pulled into the middle of the pathway, blocking the man from getting out. “Be right back.”
Camila watched him stroll toward the other car. At first, the stranger kept his eyes downcast, but finally he looked up, and Alejandro stopped in the middle of the lot. Even from this distance, she saw the tension in his body.
Why did he stop? she wondered as both men had a stare down.
Then the driver hit the gas.
“Jandro!” Camila screamed, almost breaking the seat belt and coming out of her seat.
Alejandro vaulted onto the hood and ran over the top of the vehicle—like someone running on a treadmill—and fell in a roll onto his side. The driver swung left to avoid hitting the Honda. He bumped over the parking island, the bottom of his car scraping the curb. He dropped back onto the asphalt and shot toward the exit, swiping a MINI Cooper and knocking off its side mirror in the process.
Alejandro shot to his feet and raced past her to chase the vehicle down the street.
“What the hell?” Camila whispered.
A woman was standing in the doorway of the coroner’s building, staring after the commotion with her mouth hanging open.
Camila unhooked her seatbelt and scrambled into the driver’s seat. She started the car and drove in the direction Alejandro had gone. She had just turned out of the lot when he came jogging toward her.
“Are you okay?” a man in a parked car called out.
Alejandro waved at him. “I’m fine.” He walked up to the driver’s side, barely winded.
Camila scooted over so he could climb in. “Are we going after him?”
He shook his head and shifted the car into gear. “He’s long gone.”
“Did you get the license plate? I have a friend at the DMV. We could find out who he was.”
He shook his head, frustration evident in the tightening of his jawline. “He had a ghost plate on the car.”
“A ghost plate?” Camila had never heard the expression before.
“That means the plate was partially hidden. Looks like he used plastic, so I only saw the first two numbers.”
“Darn,” Camila whispered. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?” She placed a hand on his arm.
“I’m fine.” He gripped the steering wheel.
“I thought for sure he was going to hit you. How did you do that?”
He shot her a look, the right corner of his mouth lifting higher into that roguish smile she was familiar with. “Years of practice.”
Camila arched an eyebrow. “One of these days, you’re going to tell me what you did before you became a bodyguard.”
“One of these days,” he agreed. “Until then, we need to go to your house and pack for our trip. From here on out, we need to be extra careful. Whoever is after you—or us—was trying to put us under surveillance. They’re not going to give up trying to stop us from uncovering what’s going on.” His expression turned grim again.
“Do you think it was Reyes?”
“Yes, and when we get back from Tijuana, we need to figure out how to deal with him.”
Their eyes met, and Camila gulped. Going up against Javier Reyes would be no easy task. If only half the rumors about him were true, he’d be a formidable opponent. The only reason fear didn’t engulf her was because Alejandro was by her side.