Death Perception Read online

  ‘‘Yes,’’ I said, immediately switching my radar to ON. ‘‘But it might be a different family member.’’ I closed my eyes for a moment and felt the energy surrounding Delgado’s abduction. ‘‘The energy is distinctly male,’’ I said. ‘‘And younger than Delgado. Does he have any brothers or sons or cousins of his own?’’

  The detectives all looked at one another, then over to Mrs. Delgado, who was flipping through a magazine as if she didn’t have a care in the world. ‘‘Mrs. Delgado?’’ Brosseau said sweetly.

  The pages of the magazine paused ever so slightly before flipping again. ‘‘What, Detective?’’ she said with a voice that sounded like extra-gritty sandpaper.

  ‘‘Can you come over here, please?’’

  The sigh Her Royal Highness emitted was loud enough for us to hear and we watched with mild shock as she slapped the magazine down and got up off the couch in a huff.

  As she walked brusquely over to us, I noticed how tiny she was, yet protruding from her torso like two large battleships were two mounds that had to be mostly silicone. She halted when she reached Dutch’s chair, placed one hand on her hip, and examined the long, well-manicured nails on the other. ‘‘What is it?’’ she snapped.

  No one spoke for a moment as I noticed Dutch pass a look to Brosseau that looked like a request to do the talking. Brosseau shrugged his shoulders slightly and nodded.

  ‘‘Regarding the members of your family,’’ Dutch said in his best silky tone.

  Delgado cut her eyes to him and cocked an eyebrow. ‘‘Yes?’’ she said.

  ‘‘Do you and your husband have children?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘How many?’’

  ‘‘Two.’’

  ‘‘Sons? Daughters?’’

  ‘‘One of each.’’

  ‘‘Their names?’’

  ‘‘Ricky and Bethany Delgado.’’

  ‘‘How old are they?’’

  ‘‘Twenty-eight and twenty-two.’’

  I noticed that Brosseau was jotting down Mrs. Delgado’s answers. The rest of us were cutting our eyes back and forth as though we were at a tennis match, watching Dutch ask questions and Delgado give curt, monosyllabic answers. ‘‘Who’s oldest?’’ Dutch asked.

  ‘‘My son.’’

  ‘‘Do either of your children live here with you?’’

  ‘‘No.’’

  ‘‘Where does your daughter live?’’

  ‘‘In our house on Lake Mead.’’

  I could tell Dutch was growing impatient even though his tone never changed. ‘‘And your son? Where does he live?’’

  ‘‘In a condo off the Strip.’’

  ‘‘May we have his phone number? We’d like to talk with him.’’

  Mrs. Delgado gave Dutch the number and said, ‘‘Is that all?’’

  ‘‘What about extended family?’’ Dutch asked. ‘‘Does Mr. Delgado have any brothers or cousins or relatives living nearby?’’

  ‘‘No.’’

  ‘‘No, he doesn’t have them, or no, they don’t live nearby?’’

  ‘‘He has two sisters. They both live in Spain.’’

  Just then my radar gave a small blip and I felt another clue bubble up to my brain. Quickly I reached into my purse and pulled out a pen and an old receipt I’d stuffed in there. On the back of the receipt I wrote, Ask her about the girlfriend! and handed it to Dutch.

  Dutch read the receipt, cut a quick glance at me, then said casually, ‘‘Do you know if Mr. Delgado was seeing anyone after you two separated?’’

  Mrs. Delgado’s cheeks and neck became flushed. She stopped inspecting her nails and gave Dutch the full venom of her dagger eyes. ‘‘I don’t pay attention to my husband’s extracurricular activities,’’ she snarled.

  Liar, liar... pants on fire... swirled into my head. I gave Dutch a look that suggested she’d stopped being truthful.

  ‘‘I see,’’ he said smoothly. ‘‘I apologize for asking, ma’am. But we want to explore every avenue to bring your husband home safely.’’

  Mrs. Delgado pursed her lips distastefully. ‘‘Are we finished?’’ she said.

  ‘‘For now, but I’d appreciate it if you could put together a list of people that might want to see your husband out of the picture. Maybe some former staff or business acquaintances or people your husband might not have gotten along with who could be capable of this type of thing.’’

  Mrs. Delgado gave him a sardonic look before walking over to a side table where a white telephone sat. She opened the drawer and pulled out the telephone book, which she brought back and handed to Dutch. ‘‘Here’s your list,’’ she said flippantly, then turned on her heel and marched back to her couch. When she was out of earshot again, all four men let out a collective sigh. ‘‘Can you imagine cuddling up to that thing every night?’’ Brosseau said.

  The other two detectives shook their heads. ‘‘Still,’’ Dutch said, ‘‘I think Abby’s right. She’s too direct. I don’t think she had anything to do with this. We’ll need to talk to the kid Ricky and track down Delgado’s girlfriend. Abs, is that what your radar said? Delgado’s girlfriend is somehow involved?’’

  I nodded. ‘‘When you were talking with her, I felt like one of the players was the girlfriend, but to be honest, I’m not really sure if it’s Delgado’s girlfriend or the girlfriend of whoever is involved.’’

  Brosseau turned to Jason, the other detective, and said, ‘‘Jay, I’ll need you to pull Delgado’s phone records. Let’s see who’s on his most frequently called list and try and track his girlfriend down that way. Also, call the family accountant. I want to know Delgado’s net worth— and I also want to know who might have known his net worth. Look through the records and see who he dealt with on a daily basis.’’

  ‘‘On it,’’ Jason said, and he got up to leave.

  Brosseau next turned to Colby. ‘‘Buddy, sorry to do this to you, but someone’s got to stay here and wait for the instructions.’’

  Colby eyed Mrs. Delgado across the room warily. ‘‘Why do I always get the short straw?’’

  We all smiled. ‘‘Call me the moment you hear anything,’’ Brosseau said, getting to his feet. ‘‘If this gets too sticky, I’m gonna have to pull in the FBI.’’

  Dutch and I got up too and Brosseau waved to us to follow him. We headed out of the sitting room and back through to the front hallway. Before opening the door, Brosseau turned to Dutch and said, ‘‘You know that part of the reason I haven’t called the local FBI bureau is because I’ve got an out-of-towner on loan right here.’’

  Dutch broke into a grin. ‘‘Checking up on me?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘Part of the job,’’ Brosseau said. ‘‘I appreciate that you didn’t want to throw your badge around and step on my toes, Agent Rivers.’’

  ‘‘And I appreciate that you’ve been so willing to include me in the investigation, Detective Brosseau.’’

  Bob nodded, then pulled open the door, and we walked outside. ‘‘How about you follow me back to town and we’ll see if we can find this Ricky Delgado?’’

  ‘‘That works,’’ Dutch said, and we headed to our cars.

  We followed Brosseau back into town and the nearer we got, the more congested it became. ‘‘Man,’’ I said. ‘‘This is worse than I-Seventy-five in the mornings.’’

  Dutch cut me a look. ‘‘Your morning commute is six minutes and you don’t go anywhere near I-Seventy-five.’’

  ‘‘Yes, but on my six-minute commute I listen to traffic and weather, and I-Seventy-five sounds baaaad in the morning.’’

  Dutch smirked and focused on following Brosseau. We arrived on the north end of the Strip not far from our hotel and took a right, winding through some side streets until we stopped in front of a ten-story building with gold-tinted glass, large balconies, and an expensive-looking lobby. ‘‘Nice place,’’ I said, getting out of the car.

  ‘‘The address dispatch had for Ricky is on the top floor,’
’ Brosseau said. ‘‘I tried the number his mother gave me. It goes straight to voice mail.’’

  ‘‘Worth knocking on his door,’’ Dutch said, and we headed inside. We were stopped by a security guard as we entered the lobby. ‘‘May I help you?’’ he asked.

  Brosseau flashed his badge and said, ‘‘We’re here to talk with Mr. Delgado.’’

  ‘‘Which one?’’ the guard asked, his eyes cutting to his computer screen.

  The three of us hesitated and looked at one another for a moment, confused by the question. ‘‘You have two Mr. Delgados here?’’ Dutch finally asked.

  ‘‘Yes. Father and son, both named Ricardo.’’

  ‘‘Which floor does the father live on?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘Top floor, down the hall from his son, in unit P-TWENTY-SIX.’’

  ‘‘And son is in... ?’’ Brosseau asked.

  ‘‘P-twenty-two.’’

  ‘‘We’ll look in on both, thank you,’’ Brosseau said.

  ‘‘The elevators to the penthouse suites are around this corner,’’ the guard said. ‘‘Your guest-pass code is four-eight-four.’’

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ we said in unison, and walked over to the designated elevators.

  ‘‘I didn’t know they both had condos,’’ I said.

  ‘‘Now we know where Delgado’s been hiding to get away from the wife.’’

  ‘‘You’d think he’d try and move a little farther away... like Canada, or Mars,’’ I said.

  Brosseau snickered and Dutch shook his head. ‘‘Let’s hit the son’s place first. After all, we know Pop’s not going to be home.’’

  At that moment the elevator doors opened and we trooped inside. Brosseau hit the P button and the electronic display asked him to enter a code, which he did. The doors closed and we were headed up. ‘‘Wonder what a place like this runs for,’’ I said quietly.

  ‘‘A penthouse this close to the Strip would run you a million to a million five,’’ Brosseau said. ‘‘Easy.’’

  Dutch whistled. ‘‘Pricey.’’

  ‘‘Welcome to Vegas,’’ Brosseau replied.

  The doors opened and we stepped out, making our way to the double doors of unit P-22. Brosseau pressed the doorbell and we waited. Seconds ticked by and the detective knocked loudly on the door, calling out, ‘‘Mr. Delgado? It’s the Las Vegas Police. We need to talk to you about your father.’’

  After a few more seconds, Brosseau turned to us. ‘‘Looks like no one’s home.’’ Taking his business card out of his wallet, he wrote something down on the back and wedged it into the doorjamb. ‘‘Let’s go knock on Ricardo’s door and see what happens,’’ he said.

  We followed after him down the hall just past the elevators to another set of double doors marked P-26. From inside we could clearly hear music playing and something else a little more carnal. ‘‘Sounds like someone’s home,’’ Dutch said, eyeing Brosseau.

  ‘‘And it sounds like they’re either watching porn or making it,’’ I added.

  Brosseau didn’t even bother with the doorbell this time. Instead he knocked loudly on the door and yelled, ‘‘Detective Brosseau with the Las Vegas Police Department. Please open up!’’

  There was maybe a three-second delay before all noise, carnal and otherwise, abruptly stopped and all was quiet for another few seconds until a scurrying of feet and panicked voices, both male and female, echoed from inside. Brosseau shook his head and rolled his eyes and banged on the door again. ‘‘I said this is the Las Vegas PD! Open the door now!’’

  Footsteps dashed across a floor inside and a door slammed. Then another beat or two and the door opened up to reveal a beautiful blonde with tousled hair, thick swollen lips, and a sweaty sheen to her complexion. ‘‘Yes?’’ she said when she opened the door dressed in a short, pink silk robe.

  Brosseau introduced himself and said, ‘‘We’re here about Ricardo Delgado. We understand he lives here?’’

  ‘‘Yes, but Ricardo isn’t here,’’ she said, looking a little dazed, and that’s when I noticed that her pupils were the size of pinpoints. Her nose looked red and raw too.

  ‘‘We know,’’ Brosseau said. ‘‘Who are you?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘I’m his girlfriend,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Your name?’’ Brosseau asked. I could tell he was losing patience for the simple answers.

  ‘‘Bambina Cheraz,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Do you live with Mr. Delgado?’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ she said, but her look said she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘‘Usually. I mean, I got my own place, but Ricardo mostly lets me crash here.’’

  ‘‘I see,’’ said Brosseau. ‘‘And when was the last time you saw your boyfriend?’’

  This got us a shrug. ‘‘I dunno,’’ she said. ‘‘Maybe a couple of nights ago?’’

  Brosseau rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘‘You don’t seem too concerned about the fact that he hasn’t been home in a few days. You’ve heard from him?’’

  ‘‘Sure,’’ she said, again sounding unsure. ‘‘I mean, he called me and said he wasn’t gonna be around for a while.’’

  ‘‘When did he call you?’’

  ‘‘I dunno,’’ she said, and I noticed that her breathing was becoming rapid and she seemed close to panic. ‘‘Maybe last night?’’

  ‘‘Ma’am,’’ Brosseau said, ‘‘we are currently looking into the abduction of your boyfriend and we have reason to believe he’s been kidnapped. If you’ve received word from him, it’s very important you tell us when, where, and the extent of that conversation. Otherwise, I’m going to have to take you downtown and charge you with obstruction.’’

  ‘‘I said I didn’t know!’’ she yelled at him. ‘‘He called me, I think, two days ago. He said he was leaving town to think or something and that he’d be back next week!’’

  ‘‘What phone did he call you on?’’ Brosseau asked.

  ‘‘My cell,’’ she said.

  ‘‘I’ll need to see your cell,’’ Brosseau insisted.

  Bambina sighed dramatically and stepped away from the door, which eased open while she walked over to a coffee table and picked up her purse. On the table where her purse was were small squares of tin foil, a lighter, and several Ziploc bags.

  Brosseau looked at Dutch, a grin flashing onto his lips. ‘‘Sometimes they make it all too easy, don’t they?’’

  Dutch smiled back. ‘‘They do.’’

  Brosseau entered the residence and pulled out his handcuffs. Bambina looked up and said, ‘‘Hey! I didn’t say you could come in!’’

  ‘‘No, but when you opened up the door, you allowed us to take a peek inside. Drugs are clearly evident on this table, making it probable cause to come in without a warrant. Now, please turn around and put your hands behind your back.’’

  ‘‘That’s not mine!’’ she screamed, throwing her purse at him.

  Brosseau stepped aside easily. ‘‘Ms. Cheraz,’’ he said sternly. ‘‘We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Which would you prefer?’’

  ‘‘But I’m in my house!’’ she said. ‘‘I’m in the privacy of my own home!’’

  ‘‘Actually,’’ he said, ‘‘you’re in Mr. Delgado’s home, which means that unless he can testify differently, you’re also trespassing.’’

  ‘‘Ricky!’’ Bambina yelled as Brosseau approached her with the handcuffs. ‘‘Get out here and deal with these assholes!’’

  Brosseau and Dutch looked at each other and without hesitation Dutch pulled out his gun and pushed me into the hallway. ‘‘Stay put,’’ he ordered, then moved into the condo. I did as I was told, but I couldn’t help peeking around the corner. Brosseau had Bambina by the arm and was whipping her around as he cuffed first one wrist, then the other. Bambina was screaming her bloody head off, shouting, ‘‘Ricky! Ricky! Ricky!’’

  Dutch hurried through the condo and disappeared into a back hallway, his gun poised and ready for ac
tion. My heart was hammering in my chest as I grappled with the danger he could be walking into. What if Delgado had a gun of his own and didn’t take to trespassers?

  Suddenly, there was a crashing noise followed by shouts and what sounded like furniture being overturned and some sort of scuffle. My own scream caught in my throat as I pictured Dutch trying to wrestle Delgado to the ground and it was then that a dark blur came flying out of the back hallway headed right for the door.

  Dutch was ten steps behind as he chased after the figure and I felt frozen in shock as the blur darted directly at me. ‘‘Stop!’’ Dutch yelled, but Delgado wasn’t listening. In a lightning bolt of inspiration I pulled my head back and stuck out my leg across the threshold. I felt the impact on my shin a split second later, and it hurt something fierce and was strong enough to whip me completely around and send me to the floor of the hallway.

  As I hit the deck, I heard a tremendous thud followed by an ‘‘Uhun!’’ and then all was quiet, except, of course, for Bambina, who was inside sobbing hysterically. I grabbed my leg and twisted into a sitting position and looked right into midnight blue eyes. ‘‘Nice moves, Edgar,’’ Dutch said, motioning over his shoulder.

  Delgado Junior was lying crumpled in a heap on the hallway floor five feet away. There was a small blood-stain on the wall where his head had hit, and he was knocked out cold. ‘‘If Candice asks,’’ I said, ‘‘tell her I used one of those karate kicks she’s been showing me.’’

  Dutch chuckled and extended his hand down to me and helped me to my feet. I hobbled a bit when I put weight on my left leg. ‘‘You okay?’’ he asked, squatting to lift up the leg of my jeans.

  ‘‘He cracked me in the shin,’’ I said.

  ‘‘You’re going to have one hell of a bruise,’’ Dutch said, feeling my leg and making me wince.

  ‘‘I’ll be fine. Maybe there’s some ice in the freezer I can put on it.’’

  Dutch eased me over to lean against the wall while he moved over to Delgado and cuffed his hands behind his back. ‘‘Hold tight,’’ he said to me as he stood up and moved back into the condo.

  I stood in the hallway and stared at the man who had come flying out the door. He was developing a bump on the top of his forehead, but otherwise he appeared to be incredibly handsome. He had dark olive skin, and very square, almost chiseled features with a scruffy five-o’clock shadow around his chin. He was shirtless and barefoot, dressed only in jeans, and the sculpture of his body suggested he spent many hours at the gym.