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Next morning, Dan was at the office at six sharp. He did a little surfing, though not with the kite. That would take too long and he had a busy day ahead. Still, a little time in the gulf cleared his head and helped him face the day to come. Everyone had their routine, right? Some people liked coffee. He liked sea spray. This time, however, he made a point of changing before he came to the office.
He entered, scanning the newspaper. Maria was staring at her phone. That part wasn’t surprising. The expression on her face was.
“I know,” he said, cutting her off. “Camila’s mugshots are all over the internet.”
“There’s more. Photos of her being printed and searched.”
“Tell me it wasn’t a strip search.”
“So far, she’s fully clothed. But they aren’t pretty. They make her look like a criminal.”
Which was exactly the point. “Where did they come from?”
“I don’t know. Garrett’s working on it. Someone inside must’ve had a phone and discreetly took a few photos. Sold them to an online news service. If that’s the correct term.”
A digital version of the National Enquirer. Hadn’t Camila predicted this? She said she was a target—and less than twenty-four hours later, the world proved her right.
She also said jail would be the perfect place to eliminate her.
He had to get her out of there.
Jimmy wandered in. “Brace yourself. More bad news incoming.”
Maria lowered her phone. “Seriously? Ugh. I haven’t even been to Starbucks yet. I need a caramel brulée latte, Dan.”
“Skinny. No cream. Almond milk. Venti.”
Maria blinked. “How—?”
“I’ve been to Starbucks with you before.”
She smiled. “And you remember what I like?”
He nodded. “Coffee that tastes nothing like coffee.”
Jimmy looked up from his laptop. “Camila’s case has been assigned to Judge Hayes.”
A communal keening filled the room. Hayes was a notorious hardliner, the modern-day equivalent of a hanging judge. A defense attorney’s worst nightmare. “Isn’t there anything you can do about that? Pull some strings maybe?”
“Unless you’re suggesting I hire a hit man, no, we’re stuck with Hayes. Camila’s making her initial appearance before the judge later this morning.”
That much he knew. He’d received an alert on his phone. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, but this is on the QT. You know Hank is an ER doc down at the hospital, right?”
“And?”
“He got a look at one of the corpses. Nick Mansfield. Apparently, the cop on the scene thought there was a remote chance he might still be alive. Skin was so hot and charred taking a pulse was difficult. Anyway, anyone want to guess the actual cause of death?”
This was a grisly version of Twenty Questions. “Heat stroke?”
Jimmy shook his head.
Maria entered the game. “Asphyxiation?”
“Strike two.”
Garrett came down the stairs from his private office. “Suicide.”
“I’ll bet Mansfield wished he could kill himself. But how? No, according to Hank, the guy’s internal organs boiled. Got so hot they failed to function. Total shutdown. So basically, his entire body stopped working. Then erupted.”
Maria pressed a hand against her forehead. “I so do not need this first thing in the morning.”
“And as you can imagine, you don’t live long after your entire body stops working. But Hank thought he saw signs that the guy was taking drugs. And guess what? On the inventory sheet of items found at the crime scene?” He waved a piece of paper in the air. “The police found a glass vial.”
Maria frowned. “Containing what?”
“Very good question. Someone needs to get out to the scene of the crime and take a look before it’s been completely dismantled. You hearing this, Dan?”
He was. And making mental notes. Ghoulish as it seemed, anything that could assign culpability to the victim helped their case. Of course, Mansfield probably didn’t tie himself up or turn on the oven. But it was a start. He turned to Garrett. “You have anything for me?”
“A little. I spent all night searching online databases.”
“Because you don’t sleep.” They’d covered this ground before.
“True. Here’s what I found. Camila Pérez did indeed own the bakery. Bought it about six months ago. In fact, she owns three different downtown properties, and that fact was widely known, because she’d bragged about it in press conferences. This was part of her campaign to refurbish downtown with bright colors and yuppie stores that would attract tourists and people with shopping addictions.”
“Hey!” Maria said. “I resent that.”
“Resent, or resemble?”
Dan jumped between them. “Ok, kids, let’s not squabble.”
“They don’t mean it,” Jimmy explained. “It’s like Spock and McCoy, not Anakin and Obi-Wan.”
Ok, that made it perfectly clear.
Garrett continued. “Our client initiated refurbishment on all three properties, including the bakery.”
“Can she afford that?”
“A good question.” Garrett made a note. “Which I will look into. But here’s a point of interest. The work crew supposedly turned the power off. Disconnected it.”
“The oven shouldn’t have worked?”
“It would’ve required more than turning a dial, at any rate. Someone had to reconnect the power. So we’re not looking for a random homeless person here. We’re looking for someone who knew what they were doing. Someone who planned this well in advance.”
He understood the legal ramifications of that statement. This was an intent crime. Planned. Premeditated. Any chance of getting manslaughter or some other lesser offense was out the window. “Anything else?”
“Still searching. I’ll text you if I find anything important.”
“Jimmy, can you come with me to the courtroom this morning?”
He was obviously surprised. “Don’t you want Maria there?”
“Always. But maybe you could join me for the first appearance.”
Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “Is this because Judge Hayes is black? Are you using me as your token diversity lawyer?”
“It’s more than that.” But yes. “Don’t you know Hayes? A little?”
“We’re both on the Disciplinary Complaints committee of the Bar Association. Hardly best friends.”
“But he knows you. And I assume he respects you.”
“He’s supported my work on the committee.”
“Good.” Jimmy stayed involved in the community, made the right contacts, and that usually paid off for them. “How is he on LGBTQ issues?”
“Hard to say. He is an arch-conservative. But he’s performed gay marriages.”
“Excellent. Then you’re coming with me. But as soon as the appearance is over, get down the clerk’s office and find out what you can.”
“I’ve read everything that’s been filed.”
“Talk to people. Get the scuttlebutt.”
“That I can do.”
“Any other suggestions?” No one spoke. “All right then. Let’s get to the courthouse.”