6

When Veranda and Sam arrived back at Sam’s corner cubicle in the Violent Crimes Bureau, a note stuck to his chair directed them to the conference room for a squad meeting.

Veranda did not underestimate the importance of this step. She would meet her new team for the first time. She had been on several units since joining the force thirteen years ago. First as a new patrol officer, or “booter” as they were called, then as a Property Crimes detective where she earned her chops in investigations, and finally, in Narcotics.

Each squad had its own small-group dynamics. There were leaders, followers, and sometimes saboteurs with hidden agendas. Seemingly innocent banter could be loaded with subtext. As part of the process of joining a team, she had to determine where she fit in.

On the Phoenix Police Department, homicides were investigated by an entire squad, each with its own sergeant, functioning as a team. Veranda wasn’t surprised to learn that Sam, the senior detective on his squad, had the lead on this high-profile case. She expected the group to be comfortable with each other. They had all reached the pinnacle of their careers, attaining the status of Homicide Detective, where they would likely remain until retirement. For them, there was no longer a need to compete.

“Welcome to the war room,” Sam said as he opened the door to the conference room.

Her eyes met several curious gazes. The rich smell of Thai food wafted to her as she spotted a cluster of white boxes in the middle of the long table.

“Everyone, this is Detective Veranda Cruz, on loan from DEB.” Sam indicated an empty chair. “Have a seat. Looks like Frank scored some takeout from Thai Me Up. Just grab any box. I’ll introduce you to our illustrious team.”

Veranda slid a white carton and chopsticks in front of her and looked up at Sam, who remained standing. He pointed to the pale, slender dark-haired detective who had resembled a prairie dog popping out of its burrow earlier. “This is Steve Malloy. We call him Doc because he’s spent so much time at autopsies he could pass for an ME.” The group chuckled as Doc gave her a wave.

Sam moved on. “This is Frank Fujiyama.” Frank grunted in her direction as he used chopsticks to push noodles into his mouth.

Sam shook his head. “He doesn’t say much, so don’t take his lack of interaction the wrong way.”

“Hey,” Frank said around a mouthful of Pad Thai. “When I’ve got something to say, I talk. Otherwise, I keep my trap shut.”

“This,” Sam indicated a striking blonde sitting across from Veranda, “is Marci Blane.”

Marci raised a sardonic eyebrow at Sam. “What are you planning to say about me? Better watch it.” The others grinned as a low “woooo” went around the room.

Sam held his arms out wide, fingers splayed. “Not saying a word. Got a keen sense of survival.”

He turned to the last unfamiliar face. “This is Tony Sanchez, Brooklyn born and raised.”

“Yo,” Tony said. “Welcome to Paradise Lost.”

Sam took the chair next to Veranda and whispered in her ear. “Whatever you do, don’t ask Doc how he’s doing because he’ll tell you in excruciating detail.” She raised her eyebrows and he winked. “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

“Anyway, you’re full of shit,” Marci resumed an interrupted conversation with Tony. “You’ve lived in Phoenix for twenty-five years. Your body acclimated a long time ago.”

Tony leveled his chopsticks at her. “I could live here a hundred fuckin’ years and still never get used to these summers, which last from April through October, by the way.”

“It’s a mental thing. Mind over matter,” Frank said.

Marci snorted. “If that’s the case, then Tony’s a lost cause.” She pointed at various parts of his body as she spoke. “Hairy knuckles calloused from dragging on the ground. Sloped forehead accented with unibrow. Slack jaw and vacant expression.” Everyone burst out laughing.

Tony grinned. “Go ahead and yuk it up. You guys will be sweating your balls off when I’m retired back East. I’m counting the days.”

“And so are we,” Frank said.

The group chuckled again as Tony held up a middle finger to the room at large.

A few quiet moments passed while they ate, then Marci tapped Doc’s arm. “What’s the fastest way to heal a muscle strain?”

Doc looked anxious. “Are you sure it’s muscular? What are your symptoms?”

Marci sighed. “It’s definitely a muscle strain.” She rubbed her right bicep. “I finally got my red belt last night.”

“Hey,” Veranda straightened. “I’ve kickboxed for years, but I’ve been considering martial arts. Do you like it?”

Marci nodded. “You should give it a try. I study karate. Come to my dojo sometime.”

Silence fell as the men looked back and forth between Marci and Veranda. Marci sighed and rolled her eyes at her compatriots. “Let me interpret for you, Veranda. They’re imagining the two of us in a naked mud wrestling match right now.”

Frank put down his chopsticks and bobbed his head. “Oh, hell yeah.”

“Their brains are jammed in overdrive,” Marci continued, smiling at Veranda, “because they also know I prefer girls.”

All eyes cut to Veranda. “Sorry guys,” she said. “Not gonna happen.”

Tony guffawed and looked at Marci. “A swing and a miss.”

Marci ran her fingers through her long blond hair and licked her lips seductively as she batted her eyes at Tony. “You’re just jealous because I get hotter chicks than you,” she purred.

“Ouch,” Doc said as everyone snickered.

Veranda felt right at home. The banter reminded her of similar conversations she had shared over the years with other long-standing teams. This squad had invited her into their circle. There was no mistaking their outreach and acceptance.

The conference room door opened and Sergeant Jackson walked in followed by two other men. The atmosphere in the room palpably changed as the laughter died out.

“As you were,” Jackson said and turned to Veranda. “Detective Cruz, this is Lieutenant Aldridge and Commander Webster.” Veranda leaned across the table and shook hands with both men. “Let’s start the briefing.” There was some jockeying of chairs as everyone made room for the brass.

Lieutenant Aldridge addressed the room. “First, let’s have a report from those of you who already received assignments, then Detective Cruz can give us an overview of the cartel. We’ll begin with the crime scene.”

Sam stood and walked to the front of the room holding his notebook. “Due to the high-profile nature of the case, we managed to push the autopsy to the front of the line. The ME will do it first thing tomorrow morning.” He pulled his half-glasses out of his shirt pocket and flipped open the small spiral-bound pad. “While we wait for official tests, Crime Scene processed the scene and did a preliminary examination of the body. The victim’s throat was slashed, which appears to be the cause of death.”

Sam’s eyes traveled down the page. “There were injuries all over the upper body, probably due to being kicked or beaten. The left side of the chest had a fresh burn showing the head of a wolf. Looks like he was branded.” Several people grimaced.

Veranda shuddered as she thought of Flaco’s last hours. The small amount of chicken panang she’d eaten now churned in her stomach. Even though she had seen the images earlier, they evoked a fresh wave of revulsion toward the cartel. How could they be so savage?

“Any trace evidence?” Lieutenant Aldridge asked.

“No latent prints, but samples of hair, fiber, blood and various secretions were all collected. Everything went to the lab. They’ll check for a match and get back to us. If there’s no initial hit, at least we’ll be ready if we come up with a suspect for comparison.”

Veranda recalled that Bartolo had been arrested many years ago for a felony narcotics charge. After his Armani-suited lawyer had gotten it busted down to a misdemeanor, Bartolo spent a minimal amount of time in jail as a first time offender. His DNA, however, remained in the database. If Bartolo hadn’t taken proper precautions when dealing with Flaco …

She blinked as she realized Sam had sat down and Marci now stood in front of the table, a thin stack of papers in her hand. Veranda had missed the beginning of Marci’s report.

“ … so I was able to get fairly high resolution images from the lab,” Marci said, and stepped forward to hand part of the stack to Sergeant Jackson, who distributed them.

Veranda glanced down at the page and recognized color images of the Drug Enforcement Bureau parking lot. Several photos had been isolated from the surveillance cameras positioned around the perimeter of the building.

Marci waited until everyone had a sheet. “Notice the still frame on the upper right-hand corner. The video forensics guys were able to get a partial on the rear license plate of the pickup truck that transported the body for the dump job.”

Everyone leaned forward to scrutinize the image.

“We got the make and model of the truck from the front grille and fender on the previous shot.” She smiled. “I cross-referenced the partial plate with trucks of that make and model and obtained only two matches in Arizona. One belongs to a seventy-five-year-old rancher in Yuma. The other one came back to this.” Marci gave another set of documents to the sergeant.

When Veranda received her copy, she blurted, “Ponte Vista Construction!”

All eyes turned to her. She jabbed the paper with her finger. “That’s one of the Villalobos cartel front companies. Whoever was driving really screwed up. We can actually put one of their vehicles at the scene.” Her pulse quickened at the significance of the mistake.

“We can do better than that,” Marci said, recapturing everyone’s attention. “I ran another check and found two traffic citations over the past eighteen months for that vehicle. The driver was the same each time.” Apparently enjoying the tension in the room before her bomb detonated, Marci handed the last of her stack to Jackson, who duly passed it around.

Veranda pumped her fist in the air as soon as she spotted the black-and-white copy of the Motor Vehicle Division photo. “That’s Pablo!”

Commander Webster cleared his throat. “Detective Cruz, perhaps now would be a good time for you to give us an overview of the Villalobos cartel and how this Pablo fits into it.”

Veranda’s nerves thrummed with excitement as she sprang from her seat and strode to the white board, which took up most of one wall. She picked up a black marker. “The best way for me to explain this is to make an organizational chart. PSB has my case files, including a detailed schematic complete with photos of key players and connecting lines going down about six levels, but I can show you the basics.”

She drew a large rectangle in the top middle spot and wrote EL LOBO inside the box. “For those of you who don’t know, el lobo means ‘the wolf’ in Spanish. The head of the cartel is Hector Villalobos, but he’s called El Lobo by everyone. This comes from their surname Villalobos, which means ‘Village of Wolves’ or ‘City of Wolves.’”

“So that’s the reason for the wolf brand on the victim’s chest?” Sergeant Jackson asked.

“Yes, the Villalobos family crest has a gold background with two black wolves reared up on their hind legs. They’ve adopted the black wolf as their symbol. They stamp it on bales and packages of narcotics to identify their product.”

Veranda turned to face the group. “Upper-level members of the group get wolf tattoos over their hearts and wear wolf-themed jewelry. When they reach the inner circle, they’re awarded a dagger encrusted with gemstones and inlaid in gold with a wolf design. At the highest level, family members have the distinction of carrying a gold-plated fifty-caliber Desert Eagle pistol with customized wolf’s head ebony grips.”

“And here I felt lucky getting to keep my service Glock when I retire,” Tony said under his breath.

Lieutenant Aldridge scooted his chair closer to the white board. “Please continue with the org chart, Detective.”

“The internal structure of the organization is patterned as something of a hybrid between a paramilitary group and a wolf pack.”

Veranda drew four boxes below the first with lines linking them. “The second tier is Hector’s four children, who are all adults now. He named them alphabetically by birth order.”

“Seriously?” Frank asked.

“Hector is getting on in years and wants to retire and buy his own island. He raised his children to take over the empire. From what I’m told, it was supposed to go to Adolfo, the oldest, but Bartolo is so vicious that he’s taken over as heir to the throne. El Lobo hasn’t formally announced it yet, but it’s common knowledge that Bartolo is being groomed.”

A grin spread across Sam’s face. “So, the big bad wolf wants to pack it in and enjoy a cozy retirement. I wonder if his pension plan is as good as ours.”

She smiled back. “His pension plan is his kids. They have to step up so daddy wolf won’t have to run the cartel and, of course, they each want to be the new head Lobo.”

“Perhaps we can use that to our advantage,” Sam said, stroking his mustache. “Maybe someone else in the family wouldn’t mind seeing Bartolo go away for murder.”

Veranda’s smile vanished. “If another sibling wants a change in the pecking order, it will probably involve bloodshed. Hector gave each child a specific part of the cartel to manage according to their talents. Each of the four is considered a top lieutenant in the organization.” Veranda wrote in the box farthest to the left.

“First, there’s Adolfo. He’s the finance guy and has a degree in accounting. He oversees loan sharking, including collections. He also handles money laundering, using fronts and fences. We believe he dabbles in counterfeiting and identity theft. His direct subordinate is a computer whiz and hacking expert.”

She moved to the next box. “Second is Bartolo. He was in the top ten percent of his law school class and uses knowledge of criminal procedure to help him run the narcotics trade. This includes everything from farmers with grow operations in Mexico and South America all the way to their distribution network throughout the southwestern United States. He’s trying to expand to the north and east as well.”

The marker squeaked as she filled in another name in the next box. “Carlos is responsible for their human trafficking operations. His coyotes smuggle people over the border. After they arrive in Phoenix, sometimes they’re held in drop houses while their families back in Mexico are forced to pay ransom for their release. If a woman’s family can’t afford the ransom, she goes to his network of pimps to work off her transport fee. There are a few locations in Phoenix we suspect are actually brothels and we’ve been trying to get enough evidence for a search warrant.”

She moved to the right as she spoke, covering the length of the board. “Last, but definitely not least, is Daria, who is in charge of weapons and explosives. She arranges for shipments of arms to Mexico and handles a web of straw purchasers and other suppliers to feed a growing demand. She also procures the customized guns and daggers for the upper echelon. She’s studied weaponry and built a factory in Mexico to manufacture ammunition and explosives.” She paused. “It took months to get a photo of her. She protects her privacy and is usually surrounded by armed guards.”

The room fell silent. Veranda had been speaking for quite some time. She looked around the table, unsure about her presentation. “Our federal partners helped gather this intel.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Did I miss anything?”

Jackson recovered first. “Detective Cruz, this organization is incredibly sophisticated. This is the bear—excuse me—wolf you’ve been poking?” He had a look of wonder on his face. “It’s amazing you’re still alive.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Cartels are hesitant to kill a law enforcement officer in the US, although it has been known to happen. They know it would bring too much heat down on them, so they usually find other ways to work around interdictions. In my case, they definitely got me out of DEB and off their tail … or so they think.”

“I take it Bartolo has been your main focus?” Commander Webster asked.

“Yes, and Pablo is his top sergeant. He’s responsible for a network of distributors and he takes orders directly from Bartolo.”

Webster steepled his fingers. “We need to get this Pablo on his own to interrogate him. Perhaps we can convince him to cooperate.”

Despite her excitement, Veranda had to be straight with them. “Sir, even if we manage to take Pablo into custody, I doubt we can offer anything that will turn him.”

“I realize it’s a long shot, Detective, but we need to try. If Pablo goes on record that Bartolo ordered the hit, we’ll have them both for murder. If not, we’re no worse off. We’ve certainly got enough evidence from the video and the citations to bring Pablo in.”

Sergeant Jackson stood to address the group as Veranda took her seat. He looked at Sam. “You and Veranda locate Pablo. Identify his residence and any places he frequents on a regular basis.” Sam nodded.

The sergeant turned to Marci. “You and Frank start writing. We need an affidavit for an arrest warrant for Pablo and search warrants for his domicile and vehicle as well as a buccal swab for DNA. Touch base with Sam and Veranda to see if they come up with anything else that needs a look.”

Jackson addressed the room. “I’m headed to the Maricopa County prosecutor’s office. We need authorization to make a deal and I want one of the assistant prosecutors in on the ground floor on this one.”

“How about me?” Doc asked.

“You and Tony swing by the Resource Bureau and meet with SAU to brief them so they can work up a tactical ops plan to apprehend Pablo.”

Veranda was glad to see they were taking no chances. Protocol for arresting a high-level cartel member included SWAT-trained officers from the Special Assignment Unit. She had seen firsthand the type of firepower cartel members routinely carried, and a detective’s .45-
caliber Glock was no match for a fully automatic AK-47 assault rifle.

Veranda flew backward as Jake’s foot connected with her ribs. She sprawled across the padded gym floor and gulped air.

Jake sauntered over and looked down at her. “Where are you, Cruz?” He put a hand on his hip. “Cuz you’re sure as hell not here tonight.”

“Fuck you, Jake.” She grunted as she regained her feet. “I’ve got a few things on my mind.” She had begged her kickboxing instructor to stay late so she could work off pent-up frustration. It had seemed like a good idea, but after spending the last twenty minutes punching his fist with her face, she reconsidered her decision.

Jake talked to give her a chance to catch her breath. “Fighting is about control. If your opponent can get in your head, he’s already won.”

Sweat ran in rivulets down her spine as she put up gloved hands. Jake was right. She was distracted tonight. She reflected on the afternoon spent knocking on doors with Sam, trying to get terrified people to talk about Pablo. It took hours, but they finally got an address.

She shook her head to clear her mind. “You ready?”

Jake chuckled. “For what you’re bringing tonight? Yeah, I’m ready.”

That pissed her off. She was sure it was what her kickboxing instructor had intended. She feinted with a left jab and switched to a roundhouse kick, nearly catching him in the jaw.

“Now we’re talking.” He grinned from behind his headgear. “Let’s dance.”

The gym smelled of sweat socks and disinfectant. She let the sights and sounds permeate her senses to ground herself in the present. An image of Bartolo’s face kept intruding on her thoughts. She couldn’t let it distract her. Use it to your advantage.

She pictured Bartolo in Jake’s place and gathered energy inside her body until it coiled like a spring. In an explosive move, she lunged, hitting his upper body and head with a rapid series of blows from her fists. She lifted one knee to gain momentum, then planted her foot and thrust the other leg into his midsection, knocking him to the floor.

He rolled away before she could kick him again, bouncing back up to a fighter’s stance. His mocking tone, gone. His eyes, narrowed slits.

She saw his arm muscles tighten in preparation for a hook, and blocked it easily.

“Well, well, the little girl is ready to play.”

She knew what he was doing. He had been her instructor for many years. He had sensed early on that her weakness was her temper. If he could rile her, she would lose her composure and fight blindly, in a state of rage. Over the years, he had taught her to harness her anger and wield it as a weapon. She understood that a skilled opponent would use her emotions against her, and had learned to look past any jeers or taunts he might throw at her.

She sensed her opportunity and lashed out at his chin. He bent his knees to dodge the blow and she swept his feet from under him. This time he stayed down.

“Damn, Cruz, I don’t know who I’m sparring with tonight. First you’re distracted, then you act like you want to disembowel me.”

She grinned. “You’ve taught me well.”

“Seriously, though,” he said, getting up. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s this guy at work.” She had never told Jake she was a cop. From the time of her undercover days in DEB, she had been careful not to let anyone in her regular life know so she would not jeopardize her cases.

Jake wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of a gloved hand. “You mean the guy who killed your informant and dumped his body in the parking lot where you work?”

She gawked at him.

He sighed. “I watch the news, Veranda.”

“What was I thinking?” She threw her hands in the air. “Of course everyone knows who I am and what I do now.”

“It wasn’t a huge shock for me. You always trained like you thought you might be fighting for your life someday. A lot of women come in here looking to lose a few pounds and get in shape, but you were always driven. Motivated. Fierce as a warrior.”

The observation made her uncomfortable. To change the subject, she asked a question. “Now that you know who I’m up against, do you have any professional advice?”

He walked over and peered directly into her eyes. “Fight like a girl.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“If you ever find yourself in a combat situation with a man, don’t try to duke it out. Use the inherent strengths women have.” He frowned. “Outsmart him, and kick the shit out of him.”

“This particular man has a personal army at his disposal.”

Jake shrugged. “You could just give up and let him sell his drugs all over the country.”

“You know I could never do that.”

“Then fight him with everything you’ve got.”

After depleting her energy in the last round with her instructor, she felt drained. “I just hope it’s enough.”

“Not like you to indulge in self-pity, Cruz. This sounds a bit personal.”

“Jake, you have no idea how personal this battle is.” Nor did anyone else. She would do everything in her power to ensure that the link between her family and the cartel remained buried in the past.