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Reluctantly, Cortez pushed away from the wall where he had been lounging and straightened up. He took a last pull on his cigarette and flipped the butt away before approaching the car that had pulled up.
“What’s the situation, Sergeant?” Detective Sergeant Pizarro asked the moment he was out of the car.
“Nice to see you too, Francisco,” Cortez said, wondering what bad luck had resulted in his former partner being sent out there. “The situation isn’t clear yet. They’re still trying to put out the fire and determine what happened. Hopefully, we’ll have a better idea in an hour or so.” His eyes went to the burning house, where smoke poured from the windows while several teams of firefighters trained hoses on the property as they fought to get the fire under control.
“Tell me what you do know,” Pizarro instructed, as unhappy with the discovery that Miguel Cortez was not only there but the officer in charge, prior to his arrival, as Cortez was with his presence.
Cortez watched the firefighters for a few moments more and then returned his attention to Pizarro. “An hour and a half ago a young woman was found at the side of the road, injured and in distress, and babbling about dead bodies and a fire. She was still babbling about them when I got there. I couldn’t get any sense out of her, but the smoke from the fire was visible, so I was able to figure out where the maid had come from.”
“The maid?” Pizarro asked.
“The young woman, Francisco, she’s a maid.”
“How do you know that?”
Cortez sighed. “Because she’s wearing a maid’s uniform. As I was saying, the smoke from the fire was visible, so I came up here while the paramedics dealt with the woman. Firefighters were dispatched as soon as I reported in. They got here within about fifteen minutes and got to work.” Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached into his pocket for a cigarette, which he lit, ignoring the disapproving look from Pizarro. “By that time, I’d been able to look around.”
“And?” Pizarro prompted when Cortez smoked his cigarette instead of continuing.
“And this case should be given to someone better than you,” Cortez said. He enjoyed the look of annoyance that crossed his former partner’s face at his comment. “There’s a lot of bodies here. I have no idea how many, but it’s a massacre. I found a guard with his throat cut over there in the gatehouse,” he pointed to the small hut just inside the gates. “The place looks like it’s been painted with his blood. There’s two more guards on the South side of the house, they’ve been shot and run over, and another at the rear of the house who’s been shot, that’s in addition to those you can see from here. I also saw several bodies in the kitchen through the window. No idea how they died, I couldn’t get in there to check them out, the fire was too strong when I tried.”
“Do you know whose place this is?” Pizarro asked. “Or have any clue who is responsible, or why they did this?”
“You’re the detective, it’s your job to figure that out,” Cortez said, though he didn’t have high hopes that Pizarro would manage to do so, at least not without help.
Pizarro was silent for several long moments, during which he scowled at Cortez. Finally, he said, “Yes, it is, so why don’t you go and do whatever it is you do now you’re in uniform, while I get this investigation underway.”
**
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL Pizarro about this?” Officer Santos wanted to know as he trailed after his partner.
“I could have given Francisco the people responsible for this on a silver platter and he wouldn’t have taken it,” Cortez said over his shoulder as he strode down the road, following the trail of bloody footprints that led from the gatehouse, out of the estate, and away from the city. “If he bothers to do his job, he’ll be heading this way himself soon enough. And if he doesn’t, it won’t matter because we’re doing it. Besides, it’s obvious that whoever made this trail is responsible for at least one of the murders back there. Don’t you think it will look good on your record to have a hand in catching the killers? This is going to be all over the news in a few hours. Catching one of the people responsible might just get you promoted.”
“You mean it will look good on your record,” Santos said. “I know what you’re thinking, you think if you follow this trail and catch one of the killers, you’ll get your old job back as a detective, and show up Pizarro as a bonus. Don’t try and pretend that isn’t what you’re thinking,” he said before Cortez could say anything.
“Sure,” Cortez admitted, abandoning what he had been going to say. “This is a golden opportunity for me to show up Francisco. He’s made it where he is by trading on his connections and other people’s work. He’s no detective, and if Meteiros has any sense he’ll take him off this case before he can balls it up. If I can get my old job back at the same time, so much the better.”
The footsteps gradually faded, but they persisted long enough for them to reach a petrol station a kilometre and a half from the estate. They led into the shop and then back out again before disappearing abruptly. Cortez and Santos looked all around the forecourt but could find no further sign of the bloody footprints.
“He must have had a car here, or been picked up by someone,” Cortez observed after giving up the search.
“Why would he have parked here and walked all the way to the estate to kill someone, only to walk back again?” Santos asked. “Maybe he, assuming it’s a man who left the footprints, isn’t one of the killers but someone from the estate who was injured and got away. He could have come here to try and get away from the killers and find some help.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. For one thing, if he was injured and looking for help, he’d have headed towards the city, not away from it, and for another, the footsteps are too steady for someone who was either injured or trying to get away from a group of killers. Come on.” Cortez strode across the forecourt to the shop, while Santos stood there, wondering what his partner was up to.
“Can I help you?” the young man behind the counter asked when Cortez reached him.
Cortez noted the look of guilt on the cashier’s face and filed it away in case it should prove important. He doubted it would. He suspected it was just the ordinary guilt of someone unexpectedly confronted by a police officer, but he was experienced enough to know that anything could prove relevant in a case.
“Yes, you can, Jorge, is it?” he asked, reading the nametag the young man was wearing. When he received a nod, he went on, “Some time ago a man came here. He would have arrived on foot from that direction,” he pointed up the road towards the burning estate, “and left in a vehicle. Did you see him?”
“Yeah, I saw him,” Jorge said with a nod. “Must have been about two hours ago. I wouldn’t have paid much attention, but we don’t get many people walking in here — too far from the city. Plus, his car was parked here when I started. I wondered whose it was, so I was kind of keeping an eye on it. He came in, bought himself a Snickers and a bottle of Coke, got in the car and left. He drove off back the way he came, heading towards the city.”
“Can you describe him? Him and his car?” Cortez pulled out a notepad and pen, so he could write down what he was told.
“I can do better than that. He’s on camera,” Jorge said, pointing behind and above him to where a camera watched the cash register. “And there’s more cameras outside that will have caught his car.”
That was a stroke of luck that Cortez hadn’t anticipated.
**
STRIDING UP TO THE door, Cortez knocked loudly and then stepped back. “What?” he demanded when he saw the uncertainty on his partner’s face.
“Shouldn’t we tell Detective Pizarro about this?” Santos asked. “We followed the bloody trail and got a name. Surely it’s up to the investigating officers to follow up on what we’ve found.”
Cortez gave his partner a hard look and then turned to knock again. “It’s the police,” he called out. “Open up, Mr Tevez.”
“Come on, Miguel, he’s not home,” Santos said when there had been no response after a couple of minutes. “It’s time to pass this on to Pizarro. He can have people look for Mr Tevez.” He started down the hallway but was stopped by a heavy thud from behind him. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, looking back in time to see Cortez kick the apartment door a second time. “You can’t do this,” he said, hurrying back to take Cortez by the arm so he could pull him away from the door. “We don’t have a warrant or anything.”
Cortez pulled free from Santos’ grasp and kicked the door again, making it shiver in its frame. “Sod getting a warrant.” He kicked the door for a third time. “It’ll take too bloody long, and so will convincing Francisco to do anything about what we’ve discovered.” A fourth kick caused the door to fly open and crash into the wall behind it. He was through in an instant, his eyes darting everywhere as he moved down the passage, searching for Rafael Tevez.
“Shit!” he swore when he saw the arm on the floor behind the sofa. As he moved further into the living room more of the body came into view. “You’d better call this in,” he told Santos, kneeling beside the body so he could feel for a pulse.
His actions were instinctive, nothing more. It was clear that Rafael Tevez was dead, the deep, dark mark on his neck told the story of what had happened to him, part of it at least.