The Last Move
Page 28
Kate seemed more interested in the man’s mannerisms than his words. Her gaze focused first on his fisted fingers, then to the tension banding his shoulders.
“Why do I need an attorney?” Isabella asked. “The questions were straightforward. Did you know Gloria was sick?”
“You shouldn’t have told her,” Mr. Sanchez said to Mazur. “No good comes from telling her that.”
“I still don’t understand how your wife could have hidden her illness from you,” Kate said. “Were you two living apart?”
“No, of course not.” Sanchez sighed. “I had a sense she was off. She was quieter. More removed the last seven or eight months, but I didn’t know about the cancer until you told me.”
“You’re sure you didn’t know?”
“What does it matter now what was ailing my wife? It wasn’t the cancer that killed her but a serial killer’s bullet. The rest doesn’t matter.”
“Do you think that she knew the extent of her illness?” Kate asked.
He nodded. “Looking back now I think she did. When she was worried she tried extra hard at work, with friends, parties. She hosted several parties over the last couple of months.”
“If she knew she was sick, why did she go alone to Laredo so late at night?” Mazur asked.
Sanchez twirled his worn wedding ring. “You would have to know Gloria. She never slowed down. And if there was an obstacle in her way, she didn’t go around it. She went through it.”
Gloria Sanchez was a type-A personality who didn’t like limitations. Her husband might not have known about her illness, but Mazur wondered if she’d had a confidant. Since she worked eighty hours a week and was not close to her mother, it made sense she had friends at the office. “Which of your dealerships did she work out of?” Mazur asked.
“The one in central San Antonio,” Sanchez said.
“And you?”
“My shop is twenty miles west of town.”
“Did Gloria run all the offices?”
“She oversaw them. The day-to-day operations were handled by the individual branch managers.”
“Who managed the central branch?” Mazur asked.
“Lena Nelson.”
Mazur scribbled the name in a small notebook.
“Why do you want to talk to Lena? A serial killer murdered my wife.”
“I’m looking at all the angles, Mr. Sanchez,” Mazur said. “Thank you for your time.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I saw her today. And I smiled when she looked at me. When she was not looking, I stared at her and dreamed of wrapping a cord around her slender neck and strangling her until she died. I am good at that—smiling and planning.
San Antonio, Texas
Tuesday, November 28, 4:15 p.m.
Mazur and Kate arrived at the Sanchez car dealership located in central San Antonio. The glittering glass-and-chrome showroom featured expensive luxury cars. A red Ferrari 488 Spider was parked beside a black Lamborghini Aventador. There were a few more name brands Kate recognized, but the others were unfamiliar.
“Impressive,” Mazur said as he ran his hand over the Lamborghini’s polished hood.
“I’m not really a car person.” Kate looked around the dealership, expecting a salesperson to appear. Their absence suggested news of Gloria’s death had reached the staff.
He moved around to the driver’s side of the car and peered into the window. “I bet you drive something compact and dependable. And I guess it’s white.”
“It’s silver,” she said.
“Were you walking on the wild side when you sprang for that color?”
He was teasing her again, and despite herself she smiled. “I like things plain and simple. Boring can be very refreshing.”
“When you bought the car, was it the demo on the lot or the loaner the dealership gave to people when their car needed servicing?”
“I negotiated a good deal.”
“I would expect no less. You rent or own the furniture in your apartment?”
“I own it.”
He opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. “Standard, practical furnishings. I’m guessing small compact television, no cable, and lots of books.” Reverently he palmed the gearshift. “Am I right?”
“Not too far from the truth.” It was one thing to profile someone else, quite another to have it done so well back at her. “In my defense, I’m never there. It doesn’t make sense to pay for cable.” She looked past the car to the office.
With a sigh, he got out of the car. “I’ve been a cop long enough to know, I need a home that’s separate and untouched by work. I had that in Chicago. It was a whole world that didn’t revolve around work. Family and friends.”
“And you gave it up for a town you’ve yet to commit yourself to.”
He moved toward the Ferrari. “Ever wondered what it would be like to drive one of these?”
She allowed his deflection to stand. “No. And if we’re playing guess-my-ride, I’d say your personal vehicle is American made. Dark. You keep the car clean and polished, but if you look on the undercarriage there’s some rust from the Chicago winters. I’d also say you don’t have subscription radio or personalized plates.”
He grinned, reminding her of a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Go on.”
“Your suit is older, but it’s a classic style and well maintained. You tie your tie in a Windsor knot because you like to look professional. Even your police-issue car isn’t the newest model, but again, it’s clean and your files organized.”
“I’m low man on the totem pole.”
“Agreed, but the car doesn’t bother you. I’d wager you like to watch classic football games. You wouldn’t leave Chicago for San Antonio if family didn’t matter. I’d also wager the divorce was not your idea.”
“Why do you say that?”
“A few times you’ve touched your ring finger as if you expected the band to be there.”
He laughed. “Pretty good. We could keep playing this game, but I’m afraid of what you’ll say. You must be a hit at parties.” He held up a finger before she could answer and grinned. “But I’m guessing you don’t go to parties. You’d rather spend your time alone reading with your three rental cats.”
She couldn’t resist a smile. “I listen to audiobooks while I run or hike. I don’t like being indoors.”
“Why’s that?”
“Don’t want to waste the sunshine.”
Some of his smile faded. “Because you spend too much time in the dark hunting monsters?”
“They’re real.”
“Yes, they are.”
He reached for the door leading back to the offices and glanced down at her as she passed through first. His gaze lingered, and she sensed he wasn’t trying to figure her out, but admiring her. It felt good to be noticed by him. He was an attractive man. Strong. Smart. Yearning tightened her muscles.
Inside, the showroom’s soft music played. A young man dressed in an expensive charcoal-gray suit approached. He was smiling, but it lacked the warmth reserved for those who looked like they could afford the tab on one of the cars.
“I didn’t hear you come inside,” the man said. “We’re all a little distracted here today.”
“Why do I need an attorney?” Isabella asked. “The questions were straightforward. Did you know Gloria was sick?”
“You shouldn’t have told her,” Mr. Sanchez said to Mazur. “No good comes from telling her that.”
“I still don’t understand how your wife could have hidden her illness from you,” Kate said. “Were you two living apart?”
“No, of course not.” Sanchez sighed. “I had a sense she was off. She was quieter. More removed the last seven or eight months, but I didn’t know about the cancer until you told me.”
“You’re sure you didn’t know?”
“What does it matter now what was ailing my wife? It wasn’t the cancer that killed her but a serial killer’s bullet. The rest doesn’t matter.”
“Do you think that she knew the extent of her illness?” Kate asked.
He nodded. “Looking back now I think she did. When she was worried she tried extra hard at work, with friends, parties. She hosted several parties over the last couple of months.”
“If she knew she was sick, why did she go alone to Laredo so late at night?” Mazur asked.
Sanchez twirled his worn wedding ring. “You would have to know Gloria. She never slowed down. And if there was an obstacle in her way, she didn’t go around it. She went through it.”
Gloria Sanchez was a type-A personality who didn’t like limitations. Her husband might not have known about her illness, but Mazur wondered if she’d had a confidant. Since she worked eighty hours a week and was not close to her mother, it made sense she had friends at the office. “Which of your dealerships did she work out of?” Mazur asked.
“The one in central San Antonio,” Sanchez said.
“And you?”
“My shop is twenty miles west of town.”
“Did Gloria run all the offices?”
“She oversaw them. The day-to-day operations were handled by the individual branch managers.”
“Who managed the central branch?” Mazur asked.
“Lena Nelson.”
Mazur scribbled the name in a small notebook.
“Why do you want to talk to Lena? A serial killer murdered my wife.”
“I’m looking at all the angles, Mr. Sanchez,” Mazur said. “Thank you for your time.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I saw her today. And I smiled when she looked at me. When she was not looking, I stared at her and dreamed of wrapping a cord around her slender neck and strangling her until she died. I am good at that—smiling and planning.
San Antonio, Texas
Tuesday, November 28, 4:15 p.m.
Mazur and Kate arrived at the Sanchez car dealership located in central San Antonio. The glittering glass-and-chrome showroom featured expensive luxury cars. A red Ferrari 488 Spider was parked beside a black Lamborghini Aventador. There were a few more name brands Kate recognized, but the others were unfamiliar.
“Impressive,” Mazur said as he ran his hand over the Lamborghini’s polished hood.
“I’m not really a car person.” Kate looked around the dealership, expecting a salesperson to appear. Their absence suggested news of Gloria’s death had reached the staff.
He moved around to the driver’s side of the car and peered into the window. “I bet you drive something compact and dependable. And I guess it’s white.”
“It’s silver,” she said.
“Were you walking on the wild side when you sprang for that color?”
He was teasing her again, and despite herself she smiled. “I like things plain and simple. Boring can be very refreshing.”
“When you bought the car, was it the demo on the lot or the loaner the dealership gave to people when their car needed servicing?”
“I negotiated a good deal.”
“I would expect no less. You rent or own the furniture in your apartment?”
“I own it.”
He opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. “Standard, practical furnishings. I’m guessing small compact television, no cable, and lots of books.” Reverently he palmed the gearshift. “Am I right?”
“Not too far from the truth.” It was one thing to profile someone else, quite another to have it done so well back at her. “In my defense, I’m never there. It doesn’t make sense to pay for cable.” She looked past the car to the office.
With a sigh, he got out of the car. “I’ve been a cop long enough to know, I need a home that’s separate and untouched by work. I had that in Chicago. It was a whole world that didn’t revolve around work. Family and friends.”
“And you gave it up for a town you’ve yet to commit yourself to.”
He moved toward the Ferrari. “Ever wondered what it would be like to drive one of these?”
She allowed his deflection to stand. “No. And if we’re playing guess-my-ride, I’d say your personal vehicle is American made. Dark. You keep the car clean and polished, but if you look on the undercarriage there’s some rust from the Chicago winters. I’d also say you don’t have subscription radio or personalized plates.”
He grinned, reminding her of a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Go on.”
“Your suit is older, but it’s a classic style and well maintained. You tie your tie in a Windsor knot because you like to look professional. Even your police-issue car isn’t the newest model, but again, it’s clean and your files organized.”
“I’m low man on the totem pole.”
“Agreed, but the car doesn’t bother you. I’d wager you like to watch classic football games. You wouldn’t leave Chicago for San Antonio if family didn’t matter. I’d also wager the divorce was not your idea.”
“Why do you say that?”
“A few times you’ve touched your ring finger as if you expected the band to be there.”
He laughed. “Pretty good. We could keep playing this game, but I’m afraid of what you’ll say. You must be a hit at parties.” He held up a finger before she could answer and grinned. “But I’m guessing you don’t go to parties. You’d rather spend your time alone reading with your three rental cats.”
She couldn’t resist a smile. “I listen to audiobooks while I run or hike. I don’t like being indoors.”
“Why’s that?”
“Don’t want to waste the sunshine.”
Some of his smile faded. “Because you spend too much time in the dark hunting monsters?”
“They’re real.”
“Yes, they are.”
He reached for the door leading back to the offices and glanced down at her as she passed through first. His gaze lingered, and she sensed he wasn’t trying to figure her out, but admiring her. It felt good to be noticed by him. He was an attractive man. Strong. Smart. Yearning tightened her muscles.
Inside, the showroom’s soft music played. A young man dressed in an expensive charcoal-gray suit approached. He was smiling, but it lacked the warmth reserved for those who looked like they could afford the tab on one of the cars.
“I didn’t hear you come inside,” the man said. “We’re all a little distracted here today.”
