The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [48]
“Has Lynn talked to him?”
“No. He didn’t call in. She’s on her way over to his place now, to make sure he’s okay.”
I wavered a moment, wondering whether I should get involved, before deciding I didn’t have a choice. Alex was a friend. I had to help if I could.
“I want to talk to Walter. Set something up as soon as possible, please.”
“Will do. And I don’t know if you saw the message yet, but Reggie called a few minutes ago. He’d like you to get back to him on his desk number.”
“Thanks.”
Amy was wearing a bright red Christmas sweater with metallic candy canes embroidered on it, and the shimmering reflections made me feel nauseated. I was too old to get by on three hours of sleep, particularly after a couple of shots of whiskey.
“Can I get you some coffee?” she asked, sounding concerned. “You look kind of rocky.”
“Maybe later,” I said. The coffee I’d drunk at Rashid’s hadn’t gone down so well. I had enough acid working on my insides. “A little dry toast would be great.”
“I’ll see what I can rustle up.”
I dialed Reggie’s work phone. The cop who answered put me on hold, and Reggie picked up a minute later.
“Mark?”
“Yeah.”
“Any luck with this OPEC buddy of yours on Gallegos?”
“He didn’t know him, but he promised to make a few calls. I should hear back later today or tomorrow. Why?”
“Because the situation’s a lot more complicated than I realized.”
My hand tightened on the receiver.
“Complicated how?”
“The stolen-car report on the BMW is cross-referenced to a murder investigation.”
“Whose murder?” I asked breathlessly.
“Gallegos’s brother-in-law, a guy named Carlos Munoz, also a diplomat. He and Gallegos were married to sisters. Gallegos lent Munoz the car the day it was stolen. This guy Munoz sounds like a real prince. A bunch of complaints about him for sexual harassment, and a girlfriend out on Long Island who he liked to use as a punching bag. According to the file, Munoz drove out to see the girlfriend that afternoon, but she’d skipped town. Could be she finally had enough. So he drove back into the city, picked up a hooker, and took her to a motel on the Lower West Side. That’s where his body was found. He caught three to the chest from a military forty-five. The girl vanished.”
I exhaled slowly.
“Which suggests what?”
“Hard to know. One possibility is that Munoz is the guy we’re looking for. There was a security camera in the parking lot. The tape showed him arriving with the hooker at five-thirty and driving away alone at six. Kyle left your place a little after seven-thirty.”
“I’m confused,” I said, making an effort to remain analytical. “Didn’t you just tell me that Munoz was murdered at the motel?”
“Right. In bed and with his pants down, the way we all should be lucky enough to go. Second security camera in the lobby caught him when he arrived the first time but not leaving or returning. Parking-lot camera showed him arriving and leaving but not returning. Best our guys were able to figure, Munoz checked in, left by the fire stairs, propped the door open behind him, moved the car, and then came back in by the fire stairs. They reckon maybe he went out for cigarettes and left the car somewhere else.”
“That make sense to you?” I asked incredulously.
“Nope. Sounds like a load of shit. I read enough files to be able to tell that the guys who caught the case mailed it in. Dead diplomat in a seedy hotel room; semen on the sheets; watch, wallet, and money clip gone. He went walking on the wild side, and he got more than he bargained for. All she wrote. Nobody was interested in loose ends.”
“So, what