AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"And he agreed just like that?" Cruz questions, incredulous.
"Well, he tried to be stingy and got real mad, but Piqui made him think twice when he asked if he'd rather spill the beans or personally explain to Teodoro that his son bit the dust because of him."
Cruz inhales deeply, filling her lungs to the brim, and continues jotting notes. Unconsciously, she adds the word "fool" in the margin. She then records the phone model Sergio claims belonged to Mikel Blanco, aligning with the fact that they found two phones on the guy currently teetering between life and death.
"He said he needed a few hours to gather all that cash, and now I've got nothing else to tell you," concludes Sergio Perea, his eyes increasingly closed due to swelling.
"How do you think Teodoro's people knew you were in that specific bar?" Cruz persists.
"I've been thinking about that since I got here, can't figure it out," says Sergio, frowning.
Sergeant Cruz Ortega would love to tell him that people like Teodoro have better and more efficient means than the police, but she keeps quiet because the more she talks to him, the more foolish he seems. Now she's sure Sergio Perea was just a pawn obediently following Piqui's orders.
"Don't worry; I've got enough for now."
As Cruz gets into her car, ready to head to the bar owner's house to continue her investigation, her partner, Emilio Mora, calls her.
"I checked the data you gave me, and there's something interesting. Under the victim's name, there's a car matching the model and color you mentioned, but the license plate doesn't match."
"What do you mean it doesn't match?" Cruz asks, pulling out her notebook again.
"Just that. We have traffic camera images showing a car of that model and color between the time he claimed they were already in the bar and before the attack. It's the only vehicle of that model passing during that period. We're convinced it's his, but, like I said, the plate number doesn't match. I decided to look it up in the database. Turns out, the number belongs to a Seat León registered to Mireia Suárez, no criminal record. I contacted her, and she says she lent the car to her boyfriend yesterday so he could go out with his friends while she was at work. The short version is she went to check her car's plate in the garage, and someone had switched it with the number you gave me."
"Alright," Cruz sighs, finding everything too strange. "I'm going to talk to the bar owner. You hurry up the tech guys with the second phone Ángel Rozas had. Sergio Perea claims it belongs to Mikel Blanco and that they spoke to someone very close to Teodoro."
"Sure thing, but you know what they'll say, right? They've got a mountain of work, and I should just get in line," Cruz muttered, feeling the weight of urgency pressing against his chest.
"Talk to the lieutenant, explain what I've told you. He'll take care of speeding things up. The intel from that phone could be crucial to nailing Teodoro," advised the voice on the other end.
"Right now," Cruz affirmed before ending the call, his pulse quickening. No room for errors. He had to resolve the issue pronto. Discover who stole the car and, damn it, where the hell Mikel Blanco was. Another call before hitting the road checking if the agents he left in the area, scanning nearby shops for potential CCTV footage, had any leads.
"So far, just a couple of recordings showing the car passing by, but the visuals are crap. All we can say is there were at least two occupants. Tinted rear windows, and from our angle, impossible to tell if there were more," reported the agent.
"Understood. Keep searching," Cruz instructed, firing up the engine.
Chapter 11
On their way back, Abigail and Gretel hashed out various options. Any escape from Mikel Blanco seemed appealing at first, but his threats lingered, casting a heavy cloud over their deliberations. Amidst the muddled brainstorming, Gretel throws out a thought that strikes a chord with Abigail.
"If he's Teodoro's son, he's probably as deep in this mess as his old man, even if they never talk about him in the news," Abigail muses.
"He might be lurking in the shadows, sheltered by daddy, but one thing's for sure he's got some valuable info for the cops," Abigail adds thoughtfully.
"What do you suggest?" Gretel senses Abigail's expression, a familiar one she's seen when Abigail's got a solution up her sleeve.
"Negotiate with the cops. We hand over Mikel Blanco in exchange for a clean slate," Gretel suggests, her eyes lighting up at the prospect.
"Do you think they'll go for it?" Gretel can't help but get excited at the thought.
"I hope so."
"How do we do it? We can't just walk into the police station; spill the beans, and expect a warm welcome. We'd end up in a cell, game over," Gretel shudders at the idea of spending a night in the slammer. She's watched enough movies to imagine the cold, the stench, the solitude, and the anxiety that come with it.
"Through here, don't miss the exit," Abigail reminds Gretel. "We won't be heading to the station. That would be a dumb move after everything we've done. We'll make the call from one of those payphones and try to negotiate."
Abigail falls silent, gently rubbing the side of her nose. Of all the places to itch, it chooses the one that throbs in pain.
As they pull into the garage, Mikel's shouts echo, insults and demands to be set free. The effects of the sedative seem to have worn off, or maybe he's just accustomed to such substances, Gretel contemplates.
