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“I’d like to ask him a few questions. We’ve got a homicide up here, body found near the Trask River way up in the mountains. Rugged country. Lucia Costa. We think Cruz might be able to help us find out what happened to her.”
“He’s a suspect?” May as well cut to the chase.
“No suspects, at least not yet. Just a person of interest. Could be Cruz was the last one to see her alive. He might know something that would help us in the investigation. You know where he is? How I might reach him?”
Montoya couldn’t lie to the guy, but he wasn’t about to give his brother up. Luckily, he didn’t know where Cruz had landed. He glanced at his great-grandfather’s belt, coiled like a snake and mocking him as he walked a thin line between the truth and lies. “I got a call from him a couple of days ago. Said he was in the Mojave outside Las Vegas, that he was in some kind of trouble—didn’t say what it was—and that he was heading east, probably here, to New Orleans. Nothing more.”
“Has he called since?”
“No.”
“Did you call him back?”
“Yeah. No answer. Kept trying. Now the phone number is out of service.”
“Can you give me that number?”
“Sure.” Montoya didn’t hesitate. He was dealing with the law, for one thing. For another? He was certain Cruz had gotten rid of what was no doubt a burner phone. “Let’s see. Here ya go.” He rattled off the digits and wished to high heaven Cruz would contact him again.
“Got it. If you hear from your brother, have him get in contact with me,” Strange said. “ASAP. As I said, this is a homicide case.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks.” Wyatt Strange ended the connection, which Montoya found odd. He thought the Oregon detective would have a lot more questions for him about Lucia Costa. Montoya had known her most of his life. Her family and his—they’d all grown up together. Then again, Strange probably had all that info. What he wanted was Cruz.
“Join the club,” Montoya muttered under his breath. “Join the fuckin’ club.”
CHAPTER 24
“We’ll go later,” Kristi promised the dog as she started for the garage. She was already late if she wanted to get to the Newcomers’ Worship Event at the New Faith and Glory Church of Praise near Kenner. Dave followed her to the door and she gave him a pat. “Sorry, bud. Hang in. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
She double-checked the alarm and closed the door behind her. Once in the car, she didn’t give herself a chance to second-guess what she was doing, just backed out of the garage and drove westward. Her cell buzzed and she saw Bella’s name appear on its small screen.
“Hey,” she said, using the speaker option.
“Hey.” Bella sounded down, which was unusual.
“What’s up?” Kristi slowed at a crosswalk when the light turned amber. A bicyclist shot through the intersection and a Prius swerved to avoid the collision. “Wow,” Kristi said, her heart racing.
“Wow what?”
“Nothing. Just nearly witnessed a bad accident.” The light turned green and Kristi, still jangled, hit the gas.
“Oh . . . okay.” Bella sounded distracted.
“Is everything all right?”
“No—um, that’s why I’m calling.”
Immediately Kristi thought of Sean, Bella’s husband, who had a roving eye, and when he had too much to drink, got more than a little handsy. Her fingers tightened on the wheel as she accelerated onto the freeway.
“I’m hoping you’ll agree to the TV interview. There, I said it.”
“What?”
“I hate to pressure you, Kristi, you know I do, but this is really important and the producer ofBonjour, New Orleans!keeps pushing me. She knows we’re friends and the story about the Rosary Killer is hot and . . . and really, things haven’t been going well at my job.”
Kristi glanced over her shoulder, eased into the fast lane, and sped around a white Buick moving ten miles below the speed limit. “What do you mean?”
