The Edge of Night Read online

  Noah frowned, trying to pinpoint a particular reason. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “They just looked scared.”

  Santiago’s dark eyes were cool, assessing. Noah wished he’d thought of something more specific to say. “Victim is Lola Sanchez, age twenty-three,” Santiago said, handing him a driver’s license in a plastic bag. “Seen her around?”

  Noah studied the pretty face in the photo. “No,” he said, passing it to Patrick.

  “She had some paraphernalia in her purse,” Santiago continued. “You know a dealer who hangs out here?”

  “No one comes here but CVL,” Patrick asserted, returning the license to Santiago. “And kids too stupid to know better.”

  “I’m going to need your unit to assist,” Santiago said. “We found a card in her wallet for Club Suave. The manager says she worked there. Had a shift last night.”

  Noah blinked a few times in surprise. He couldn’t believe Santiago would let them in on such a high-profile investigation. This was, by far, the most vicious crime he’d ever seen. His pulse quickened at the thought of catching the sick bastard who did it. He’d never been more eager to be a part of a case.

  Patrick merely waited for instructions, unmoved.

  “Interview her coworkers. Get surveillance tapes. I want to know what her gang connections are, who she was dating, and if she left with someone last night.”

  “Yes, sir,” Noah said, his shoulders straight.

  Santiago waved them away.

  After a final glance at the small figure in the zippered bag, Noah walked toward the chain-link fence with Patrick. It had been clipped for easier access. They passed through the opening, made their way down the street, and climbed into the patrol car.

  “Do you have to kiss his ass?” Patrick asked.

  “Do you have to piss him off?” Noah shot back.

  They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Noah understood that Patrick felt threatened by Santiago and chalked it up to professional rivalry. Patrick’s career had stalled, while Santiago had moved up—way up—in the ranks.

  Noah wanted to take the same direction in the department, and he wasn’t going to let Patrick, or anything else, get in his way. The gang unit saw a lot of action, and he was in good shape. Unlike Patrick, he could win a footrace with any criminal on the street. He also enjoyed interacting with juveniles, having a visible presence in the community, and keeping the neighborhoods safe.

  But what Noah loved most was solving puzzles. He’d excelled in Spanish and deciphering tag signs, perhaps because both languages had a discrete set of rules and symbols, pieces that fit together to create meaning.

  He hoped these strengths would translate well to homicide. Noah planned to apply to that unit in a few short months, after completing the required five years on patrol.

  And Patrick knew it.

  “Well,” his disgruntled partner said at last, “I guess it’s no hardship to interview the girls at Suave.”

  Noah smiled wryly. Club Suave used to be a strip joint. Now, due to licensing issues and zoning laws, it was just a popular singles bar. From what he’d heard, the music was loud, the drinks were cheap, and the waitresses wore very little.

  “No hardship at all,” he murmured, staring out the passenger window. During the past few minutes, darkness had settled over the city.

  2

  April Ortiz hated Saturday nights.

  Fridays were busier, but they were also lively and fun. Attractive, interesting people came to the club on Friday. The tables were packed with flirty single women and rowdy young men. Everyone wanted to enjoy a few cocktails, hit the dance floor, and leave their troubles from the workweek behind.

  By Saturday, some of the lightheartedness wore off. The men who hadn’t gotten lucky the night before came back with a vengeance. They were the hard drinkers, the bitter unemployed, the recent divorcés. An air of desperation soured the crowd.

  It was a night of glittering eyes and groping hands.

  And it had just started. Although it was early, still shy of 8:00 P.M., the joker at table seven had already tried to pull April into his lap. As soon as she was finished cleaning the women’s restroom, she had to go out and wait on him again.

  “Perro,” she said under her breath, scrubbing at the crude message on the bathroom door. Last night, apparently, one of the patrons had used it as ad space.

  “Guess who’s late again?”

  April glanced at her coworker Carmen, who was standing in the open doorway. “Did she call in?”

  The other waitress propped one hand on her hip. The Club Suave uniform, a thin white tank top and short black skirt, did great things for her figure. “Of course not. She’ll waltz in whenever she feels like it. I don’t know why Rico keeps her on.”

  Carmen called their boss Rico Suave, after the cheesy Latin heartthrob from the nineties. His real name was Eddie, and they both knew why he kept Lola on. Every time the girl was late, he took her to his office for an “evaluation.”

  “I’m never going to be late,” April said with a small shudder, and resumed scrubbing. The idea of servicing their boss made her gag.

  “Me, either,” Carmen agreed.

  Eddie chose that moment to duck his head into the restroom, his face stern. He didn’t approve of employee chitchat behind the scenes. “Company meeting,” he announced. “I want to talk to everyone in back.”

  Carmen gave him an annoyed look. “This is the ladies’ room, Rico. Can’t you read?”

  “Now,” he said, pointing a thick finger at her before he continued down the hall.

  April stashed the cleaning supplies in a locked cabinet and hurried after him. They were already operating on a skeleton crew, so she hoped he wasn’t planning more layoffs. She needed this job. Unlike Carmen, she had a daughter to take care of.

  She couldn’t afford to get fired.

  Carmen fell in beside her as she walked down the hallway. The sound of house music, with its thumping bass line, grew louder as they approached the main room. April kept her gaze trained on the back of Eddie’s head. He was a short, muscular man with a lot of body hair.

  As soon as they passed through the double doors to the kitchen, the lights brightened and the noise dimmed. The other waitresses were already there, wearing identical expressions of impatience on their pretty faces.

  They wanted to be out on the floor, making money.

  “I already talked to the guys,” Eddie said. In addition to a half dozen waitresses, the club employed two bouncers, a bartender, and a dishwasher who doubled as a cook when a customer was brave enough to order from the botanas menu. “I got a call from the police department. They said Lola’s been in an accident.”

  “What kind of accident?” April asked.

  “I don’t know, but a couple of cops are coming over here to interview the staff. So I guess it’s pretty serious.”

  Carmen frowned. “Is she okay?”

  Eddie didn’t answer. He picked up a kitchen towel and wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was a gesture they’d seen many times. “I’d like for everyone to cooperate with the police. You don’t have to say anything, but be polite. We don’t want cops making a scene, scaring off customers. Do you understand?”

  The other girls nodded automatically, murmuring words of assent. He did a slow sweep of the room, his gaze zeroing in on April.

  Her heart started to thump in her chest. She knew he was asking them to stay quiet about his relationship with Lola. And although Carmen was the most outspoken waitress on staff, April was the least likely to lie.

  “I understand,” she said. She needed this job. God help her, she did.

  Eddie looked relieved. She wondered if he felt guilty about the affair. He had a wife and three kids. “Go on, then,” he ordered halfheartedly, and walked over to the industrial-size fridge for a cold Corona.

  April said a quick prayer for Lola in Spanish, and the waitresses hustled back out to the main floor, a united front. The room was pa
cked with customers, some of whom were still waiting to have drink orders taken.

  But every female head turned toward the front entrance.

  The police officers had already arrived.

  April recognized the older of the two, Officer Shanley. He’d worked on the neighborhood gang unit since the beginning of time. Her eyes skipped past him immediately, for his partner was the showstopper. He was tall and lean, with a strong, angular face. His midnight-blue uniform fit well, accenting broad shoulders and a trim waist.

  While she watched, the young officer scanned the clientele, his stance relaxed, one hand resting on his gun belt. Strobe lights danced across his close-cropped hair, disguising the color. In the sun, it would probably be dark blond.

  Even from across the room, she felt a jolt of awareness.

  Handsome men came into Club Suave all the time, and they were often the biggest jerks, so good looks never impressed April. Maybe it was the combination of intimidating uniform and compelling presence that had her mesmerized.

  “Ay, papi,” Carmen said, touching her fingertips to her décolletage. “If I’m naughty, will he handcuff me?”

  “I’ve seen him jogging past my house,” Nikki said dreamily. “He looks even better without a shirt.”

  At that moment, Shanley’s partner glanced their way, his focus landing on April. Her breath caught in her throat. Keeping his eyes on her face, he murmured something to his partner. She tore her attention away, instantly flustered.

  Carmen arched a brow. “I didn’t know you could blush.”

  “It’s just makeup,” she muttered, nudging Nikki forward. “Customers are waiting, you guys. Vamonos.”

  The other waitresses dispersed into the crowd, and Eddie came out to greet the officers. April ducked behind a mirrored pillar with Carmen, tugging her by the wrist. “Are you going to say anything?”

  Her brows slanted downward. “Hell, no. And not just because of Rico. You know who she was running with.”

  Tension unfurled in April’s stomach. “Yeah.”

  “Besides, I don’t owe her anything. She stole from me, chica.”

  “I know.” April cast a miserable glance toward the officers at the front door. “What do you think happened to her?”

  Carmen followed her gaze. “Something bad. And we don’t want it to happen to us, verdad?”

  April nodded mutely, letting her wrist go. Carmen dissolved into the strobe lights, her hips swaying seductively, hair a dark, curly halo.

  Over the next hour, April slung drinks with her usual precision, tray balanced, head high. Meek girls got chewed up and spit out in this business; she’d learned that the hard way. Places like Club Suave attracted a lot of men who didn’t respect women. The jerk from table seven, for instance. He’d taken his grabbing act to the dance floor.

  After five years in fishnets and high heels, April had cocktail waitressing down to an art. She always maintained a polite distance but pasted on an inviting smile. She knew how to expose a tasteful hint of cleavage as she bent forward and when to avert her eyes so she wouldn’t catch them looking.

  She could walk ten miles, lift a hundred heavy trays, and laugh off a dozen come-ons. Every single night.

  Some of the girls thought they would get better tips if they let the customers touch them. They were wrong. In April’s experience, the gropers tipped less, not more. They were the type of men who felt entitled to a free sample of any wares on display.

  With Lola gone, and the five remaining waitresses rotating in and out of Eddie’s office for questioning, April had to hustle to keep the drink orders filled. For a busy Saturday night, it wasn’t too bad. The crowd was mellow.

  By the time it was her turn for an interview, she was juggling six tables, most of which were running tabs.

  “You’re on,” Nikki said, taking the tray off her hands.

  April grabbed her order pad and added a few totals in her head, scribbling them down before tearing off the sheets. As she slipped the tabs into Nikki’s waist apron, she did a quick survey of the room. Mr. Grabby had struck out on the dance floor. “Watch the hands at seven,” she said. “And tell Maya to cut off the tie at ten. He’s wasted.”

  “Got it,” Nikki said.

  Another surge of anxiety coursed through April. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered, squaring her shoulders as she walked toward the office. It was strategically located at the back of the club, and raised up a level. A large, tinted glass window offered views of the dance floor but didn’t allow the clientele to see inside.

  Taking a deep breath, she ascended the short staircase that led up to the room. The door was slightly ajar. She stepped inside.

  Both officers were sitting at the round table Eddie used on poker night. They watched her cross the room. Away from the flashing lights and loud music, she felt more self-conscious about the way she was dressed. She wouldn’t be caught dead in an outfit this revealing outside the club, and she wished she didn’t have to do a formal interview in it.

  The younger officer rose to greet her. His eyes were a startling blue, cutting through her like a knife. She couldn’t detect a hint of softness in his form or features. From his straight nose and chiseled jaw to his corded forearms and suntanned hands, he was strong.

  “Miss Ortiz? I’m Officer Young, and this is my partner, Officer Shanley.”

  April accepted his handshake warily. There was power in his grip, of course, but it was hardly crushing. His hand was large and warm and rough-textured, his manner respectful. Her skin tingled where his palm met hers.

  Feeling color rise to her cheeks, she lifted her gaze to his and imagined a flash of heat in his eyes. Flustered, she pulled her hand away quickly and glanced at Officer Shanley, whose weathered countenance was much less unsettling.

  Shanley didn’t attempt a handshake. Nor did he bother to stand. “Have a seat, honey,” he said, gesturing at the chair across from them.

  April sat down, her posture stiff. With her back to the tinted window, she felt closed in. Which was surely what they intended. Too nervous to look directly at either of them, she stared at their drinks. Black coffee for Shanley. Clear soda for Officer Young.

  “Would you like something?” Officer Young asked. “Water?”

  How novel. A man offering her a drink. “No, thanks,” she said, stifling the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Under bright lighting, her Club Suave tank top was almost transparent. “I’m fine.”

  Officer Shanley leveled with her. “Lola Sanchez was found dead this afternoon.”

  April felt her stomach drop. “Dead?”

  “Murdered.”

  Logically, she’d known they were investigating a serious crime. But she hadn’t been prepared to hear this. “By who?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.” He gave her a moment to process the information, a too-brief pause. “When did you see Miss Sanchez last?”

  “Yesterday. Last night.”

  “Did she leave with someone?”

  April tried to remember. “I don’t know.”

  “How did she get to and from work?”

  She frowned. “I think she had a friend drop her off last night. But sometimes she took the bus or caught a ride with one of the other girls.”

  “Do you know her friend’s name?”

  “No.”

  “What about her current address?”

  April’s throat went dry. “She was couch-hopping. Staying with anyone who would put her up. Carmen, one of the other waitresses, let her crash at her apartment for a while. But that was several weeks ago.”

  “Did she ever sleep on your couch, Ms. Ortiz?”

  “No. I have a five-year-old daughter, and I … don’t bring home strangers.”

  Shanley’s brows rose. “She worked here for six months.”

  “I guess I never got to know her.”

  “You’re the head waitress, right?”

  She nodded.

  “How was her work performance lately?”


  April struggled for a diplomatic answer. “It was … okay.”

  “Had she been acting odd?”

  She hesitated, worried about revealing too much. Lola was a decent waitress when she wasn’t high. The rest of the time, she was easily distracted and unpredictable. April had often suspected her of doing lines in the bathroom.

  “Miss Ortiz, you’re the most experienced waitress on staff. Part of your job is to evaluate sobriety, right?”

  “I’m familiar with the effects of alcohol, yes.”

  Shanley glanced at her employee file. “Your address is 551 South Orange. Are you telling me you don’t know what a meth head acts like?”

  April flushed. She lived in a rough neighborhood, but it was the best she could afford. “I knew Lola was using,” she admitted. “Some nights she seemed really spun out. I probably should have sent her home or written her up. But I didn’t.”

  “Her murder might be drug-related.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling tears gather in the corners. Taking a slow breath, she willed them away. Reporting Lola’s behavior to Eddie wouldn’t have done any good. Maybe April should have tried to help her, but she had her own problems to deal with. She was a part-time waitress, part-time student, and full-time single mother.

  “Do you know who she was dating?”

  Eyes still wet with tears, she shook her head.

  “Did men come to see her here?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Any favorite customers?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Officer Shanley glanced at Officer Young, giving him the floor.

  “We’ll watch the surveillance footage,” Officer Young said, taking over the interview, “but if you can give us names or descriptions of any of last night’s customers, that would be very helpful.”

  April relaxed a little. Young was the kinder of the two officers, and she felt more comfortable with his line of questioning. “I remember my own customers, but I don’t pay as much attention to the other girls’ tables.”

  He smiled encouragingly. “Anything you can tell us will be fine.”