Nothing to Hide Page 20

  Having security escort them to the kitchen where Julio worked as head chef of catering helped give the vote of confidence to their investigation, and Mitch was more than happy to talk about his boss. Mitch was in his fifties, bald and portly, with a smooth baby face. He called over another cook and gave him instructions, then motioned for Jerry and Lucy to follow him to a small office that had Julio Garcia’s name on the door.

  “I’m still in shock,” Mitch said. “Julio was a good man, a great boss, devoted to his family. Anything I can do to help find out who did this to him.”

  “We appreciate that,” Jerry said. “This was his office?”

  “Yes, though he spent very little time in here. Mostly to talk to vendors or the catering manager about upcoming events. He was a great chef—it takes skill to run a catering kitchen, where you may need to prepare five hundred identical meals to be ready at the same time. And he could present a low-budget buffet with the same class as a high-end wedding banquet. Honestly, he’ll be hard to replace.”

  “You haven’t replaced him?” Jerry asked.

  He shook his head. “It’s not my skill set. Just managing this kitchen this week has raised my blood pressure. I was his assistant, but that didn’t mean I did what he did. He ran the kitchen. I managed staff, mostly. Made sure everything was done to his specifications, directed traffic, so to speak. Julio didn’t have a mean bone in his body—if an employee wasn’t pulling their weight, was habitually late or something like that, I took care of it. Julio sometimes—well, he had a big heart. He believed every sob story. Me? First time, I get it. Second time, they’re on notice. Third time—sorry, you’re out. Julio would have given people a hundred chances, then apologized for firing them.”

  “How long have you known Julio?”

  “Since I started here three years ago. He’d just been promoted to head chef, catering, and I replaced him as the assistant. But he was able to put his footprint on the kitchen, and we shifted responsibilities so he could focus on the food, and I could focus on production. I loved that about him—he listened and adopted new procedures in order to streamline the process and increase quality. And I made sure he had the staff to do it.”

  They knew that Julio had worked for Sun Tower for nearly eight years—since he’d graduated from a culinary school in the city.

  “Were you working Friday night when Julio left? He clocked out at eleven twenty-three that evening.”

  “I left at ten. We had a wedding reception here, but once dinner was served most of the staff left. Julio and I stayed, and half a dozen others, for the dessert bar. Everything was done, it was just a matter of setup and teardown. Julio has been working extra hours—he doesn’t mind doing the grunt work as well as running the kitchen. But he was prepping for a breakfast we had for Saturday. I know he wanted the extra hours because of the baby.” His voice cracked. “I called Marissa the other day. Just to tell her I’m so sorry. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “Did Julio seem preoccupied lately? Worried about something? Did he express concern for his safety?”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  Lucy clarified. “Did his attitude or behavior change in any way over the last few weeks? Did he confide in you about anything, work-related or personal, that might have bothered him?”

  “I don’t know if I feel comfortable talking about this.”

  “It’s important,” Jerry said. “Even if it has nothing to do with what happened to Julio last week, we need to build a time line of his days.”

  “About a month ago, maybe five, six weeks? A week or two before Labor Day, I know that. Julio came in late. He’s never late—I wouldn’t have even said anything to him, except that he was—well, not himself. He was tense and looked really angry about something, and he’s not a guy who gets mad easily. I get a slow driver in front of me or an idiot who doesn’t go at a green light, I’m pissed. I’ll honk, rant about it later. Julio, no. He’d just assume that the driver was preoccupied or being safe. He always gave people the benefit of the doubt—I have to be the bad guy when staff is trying to get away with something. So when he came in, sort of heated and his shirt untucked, I was surprised. I asked him about it. He wouldn’t say anything, not then.”

  “But?” Jerry prompted.

  “That night—most of the crew had gone home, and he was sitting in his office just staring at the wall. I came in with a couple shots of whiskey. Put one in front of him and said, ‘Can I help?’ That was it. Just let him talk. He said he might be fired because he punched one of the executives. I didn’t believe him, said so. He then said it was Chris Smith, who of course I’d heard about—he’s the grandson of the owner, learned everything about the business here, then moved to Arizona to open the Sun Tower there. Managed it for a few years, just returned. What I didn’t know was that Smith and Julio had gone to school together—you wouldn’t think it, you know? A rich white kid and an eighth-generation Hispanic Texan. But apparently they met playing baseball when they were little kids, and were friends ever since. I guess not anymore. I asked why he hit him, and he wouldn’t tell me. Not the whole story. Said something happened right before Smith left for Arizona. He hadn’t spoken to him since, and when he saw him he lost it. Those were his words. I know he was angry, and he was worried—because Marissa is pregnant, and his mother has been sick. Julio keeps his problems to himself, but Marissa had a difficult first pregnancy and he was worried about this one.”

  “Did anyone see the fight?”

  “I doubt it. No one came to talk to Julio, I asked a week later if he was reprimanded or something, and he said no, and Smith was going to open a new hotel in Florida. But Smith is still around, so I don’t know when that’s going to happen. It’s not like I’m in the loop about corporate decisions.”

  If Julio knew that, then he must have talked to Smith or someone else after the altercation. And it was odd that Smith didn’t report it. A sign of his guilt? Or because of their lifelong friendship?

  “Is there anyone else here whom Julio talks to regularly? Someone he trusts and confides in?” Lucy asked.

  “Everyone likes Julio, he is—he was—a good guy. But he didn’t have many close friends, outside of his family. I know he’s close to his brother-in-law. Bob—Rob, Robert, that’s it. Maryanne Sanchez is in charge of housekeeping—she’s been here forever, and she was Marissa’s boss when she worked here, before her first kid was born. I know they’re still friends—like socialize outside of work kind of friends. Maryanne has a grandson Dario’s age. One of the bartenders—he’s a cousin to Julio, Julio got him the job, they sometimes have a drink together after work.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Peter Garcia. He might be Julio’s nephew—the son of his oldest brother or something. I really don’t know, he has a huge family.” He paused, then said, “I doubt he’d have told Peter anything private. He’s a good kid, has been going to college part-time and working and has a private bartending gig on the side, but he’s still a twenty-three-year-old with a penchant for girls and parties and fun. Julio was a good influence on him—I mean, Pete has a solid work ethic, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t see Julio sharing anything sensitive with him. Maryanne though? Yeah. They’re tight. She’s Dario’s godmother.”

  Jerry thanked Mitch for his time, and he and Lucy stepped out. She suggested that he talk to Pete the bartender and she talk to Maryanne.

  Jerry was skeptical. Did he not trust her to interview a witness alone? She said, “If Maryanne is close to the Garcias, and she’s been here since Marissa worked here, she might have more information, but she’ll feel more comfortable talking to a female cop than a male cop. Plus, I speak fluent Spanish, if language is a barrier.”

  It was clear Jerry didn’t want to let Lucy do it alone, but he couldn’t find a good excuse. “We meet back here in the lobby in thirty minutes and talk to Chris Smith, agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  Relieved, Lucy talked to the security
chief and found Maryanne in the middle of inventory on the twenty-first floor. She showed her badge and handed Maryanne a card, and said that she was cleared by security to talk to her about Julio Garcia’s murder. At the mention of his name, her eyes dampened, but she held her chin up and motioned for Lucy to follow her to a room. “It’s vacant, but hasn’t been cleaned yet,” she said. “We’ll have privacy.”

  When Maryanne closed the door, Lucy said, “You don’t seem to be intimidated to talk to me.”

  “Why should I be? I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s about time someone came here asking questions. Julio has been dead a week tomorrow. A week. His funeral is on Saturday, and the man who killed him is still out there.”

  Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Do you know who killed him?”

  “No,” she said, arms across her ample chest. “But I don’t think the police much care, otherwise they would have been here asking questions.”

  “My partner did talk to management, and we have been asking questions, but an investigation like this takes time.”

  “Hrumph.”

  Lucy decided not to try to justify how they approached this investigation, because it was too complex to easily explain.

  “Mitchell Duncan, Julio’s assistant, said you were Julio’s closest friend in the hotel. Is that true?”

  She looked momentarily flustered, then nodded. “I suppose it is. I love him like a son. And Marissa like a daughter.” She took a deep breath. “I went over a couple times to see her, her sister takes good care of her. She’s like a zombie. She needs to take care of that baby girl.”

  “Did Julio tell you about an altercation he had with Chris Smith? Five or six weeks ago?”

  Silence, but it was clear that Maryanne knew exactly what Lucy was referencing.

  “It—it was obviously minor. Julio wasn’t fired, so it was clearly not a serious fight.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “From who?”

  “Maryanne, I want to find out who killed Julio. I want justice for his family and to put a killer behind bars. That is my job. Help me do my job. What do you know about the argument between Julio and Chris?”

  “Do you know who Mr. Smith is? He is the owner’s grandson. He is wealthy and powerful and if there was no reprimand, it was not an important argument. Julio and Chris had once been friends. They played baseball together, went to the same high school.”

  Lucy wanted to be forthcoming and tell her what she knew about Marissa and her first pregnancy, but that would be severely violating the confidence and discretion that Robert Vallejo asked for. It might come out at some point, but not from Lucy, not until she could be guaranteed that Chris Smith couldn’t—or wouldn’t—come after his victim and her son.

  “Mr. Duncan told us of the fight, and he was clear that he didn’t know why. We know that Julio and Smith were once friends, but that they had a major falling-out and didn’t speak for the last six or seven years. So you know what their falling-out was about?”

  “How would I know?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Are you interrogating me?”

  “I’m trying to find out who killed Julio.”

  “The news says it’s a serial killer. Mr. Smith may not be a nice person, but a serial killer? That is preposterous.”

  “Why don’t you believe Mr. Smith is a nice person?” Lucy said.

  “He is my boss’s boss. I can’t talk about him. Do you want me to be fired? Do you know that Sun Tower is one of the few companies that has a retirement savings account for housekeeping staff? I’m not going to risk that talking about gossip and innuendos and hurting people who have suffered enough. You find out who killed Julio, that is your job.”

  “If people won’t talk to me, how can I find out?”

  “There is evidence, there would have to be something.”

  Lucy was about to argue with her, but she realized that there might very well be evidence of the fight. A security tape, maybe. Why didn’t security know about it? Where had the fight occurred? She didn’t even know exactly what date or where. But she had an idea.

  “Maryanne,” Lucy said quietly, “I know you are trying to protect Julio and Marissa, and I respect that. Let me ask you this in a different way. Have you met Chris Smith?”

  She fretted. “Yes,” she said.

  “When was the first time you met him?”

  “Years ago. When he was little. I’ve worked here for nearly thirty years, ever since Mr. Smith—Richard Smith, his grandfather—bought and renovated the Tower. He is a great man.”

  “The grandfather.”

  “Yes. He retired, now a management company runs the hotel, but he still owns it and has a stake. Semi-retired I think they call it? Where he is still involved?”

  “Yes, semi-retired. And is Chris Smith involved in running the hotel?”

  “Not here. He opens other hotels. He left and he wasn’t supposed to—” She stopped herself.

  “He wasn’t supposed to come back?”

  “He’s leaving again. They are opening a hotel in Florida, and he will be there. It was delayed because of the hurricane, but he will be leaving soon.”

  “Does it matter, now that Julio is dead?” Lucy asked bluntly.

  The blood drained from Maryanne’s face.

  “Yes it matters! Of course it matters!”

  “Why?” Lucy asked. “Help me help the Garcia family.”

  “Understand this: Nothing you can do can help. But you can make everything worse. I do not like that man, but he would not kill Julio. I don’t see him killing Julio, no matter what happened between them.”

  “What if Julio threatened to expose him for a crime?”

  Maryanne stared at her. She knew what had happened to Marissa, and she was stunned that Lucy knew.

  “Some crimes cannot be proven,” Maryanne said quietly. “I need to get back to work.”

  Lucy gestured toward the business card Maryanne held tight in her fist. “If you want justice for Marissa, call me. I can help.”

  * * *

  Lucy was late meeting Jerry. “The nephew was a dead end,” Jerry said. “Young kid, upset about his uncle, but he doesn’t know anything. Doesn’t know about a fight or a disagreement.”

  “Maryanne knows, but she’s not talking.”

  “Maybe we should bring her in, compel her to talk.”

  “She’s scared of losing her job. She’s also worried about the repercussions to Marissa. She confirmed that she heard that Chris Smith was going to Florida to open a hotel, that it was delayed because of the hurricane.” Lucy paused. “She doesn’t like Chris, but she has known him since he was a child, and doesn’t see him as a killer.”

  “That means squat.”

  “Just repeating what she said. But if we can find a connection between Chris and the other victims, we might have something here. We need to find out when he returned to town. The exact date.”

  “That should be easy enough. We’ll ask him, then confirm. But if he was in town for all three murders, he goes way up on our suspect list.”

  Chris Smith had an office on the executive floor. There was no name on the door, but that didn’t surprise her—he wasn’t usually in this hotel. He voluntarily let them in his office. “My security chief said you wanted to talk about Julio Garcia’s murder.”

  “Yes, if you have a minute,” Jerry said respectfully.

  “Of course. Everyone here is upset—he was well liked and respected. My grandfather is going to his funeral Saturday.”

  “Not you?”

  “I—no.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “It might be.”

  Chris wasn’t an idiot, and he looked from Jerry to Lucy and back to Jerry. “I’m going to flat out tell you I didn’t kill Julio. I’m not stupid, I know what you’re getting at. Everyone knows that Julio and I used to be friends and now we’re not. I’m really sorry he’s dead—we had a falling-out,
but in no way did I want anything bad to happen to him.”

  “We have a witness who said that you and Julio had a disagreement that resulted in a physical altercation a few weeks ago. What was that about?”

  Chris stared at them. “None of your business.”

  “If it was serious enough to come to blows, it is our business, now that Julio is dead,” Jerry said.

  “Look, I’m getting ready to leave for Florida. I’ll be there at least two years. That’s my life now, getting new hotels off the ground. I can’t help your investigation.”

  “So what you’re saying is, you’re the only person who has had a disagreement with a well-liked, well-respected employee—a disagreement that resulted in a physical fight—yet the employee wasn’t fired or reprimanded. Why didn’t you turn him in? Your security officer said that there is a zero tolerance policy for fighting.”

  “That’s my business.”

  “Now it’s our business.”

  “No, it’s really not.”

  Jerry was getting agitated. Lucy had buried her anger. She was good at that. She had to be, or she’d never be able to do the job. In a cool, calm voice she said, “When did you leave Phoenix? That’s where you were living for the last few years, correct?”

  He was surprised at the change of questions. “Um, August.”

  “August what? This is important, Mr. Smith. What day did you return?”

  “Um—it was about a week before Labor Day. My grandfather’s seventy-fifth birthday was September first, I was here for that. I flew in the morning…” He turned to his computer, typed, and said, “I came back Sunday, August twenty-fifth, on Southwest Airlines, arrived at eleven twenty a.m.”

  Lucy wrote it down. Standish was killed in early August, and James killed the Friday after Smith returned. She wanted Chris Smith to be guilty, but he would have to be here for all three murders … unless he had a partner, which just didn’t seem to fit.

  “Before you returned, when was the last time you were in San Antonio?”

  “Why?”