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“Appreciate it.” He smiled a good-bye then answered his phone.
I left, the first half of my plan working like a charm.
I needed to talk to Sergio face-to-face, then talk to Sophia and Henry.
If Sergio was guilty, all bets were off. But if he was innocent—and protecting someone like Andy believed—then protecting his siblings seemed the most logical.
Or he was guilty in order to protect his siblings. Perhaps he had committed the crime...maybe he was forced to.
I didn’t buy that. I can see someone being pressured into doing a lot of things, even committing a felony, but murder seemed a bridge too far.
Yet, I didn’t know Sergio Diaz. People could kill for a whole host of reasons.
I had a little time before I needed to meet with Andy to view the security video, and I had more to learn.
Time for a little breaking and entering.
Four
Legally, I couldn’t go into Sergio’s apartment without permission, and I could lose my license if I was caught. So the trick, I figured, was not to get caught. Besides, I was new at this gig—and I could bullshit with the best of them.
What I wanted was a sense of who Sergio was. If I didn’t take anything from his place, then technically I was only trespassing.
And if my PI license was pulled, then that was that and I could find something else to do with the rest of my life.
Sometimes, I wondered if being a PI was what I really wanted. But I also didn’t consider being a bartender for the long-term a viable career option, even though I enjoyed working at Flannigan’s. Being an Angelhart added weight to every decision I made. I didn’t want to be the one who couldn’t make up her mind, who flitted in and out of jobs with no direction.
Maybe it was the uncertainty about my decisions of late that had me taking risks by breaking into Sergio’s apartment; I didn’t know. What I did know was that there were questions that needed answers, and because Sergio had pled guilty, there was no incentive for the cops or prosecutor to find the answers.
Sergio lived on the ground floor of a surprisingly clean apartment building south of Missouri, off 17th and Denton. The dump across the street screamed trouble, but Sergio’s building was fully fenced with security cameras, new paint, and shade trees in the front. No lawn, but the common area was landscaped with bushes, benches, and a paved path to the rear buildings.
This was going to be trickier than I thought. When Adam told me where Sergio lived, I assumed a dive. Most of the apartments off 19th were sketchy and would be easy to access.
I parked on the street and put my gun under my seat. If I was caught, better not to be carrying. I walked up to the security door. Electronic lock. Dammit, why couldn’t they have an old-fashioned lock? I’d spent months learning how to pick locks. I was good at it and it was fun. But this electronic system was well above my skill set.
Maybe I needed a computer expert to teach me some new skills.
I observed the entrance. People either typed in a code or used a remote to get in.
Two teenagers left through the front gate. They eyed me suspiciously, but I gave them my best grown-up nod and half smile, and walked in before the gate closed. I clicked my car lock on my key fob so it would beep-beep behind me, giving me a bit more authority, I surmised. As if I was supposed to be here.
Looking at the complex map posted next to the mailboxes, I deduced there were a total of forty-eight apartments in six buildings of eight units each, four up and four down. Sergio’s apartment was in the southwest corner.
When I was putting in my mandatory hours for my PI license, I’d worked under the direction of semiretired PI Gene Russell. Gene cut a lot of corners and played loose with the rules, but he had a nose for the business like no one else. He had this sixth sense that guided him in how he investigated a case, and while I didn’t know if I would ever cultivate his instincts, I’d learned several key rules from him. The first? Always act like you have a purpose—especially when you are breaking rules. Gene called them “rules” not “laws” and I now preferred the term as well, even if it was merely semantics.
So I acted like I was supposed to be here. Walked straight through the complex and right to Sergio’s door. Standard lock and dead bolt. I knocked on the door—just in case he had a friend or girlfriend with a key. Like Faith Jones.
No one answered, and I heard no movement inside. I pulled my lock pick set out of my back pocket—a gift from Gene when I got my license—and in less than ten seconds, I’d popped the lock, impressing myself, even though my racing heart reminded me I really, really didn’t want to be caught.
I walked in and closed the door.
First, I listened. Just to make sure no one was inside. I didn’t hear anyone, not even upstairs or next door. The unit was long and narrow, with the front door facing the back of the property and the rear facing a small common area with trees and a couple picnic tables. The blinds were half-closed in the living room, covering a sliding glass door that led to a walled-off patio.
The apartment was mostly neat with little clutter, though it was clear the police had searched. Some drawers were partly opened, closet doors ajar, papers scattered. I saw a copy of the search warrant on the counter and an index card with instructions and a phone number if anything was damaged, plus a faded list of what they had taken—the bottom sheet of a form in triplicate. They listed clothing, shoes, and a laptop computer. Not much.
I looked at the date. They’d been here Saturday, the day after Sergio’s confession. Though the signature was sloppy, I noticed the large B in the last name and assumed Detective Barrios. Her badge number was written below. I took a picture of everything, just in case I needed it.
The kitchen was on the right, small but well designed for maximum counter space. A small round table in the dining area, the living room beyond. The living room was large for an apartment and had a sectional sofa that was worn but clean. A television was mounted on the wall with bookshelves on either side. Not a lot of books, but a few from the new and used bookstore in Sunnyslope, evidenced by the small stickers on the spine. A stereo and a few CDs. Most people streamed music these days.
