Page 74 of The 24th Hour

Her eyes had settled on an unidentified Mr. X. He looked to be fortysomething, white, average height and weight, with medium-length dark hair. His sunglasses obscured a quarter of his face and his clothing was unremarkable: a dark sports jacket and trousers. He was standing alone, looking out at the bay, his face in profile to the camera. No matter how much Alvarez enlarged the photo, she couldn’t say with a real degree of confidence whether or not this person was the man in the mug shot she had on her phone.

But Bailey had said, “Alvarez, Padre’s a psycho. If you want him for killing Jamie Fricke you need to get to Tahoe today and stake your claim before he’s transported back to Mexico City.”

There was a flight to Tahoe leaving in an hour and a half, but Alvarez needed authorization to make the trip, stay in a motel, buy breakfast.

She’d left a message for Brady, who was in a conference and hadn’t called her back. Even Brenda couldn’t reach him.

Likewise, she’d left messages for Conklin, who was at the crime lab in Hunters Point, and Lindsay, who might have turned off her phone during her meeting with Christophe Picard, Rae Bergen’s ex-husband. At any rate, none of the three had called her back and she couldn’t make the plane wait for her.

Alvarez was still at her desktop, her eyes fixed on the screen while obsessively checking the time on the blinking clock app. If she didn’t get a call back, Padre Rochas would be in Mexico City tonight and she wouldn’t be able to question him.

As point person for the SFPD, it looked as though Alvarez was going to have to bring Rochas in on her own.

CHAPTER 99

THERE WAS MOVEMENT at the halfway point in the bullpen. Alvarez looked up to see Cappy arriving at his desk, dropping his weight into his chair.

She called out, “Cappy. Can you please take a look at this?”

He called back, “Sure, okay. Ten minutes. I have some stuff I have to do.”

“Cappy, this will be fast. Two minutes. I swear.”

Cappy muttered, “Whose definition of two minutes?” He hoisted himself out of his chair, went to Alvarez’s desk in the pod she shared with Conklin and Boxer. He took Boxer’s seat, rolled the chair closer to Alvarez’s computer.

She said, “I got a reliable lead on a hired gun, gambling pal of James Fricke. Given name, Samuel Rochas. Goes by Padre. Apparently, he says ‘Rest in peace’ when he pulls the trigger.”

“I don’t know the guy,” Cappy said.

Alvarez said, “Look here, Cappy. That photo you took at Holly’s funeral service, the one on the chapel lawn.”

“Ya-hunh. That’s mine.”

Alvarez pointed to a man in the photo who might be Sam “Padre” Rochas, standing alone, staring into the distance in profile. She zoomed in on his face.

Cappy peered at the color image. “I don’t recognize him. I don’t even remember seeing him. There were swarms of people moving around. Circling swarms.”

“I have a mug shot,” said Alvarez. “Check this out.”

She opened her phone, scrolled through her photo gallery, and opened the mug shot of Sam Rochas. Was he the no-name guy who’d been at Holly’s funeral? She had to know.

Alvarez filled Cappy in on Rochas’s background. Bailey had told her that Padre was from Chicago, had a sealed juvie record, including gang activity, misdemeanors. Later, he’d been accused of shooting a liquor store owner, raiding the cash register, and getting away. Next stop, Nevada. More shootings, and although no one had made a successful case on him, the Mexican police wanted him for killing a popular politician.

Extradition papers had been submitted and signed up the line, and this shooter, with a reputation as a first-class silent killer for hire …

Cappy said loudly, “Alvarez, you saying this guy shot the Frickes?”

“Cappy, I’m going by this. A close source of mine from Vegas PD, now in Tahoe, told me that Padre hung with Jamie when they did a tour of the hotels and casinos. That Padre was a big fan of the Bleus and bet on Jamie’s team to win. He went all in. And lost. Big-time. And Padre held a grudge.”

Cappy said, “I want to look at some of the other shots Itook of the funeral party. Find a different angle on this guy’s face.”

“Can you do it now?” Alvarez asked. “There’s a flight leaving any minute. I’ve gotta meet with some cops I know about whether Padre was the last person Jamie Fricke saw before he died.”

Cappy said to Alvarez, “How would anyone know that?”

“I guess he said so.”

“Fine. Let’s see that mug shot again.”

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