Fierce Passion (18 page)

“You’re absolutely right,” Ana readily agreed. “Could Jaime have planned to channel the photos into the porn market? Did he ever mention bondage or S&M?”

Gian Carlo frowned slightly. “A couple of years ago, he told me a woman asked him to take some bondage photos to jazz up her sex life with her husband. He said he’d dress me in leather and have me wear a mask. There wasn’t any sex in it. It was just supposed to look like dominant and submissive poses. I told him I was too busy, but he probably found another man to do it.”

Alejandro rose to his feet. “Did he say where he planned to take the photos?”

“No. His studio I suppose. Should the police question me, I don’t want to tell them about either of the offers and give them the mistaken idea Jaime and I could have argued over them. I want to do all I can to avoid landing on their suspect list.”

“Good luck,” Ana offered. “Do you have an alibi for the day Jaime died?”

“I was with my sister and her family at my niece’s third birthday party. But is time of death ever exact? I liked Jaime and want whoever killed him caught, but I don’t want to land in the middle of it. You’re good with a camera, Ana. Are you going after the jobs Jaime had lined up but can no longer do?”

Horrified by the idea, she paled noticeably and had to force herself to take a deep breath. “I hadn’t even thought of it. If the police do question you, please don’t mention I even own a camera. I don’t want them to believe I had a motive for the murder.”

“I won’t tell them a thing, but they haven’t called me and probably won’t. From what I’ve heard, they’re questioning the young women he photographed, not any of the men.”

“At least they haven’t leaked any bogus photos of you to the tabloids,” Alejandro added. “Come on, I’ll show you the way back to your car.”

“I can find it. I have a clever rat’s instinct for mazes,” he announced with a grin.

“I’ll watch to make certain you make it.” Alejandro walked over to the rail, and Gian Carlo swiftly appeared by the gangplank below and waved. Alejandro untied his towel and picked up a sandwich. “He looked so damn good in an officer’s uniform, but he’s not very bright, is he?”

Gian Carlo’s question about her taking over Jaime’s photography jobs was so damn obvious, but she’d not seen it coming and wouldn’t comment on his intelligence. “He’s paid for how he looks, so let’s leave it at that.”

“All right. You haven’t eaten anything. There must be something on the tray that appeals to you.”

The sliced chicken sandwiches had crisp lettuce and thick slices of tomato. She picked up one and wrapped it in a napkin. “I’ve completely lost my appetite. I’ll take this home. The cookies look good too.” She filled another napkin with some.

“What about some grapes?”

He was teasing her, but she couldn’t appreciate his humor. “This is fine. I’m really worried, Alejandro. When people are in trouble in the movies, they always get out of town. Maybe I ought to be on board the
Goddess
when she sails.”

He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and spoke in a soothing tone, “You’re a model who takes photos in her spare time. You can’t be the only one with a camera, and owning one shouldn’t be considered suspicious.”

“It shouldn’t, but I doubt Robles and Mesa are reasonable enough to grasp the fact. I don’t want to make you late. Better go and shower.”

“I won’t be a minute. Come to my place tonight. I’ll provide the dinner this time and show you the loft.”

Her mood was already so dark she didn’t need to stay home and brood with the kittens. She managed a faint smile. “Thank you. I’ll be there.”

They’d left her condo early, and when Alejandro brought her home, she was relieved the paparazzi weren’t camped nearby. Maybe they’d met their quotas for the day when they’d photographed her fleeing the police station. “Hi, Henry. I hope you’re having a quiet day.”

“Thank you. It’s too quiet, but I always have a book handy, Miss Santillan.”

She went on upstairs, greeted Fatima and the kittens, put the sandwich and cookies in the refrigerator and went on into her room and lay down across the bed. Sleep was underrated in her view, and she always found a nap helped no matter what the problem, but today she couldn’t quiet her mind. She soon gave up the attempt to rest, put on a leotard and went into her studio to dance. Ballet required intention in every step and gesture, and she was grateful for the distraction as well as the exercise.

Once finished, she knotted the ties of a flowing dance skirt at her waist and entered the kitchen, looking for the sandwich she’d brought home. She saved the chicken for the kittens and ate the lettuce-and-tomato sandwich leaning against the counter while Fatima rearranged the cupboard holding the pots and pans. Romeo ran into the kitchen and right out.

“Are the kittens getting in your way, Fatima?”

“They see me coming and hide.” The nested pans straightened to her ideal, she stood and brushed her hands. “You still look tired, Ana. Maybe you should tell Alejandro you need a night for yourself.”

Ana opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of stuffed olives. She ate three before responding. “This is a really good sandwich. We went on board the
Mediterranean Goddess
this morning. Have you ever been on a cruise?”

“In other words, I should mind my business. Bruno’s taken me out in a fishing boat, which isn’t comparable, but that’s enough ocean for me. I made the lemon cookies you like so much. If there’s nothing else for today, I’ll go upstairs and look in on Mrs. Diaz. She needs a little company now and then.”

“That’s very kind of you. Take her some cookies and tell her I said hello.” Fatima looked in on several of the elderly condo residents who lived alone. “I ought to have a tea in the afternoon and invite Mrs. Diaz and whoever else would like to come.”

“When you have time,” Fatima suggested and said good-bye.

Ana hadn’t heard anything more from Paul Perez, but if she lost other jobs, she’d have plenty of time to entertain her neighbors.

Alejandro found a vegetarian restaurant and ordered their vegetable stew and several salads for their dinner. He drew new placemats and wished he had a real dinner table he could set more formally, but he bought a bouquet of mixed flowers and hoped that would do. In jeans with a dress shirt, he was comfortable and ready, but when Ana didn’t arrive by the time he expected her, he feared she’d run into trouble.

A call to her cell went to voice mail. He tried again in ten minutes with the same result. Certain something had to be wrong, he drove to her building, and the night security guard came out from behind the counter to speak with him.

“The police came for Miss Santillan about an hour ago.” He checked the sign-in sheet. “An hour and fifteen minutes ago. They were very rude.”

“Did they arrest her?”

“No, but they insisted I not alert her before they went up to her condo, and they brought her down with them a few minutes later. She was dressed as though she planned to go out, but they didn’t give her a chance to leave a message.”

“Thank you.” Alejandro strode out to his SUV and drove straight to the police station they’d visited that morning. He’d pay Ana’s bail if she’d been arrested, but he feared she’d be stuck in a cold cell all night. She didn’t deserve to be treated so badly. While he hadn’t been waiting for a chance to rescue her, he was glad he had the wherewithal to do it.

Chapter Nine

Detective Robles and Mesa escorted Ana into the rear entrance of the police station rather than enter through the front doors as they had that morning. She doubted they had any desire to protect her from bad publicity, however. She wished they’d given her time to call Alejandro and hoped he’d know she wouldn’t stand him up. After the morning they’d had there at the station, maybe he’d be relieved if she didn’t show. Elena Covarrubias wouldn’t appreciate being called out at night, which added another unfortunate layer to her situation.

A tall, slender, dark-haired man in a well-tailored gray suit met them in the back corridor. His deep voice echoed off the walls. “I’m Lieutenant Montoya. Please come with me.”

“First, I need my phone to call my attorney,” she answered, standing firm in her place.

Montoya nodded sympathetically. “Please forgive me, Miss Santillan. You’re not under suspicion, and you won’t need your attorney tonight.”

The man was as smooth as glass, but like Robles and Mesa, he made her uneasy. “That’s my decision, Lieutenant, and I want my phone.”

Robles pulled it out of his pocket, and as her fingers brushed his sweaty palm, she wished for a pack of hand sanitizer wipes. She’d buy some tomorrow, if they let her out tonight.

Montoya dismissed the detectives and led her up the narrow rear stairs. He moved with a refined elegance and escorted her into a room with a cork wall covered in gory photographs. She shuddered and quickly looked away. “I didn’t kill Jaime, and you can’t frighten me into confessing.”

He closed the door. “I’m so sorry, I should have warned you. I’ve seen so much blood over the years I’ve become inured to violence. Sit here so your back faces the photo wall.” He pulled out a chair for her at the long table and waited until she was comfortably seated. “The murder scene showed such a vicious attack, we believe Jaime’s assailant was male. In addition to Mr. Campos’s fashion photography, we’ve discovered he also submitted work to several S&M magazines.” He picked them up from the end of the table and took the chair across from hers.

The graphic glossy covers nauseated her. “I’d rather not look at those.”

He shrugged sadly and opened a folder. “I’d rather not know such publications exist, but I’ve a crime to solve. We found Mr. Campos’s original photos in his studio computer and printed these. I know they’re distasteful, but would you please look at them and tell me if you recognize any of the men? The editors of the magazine can’t name them.”

It was the last thing she wanted to do. “First, I need to speak with my attorney.” He nodded permission, and she called Elena but got her voice mail. She left a brief message, but doubted Elena would object to her looking through photos. “I had plans for the evening, and I need to send an apology.”

Montoya reached for her phone. “Of course, but do not tell him where you are.”

“If I’m supposed to be a secret informant, you shouldn’t have brought me through the front door this morning.”

He frowned with what appeared to be sincere regret. “Unfortunate, I know, but it was before we found these photos.”

Although that didn’t sound like an apology, she wouldn’t push him for one. She licked her lips and tried to decide what to say when it wouldn’t make any sense. Alejandro answered on the first ring. “I’m so sorry not to be there on time.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he replied. “I’m waiting on the bench where we sat this morning, and I’ll take you home.”

“Thank you.” She ended the call. “He’s here, so I’ve no secret to keep.”

Montoya’s eyes narrowed as he sat back. “Don’t tell him why you’ve been brought in. He’ll mention it to someone else, and it will swiftly become common knowledge. If the man who killed Jaime Campos is in these photos, we don’t want him to know you’ve identified him.”

She scanned the room. “Are you videoing this?”

“No, there are no cameras here, and I’m not recording our conversation either. Let’s begin. Just look at the men.”

The women were impossible to ignore, however. Some appeared terrified and others posed as the perfect submissive with a totally blank expression. Many had long blonde wigs tickling their bare breasts, but none resembled her. There was less variety among the men. They were bare-chested, clad in tight leather pants and gloves, and wore masks or hoods. She looked up at Montoya. “If you’ve seen one waxed chest, you’ve seen them all.”

“I know this is trying, but look closer. They’re not all the same man.”

“I realize that.” One of the masked men was blond, but his hair was long, unlike Gian Carlo, who always wore his fair hair in a stylish cut. She quickly scanned the photos. “Menswear models tend to be tall, broad-shouldered, slim, and designer suits fit them beautifully. Look at the muscles on these men. They’re bulked-up like bodybuilders. You’d have a better chance of identifying them if you looked in the gyms that promote bodybuilding rather than healthy exercise.”

She’d captured Montoya’s full attention, and he leaned forward. “Excellent observation, Miss Santillan, but nothing about any of these men looks familiar?”

“Without being able to see their faces, no, not at all.” She shuffled through the photos and sorted them into four piles. “There’s the blond; this man looks to be the tallest; this one has really hairy forearms. I don’t see tattoos on any of them, but there’s a faint shadow on the fourth man’s right arm that could be makeup covering a tattoo. I’ll bet if you showed these photos to bodybuilders, you’d find someone who knows them.”

Montoya stared at her a long moment, then shrugged unhappily and placed the photos in a single stack. He carefully neatened the corners. “I’ll send Robles and Mesa out to do so tomorrow. You’ve been a great help to us, but again, don’t tell your date the subject of our discussion. I may need to contact you again, but rather than send detectives, I’ll call you myself.” He rose from his chair with the sinuous grace of a cobra weaving above his basket.