Page 59 of Critical Strike
Moments later, Claire’s voice washed over Luke like a gentle rain. Just the sound of it helped him breathe easier.
She launched straight into her report. “Looks like our friendly neighborhood detective has a bad habit. There are two mortgages on Arellano’s house, and he’s in credit card debt up to his eyeballs.”
“What is it? Drugs, drinking, women?”
“Judging by the locations of these ATM transactions, I’d say gambling.”
Brax shook his head and let out a low whistle while Luke pressed on. “Any sign of interference?”
“A big flashing red sign. Man, the guy even took an early withdrawal from his IRA. His checking account was nearly in the negative. But suddenly...poof! A whole bunch of money showed up across a number of different accounts like a benevolent fairy waved a wand.”
“How much?”
“There’s a lot of zeroes. Let’s put it that way.”
“They weren’t even sneaky about it.”
“Eh, they were pretty sneaky,” she chuckled, “but I’m sneakier.”
He grinned. “Of course. I can’t forget that.”
“I’d say he’s your way in. From what I’m seeing, Fisher is just plain dirty. He’s been written up for excessive force a half dozen times in four years and has a string of citations for other offenses. How does he even have a job?”
“Somebody’s convinced somebody else to look the other way,” Luke decided. “How about Arellano’s record?”
“Clean as a whistle.”
“He’s our way in, then.” Luke offered Brax a smirk. “Let’s see how Detective Arellano feels when the tables are turned and he’s the one being tailed.”
It was early evening by the time they found him, his car parked outside a Chinese take-out restaurant a few miles from the rancher he and his wife called home. There were no kids in the picture, but that didn’t make him any less vulnerable—not with a gambling habit like his.
With Brax keeping lookout, Luke waited in a narrow alley between the restaurant and the dry cleaner next door. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before a man in a rumpled suit emerged holding a plastic bag in one hand.
Detective Brandon Arellano wasn’t at the top of his game, not even close. Luke was able to grab him and steer him toward the alley without even a hint of force. He wondered if the guy was fully aware of what was happening to him. It wasn’t until they were standing face-to-face that the detective blinked hard, shaking his head a little. “Oh. It’s just you.”
Luke blinked, a little thrown by this reaction. “Who did you expect, Detective?”
“Not you. What are you doing?” Arellano looked back and forth, up and down the cramped passage. “Are you insane, trying to pressure me like this?”
“Who said anything about pressuring? I thought we might have a little chat, is all. You’ve been so interested in my life as of late, it seemed rude not to be interested in yours.”
It was then that Luke noticed something.
The man looked like death warmed over, as Sheila Patterson was prone to saying. Even in the few days since Luke had last known the displeasure of the man’s presence, Arellano had lost weight. The buttoned collar of his shirt was loose around his neck, his Adam’s apple sticking out more prominently than before. He hadn’t shaved in at least two days, and his eyes were ringed in dark circles. “What happened to you, man?” Luke asked, dropping any pretense of threat.
“It’s none of your business. And if I were you—”
“You aren’t me. For one, I don’t look like somebody reanimated my corpse. What’s going on? Don’t pretend everything’s fine because I know things about you. And something tells me I’m not the only one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Read the racing form lately?”
Arellano’s already pale skin turned ashen. “That’s none of your business.”
“Listen to me.” Luke lowered his brow along with his voice, locking eyes with the detective. The man was terrified, sweat rolling down his face and neck. It was time to take a calculated risk. “I know Ballard’s blackmailing you.”
The risk paid off. Arellano’s eyes flew open wide in time with the dropping of his jaw. “Wh-what?”