“Ancestor of the same name, I’d say. I remember José Ortega died several years ago. Yes, I remember now, the legal tangle was with his estate. This must be the grandson, and heir.”
She ordered the computer to check, then shook her head at the data hiccup. “Okay, José Ortega, died 2052, age of ninety-eight. One son, Niko, died 2036, along with his wife and his mother in a hotel fire in Mexico City. The old man survived as did his then eleven-year-old grandson.”
“The old man raised him. Yes, I’m remembering bits and pieces now. And the grandson, naturally, inherited when the old man passed. Word was-when I was interested in the property-and a bit of poking confirmed, that the younger Ortega didn’t have his grandfather’s business sense. And some of the property amassed declined somewhat. I liked the building on the East Side, and made an offer.”
“He said no?”
“He couldn’t be located when I was putting out feelers. And I found something I liked better.”
“Couldn’t be located. It lists the place on East 120th as his current address.”
“That may be, but four-or it may have been five-years ago, when I wanted the building, Ortega wasn’t in New York. We had to work through a lawyer, who was-if my memory serves-considerably frustrated by his client’s disappearance.”
“Computer, search for Missing Persons reports on Ortega, José, with this last known address.”
“I didn’t say he was missing so much as incommunicado,” Roarke began, then his eyebrows lifted when he saw the reports come on-screen. “Aren’t you the clever girl?”
“Reported missing by Ken Aldo, his spouse, in September of 2053 in Las Vegas, Nevada. Computer, display data and ID photo, Aldo, Ken.” She waited, then felt it fall into place. “Well, hello, Lino.”
“Your victim.”
“Yeah, that’s Lino. He changed the hair, added the beard, dicked with the eye color, but that’s Lino Martinez.”
“Who entered into marriage with Ortega shortly before the old man’s death, according to this.”
“Which is bullshit. Just another con. I’ve got nothing that points at Lino being gay or bi. Straight hetero. Liked women. He’d have known Ortega. Had to. They grew up in the same area. Computer, full data on Ortega, José, DOB 2025. Same age, same school. I guess the old man supported public education. And look here, got some slaps for illegals use and possession. Stints in rehab.”
She went with the gut. “Computer, list any tattoos on current subject.”
Acknowledged. Working… Current subject bears tattoo on left forearm. Describe or display?
“Display.”
“There it is,” Eve said, when the cross with its center heart pierced by the blade came on-screen. “Ortega was Soldado. He was one of Lino’s. Not his spouse, never his fucking spouse. That’s bogus. His captain.”
“The marriage records could have been faked, and post-recorded. Easy enough for someone with the skill to fake the Flores ID as he did.”
“Yeah. Easy enough. Who’s the lawyer?” Eve demanded. “Who’s the lawyer you dealt with on the Ortega thing?”
“I’ll get that for you.”
“I’ll put money that Ken Aldo sought legal counsel, that he made inquiries about declaring his spouse legally dead. Seven years. It takes seven years. He’d gotten through six of them, and was rounding for home. Long patience,” she said. “Just a few more months to go, and if he’d lined up his ducks correctly, he’d inherit-the promise. Big house, businesses, buildings. Millions. Many, many millions.”
“And with that much riding,” Roarke put in, “you’d want to keep your eye on it-I would. Yes, you’d want to have a look at it, make sure it was being tended to.”
“Flores has been missing about the same amount of time. Add the time from when Flores was last reported seen, and when Lino, as Flores, requested the assignment at St. Cristóbal’s.”
“Time between to have the face work.” Roarke nodded in agreement. “To study, plan, have the tat removed, alter records. A few months for that,” he calculated. “More than enough if you focused.”
“What better way to keep an eye on things without anyone making any connection between you and who you are, or who you intend to be when the time’s right?”
“That residential is listed as Ortega’s last address, but there’s a tenant listed.” Roarke gestured to the screen. “Or tenants. Hugh and Sara Gregg. At that location for nearly five years.”
Eve called for their data. “They look straight. Two kids. Both of them doctors. We’ll have to chat at some point. I need coffee.”
She strode to the kitchen to program it, lined up her thoughts.
“Ortega and Lino knew each other as kids, grew up in the same area, went to the same school. Ortega joins the Soldado, which aligns him with Lino. Not high up, as his name hasn’t come up from any of my sources. Foot soldier maybe, or with his grandfather’s money, a kind of treasure chest. They connect again, or may have kept in touch. But after Ortega’s grandfather died and leaves him pretty stinking rich, Lino’s wheels start turning.”
She drank coffee, then pinned Ortega’s ID shot to her board. “Lino gets Ortega out West. Let’s hang. Gamble, screw around. Gets rid of Ortega, pulls out the fake documentation, and reports him missing. Nice and legal. I’ll need the reports on that.”
“Then Martinez would contact the lawyer,” Roarke added. “He has to have the documentation. Surprise, I’m Ken, José’s same-sex spouse, and he’s missing. I’ve told the police. He’d probably cover, ask if the lawyer would contact him if he hears from José, or gets any information. He’s very worried, after all.”
“As legal spouse, you’d have some access to some funds, could petition for more. But he’s not worried about that. He has a plan. He’s got to be patient. Seven years’ patient. But then? Jackpot. Problem is, he can’t keep his hands off Penny, or his mouth from running to her. He actually loves her. He wants to share all this good fortune with her. He’s back-or will be back-and riding high.”
“As Ken Aldo?”
“No, no, that would take the shine off. He’d want the shine. He’d have to come back as himself at the end of it. He’d have that worked. How would you do that?” she asked Roarke.
“Transfer properties-on paper. I imagine as Ken Aldo he’d have a forged will from Ortega, with him as full beneficiary. Once that’s in his hand, some bogus sale of the properties. Aldo to Martinez.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s all paper. It’s all just follow the dots. Lino gets his face back and comes home a rich man, with some bullshit about making a killing out West. Seven years on the down-low, and he’ll have everything he ever wanted.”
She turned to study the holo again. “His father took off when he was a kid. Eventually his mother had him declared legally dead so she could get on with her life. Lino wouldn’t have forgotten that. And seven years. Why would the cops out West sniff around Ken Aldo when there’s no body, no sign of foul play? Instead you’ve got a screwup, with an illegals record, taking off.”
“Still they’d have looked at this Aldo, wouldn’t they?” Roarke took her coffee to have some himself. “Isn’t that what you do? Suspect the spouse first?”
“Rule of thumb. They’d have run him, asked questions. He was smart, it was smart to pick Vegas for it. Gambling, sex, make sure they’re seen together. Maybe talk Ortega into some high stakes. He wins, he loses, it doesn’t matter. Money, loss or gain, it’s always a motive for taking off. He’d have played that right with them,” she considered. “Admit maybe they weren’t getting along perfectly well, having a few marital problems, but they loved each other. He’s just so worried. He just wants to know José is all right. He had to lay some groundwork for it. If the cops weren’t complete idiots, they’d check with people who knew the MP, who knew the person who reported him missing.”