It said so much about our former colleague that both of them had immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was not only cheating on Lincoln, but that they had the opportunity to hurt him by snapping a pic of his supposed lover.
“Who is Alberto Mazzara?” I asked, reading the man’s name off the monitor. From the look of all the crimes listed under his name, he was a fairly scary individual. Though I did have questions. “And unless I’m missing it or it’s on another page, I don’t see any convictions on this man’s record, nor any mention of murder.”
“We believe,” a man I’d never seen before began, “that Alberto Mazzara, second-in-command of the Mazzara crime family, came to give Mr. Weaver a warning that he could then deliver to Mr. Palmer.”
“Everyone, this is Special Agent Corbin Stafford of the DEA,” Eli said, introducing the man to us. “He’s in charge of the office here in Chicago.”
I was confused, so were my friends, and that was all over our faces, all three of us studying the man who looked like he’d just come from the beach. I was getting a surfer vibe from the tanned, wind-chafed skin, sun-streaked blond hair, and his seemingly constant squint. I was betting there was a puka shell necklace under the buttoned-up collar of his dress shirt.
“I want to thank you, Ms. Ashmore, and you, Ms. Soto, for breaking this case wide open with your first-rate surveillance work.”
I glanced at Eli, then at Oakes and Brewster, and they all had the same annoyed, pained looks on their faces that stopped just short of eye-rolling.
Listening to Stafford explain, it broke down to Ramon Carrillo Mazzara, head of the Mazzara cartel out of Guadalajara, having a brother, Alberto, who was a smart guy. Alberto had a casino in Cancún, and Lincoln, who apparently fancied himself a high-rolling gambler, had racked up an enormous debt on one of his trips there. Like most people, Lincoln kept playing to try and win his money back, but the hole just got deeper until he was six feet underground, looking up at broke.
“After that,” Stafford continued, “Alberto owned Palmer, and when Alberto found out that Palmer was a choreographer who flew all over the world and was based out of San Francisco, Alberto basically had a courier he didn’t have to pay.”
“So none of this was about Senan,” I said, finally discovering a feeling that sat well with me about my dead colleague. “Alberto talked to him as a warning to Lincoln.”
Stafford nodded. “Yeah. Palmer came to Chicago and was supposed to meet with some people here, but he’s been so focused on his actual job and reconnecting with Weaver, that he’d been blowing off Alberto, who apparently is a patient man because he warned Palmer several times before he killed his lover.”
“Now I feel sorry for Senan,” Maven told me. “I never thought that could happen.”
“So do you have enough on Lincoln to put him away?” Luna asked pointedly.
Stafford winced. “Not quite. We know that Alberto is still here in town, trying to connect with Palmer, but with all the police presence, he can’t get close. What we need is someone to talk Palmer into seeing Alberto, and then we’ll be able to flip him.”
“But you have his debt to the casino,” Brewster reminded him. “Doesn’t that tie him to the Mazzara cartel already?”
“His debt was wiped when he started working for Alberto. And even though it’s still on the books, and Palmer would have a hard time explaining where he came up with the cash to pay off a debt that big, any lawyer worth their retainer fee could argue that a debt to a casino doesn’t put him in business with a cartel.”
“Why are you telling us this?” I asked him, because why would a DEA agent be divulging this information to three dancers?
He took a breath.
“No.” Eli was adamant, and sounded almost angry.
“I need you to stay out of this, Deputy,” he ordered Eli, before rounding on me. “Mr. Harrington, knowing that Mr. Weaver was Mr. Palmer’s lover, asking Ms. Ashmore or Ms. Soto to speak to Mr. Palmer seems fruitless. But if you were to try and convince him to speak to Alberto, and we had you wired up, we suspect you would be successful.”
“Because Lincoln’s gay, you want a man to go?” Maven asked him. “That seems…lame.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
I shook my head. “You don’t get it. Lincoln hates me.”
Stafford made a face that looked like he was having stomach cramps. He appeared more than a bit uncomfortable. “No. Not from the emails he’s sent to others concerning you.”
“Meaning what?”
Quick breath. “Meaning that he talks about breaking you, a lot, and he’s not only referring to your ego concerning your dancing, but also your spirit and…body.”
“Ew,” Luna voiced what I was thinking. “I think I might puke.”
“I knew it,” Maven affirmed. “From the way he always looks at you, I knew that’s what he wanted.”
“So you want me to do what?” I asked Stafford.
“No,” Eli barked, walking up beside me, grabbing my bicep, and spinning me around to face him. “This, what you’re talking about doing now, is dangerous. I’m not afraid that you’re going to be taken out by a sniper the way Weaver was, but Alberto Mazzara won’t hesitate to kill you, and we have no idea what headspace Lincoln Palmer is currently in.”