As their friend left, they knew what was next, and it was always the worst part of a killing.
Talking to the family.
Normally, they’d have to find the loved ones, but this killer had been oh-so-kind by dumping the body close to home.
As they approached, she was off her phone as she watched the ME near her husband.
There was mascara running down her face, and she looked like she’d been dragged out of bed to find this and then freaked the fuck out.
Well, that fit.
“Mrs. Padilla?” Gene asked.
It took her a second, but she turned her head and stared at them.
“It’s Margie, and before you ask, yes, I feel bad but then I feel like he had that shit coming,” the Puerto Rican woman said, pointing at her dead husband—with her middle finger.
Oh, boy.
This was going to be spicy.
She continued.
“He was out being an asshole last night. He called me after ten, and said he was coming home. He went for drinks with‘friends’.”
Ethan was making notes, but he could hear the anger in her voice. There was no love lost there.
“How much do you want to bet those‘friends’had vaginas?” she asked.
The two men shook their heads.
No one was taking that bet. The wifeALWAYSknew when the husband was doing her dirty.
ALWAYS.
“Do you know where?” Gene asked, thinking they would have to hit that place up.
Oh, she did.
Margie pulled a handful of papers out of her pocket, and handed them to them.
“I printed out his credit card receipts,” she said. “In real time so I would know what he was doing. So each drink he bought was for some floozy, I know it.”
Oh, boy.
Gene took the papers.
That’s when he saw it.
The papers had one location for the man, and lo-and-behold, it wasDark Spirits.
Esmeralda’s club.
And there it was again, popping up in neon lights.
“I’ll get these back to you,” he offered, knowing they might need them. “I just have to make copies for the file,” he added, handing them to Ethan so he could see the name of the club too.
Oh, and he did.
