I knew I’d be getting a call from Paris for a sit-down interview.
We headed back to the station, filled out paperwork, and filed an application for a warrant. Now it was a matter ofhurry up and wait.
58
My heart sank when the shooter had whispered Catalina’s name in my ear. I can’t say it came as a surprise, but I could no longer deny the truth.
The next day was agonizing, waiting for the warrant, then the phone records. An indescribable dread filled me. Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile the person youthinkyou know with their actions. Hard to slap the cuffs on their wrists and send them away for life, especially when you know they had the potential to be so much more.
Catalina had called, but I didn’t pick up. I didn’t listen to her voicemail.
By the afternoon, we had everything we needed.
With the tac team assembled, we headed to Palm Haven. It felt strange doing a raid without JD. He still hadn’t been discharged from the hospital.
Catalina’s courtyard gate was locked.
I scaled the wall, climbed over, and hovered by the front door. I peered in through the glass, looking for activity.
Erickson and Faulkner had taken the driveway up and moved to secure the patio.
We all wore wireless in-ears.
Mendoza hammered at the gate with a battering ram.
CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!
The whole world could hear.
The locking mechanism finally gave way, and the hinges squealed as the gate flung wide.
Mendoza, Robinson, and the sheriff flooded in.
I banged on the door and shouted, “Coconut County! We have a warrant.”
Glass shattered as Mendoza hammered the door. Shards rained down and danced like diamonds. The jamb splintered, and the door flung wide.
We flooded into the foyer and crunched over broken glass.
Marco was at the top of the stairs with a Mac 10.
I shouldered my rifle and took aim. “Drop the weapon!”
With a slew of twitchy barrels aimed at him, he dropped the weapon and complied.
Mendoza and Robinson advanced up the staircase and cuffed him.
Erickson’s voice crackled in my ear. “We’ve got the suspect in custody.”
“Copy that,” I said.
Daniels and I moved through the foyer and cleared the living room and kitchen, then stepped onto the patio.
Catalina had been lounging on a float in the pool, soaking up the sun without a care in the world. Now in cuffs, she sat on a lounge chair, dripping wet, the taut fabric of her bikini clinging on for dear life. “Can anyone explain to me what’s going on?”
“You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder,” I said.
“I guess I should ask to speak with my attorney,” she said in a casual voice.
