No One Heard Her Scream (15 page)

"Hell, I would guess prosecution doesn't stack up to much compared to the income potential." She let his anger influence her own. "Prosecution is no kind of deterrent. And I bet a large well-funded group like Cavanaugh's organization can wield political power, too. Extortion and violence can convince a lot of people to turn their heads the other way."

She let the idea sink in before she continued, "I wonder how long this has been going on? Maybe Isabel ..."

"Who?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry." She shrugged. "I kept a little information from Draper. The bones in the theater? I may have a name. Isabel Marquez, but no firm ID yet."

"I knew you had something up your sleeve. You caved too easy." He took a sip of coffee, hiding a smile.

"And I think I know how Draper found out about my interview with Cavanaugh." She pulled off a piece of a flour tortilla and ate it.

"Go ahead. Say it." He grinned. "I knew you'd figure it out."

"He's got someone on the inside, doesn't he? A fed." Becca smiled when Santiago shrugged, but she didn't share any more information about Diego. Her foray into blackmail would remain her little secret.

"Yeah, but his guy's not a fed. Supposedly, Draper turned someone already in place, made him an informant. The feds can play real dirty when they need to. He's got something on this guy, but Draper's pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing. I had to pull strings to get that much."

The waitress brought their plates and refilled their coffee. Becca had been hungry, but the thought of Cavanaugh being involved in sex slavery turned her stomach. Had Isabel Marquez been one of his early victims? And when Danielle's sweet face emerged in her mind, she shut her eyes tight and lowered her head to stifle the image of Dani being involved in such cruelty. Her sister's last days were hard to imagine, even for a jaded cop. Had Cavanaugh been the purse strings behind Danielle's abduction?

"What's the matter, Becca?" He set his fork down on the side of his plate. "You okay?"

"Human trafficking. What if Dani . . ."

"Don't go borrowing trouble. You don't know what happened to Danielle. Her case was different from the other girls, but whatever happened to her . . . it's over now." His face reflected the pain in her heart. "You've got to find some closure, Becca. I'm worried about you."

"I know, Art. And I appreciate your concern, but I have to get through this my own way . . . my own time. Please understand."

"I do. I hate seeing you go through it, that's all."

To get the focus off her, she changed the subject. She briefed him on Joe Rivera and the Global Enterprises connection to Cavanaugh.

"What about Rivera? Do you think he's involved in the trafficking with the merger of his company?" she asked, poking through her eggs with a fork.

Her stomach twisted into a knot as she waited for his reply. If both Rivera and Cavanaugh were guilty of such a despicable crime, maybe Diego had played a part, too. And even if Draper turned Diego, planning to use him as an informant and a witness to indict the bigger fish, it didn't let him off the hook. Diego's bargain with the FBI wouldn't exonerate him from his part in such a heinous crime. The thought shocked her. How could she be so wrong about him?

"Art? I think the Marquez case is linked to Cavanaugh in some way. His connection to young girls could span many years. Maybe Isabel was an early victim." She wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I don't have any hard evidence yet, but my gut is sending me hinky vibes."

"My gut does that, too, but I call it gas," he teased.

"Thanks for the image burned into my brain, but hear me out. I think Draper and Murphy will drop the Marquez case to go after Cavanaugh on the bigger, more visible arrest. They may not notice I'm still working it. And this case may shed some light on Cavanaugh from another direction. What do you think?"

"Sounds logical. What are your plans?"

"Rudy Marquez, Isabel's brother, told me he saw his sister get into a Mercedes one night, along with a friend of hers, Sonja Garza. He followed them to Cavanaugh's estate."

"No kidding. Could be a connection worth exploring, Becca."

"Yeah, I thought so, too. I'll track down Sonja Garza later today."

"Before I forget." He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a thick white envelope. "You received a couple of faxes. I thought they might have something to do with your theater case. I made copies for you but gave the originals to Murphy."

"Yeah, I'm sure he was thrilled."

Becca opened the envelope and looked at the contents. She had contacted Hans Muller's architectural firm and the subcontractor on the first renovation of the theater, asking for the roster of personnel on the job. The work coincided with the time frame of Isabel's disappearance. She spotted Rudy Marquez's name on the subcontractor's listing easily enough, but the architectural firm's statement would require some review. The billing of time had more detail. She wanted the invoicing for comparison against the subcontractor's payroll records. Becca shoved the documents back into the envelope and set it on the table by her plate.

"Personnel records. I'll have to check them out. Thanks." She took her last bite of refried beans and set her fork down. Santiago had wiped his plate clean. "So tell me, Art. Why did you decide to help me?"

The waitress slipped the check on their table and refilled their coffee cups. Santiago waited for the girl to finish and leave before he answered Becca's question.

"Draper is an arrogant ass, and he's pissing on my jurisdiction. And you? You're one of mine. End of story." He shrugged. "And if he's got an informant on the inside, I don't want you getting wrapped up in the middle."

Santiago stared at her for a moment, but after a while, he rolled his eyes and grinned.

"You're probably gonna ignore my sage advice, so do me a favor. Don't fly solo on this one, Becca. If you need backup, call me. And just for grins, let's pretend I'm your supervisor. Keep me informed, will ya?" Without waiting for her reply, Santiago reached across the table and tossed her the check. "By the way, the tab's on you."

"Thanks, Art. Remember this at my next evaluation. A raise would be nice."

Before he took off, Santiago stood and fixed his eyes on her.

"Without knowing more about this inside informant, I'd proceed with extreme caution. He might self-destruct in Draper's face. And with the stakes being so high, killing may become a part of the equation. Watch your back."

Becca nodded and gave him a mock salute, pretending a show of humor she didn't feel.

"Draper won't keep me apprised of every detail, only the big-ticket items if I press him. So I don't know how much help I'll be, but I'll do my best," he added.

"You've already been a big help. Thanks, L.T. Nice to know you're on my side."

She watched Santiago leave, but his words remained in her mind.
Watch your back.

In light of what she learned from the lieutenant, maybe her coercion of Galvan had been hasty, guided more by her libido. Would she heed Santiago's warning, or would she trust her own judgment of a man with soulful dark eyes and a gentle touch?

Lieutenant Santiago could play the role of cavalry if she got herself painted into a dark and dangerous corner, but she still needed a wingman, someone on the inside of the investigation.

The next time she met him, Becca would have to decide if she trusted Diego Galvan.

Texas weather earned its notoriety for sudden change. Leaden clouds lumbered in for the late afternoon, with the rumble of thunder heard in the distance. The wind kicked up, not to be outdone.

As she got out of her car, Becca looked toward the darkening horizon, hoping she'd be done before the onslaught of rain. Rush-hour traffic in San Antonio was tough enough, but an abrupt downpour would make it impossible. She had upgraded from sweatshirt and jeans to a rust-colored skirt and blazer, her gun at the small of her back in a holster. But given the weather, she might not have made the right choice. Becca turned her attention to an address she came to find and headed toward the building.

Sonja Garza lived in a modest apartment down from Ingram Park Mall off the Loop 410 frontage road. The drone of traffic from the freeway groused in the background, a steady murmur. Gang signs had been spray-painted in black on the mailbox units, utility boxes, and a brick wall at the entrance to the parking lot. No one bothered to clean them up. They'd only reappear.

Sparse shrubs and small patches of lawn were the only real color to the bland setting of white brick with a layer of dirt at its base and beige paint peeled by the sun. And if the drab, unkempt appearance to the complex didn't tell the tale, by the looks of the cars in the parking lot, rent must be cheap.

With the smell of rain heavy in the air, Becca walked up the wrought-iron steps to the second floor, one of the units in the back of the parking lot. She knocked on the door marked 203.

A young woman, with straight dark hair to her shoulders, answered the door. High cheekbones and a narrow chin with thin lips of glossy pink. Her almond-shaped eyes were outlined in smudged black, a bit much for daytime. The slender young woman wore faded blue jeans and a T-shirt in black under an oversized blue plaid shirt rolled at the sleeves. A black leather wristband. She had a pseudogrunge goth style that gave her an edge.

"Sonja Garza?"

"Yes." She narrowed her eyes and stood her ground at the door, playing the role of gatekeeper. Becca showed her badge.

"My name is Detective Rebecca Montgomery with the San Antonio Police Department. I'd like to ask you some questions about Isabel Marquez."

"Isabel?" she asked. Sonja looked as if she didn't know the name, but her questioning expression eventually faded to dread. "I was on my way out."

"This will only take a minute," Becca insisted.

It took a long moment for Sonja to shrug and back away from the doorway.

"Come on in . . . for a minute." She tightened her jaw, and her posture tensed as Becca stepped through the door. "I'm not sure how much I can help, Detective Montgomery."

The apartment was not very big. From the front door, Becca got a good picture of the whole place. A small living room and galley-style kitchen with one bedroom and bathroom to the rear. Chipped and uneven harvest gold linoleum butted up against dated brown shag carpet, with forgettable furnishings to match. The stale odor of cigarettes, grease, and cheap perfume lingered in the air. Dirty dishes lay in the sink alongside empty takeout Chinese cartons, a feast for the flies buzzing the room.

Hard to believe Sonja Garza was only a few years younger than Becca. Different choices, another road taken. Depressing.

When she noticed Becca canvassing the room, Sonja rolled her eyes, and said, "Maid doesn't come until tomorrow."

Becca was afraid to sit down, but if she wanted to encourage Sonja's candor, she had to help the woman relax.

"Yeah, same with mine." Becca smiled. "Hard to find good help these days."

Sonja returned a quick grin and joined her on the sofa. She sat on the edge of the couch, looking like she'd rather be sitting in a dentist's chair, getting drilled for cavities.

"Do you work, Sonja?"

The young woman avoided her eyes. "No. Not right now. I got fired a week ago from a warehouse job, night shift. Alejandro Meat Packing. Guess now I have time for travel."

Becca ignored her sarcasm. "How well did you know Isabel?"

"We went to high school together. Knew a lot of the same people. Hung out sometimes," she replied, nodding like a bobblehead doll.

Underneath the makeup, Becca saw the young girl Sonja might have been in high school. But the years had taken their toll, aged her through the eyes. An old soul.

"Is there something new? Has Isabel been found?"

"I'm looking into her missing persons case. When was the last time you saw her?"

"We, umm . . ." Sonja stalled and avoided eye contact. She crossed her legs and picked at the chipping polish on a fingernail, her stubby nails polished in black. "I can't remember. It's been too long ago."

She had no preconceived notions about Sonja, but she hadn't expected to get the cold shoulder from a friend of Isabel's. Her evasive demeanor struck a chord. Becca searched for a way to get her talking.

"Someone told me you and Isabel were friends. What did you used to do together?"

"I don't see how me telling you about two kids shopping at North Star Mall is gonna help your investigation."

When Sonja's attitude flared, Becca kept her cool. Not an easy trick.

"Your insights might give me a better picture of Isabel. What can you tell me about her?"

"What do you want to know exactly?"

Answering a question with a question—not a good sign. Becca sat back, letting the young woman know she intended to stay a while. The rain started to pour outside. In no time, it battered the front window in waves. The sound only added unnecessary tension to a room filled with it.

"Oh, I don't know. Basic questions like, who were some of her friends? Where did she like to hang out? Did she have any enemies? Was she dating anyone in particular? Things a friend should know."

Becca couldn't help the edge to her voice. She was tired of playing games. But her new approach garnered the same resistance. Sonja glared in silence.

"You're not being very helpful, Ms. Garza. That makes me wonder why." Becca prepared to take the gloves off. She needed answers, and Sonja looked like a girl who could provide them but chose not to.

"Do I need a lawyer?"

She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Sonja. "Not if you have nothing to hide."

When the woman kept her silence, Becca added, "You want to take a ride downtown, make this official? Because I'll be more than happy to oblige. You've probably got your lawyer on speed dial. He can meet us."

She shut her eyes and shook her head. "Look, before Isabel disappeared, we grew apart and things changed between us."

As she talked, Sonja stood and walked into the kitchen to light a cigarette. She blew the smoke into the air with force.