The Chase (5 page)

As much as he wanted to go deep undercover, the idea of leaving his mother alone during her last days was heartless. Some would argue that she wasn’t even aware of his presence. But he’d know. She deserved more … so much more.

His cell phone rang and interrupted his thoughts. The caller ID read “Candy.”

“Hola,”
Tigo greeted in Spanish.

“Dulce le llamaba mucho,”
a man said.

“We’re friends. Of course she called me a lot.” This was either Candy’s pimp or whoever had killed her. Tigo had learned Bling had been released when he coughed up an alibi.

“Tell me your name, and I’ll ask her.”

“She’s dead, so it’s not her who wants to know.”

“Smart man, but we know who you are.”

“I doubt it.” Tigo noted a slight lisp in the caller’s voice. “Give it your best shot.”

The man laughed.
“Usted es policía.”
He spat the words and cursed.

Tigo hoped that meant Houston PD and not the FBI. “Wrong. This time you tell me who you are.”

“You already know. Watch your back ‘cause we’re out to get you.”

K
ariss launched the second day of her FBI research by bringing Starbucks to Tigo. Yesterday, she’d made the offer to bring him coffee each morning, and he’d agreed. Tomorrow she’d bring him a blueberry scone or muffin just like he’d requested for Wednesdays. Her mother always said a good cup of coffee shared with friends was a great way to start the day. However, Mom didn’t know Tigo and his dynamic disposition.

Flashing a smile, she held his venti black in one hand and her hazelnut latte, minus the whipped cream, in the other. Setting the cup in front of him, she waited at his desk until he lifted his head from the computer screen. “Peace offering.”

He nodded and reached for the drink. “That’ll do for the first fifteen minutes.” He toasted her. “Thanks.”

Ah, progress. If only for a little while.

“Are we off to anyplace special today?”

He chuckled. “Nowhere I can take you.”

“Going undercover, I presume. Where?”

“Ryan and I have a couple of gun shops to check out.”

She scrunched her forehead, then caught herself. If she didn’t stop overusing the muscle between her eyes, she’d have to resort to a facial filler. “Visiting a gun shop isn’t dangerous.”

“I didn’t say where, and I didn’t say the business was legit. Nor did I say how many thugs would be watching our every move. However, you could deter them for a few minutes.”

“Then I can go?”

“Two words — no way. Nor do you say a word to any of your family and friends about anything you hear or see.” He grinned.

“I don’t imagine you’d be willing to do what it would take to keep the bad guys busy.”

“Try me. I can talk big.”

“So I noticed.” He took another drink. “This will kick me into gear.”

“I could take notes.”

“Dead issue, Kariss.”

The chair she’d used yesterday was missing. “How was your evening?”

“Fine.” He’d noticed her looking for the chair. “The cubicle next to me is empty.”

He looked tired, which meant he’d probably had a busy night running from bad guys. Or maybe they’d run from him.

“Mine was fine too. I read up on gun smuggling in Houston. How’s the ‘Don’t lie for the other guy’ campaign going?”

He eyed her, a give-me-a-break look. “In my opinion, straw men don’t give a flip about the feds teaming up with the firearm industry. Gun smugglers and those who help them are interested in what’s going to fill their pockets, not billboards and slogans.”

“It’s a program designed to educate the public and enlist their support.”

“Sounds good on paper, but I don’t see any of the stats dropping. Maybe if they print their material in Spanish a few grade school kids would take notice.”

Ouch, Tigo’s cynicism was in high gear. “My point is the good guys might more easily detect a straw purchase.”

“In theory.” He took a long drink. How did he drink his coffee that hot?

“Guess I’ll go to my new desk and make myself at home. When are we leaving?”

He lifted a brow, and she laughed.

“I reviewed the cases you helped the FBI solve. Good investigative reporting.”

She heard a little admiration and decided to freeze the moment. “Thanks.”

He studied her, and she could almost hear the wheels spin. “Kariss, what I do is dangerous and I will
not
get you involved. You heard about my little experience with a gang yesterday — with zest. Think about this: the ones involved in Houston’s cartels and gangs take on different appearances. The guy volunteering to coach Little League may be dealing thousands of dollars of cocaine. The person you choose to represent your area might be involved in human trafficking. The gal who does your nails could be smuggling weapons. Do you get the picture?”

The understanding of what Tigo and all those involved in the FBI and other law-enforcement agencies did to keep people safe sobered her. “Hard to trust anyone.”

“Right. The arrests I’ve made haven’t gone unnoticed. Every time I expose myself is a risk. It’s not a question of if I’m on a gang’s radar. The question is when will they learn my identity? The arrests made as a result of your TV coverage have exposed your identity to those who might want revenge too.”

“I’m aware of repercussions.” Her face flushed. “Risk was something I didn’t heed. However, I did take a self-defense class upon the insistence of family and friends.”

“Do you have a handgun?”

“No. And I don’t want one.”

“Guns to bad guys are like words to you. They’re tools of the trade. So observe me if you must, but it will be on my terms. If I have to look out for you, then I can’t do my job, and we both end up in a pool of blood.”

She nodded while apprehension seeped through to her bones. “I will not be a liability to you or the FBI.”

Kariss knew he’d dramatized his scenario to frighten her, like the previous day. But he made sense. She wasn’t naive. Neither did she want to spout that none of the dangers mattered. She valued her life and his. Linc and Tigo had given her boundaries, and she needed to stay within those parameters.

Latte in hand, she took a seat at her new desk. After powering up her laptop, she used her cell to call Detective Montoya. Perhaps he remembered something about the case. She left a message and made a note on her spreadsheet about the contact. She felt weepy. The disappointments from yesterday had crashed her excitement to write the story. Nothing seemed to be going right.

Shaking her head to rid it of unwanted emotions, she pulled up her research file.

Tigo had an idea, one he couldn’t toss aside. Kariss’s intent of writing Cherished Doe’s story had dredged up his frustration at not being able to solve the crime. All the times his mother had volunteered to work with children at church and her genuine love and concern for them had floated back into his thoughts. He opened the cold case file, which he did periodically. At times the case consumed him. Took him to a dark place where mercy had no room. The data had not changed … only time. The case had frustrated law enforcement officials long enough.

Tigo’s mind whirled. A child didn’t enter the world and disappear without touching someone’s heart.

Kariss understood the value of enlisting public sentiment in solving crimes. She’d been good at it, and her methods had been successful.

He lifted the phone and contacted Linc’s office. Thirty minutes later he quickened his steps to the SAC’s office and took a seat on the leather sofa.

He hoped this wasn’t a mistake. “I want to talk to HPD about reopening the Cherished Doe case.”

“Why?” Linc’s irritation was evident by the deepening lines on his brow. “We haven’t had any new developments to warrant the time or work.”

“I have an idea.”

“How much of this is you, and how much is Kariss?”

Good question, but that had nothing to do with why he sat in Linc’s office. “Her questions jostled my memory. Got me to thinking about it again.” Tigo studied Linc’s face. “I’ve never given up on Cherished Doe. Just ran out of places to run down answers. Honestly, the elapsed time has strengthened my determination to solve the case.”

“What’s your new idea?”

“I’m suggesting a different angle. What if the FBI, HPD, and Texas Rangers make a last-resort appeal to the media for public support? Show the autopsy picture of the unidentified child. Interview residents at the Pine Grove Apartments again. Representatives from all three law enforcement agencies could hold a press conference. Offer a reward. Talk it up so the whole city is looking for answers.”

Linc walked to the window of his office facing Highway 290. Tigo joined him, noting the inbound morning traffic had not thinned. The only sound in the office was the hum of the air-conditioning, although Tigo sensed activity going on in Linc’s head.

“I despise cold cases. Makes me feel inept,” Linc said. “But we had tons of media coverage five years ago. If we didn’t have any success when the case was fresh on our minds, why would now make any difference?”

“Maybe the right set of eyes didn’t see it then,” Tigo said. “Or maybe someone was afraid to come forward then and now circumstances have changed.”

“And you want me to convince HPD of this crazy idea of yours.”

“None of us have been able to shove Cherished Doe into a file.” Tigo nodded at Linc’s desk where he knew the photo of his son sat. “I don’t have a son or a daughter. If I did, nothing could stop me from taking good care of them. Adults get themselves into unfortunate situations, but a child has no means to fight back. Especially a little girl who was starved to death.”

“You made your point. I’ll make a few calls. See what happens. We’ve never made an effort like this before. If conducted correctly, it has the potential to significantly impact the public to help us find how this child died.”

“Thanks. I think it’ll work.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

T
he following afternoon, Kariss sat at the desk assigned to her at the FBI office and played a word game on her iPhone. Whenever plot problems occurred, this was her method of forcing creativity into her mind. By toying with words, the tools of her craft, characters and their situations fell into place.

What she really wanted to do was drive back to Pine Grove Apartments.

Tigo stuck his head around her cubicle entrance just as she added eighteen points to her score. “A press conference has been called for Thursday morning regarding Cherished Doe.”

“What?!”

“The FBI, HPD, and Texas Rangers are making a last-ditch appeal to the media in hopes of finding out what happened to the little girl.”

Neither the Houston Police Department nor the FBI had solved the mystery. They’d labeled the little girl’s killing as a cold case and tucked the child’s scant information into a file labeled “pending inactive.”

Glancing at Tigo, Kariss rubbed the chills of emotion rising on her arms. She didn’t know whether to turn a cartwheel or shout hallelujah or both. This time the person or persons responsible would be found. She could feel it. A new strategy to find Cherished Doe’s killer was exactly what she’d hoped for. She filled her lungs with hope and determination.

“Where will it be held?” she finally said.

“Right here. Our media coordinator is making the arrangements.”

Tigo explained how he’d talked to Linc about convincing HPD to enlist the public’s help. “Finding what happened to that child is important to every law enforcement official who’s ever worked the case. Fresh eyes could make the critical difference.” He walked away then turned to face her. “Your interest surfaced a need to try one more time. Thanks.”

His gratitude nearly sent her over an emotional edge. “Thanks. I’ve never heard of reaching out to the media in this manner. And I’ve been there.”

“If it works, then we’re onto something for the future.”

“I hope so. My fear is the one responsible has slipped back across the border. That may be a wrong assumption, though — profiling the killer because the child was Hispanic.”

“It’s a good reason to include the Spanish networks. The law enforcement agencies involved are offering a reward for information leading to an arrest.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Linc thinks that your attendance at the press conference will show a viable connection with the past and present. Some of the reporters will be your peers.”

“Oh, I’ll be there.” An image of the past, when she’d first reported Cherished Doe, intensified the longing to bring closure to all who were involved. “But I don’t want anyone to know about my book project. That sounds self-seeking.”

Approval swept across his face. “All right. You might have an ending to your story, and we might have an arrest.”

Detective Montoya hadn’t returned her call. But she’d probably see him on Thursday. For the first time this week, she felt positive about the case.

By Thursday morning, Kariss’s anticipation about the press conference had swung into high gear. She hadn’t tweeted, posted information on Facebook, or informed any of her friends or family about the press conference. But with those self-imposed restraints came two sleepless nights while she waited for Thursday morning. Too many scenarios of what might have happened to the nameless child kept her thoughts spinning.

Last night she’d dreamed about the autopsy picture. In her suspended state, she walked along the pine trees at Pine Grove Apartments.

“Help me,” a child’s voice whispered.

Kariss ventured toward the sound, and into the canopy of thick trees any semblance of light vanished.

“Help me,” the whisper came again, and a faint breeze bathed Kariss’s face.

Brush crackled beneath her feet, and she struggled without a path. All she heard was the haunting cry for help. Ahead in a clearing, a faint light poured through from the treetops onto a small form wrapped in a pink blanket. The body moved and frail arms reached out to her.

“I have you,” Kariss said, bending to the hard earth. “Hold on tight.”

As she reached for the child, a burst of fire erupted from the woods. Hot flames burned her face and hands, beating her back from the child.

The cries for help grew louder. Then they stopped, and all she heard was the crackle of fire.

Kariss had awakened terrified and found it impossible to go back to sleep. Must the past stalk her forever? Would she ever find redemption?

She had no idea what it felt like to be a mother, but she’d seen her own mother protect and care for two boys and four girls. Kariss’s parents had placed their children’s needs above their own. Wasn’t that what parents were supposed to do? Nurture and grow their children into responsible members of society. Teach them the difference between right and wrong, and instill the value of education. Love them, not hurt them. Feed them, not watch them starve to death.

At nine forty-five, Kariss and many agents made their way ceremoniously to the enclosed area outside of the FBI building. The early June temps were pleasant. The blue sky looked promising, or maybe she was simply reading into the day the hope in her heart. But what Kariss noted was the FBI emblem carved into the stone behind the podium. If any agency could find a way to solve this seemingly unsolvable crime, it was this prestigious law enforcement bureau.

Houston’s chief of police stood alongside Linc with Detective Montoya and members of the Texas Rangers. Some of the men and women she didn’t recognize, but she assumed they were representatives of Crime Stoppers. Every TV network, radio, and newspaper reporter in the city was poised, camera ready and notepad open. She inhaled the buzz of a story breaking into the lives of Houstonians.

After Linc welcomed the crowd, Chief of Police Blackburn stepped up to the podium.

“Five years ago a female child between the ages of four and seven was found in a clump of trees beside Pine Grove Apartments in south Houston. We named her Cherished Doe because to date her identity and how she died remain a mystery. She wore green pajamas and was wrapped in a quilt, then placed in a purple, flowered bag. Medical examiners ruled the cause of death as starvation. She was discarded like an unwanted animal.” Chief Blackburn’s gaze spanned the crowd. “On behalf of the FBI, Texas Rangers, Crime Stoppers, and HPD, we implore you to help us find out what happened to this child.

“Note the little girl had a scar on her neck and two on her abdomen indicating a feeding tube. She was of Hispanic descent. I don’t understand why the child was not taken to a hospital or a fire department when the caretaker could not or would not provide care. We who stand before you need the media’s help to solve this case. Those responsible for Cherished Doe’s death must be brought to justice. The message to the public needs to be clear. We will not tolerate abuse of our children. In addition, we are offering a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward — twenty thousand from the FBI and five thousand from Crime Stoppers.”

Kariss studied Chief Blackburn’s face. His jaw tensed while he gave the passionate plea for communities to think back to the time of Cherished Doe’s death. He asked the media to show the graphic autopsy photos and to interview residents of Pine Grove Apartments. Not a sound came from the reporters, as though each person struggled with their reaction to the horror.

Once the press conference and a Q&A were conducted, the crowd slowly dispersed. Kariss wove through those still mingling in hopes no one stopped her. She wanted to type her notes and observations while they were fresh in her mind.

“Kariss Walker.”

She cringed, recognizing a familiar voice. She turned to greet Mike McDougal, a tenacious reporter for Channel 5. A man she’d dated for a brief period — a low time in her life.

“Haven’t seen you in ages.” He cast a leering glance her way. “You look great.”

“Thanks. I saw you’re still writing articles and a regular online blog.”

“My life, the reporter. You were the one who first reported this case, right?”

She smiled into his deep-blue eyes, his trademark for manipulating the most determined woman. “You have a good memory.”

“Thought so. How did a bestselling writer finagle an invitation here?”

“I originally reported it. Guess I’m lucky.”

He laughed. “I’m not swallowing that. You must be back in the game.”

“Never know.” She walked the twenty feet to the FBI office.

“Which station?” He had followed her.

“Does it really matter?”

“So you haven’t signed the contract.”

“Gotta run.”

“How about dinner?”

“I’m seeing someone.”

“Coffee? For old time’s sake?”

“Too busy.” Her fingers touched the door. Detective Montoya stood inside, and she breathed relief. His build reminded her of a bouncer.

“I don’t give up easily,” Mike said.

“See you later.” The urgency to record what she’d heard and seen in the faces of Linc, Chief Blackburn, and many of those in attendance quickened her steps. But first she’d visit with her old acquintance. She greeted the homicide detective.

“Morning, Kariss. Good to see you here. It’s been a few years.”

“That it has. Did you receive my message about wanting to chat about this case?”

“I did. Sorry, the work piles up. Do you still want to talk?”

“Let’s put it on hold. I called before I learned about the press conference. Hope we all can find the answers.”

“You never forgot about Cherished Doe either.”

She nodded. “What happened was a terrible wrong. The little girl doesn’t even have a name.”

“Reaching out to the media is a brilliant move. Hey, I saw you started writing novels.”

“Yes. I’m now exploring a suspense novel.”

“I don’t read much. With your background, why don’t you write something everyone would read, like biographies?”

Kariss continued to smile. She’d not change her mind. Today had reinforced her desire to write this book. Some might say it was to further her career by appealing to public sentiment. Meredith claimed she’d lost her mind. But if Kariss faced the truth, her reasons were to eliminate the vile members of society who preyed on children. Was she foolish to think she could make a difference?

Tigo stayed until the media disbanded, like soldiers given a mission. Chief Blackburn had done a good job. He was a man of strong convictions, and his beliefs formed his appeal. Now to see how the media spun a twist on the story. For certain, investigative reporters were on their way to the Pine Grove Apartments, internalizing the press conference and working on how they’d question the residents.

Back at his desk, Tigo viewed some of the agents standing outside their cubicles searching their communication devices to read the reports. He was just as curious, and the evening news could not come fast enough. But all the agents had work to do that had nothing to do with this morning. He was one of them.

After checking his phone messages, he listened to one from Jo-Jack. Perfect. The man must be hungry … or needed a fix. Tigo returned the call.

“Hey, Jo-Jack. What’s happening?”

“Are you still interested in buying a little information?”

“Depends on what you have.”

“What interests you?”

“The Arroyos and guns. Who’s buying. Who’s selling. The woman’s name who’s over the mules.”

“That could cost you plenty. Heard what happened to Candy, and the word is they’re after the one who was payin’ for the info.”

“What did she tell them?”

“Nothing. They’re wastin’ anyone they suspect. Two bodies on the northeast side make me nervous. Cheeky gets the job done.”

“Nothing new there. What else have you heard?”

“They think her contact was the same man who shot and killed two of them a few days ago.”

Tigo wasn’t going to admit anything to him. “Could be. Makes me wonder who told them about the arrangement with Candy.”

“Not me. I’m not stupid. You’d have me picked up.”

“Remember that. Can’t shoot up in jail. Do we have a deal?”

“Let me see what I can find out.”

“Don’t wait too long. You can be replaced.” Tigo disconnected the call and wrote a quick note to Ryan. The two needed to work out their next move. The Arroyos had slit Candy’s throat and weren’t hiding it. They were after revenge and liked to use intimidation to keep others in line. Tigo would lay low awhile. Get rid of his old disguise.