The Chase (7 page)

Cheeky studied the man who had more guts than brains. “I want this man stopped.”

“I’ll find him,” Froggie said.
“¿Quiero que lo desparezca?”

Cheeky took another drink. “Do it. Now.”

T
wo weeks passed and the FBI had learned nothing to aid them in solving Cherished Doe’s death. Optimism trickled down the drain, and Kariss’s hopes fell with her disillusion.

She worked on turning the facts about her book project into fiction by tweaking here and there. Her male hero began looking more and more like Tigo. Acting like him too. But the female agent sent vague messages. Every time Kariss sat her down to interview her, she turned her face and refused to respond. Obviously Kariss had upset her. Stubborn characters could be difficult until the writer discovered their true motivation.

To expand her research, Kariss introduced herself to a woman agent by the name of Hillary Wallace, who was approachable and enjoyed lattes. However, the woman was as closed mouth as Tigo and Ryan when it came to revealing behind-the-scenes information. The problem with Hillary was that she wanted to write a novel too, but she had no skills. None. Kariss enjoyed mentoring new writers, but Hillary’s manuscript would take a decade of work. And every time Kariss saw the woman agent, she wanted to know if Kariss had read her latest chapter. That task had become excruciatingly painful. Instead of looking for Hillary, Kariss had begun to dodge her.

In the midst of brooding about no longer having representation by the most prestigious literary agency in the country and the unlikelihood of Cherished Doe being solved, Kariss decided to simply write her novel. After all, a writer best expresses herself when she is in the midst of creating. And Kariss refused to dwell on her current publisher’s disinterest in suspense.

Tigo approached her from his cubicle. “Univision scheduled their Cherished Doe documentary for this Friday night.”

She’d nearly forgotten the Spanish program. “What time?”

“Ten o’clock and the program repeats at one a.m.”

“Have you seen what they’ve put together?”

“No. But their excellent programming is why I haven’t given up.
Aquí y Ahora
reaches a wide Spanish-speaking audience.”

She sensed her heart speeding toward hope again. “These are the people who are most likely to have answers. I shouldn’t have gotten so down.” She smiled at him. “My optimism is up again.”

“Glad it takes so little to make you perky.”

Perky? Like she was a shih tzu begging for attention? How could one man be so exasperating? Granted, she’d almost tripped over the edge of self-pity, but being described as perky didn’t help.

Tigo saw he’d frustrated Kariss one more time. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, but it happened at frequent intervals. Her never-ending chatter hammered against his brain, but he was learning to manage it. Her wit and warmth gave her a few extra points on the personality chart. The news-reporter – turned – women’s-fiction-writer – turned – suspense-writer was quite intelligent. That added a few additional points.

Not sure what his point system meant anyway. Why was he keeping score?

And she did bring him Starbucks every morning with a smile. Perky. His description fit, but she obviously didn’t think so. He’d ask how she preferred him to describe her, but that might not be smart.

Snatching five DVDs and his noise-canceling headphones, he walked back to her cubicle.

“If you’d like to view the networks’ news releases again, you can use my headphones. I have a meeting and a few phone calls to make. Just return them when you’re done.”

Her dark eyes grew larger. It took so little to please this woman. “Thanks.” She cast an admiring glance at his headphones. “I like this brand. And I did want to look at these DVDs with an objective point of view. Perhaps my fiction mind will see a plot thread.”

“How’s the story going?”

“Feels like a drought.”

“Now you have a little time to work on it.” And he could work on the string of leads their new informant had provided. Much of it looked bogus, but he wanted to check out a few tips with Ryan before calling Jo-Jack. Now that he had distracted Kariss, he had time — quiet and uninterrupted.

“Don’t forget I want to be in on the discussion with Ryan about the gun smugglers.”

Tigo inwardly groaned. Not if he and Ryan had their meeting without her knowledge.

Once he’d examined Jo-Jack’s leads, including a gun deal supposedly going down on Sunday night, he made his way to Ryan’s cubicle, which was on his left side, while Kariss worked on his right.

“Did your wife let you out of the house?” Ryan tilted back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head.

“That’s not funny. I’m going to send Kariss your way. Let you answer her questions.”

“Give her a break, Tigo. She’s smart.”

“Don’t I know it. Can’t dance around anything.”

“She’s a writer. Posing questions is how she learns. Be careful. You’ll probably find yourself in her next book.”

Tigo pointed his pen at Ryan. “She loves bald men.”

“Right. You’re the one she spends all of her time with. Then she makes notes.”

“We’ve had that talk,” Tigo said. “And I told her to keep me out of her stories. Right now she’s watching the DVDs of the Cherished Doe press coverage, which gives us time to talk. Teasing aside, it was her persistence that moved me to talk to Linc about reopening the case.” He wanted the case solved, not for Kariss or himself, but for the little girl in an unmarked grave. “I hope Univision flushes something out.”

“The Hispanic community is family oriented, but they’re also loyal to each other. However, I think if anyone recognizes the little girl, they’ll come forward.”

“And I’ve got to let go of the case and be patient.” He hesitated. “Let me make sure Kariss is behaving herself.” Tigo slipped over to her cubicle. She inserted a disc into her computer and adjusted the headphones.

He returned, convinced his and Ryan’s conversation would be private. “I wanted to talk to you about Jo-Jack.”

Ryan nodded. “All right. What do you think about his information?”

“He thinks we’re stupid for trying to stop the Arroyos. He says they have too much money behind them. That we have no idea who all’s involved.”

“So we’re supposed to back off like scared girls?”

“Right. I’m going to call him once we’re finished. I texted him earlier, but he hasn’t responded. We need a face-to-face. I want to tell him he’s useless to us unless he can come up with better info.” Tigo tapped his pen on the desktop. “I wish I could go undercover. But not while I’m chained to Miss Walker.”

“Why does that make a difference when most of our undercover work is done at night? Tell her she stays here. It’s too dangerous, just like Linc told her.”

The night work meant time away from his mother, whose days were numbered. But then…. “Now is not a good time.”

“All you need are tattoos and a bald head.” Ryan chuckled.

“You fit the scenario better than I do.”

Tigo considered telling him about his mother’s condition. But that was personal. Ryan knew his mother lived with him but not about the cancer. “Still thinking about posing as a buyer. Minimum exposure. With Candy dead, the case isn’t going anywhere, and since I don’t know what they might have gotten out of her, infiltrating the gang with my old disguise doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m repeating myself, but a new look has more potential of keeping you alive.”

Tigo grinned. “Before I commit to that, I’d like to listen to a surveillance recording made when Candy was alive. The background noise was definitely a bar, and I’d like to do a sound recognition on the voices. I want to narrow down the location.”

Tigo sensed Kariss standing behind them. “I thought you were viewing the press coverage. You couldn’t have viewed all of those this quickly.”

“I noted the differences from each station. I wondered if your and Ryan’s discussion was off limits.”

“It is. But I need to listen to something. Go ahead and fire questions at Ryan while I locate a recording. Makes him feel important.”

“Never mind. Nothing personal, Ryan, but I have plenty of work to do.”

She handed Tigo the headphones, and he returned to his desk. After adjusting them, he pushed in the DVD. Although the picture played, no sound came through. He ejected the disc and tried again. Same problem. Yanking off the headphones, he tossed them on the desk.

“Problem?” Kariss peered at him from the doorway.

“Did you have any trouble with the headphones?”

“No. Maybe it’s your—” She drew in a breath. “If they aren’t working, it might be my fault.”

This woman would be the death of him. “Why? What happened?”

“Remember I told you about my problem with wearing a watch?”

He squinted. “Are you telling me that you just destroyed my headphones because of the ‘too much electricity in your body’ syndrome?”

“Possibly.”

He stood, fighting back the continuous annoyance. “Don’t you think it would have been courteous to tell me this before you used them?”

“Honestly, Tigo, I forgot. I’ll get you a new set.”

“Gee, thanks, Kariss. But your generosity doesn’t help me now.” His cell phone rang. No name read across his caller ID. This had better be good considering the mood he was in. He pressed on the connection. “Santiago here.”

“It’s Jo-Jack.” The man’s raspy voice sounded like he needed to clear his throat.

“Hold on a minute.” Tigo hurried out of his cubicle and into the empty hallway. “What have you got, because so far nothing you’ve given me has been worth a dime.”

“But this is,” Jo-Jack whispered. Was the quiet tone for Tigo’s or Jo-Jack’s benefit? “Took me time to find out what I wanted. But it was worth it. Got a dealer’s name.”

“You made the same claim last Saturday.”

“But this guy operates out of a fancy office in the Galleria. Lots of connections.”

“Who?”

“How much is it worth to you?”

“I paid you plenty for bad information. Give me the name, and if it pans out, then we’ll talk about more business.”

“Can’t talk right now. Too many people around. Meet me at Candy’s corner at two-thirty.”

“Where are you calling me from?”

“Pay phone. Lost my cell.”

“That’s the cost of doing business. Get another phone. Text me if you remember the name.”

“All right. What I have is good. Be here. It’s worth it.”

Tigo slipped his phone back into his pocket. Playing games was not his style, and for all he knew Cheeky had put Jo-Jack up to the call. But he’d been reliable in the past, and Tigo needed a break.

A
t two-thirty p.m., Tigo and Ryan drove to Candy’s old corner and parked on the opposite side of the street. Since Tigo’s tank now had a wanted sign, he’d picked up a fifteen-year-old Chevy Impala to drive to this part of town. Both men wore torn jeans and T-shirts, but Tigo had added glasses and a baseball cap. He exited the car and nodded at Jo-Jack across the street.

Tigo scanned the area before stepping into a drugstore and heading to the magazine section, right where he could see the overhead mirror displaying who entered the store. He picked up a sports magazine and pretended interest. Jo-Jack joined him. Tigo could tell by the smell — a mix of a dirty body, bad sewage, and Snickers bars.

“Were you followed?” Tigo pretended to read the magazine with one eye on the store’s mirror.

“I’m smarter than Candy.” Jo-Jack turned a page of a magazine. “She stopped respecting the Arroyos.”

“Is that what happened to her?”

“She got too sure of herself. Thought the FBI could save her.”

Guilt attempted to nail Tigo for Candy’s death, but he shoved it away. She knew what she’d been getting into. “What about you?”

“As I said, I’m smarter. And I need the money.”

“What do you have for me?”

“The man you’re looking for goes by the name of Bat. He and Cheeky do a lot of business.”

Must be a supplier. “Got a last name?”

Jo-Jack shrugged. “Hey, I risked my neck to get this for you. I should have more after the weekend.”

Candy had spoken about Bat, but Tigo hadn’t been able to dig up any more information. “Okay. We’re in business. Do you know who’s tipping us off about Arroyos’ transports?”

“No idea. I just know the Arroyos are out for blood. There’s a contract out on the man Cheeky was supplying info to.”

“No surprise there.”

Tigo left the store and joined Ryan in the car. Five minutes later, Jo-Jack slid into the backseat and they drove to the next intersection. After Jo-Jack signed the EC form, Tigo handed him one thousand dollars in an envelope. He hoped this informant stayed alive.

Friday night, Kariss sat on the sofa with her cell in hand waiting for Univision to broadcast
Aquí y Ahora.
A half-eaten container of Moose Tracks ice cream sat on a plate in front of her. She watched the clock. The Cherished Doe documentary would be presented as the last segment of the program.

Her heart slammed against her chest until she closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down. If she were a praying woman, she’d talk to God about bringing the right people to view the program tonight.

The story opened in a playground setting. Children played on swings, a small boy climbed the steps to a slide, and little girls squealed their delight on a merry-go-round. The sound of laughter mingled with “Mommy, look at me” and “Push me, Mommy.”

One mother stood alone with her back to the TV camera. She held onto a stroller where a little girl sat watching the other children. The camera didn’t capture the little girl’s face, only the back of her head. The male narrator talked about the world’s most precious treasures — children — and the sacrifices made to ensure they were healthy, happy, and safe. The program continued with an interview from Detective Montoya and his accounting of the Cherished Doe case. Two mothers from the Pine Grove apartment complex expressed their horror surrounding the little girl’s tragic death.

The common response from the interviewed mothers and Detective Montoya centered on the question, “Why didn’t the mother take the child to a hospital/fire station/Catholic Charities/CPS for help?”

Graphic shots filled the screen with a plea from Detective Montoya for any persons who had information about the unsolved case to come forward. The FBI’s number flashed on the screen along with information about the twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward.

When the program concluded, Kariss considered driving to the FBI office to be near the phone lines. She doubted if her security status allowed a late-night visit, but she wanted to be there. Univision’s coverage of Cherished Doe had been a sympathetic appeal to the Hispanic community. The men and women interviewed had appeared shocked that the identity of the little girl and the person responsible for her death were still unknown.

But all she could do was crawl into bed and trust that Tigo called her in the morning with good news. Keyed up and emotionally drained, she lay awake with the autopsy picture of Cherished Doe fixed in her mind.

Tigo worked the phones the night
Aquí y Ahora
broadcast Cherished Doe. The program aired at ten p.m. and then again at one a.m. Three calls came in around ten-thirty, but the people offering obscure information were obviously more interested in the reward than helping to solve a crime. At 1:07, one of the phones rang, and Tigo answered it.

“I know who the little girl is from
Aquí y Ahora
,” a man said in English with a Hispanic accent. “I’ve seen the program twice tonight, and she looks like my niece.”

“Thank you for calling.” Tigo gestured for a tracer and secured another agent’s attention to listen and record the conversation. “Sir, what’s your name?”

“Gilberto Olvera, and I’m an American citizen.”

“Why do you believe the little girl on tonight’s program might be your niece?”

“Her looks and her medical condition. I’m not interested in the reward. I only want to bring forth this information for my brother’s sake, the child’s father. I hope I’m wrong, but it doesn’t appear so.”

“Where is your brother?”

“He lives in Mexico, and his name is Xavier Olvera. If I’m correct, the little girl’s name is Benita.”

“Was she in your care during the time of her death?”

“No. Five years ago when my brother was deported, his wife and child still lived here in Houston.”

“We’d like for you to come in and talk to us.”

“I can drive there now. I won’t be able to sleep until I know for sure that this is my niece.”

“We can pick you up, so—”

“Sir, I called you. I’ve given you my name, my brother’s, and my niece’s name. We’ve been on the phone long enough for you to trace me. Give me the address of your office, and I’ll be there within thirty minutes.”

Tigo trusted Gilberto’s words and nodded to the agent recording the call. “All right.” He gave the address. “An agent by the name of Tigo Harris will meet you at the entrance of the office. In the event you change your mind, we’ll find you.”

“I gave you my word. If Benita is the little girl found dead five years ago, that concerns me.”

Gilberto disconnected the call. Tigo breathed in and studied the agents beside him. He didn’t know whether to celebrate or be cautious. But Cherished Doe might be Benita Olvera, and the little girl who had starved to death might have family who cared about her. He rubbed his face, conscious of how this case had affected him differently from so many others. Other cases were adults and the few children involved in violent crime had identities. Cherished Doe didn’t even have a proper tombstone. “I think we’re onto something. We could have the answers before sunrise.” He turned to the agent tracing the call.

“We traced the call to Gilberto Olvera on the southeast side of town.”

For Tigo, the caller could not get to the office fast enough.