Reckoning for the Dead (9 page)

“You've been so quiet in here, I didn't want to interrupt,” he said. “You have any questions before I head out for dinner?”

The chief told her he would be working a little OT, catching up on paperwork, but eventually when he left for the day, she'd have to leave the case files behind.

“I noticed a folded map with notes on it. What did you use that for?” she asked, pointing to the aged paper map that she had pinned to a corkboard near the door. The town map had been laminated with red circles and notes in black marker on it.

“That map was used by me mostly. I kept track of who we'd interviewed, the neighbors who lived closest to the crime scene. With the properties so sprawled out, I wanted to make sure we got everyone.”

“Looks like you did make contact with everyone who lived around the DeSalvo place.”

“Yep, all those red circles. Once my men told me they'd made contact, I circled the location. What are you getting at?”

The chief narrowed his eyes, and she felt a distinct chill in the room after she questioned his investigation. The map had been loaded down with small, abbreviated notes from the chief. A lot of detail, but something was missing.

Before she answered the chief, one of his deputies poked his head into the conference room. Deputy Tyrell Hinman had introduced himself before when he got her a coffee refill.

“You need me, Chief. I'm fixing to head out.”

“Ah, no. You go on, Tyrell. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing. Good night, Ms. Beckett. It was nice meetin' you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Jessie barely looked at the deputy. She had kept her eyes on the chief. While the deputy interrupted, she saw the wheels of Cook's brain working. The man was leaping ahead, trying to figure out where she was going with this.

“What's wrong with my map?” he asked.

“Nothing's wrong with the map exactly. It's just that when I went through the evidence box, I sorted everything by type. All interview notes are here.” She put her hand on a stack of papers. “But when I matched up the interviews to the neighbor's residence and this map, that was when I noticed one interview was missing. Can you help me locate it?”

“What? No, that can't be.” He stepped toward the table and looked down at the map where she pointed. “Which one is missing?”

“There's a note here. See it? The Tanner place. Sophia Tanner.” Jessie stepped toward the table and pointed to the interview-report pile. “But I can't find an interview with her, just references that one of your guys missed her, a couple of times. Do you know if anyone actually conducted that interview? Maybe it was misfiled.”

One missing interview wasn't exactly a home run, out of the park, but Jessie had scored a solid base hit. A murder investigation had a lot of moving parts, especially one as shocking as the DeSalvo killing would have been in a small town. The chief would have had a lot on his mind. And with the evidence spread out in the conference room, the magnitude of his job was very clear.

Jessie wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt that he might have missed something minor, but the neighbor living closest to the DeSalvo house was a key interview to miss. She hoped he'd tell her the paperwork had been misplaced and that he'd remembered it; but after seeing his reaction as he looked through the files on the table, Jessie had a bad feeling that a critical interview had never happened.

“Are you sure it's not here?” The police chief helped her look through the paperwork, but they came up empty.

“I've searched through all this, too. Were there any other evidence boxes?”

After the chief shook his head, he slumped into a conference-room chair and stared at the papers stacked on the table in front of him.

“Well, I remember seeing it. It must have gotten misfiled . . . or something.”

“If you saw it, what did she say?”

“Nothing. She didn't hear anything. And she hadn't seen any kids.” Chief Cook shook his head. “I forgot about that map.”

“What?”

“That was good detective work . . . you comparing that map to the interviews, I mean. I should have . . .”

He never finished. He only stared across the room, avoiding her eyes.

“Is Sophia Tanner still living in town?” she asked.

“Yeah, she is.” Chief Cook looked dazed. “She used to work part-time at the police station a few years ago, after she retired from teaching. I can speak to her tomorrow . . . for all the good it'll do now.”

Jessie knew what he was thinking. The chief claimed to have seen that interview, but he might have been covering up the truth. If that interview had never been completed, that was a pretty big hole in the investigation. And if Sophia Tanner was still in La Pointe, how much would she remember from so long ago?

Someone had screwed up, big-time.

Most people would have the urge to comfort him, but not Jessie. If he was anything like her, nothing would make him feel better. Chief Cook had owned responsibility for this case. Even if one of his men had dropped the ball, he knew it was all on him.

And she respected him for taking the responsibility.

“Who knows? Maybe something will come up,” she said in commiseration. “You mind if I tag along when you talk to her?”

“No, I mean, yeah I mind. This is an official police investigation. I can't have civilians looking over my shoulder.”

Jessie was dumbfounded by the chief's sudden about-face. She was getting the worst of his cold shoulder, and that was getting her hackles up.

“But I was the one who uncovered this missing interview. Some people might say you owe me one.”

“Well, some people might be wrong. This is my case. And I'll handle it.”

When Chief Cook stood, he grabbed the stacks she had so carefully put in order and stuffed them back into the evidence box, piling them up helter-skelter. If she'd been lucky, he would've been done talking, but that didn't happen. Cook opened the door to the conference room and waited for her to leave, but not before he said what was on his mind. And the attitude he'd shown her when they first met was back in full force.

“I'm sure you'll be heading out of town now since there's nothing more you can offer. Leave a number where I can reach you. And I'll call.”

“Be still my heart.”

Jessie glared back, but the man wasn't intimidated. She walked out the door with her mind in overdrive. What the hell had just happened? She'd been kicked out of town twice in one day. A lesser person would have taken it real personal.

But unfortunately for Chief Tobias Cook, that wasn't Jessie.

Chapter 7

Guadalajara, Mexico

Forty minutes later

A
lexa had parked down the street from a seedy-looking bar on the outskirts of Guadalajara, called La Cucaracha. A row of motorcycles was parked in front, with more parking in the rear of the stucco building that had been marred with black and red graffiti.

“Nice ambience.” Alexa sighed. “Guess I can forget the umbrella drinks.”

Tanya had told her about the bar. An arms dealer operated out of La Cucaracha, a man known by the street name,
El Puma
. In English, his name translated to Cougar. Clearly the man wasn't concerned with the negative image of his branding efforts, especially if he hung out at a bar named for the cockroach.

While she sat in her SUV, watching who came and went from the local watering hole, she pulled back her hair and tucked it into a ball cap that she'd brought in the canvas bag. Pulling the hat down over her eyes, she wanted to minimize the fact that she was a woman. In a dump like La Cucaracha, her precautions might not make a difference. Once she got inside, Tanya had given her specific instructions. If she did as she was told,
El Puma
would make contact with her.

“This better work.”

After Alexa entered the murky bar, every head in the place turned toward her. At least, that was how it felt. She avoided eye contact and found an empty table to the left of the smoke-filled bar. The place smelled of cigarettes, sweat, and booze. Eventually, a waitress came over and dropped a napkin on the table and asked to take her order in Spanish.

“Sorry, I don't speak the language.” Alexa kept her voice low, only loud enough for the young woman to hear. “Just give me a beer. Dos Equis with a lime, thanks.”

After the waitress left, Alexa took out a pen and wrote on the napkin. When the girl came back with her order, Alexa handed her the note she'd written. The young woman looked at it, then locked eyes with her before she went back to the bar. Her exchange with the bartender left Alexa with little doubt that she'd gotten her message across. She wanted to meet with
El Puma
to talk a little business.

Alexa took a sip of her beer and kept her eyes alert for any sign of trouble. The place gave her the creeps. The only women in the bar waited on tables or looked like hookers working the room. La Cucaracha didn't exactly cater to the tourist trade. And with the abundance of ink in the bar, she was feeling left out, not having enough tattoos to fit in.

It took nearly twenty minutes before the bartender caught her eye and nudged his head toward the back. His gesture had been so subtle, she almost missed it in the dimly lit bar. Alexa noticed a doorway to the right.

“Showtime,” she muttered.

When she got to the door, a man dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt stood in the hallway. He was armed and carried a Beretta in a shoulder harness. As big as he was, she couldn't see past him, making her edgy.

“Lead the way,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“After you,
señorita.
”

Although Alexa didn't like turning her back on
El Puma
's man, she did as she was told and walked by him toward a door at the end of the hall. When she opened it, Alexa was surprised to see who was in the room.

A familiar face smiled back at her. And she couldn't hide her shock.

“Hello, Alexa. I usually prefer blondes, but seeing you as a brunette could change my mind.”

Sentinels' operative Hank Lewis was leaning against the far wall of the office with his arms crossed. And a man she didn't know sat behind a desk like he belonged.

“What are you doing here, Hank?” She narrowed her eyes. “And who's your friend?
El Puma,
I presume.” Alexa extended her hand to the guy behind the desk.

He had a wide barrel chest with broad shoulders and slicked-back dark hair. When the man stood to take her hand, Alexa noticed he was dressed in a navy sport coat, open-collar white shirt, and khaki pants. Except for his penchant for gold chains worn around his neck,
El Puma
looked like any businessman on the street.

“
Sí,
Señorita
Marlowe. I have a street name for business purposes, but you can call me Victor, since we are all
compadres
here.” The man remained standing. “Can I get you another
cervesa
?”

“Unless Hank gives me a good reason to stay, I'll pass on the beer, but thanks, Victor.”

When she turned her attention on Hank, the short, muscular man with the burr haircut grinned, and said, “You mind giving us some time alone, Vic? We need to talk.”

“No problem. My office is yours,
mi amigo.
” Taking his bodyguard with him, Victor left them alone.

“Thought you were on assignment, Hank.”

“Yeah, I was. Mission interruptus.”

“Were you the one who's been following me since the airport?”

Hank furrowed his brow and shrugged.

“Sorry. Don't know what you're talking about.”

Alexa watched every detail of Hank's reaction. His body language, and what she knew of her many missions with the man, made her believe he was telling the truth. And he had no reason to lie. Not now.

Had she gotten so paranoid that she'd imagined being followed?

“I've been . . . working, until now.” Hank cocked his head. “I got pulled off an op to talk to you.”

“Talk to me. About what?”

“I'm here to ask you to back off, Alexa. We're in the middle of a sensitive operation. We don't need the distraction.”

“Just tell me about Garrett. Where is he, Hank? Is he involved in your assignment?” Alexa crossed her arms and stood her ground. “I just need to talk to him, make sure he's okay.”

Hank thought about what she'd said before he answered, “As far as I know, Garrett isn't part of this.”

“But you don't know for sure,” she guessed. From his hesitation, she knew how things went when a mission was run on a need-to-know basis. Hank might not know who was calling the shots.

“Why are you here, Alexa? Straight up.” He stepped closer and fixed his gaze on her.

Alexa had to give him enough so he'd believe her, but not so much that it would implicate Tanya's involvement. If anyone got pegged for interference, it would be her alone. She wouldn't let anyone else go down with her.

“Garrett's gone AWOL. He hasn't come up for air with me, and I checked with Tanya. She hadn't heard from him in a couple of weeks now. I'm worried, Hank. And I have reason to suspect there's an op going on down here off book. Is Garrett involved in any way?”

“I couldn't tell you that, Alexa, even if I knew myself.”

“Did you know someone is using unauthorized satellite time to track a cell-phone GPS signal inside the estate of Manolo Quintanilla Pérez, a drug-cartel boss?” She pressured him to let her in on the mission by spouting what she knew. “Your op is south of the city at the Pérez compound, right?”

“I can't talk about the mission, Alexa. You know that.”

“I just gotta know he's okay. That's all.” Alexa took a risk and pretended to know more than she did. “Is he inside that estate? Is that who you're tracking? I've seen the satellite images of the kidnapping. What's going on, Hank?”

From the look on his face, she knew she'd hit on the truth.

“Damn it. How did you . . .” Hank shook his head but stopped before he said too much. “Look, the best I can do is run this up the food chain, see if they want to bring you into this.”

“Who's running the show?” she asked.

“Don't know, but if they want you gone, you gotta follow orders.” Hank headed for the door like everything had been settled. “In the meantime, give me a number where I can reach you. And stay put until you hear from me.”

“Not good enough, Hank. I've got business with our mutual friend, Victor. Unless I hear from you, I've got my own agenda.”

Hank turned and faced her, unable to hide his frustration. She'd seen that look before.

“Guess I knew that's what you'd say.” He pulled a gun and aimed it at her, a move she didn't expect. “Since I can't trust you to behave, you're coming with me.”

“And just where are we going?” Alexa gritted her teeth, feeling more than a little pissed that she hadn't seen this coming.

“You'll see soon enough. Now move.”

An hour later

Hank always did know how to entertain a woman. He had her stashed in a cheap motel room a few blocks from the sleazy bar he'd just abducted her from—at gunpoint. The place rented by the hour, which explained the low-rent décor . . . and the smell.

Slouching in a chair by the bed, Alexa had eavesdropped on a few of his cell-phone calls, but they were so cryptic, she hadn't learned much. The only thing she really knew was that after the last call to the handler for the mission, Hank was more nervous than she'd ever seen him.

When she saw a huge roach crawl across the floor, she watched it until Hank noticed it, too.

“Friend of yours?” she asked. When he didn't find her amusing, she said, “Hey? What's eating you?”

When Hank glanced at her sideways, Alexa cocked her head and batted her eyelashes, playing it real coy just to piss him off. Midpace, he stopped and did a double take.

“You're kidding, right?” he asked. “You come down here and mess with my op, forcing me to leave my men and make a call I never wanted to make to my handler. Now the head honcho in charge of this mission is coming here, breaking all protocol, to fix this screwed-up mess because you can't leave well enough alone. And you wanna know what's wrong with me?” He ran a hand across his short hair and shook his head. “That's just rich.”

“Hey, you made the choice to bring me here. I had my own party goin' on.” After Hank rolled his eyes, Alexa pressed him for more. “So why are you sitting this one out? You know they have a hostage. You've seen proof off the satellite. What are you waiting for? The guy could be dead, and you'd never know it. What kind of mission are you on?”

She hated grilling Hank, but she was bored and more than a little antsy.

“I'm following orders, Alexa. And if that hostage was in real trouble, we'd know it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Before Hank could answer, a knock on the door stopped him cold.

“So who's at the door?” She leaned forward with her eyes darting between him and the closed door. “Come on, Hank. In a second, that won't be a secret anymore.”

“That's just it, Alexa. I don't know.” He rubbed his palms across his shirt to dry them off.

“Don't you know who's heading up the op?”

“No. I follow orders, Alexa, something you should consider doing from time to time.” Hank reached for the door and pulled his weapon. After he nodded at her, making sure she was ready to back his play, Hank opened the door.

“What the hell . . .” He lowered his gun. “So
you're
in charge of this mission? Well, I'll be damned.”

And Alexa stood with her mouth open. She couldn't help it. She was stunned.

“I thought you were . . .” She shook her head, staring at the man standing in the open doorway.

“You two better have a real good reason for risking this mission, especially you, Alexa.”

Larger than life, Garrett Wheeler filled the threshold and lowered a weapon of his own.