Border Crossings: A Catherine James Thriller (30 page)

The final item to emerge was a small coin bag, but it wasn’t heavy enough to be filled with coins.  “And this?” asked Catherine.  “Cocaine?”

“Diamonds,” he answered.  “About a quarter million dollars’ worth, good for transporting large sums without the need for bulky cash.  The highest quality.”

Catherine sat on the floor and began thumbing through the brown binder.  It was divided into sections.  The thickest appeared to be transactions between Ortiz and Arismendez.  Numbers scrolled down the pages.  “The dates, quantities, and amount of money exchanged,” said Ortiz helpfully.  Catherine’s eyes paused as she saw one of the most recent entries. 
H. Vargas
. 
Thank God it doesn’t say Ramirez,
she thought.  “Ah, yes, Detective Vargas,” Ortiz offered, seeing where her finger rested on the page, “Arismendez had me deal with him, as you can see.  He called it a cost of doing business.”  Catherine had been infused with doubt about Ramirez ever since she’d been followed back to the hotel after their meeting, but now she was satisfied.  He’d probably been telling the truth about Juanita and Anna.  She decided it might be a needed break.  She needed someone local to trust and it would have to be Ramirez.

She flipped to another section, which contained one-page summaries of information on the girls.  It had their names, ages, family members’ names, addresses, and amounts.  At anywhere from two to three thousand per girl average, Ortiz was correct that the drugs were his primary income.  Catherine felt flush with anger as she read through the names.  Marissa, Silvia, Erika, Yesenia, Lucia, the names went one and on, twenty-seven of them now scattered from Texas to Georgia, and all the way up to New Jersey.  “You can help each and every one of them,” said Ortiz.  “We can help them together.”

Catherine held the ledger in her hand and thought about her options.  What could they do with Ortiz?  If they turned him in, he’d only beat the system.  She knew any confession he wrote wouldn’t be worth the paper it was written on.  He’d say he was under duress, for fear of his life, and it’d be tossed in the garbage.  That’s if it even went that far.  More than likely he’d pay someone off and the charges would be dismissed before he spent so much as a night in jail.  If he had this much in his floor safe, he surely had more hiding in accounts somewhere in the world.  So what if he did actually make it to a trial?  He’d find a way to use his resources to beat the charges.  Plus, he had a gang on call.  If he couldn’t bribe or pay off a judge or jury, he could have them threatened or killed.  But if Matt killed him now, what would become of these girls?  She cursed the predicament.  If they let him go now, they’d never get close again.  And if they called the police, they’d be the ones arrested.  But there were the girls to think about.  And there was still the matter of Arismendez.  She looked at Matt for help.

“There’s no question,” he told her, understanding completely what was going through her mind.  “You know that.”

She nodded.

Ortiz had seen the look between them and watched Matt raise the gun, “Wait!” he cried, the silver tongue suddenly sounding like a rusty hinge on an old fence about to fall off.  “We had a deal.  I have your word!” he yelled in anger, “And what about Arismendez?”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Matt.  “We’re pretty good at that.”

“But the girls?  What of them?  Are you going to just leave them to their suffering?  Your word!  You gave me
your word
!”

“No,” said Catherine.  “We’ll look for them, I assure you.  But, we’ll do it without you.  The best thing we can do for those girls right now is to make sure you’re out of their lives permanently.  And make sure you don’t make this list any longer than it already is.”

“But, your word . . . .” Ortiz said again, his mind spinning for something, anything, else to offer.

“On any other day it would be true,” she said.  “But not today . . . not with someone like you.  Oh, you may find this interesting.  That’s the same gun your nephew used on Taylor when you told him to make sure she was dead,” added Catherine.

Matt couldn’t resist.  He smiled at Ortiz. 
I like this new Catherine,
he thought.

“Wait, please, let’s . . . “

“Let’s not,” said Matt, pulling the trigger.  A small hole punched through Ortiz’s head right between his eyes and he stumbled backward, falling into the bookshelves.

Catherine and Matt stood for a moment looking at Ortiz’s body.  She thought again about the slippery slope.  “I’m losing it, Matt,” she said.  “That was too easy.”  She looked into Matt’s eyes.  “I wanted to see him die.  I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

He put his hand at the back of her neck, “Maybe not, but it’s a natural thing given what he is, what he’s done.  There’s only one more to go, Catherine.  But it’s your call.”  He thought about killing the men in the jungle so long ago.  “I’m already who I am, but you don’t have to go down this road.”

She sighed.  “No, let’s finish it.  This isn’t about me.  It’s about Taylor, and Juan,” she held up the notebook, “these girls somewhere out there, and everyone else who’s suffered or would suffer because of people like this.  There’s one more out there.  I can’t call it quits until I know he’s not out there anymore.”

“Okay,” said Matt.  “I’m with you all the way.”  They sneaked out the back, eyes darting left and right for any guards, but the game was still playing and Mexico was winning.  Both were relieved to not find a SWAT team waiting for them as they made their way back to the fence.  The streets were quiet as the
Alusa
security van drove away.

When they returned to the hotel, Catherine called Ramirez and told him what they’d learned so far; leaving out the coercive measures they used to garner such information.  Ramirez was understandably shocked.  “Arismendez!?  Yes, I know of this man, but I would never have imagined his involvement.  He’s well known in Cancun.  He runs several businesses, though I confess I heard rumors that he pays large sums to the cartel.  Still, I never thought he was one of them.”

“Not just one of them,” said Catherine.  “He’s at the top of the food chain.”

“He has bodyguards and security which includes off-duty officers he hires on the side.  I know people who work for this man . . . people I consider friends.  But that’s not terribly unusual for someone of wealth in Mexico.  I just assumed he was a successful, but
legitimate, businessman.  How did you learn all this?”

“I’m afraid I can’t share that with you.  You wouldn’t want to know, anyway.  It’d probably place you in a difficult position.  Let’s just say a measure of justice has been dealt out to those who might otherwise not receive it.”

“I see.  Well, it’s going to require some significant evidence before my superiors will allow me to arrest Arismendez.”

“We’ll be returning to Cancun shortly and I have something to give you, a ledger of sorts.  I think it will be enough to convince your superiors.  Ortiz seems to have kept track of everything in it, including all his transactions with Arismendez.  There’s something you should know,” she said.  “Miguel told us a police officer in Cancun turned over the missing homeless boy, Juan, to the Barrio Boys.  I figured it was Vargas but wasn’t sure until I saw his name in the ledger.  Ortiz paid him twenty five thousand dollars recently.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone as Ramirez thought about this news.  He lowered his head in sadness.  He had long suspected improprieties, but this was almost too much to believe.  “Are you certain?” he asked. 
What have you done, Hernando? And how did I not see?

“There’s an entry the same week I met you in your office.  H. Vargas.  $25,000.  You do the math,” said Catherine.

“I just can’t believe he would do such a thing,” said Ramirez.  “He’s an ambitious man, but to kill a witness . . . a child, no less.  I find it hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” said Catherine.  “And you know he has to be held accountable.”

“I know,” he said, still shocked.  “It shall be handled.  I must make certain of his role, but if he is guilty, he shall pay for his crime.”

“We’re going to need your help, Detective.  I know you may have your hands tied, but I think you may be one of the good guys.  There are not enough of us right now.  We need more good guys.  Can you help?”  She wouldn’t have been surprised if he declined.  What she was asking for could likely end up with Ramirez’s head on the steps of the police station.  It’d happened before.  But Ramirez
was
one of the good guys.  And he was tired of the bad guys killing off the good guys and getting away with it.

“I will help,” he said.  “But Arismendez has better security than most governors.  We will need assistance and I’m not sure who I can call about this.  I’ll have to do some thinking.  We can talk about it when you get here.”

“Be careful,” she told him.  “We’ll see you soon.”

Yesenia sat at the Dallas Police Department’s downtown office retelling her story.  “And you say you saw, with your own two eyes, this man Jose shoot Trooper Daniel Shoal on the evening of April the third?”

“Yes,” she told him again.  “I saw him do it.”  In the corner of the room, a video camera was recording every word and gesture she made.  Across from her sat Detective John Zuniga, an
18 year veteran of the force who had been assigned for both his proficiency in Spanish and his way of handling both suspects and victims with respect and sympathy, earning their trust.

“Now Yesenia,” said Zuniga.  “Tell me again how you ended up at this compound you were telling us about.  You said it all started with a flier you had seen in Mexico City?”

“Yes,” she told him.  “It’s all a big trick.  They promise you a job, a place to stay, but it’s all lies.”

“Tell us more, Yesenia.  What did they do to you?”

The tears came down her face as she spoke.  She relived the entire nightmare from its beginning.  She talked about her conversation with Ortiz who she met through the man from the flier.  Then she told them of her trip to Texas.  She told them about the coyotes and how they were ready to let the little boy die at the river to save their drugs.  She told them about being locked in the cargo truck for the long drive to Houston, and then about Jose shooting the trooper on the trip north to Dallas.  She even told them about Miss Lydia, the compound, and about being raped by the crazy man known only as The Mechanic.

With each word she spoke she felt a great weight being lifted from her shoulders.  She let the words flow like the Nigales River back home.  She talked about how Armando had helped her run away, but then Jose and Hector had somehow found them and been waiting inside the house.  Lastly, she told them how they gunned him down as he told her to run.  “He saved my life,” she said.  “Twice, really.  He saved me twice.”

By the time she finished, Zuniga was leaning over the table hanging on her every word.  Finally he spoke, “You’re a brave young woman, Yesenia.  You just wait here.  I’m going to talk with my colleagues for a few minutes.”

Outside of the little room, Zuniga stood repeating Yesenia’s story in English for his captain.  “What do you think?” asked his superior when he was done summarizing.

“I think she’s telling the truth,” said the detective.  “Look at her.”  They could see Yesenia crying on the little monitor.  “I think every word she told me was true.”

“Get a map and have her show you where that compound is,” said the captain.  “We’ll get started on a warrant.”

Yesenia was taken into protective custody and after she pointed out on a map about where she thought the little compound was, the police handed the information over to the Dallas SWAT team.

“They’re going to raid the compound tomorrow,” explained Zuniga.  “We’ll take you to a safe place tonight, but tomorrow they might need your help.”

“Of course,” she told him.  “Did anybody call Ricky?”  She wondered if he knew about Armando’s death and how he and his mother were doing.

“Yes,” he told her.  “He took it hard, of course, but we’ve got some good folks with them.  We’ll take care of them best we can.”

Yesenia spent the night in a solitary confinement cell.  “It’s just until we can figure something else out for you, but in the meantime, if you need anything at all, just knock on the door.”  Zuniga ordered a pizza and a 2-liter of coke and gave Yesenia what magazines they had lying around.  She fell asleep with a
Cosmopolitan
open on her lap, the colorful pictures of glamorous stars smiling up at her as she dozed off, a promise of the America she’d only heard about, and not at all the one she’d found.  She slept that way, tomato sauce still on her fingers.

The next morning she was greeted by Zuniga, who had brought her a fresh change of clothes, the tags still on them, along with a new hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, and dental floss.  “I hope it fits,” he said, handing the bundle over to her, “Courtesy of the Dallas Police Department.  I’m afraid you’ll have to do without a shower until this evening, but I promise better lodgings for you tonight.”

Yesenia changed her clothes and brushed her teeth and was soon standing in a room surrounded by police and detectives, her nerves vibrating as everyone seemed to be following her lead.  She stood looking down at an aerial photograph of Miss Lydia’s compound with a sergeant from the Swat team.  “We took this photo this morning with our helicopter,” he told her. “Now, what I need you to do is to point out which mobile homes have the other girls, and which one we’re likely to encounter the armed men you told us about.”

She pointed on the map, but as she stared at it she looked at the photo
and realized something was wrong.  “It’s missing,” she told him.

“What’s missing?” asked the officer.

“The trailer - Miss Lydia’s hot box.  It was here,” she pointed on the photo where the trailer once stood, now nothing but a big brown patch in the grass.

“What was in the trailer?” he asked.

“Nothing.  It was where she sent us if we misbehaved.  She would lock us inside.”

“Okay, let’s not worry about it for right now.  Now, what else can you tell me about this compound?  Is this fence here electric?”  Yesenia told him all she knew of the compound and those inside of it.  She made sure to mention the two Rottweillers.  “Do you know how many guns they have or what type of other weapons may be present?”

“I don’t know,” she told him.  “I just know they have guns.  I’m not sure how many, though.  I’m sorry.  You’ll make sure none of my friends are hurt, won’t you?  And the one man, Arnulfo, he really didn’t seem like that bad of a man, I guess.  He kind of tried to be nice.”

“It’s okay,” he told her, marveling at how a young woman like Yesenia could go through the hell she’d been through yet maintain such a selfless disposition.  “We will make every opportunity to keep your friends safe.  And, as for Arnulfo, as long as he doesn’t try to hurt any of the officers and does what we say, he’ll be fine.  If he doesn’t, well that’s another story.  We have to keep our officers safe, you understand.”

Things seemed to happen quickly after that.  Yesenia sat in the police station as the Dallas SWAT team geared up for their charge.  They had rented a hotel room for her, but she felt safer in the police station, at least for the moment.  The anxiety of what would happen began to make her stomach churn like a lava lamp.  She worried for the girls.  She thought about Armando, and what Jose and Hector had done to him.  She kept seeing images of the dead - Armando and the trooper Jose had shot that first night.  She didn’t want anyone else to die.  She just wanted it all to be over and to never see such violence again.  While she sat wondering what was happening, the police were moving in.

The SWAT team had two armored vehicles, which they planned on strategically placing near the compound.  Several vehicles, including the armored ones, approached the compound
, and at the order of the sergeant, the lead armored vehicle crashed through the gate.  Inside, a police officer scanned for activity while the vehicles rushed in.  The dogs came running towards them immediately and barked and growled at the vehicles, not entirely sure what to do about so many unfamiliar intruders.

When they reached the mobile homes, one officer rose up on the turret ready to fire upon any hostiles.  The other SWAT members began to pile out of their vehicles with guns drawn. 
Chico
made the unfortunate mistake of trying to attack the strange men and was put down immediately in a hail of gunfire, scaring the other dog so much it ran away as fast as its legs could carry it.  Then the officers kicked in the door to the mobile home where Jose, Arnulfo, and Hector had stayed.  They found it empty.

Next they kicked in Miss Lydia’s door, and it, too, was empty.  “Clear!” they yelled, going from room to room and then on to the next mobile home.  In a matter of minutes, they confirmed that the compound had been evacuated.  Not a soul remained.

“Damn it,” said Zuniga.  “They knew we were coming.”  He scolded himself for not acting sooner, but he had needed time to get the warrant and set up the strike.

When they returned to the police station he questioned Yesenia.  “Do you have any idea where they might try to go?”

“No,” she said worriedly.  “What about the other girls?”

“Gone,” he told her.  “They’ve all left.”

Yesenia sat wondering what had happened.  Would Miss Lydia take Silvia and the others, and just set up shop somewhere else?  Or maybe it was worse than that.  What if they had killed the other girls because of her?  She couldn’t help but to think it would be all her fault for running away. 
Oh, Silvia.  What have I done?