Fatal Secrets (39 page)

“I’ll apologize for my partner, Agent Callahan,” Dean said. “He can be a bit tenacious.”

Victoria’s eyes kept going back to Cammarata. “I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“You don’t? You’re smarter than that, Vicky.”

“Victoria,” she snapped.

“Right. Tori. Got it. Well, I didn’t exactly advertise it, but I was working undercover. Xavier was a very naughty businessman. You heard about the FBI raid the other day.”

She stared at him with disbelief bordering on hatred. “You? You bastard.”

“So I’ve heard.” He glanced at Dean. Dean had never seen such calculation and cold strategy in anyone before.

“Well, see, after that Xavier realized he was dead meat. My man Dean, here—same guy who took down two mob families in Chicago and our own local homegrown boy Thomas Daniels—killed him, too, didn’t you, Dean?—well, Dean had Xavier hook, line, and sinker. Xavier knew it and was willing to deal.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He sat right where you are. I know. I drove him here.”

Victoria was doing her best to keep a stiff upper lip, but Dean saw her composure waver. Cammarata said, “I helped negotiate terms for his testimony against your son, the principals of Rio Diablo, Weber Trucking, and—”

He pulled out the photograph and pointed to the picture of Devereaux in the middle. “And him.”

Victoria paled. “Noel—”

Dean didn’t physically react to the new name. Cammarata hadn’t clued him in on this part of his strategy. He was a loose cannon.

“Noel baby is going down.”

“He’ll kill you.”

“Me? No, I don’t think so. Thing is, Tori,” Cammarata said, “Jones got himself popped. So did Greg, very sad.” Cammarata sounded like he was dancing on their graves. Dean shifted in his seat. “So, babe, let me lay it out to you. My man Jones squealed. Gave us some good faith info for us to verify, but wouldn’t take our protection. We thought he might run, so we confiscated his plane, froze his accounts, the whole nine yards. Hoop here was tracking him, lost him near the river, and bang. He’s dead.”

Dean interjected before Cammarata went too far. “We have Jones’s statement, and it will hold up in court at least to the extent that I can get a warrant to verify everything he said, such as Omega’s latest shipment from Hong Kong.”

Victoria stared at him and didn’t say anything. She played with her diamond and platinum watch with shaking hands.

Cammarata leaned forward. “Xavier told us about your penchant for young boys. Fourteen, fifteen? Georgie ran all the way to America to get away from you, but you followed him. Of course, he’s too old for you to be screwing anymore, but there was that special order of yours.”

Victoria looked down, lip quivering, and Cammarata slammed his hand on the table. “Look at me, bitch!”

She jumped, stared at him, eyes wide. “You think I don’t know?” he said. “He was thirteen and your son brought him up from Chile, along with a shipment of slave labor into Mexico. Then he asked Xavier to fly down and retrieve him for you. You had him for two
weeks, locked in a warehouse. When you had enough, you flew home. Only, you didn’t tell anybody to fetch him, did you?
Did you, you fucking bitch!”

Dean straightened. “That’s enough,” he said firmly.

Victoria said in a small voice, “I want immunity.”

“No,” Cammarata said. “You need to pay for the lives you destroyed and the people you killed.”

“I’ve never killed anyone!” She sobbed, tears leaking, making her excessive makeup run in rivulets down her face.

“Leaving a minor to die of dehydration? That’s murder in my book, babe.”

“Immunity and protection. You don’t know Noel Marchand.”

“Tell us,” Dean said.

“I want a deal on the table. I want my attorney and a deal and then I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Fuck, she’d asked for her attorney.

“Let’s go, Cammarata.”

“No.”

“Now.”

“There will be no deal. We have you dead to rights … unless you give us something we can verify. Something that might help. Where are the girls?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned her head. She was visibly shaking, but held her chin high.

Cammarata made a move to backhand her and Dean grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind him. He pushed him out the door and slammed it shut.

“I don’t care who she is or what she did, you will not hit a suspect in my interview.”

Cammarata was red-faced. “That kid’s not the half of it.”

“Callahan,” Dean said without taking his eyes off Cammarata. “Watch him.”

The assistant U.S. attorney was frowning. “She asked for her lawyer, Hooper.”

“I know.”

He went back in.

Victoria was crying, her body shaking violently. “He’ll kill me. He killed Xavier, he killed Gregory. He’ll kill me. You have to protect me.” She implored him. “Please. I’m not scared of dying. But you don’t know what he does to people.”

“I want to make a deal,” Dean said. “But I have two questions and I need you to answer them truthfully, okay?”

She nodded.

“Where are the young women your son brought from Hong Kong earlier this week?”

“I don’t know. I swear, I don’t know!”

“Do you have a good guess?”

She nodded, eyes wide and her nose leaking as much as her eyes.

“Please, Victoria. If we find them in time, I will personally go to the judge on your behalf.”

She sniffed, wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her spotty hands showed her age. “I don’t know exactly where, but George told Jordan Weber to take them to the mine.”

“The mine?”

“That’s it. That’s exactly what he said. I don’t know where it is. I don’t know, I swear, I don’t know. If I knew, I would tell you.”

Sam had said there were mines all over the Sierra Nevadas. Could there be one on Rio Diablo land?

“I believe you.”

“You do?” She smiled. “Thank you. I’m telling you the truth.”

“One more question.”

Dean took out the photograph of the traffickers. “You said this man was Noel Marchand.”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve known him for years. But that fishing trip was the first time we met.”

“Where was this taken? Our analysts believe Acapulco.”

“Near Acapulco. It’s a small town, Tres Palos. Noel lives in a fortress there.”

“What was this fishing trip about?”

“I-I think,” Victoria said, her chin held up, “I’ll wait for my attorney before I answer any more questions.”

Dean left the room feeling ill. He didn’t want to tell Sonia the news, but he had to. Better to come from him than anyone else.

Cammarata said, “You did pretty good.”

“You sound surprised,” Dean said.

He shrugged. “Sonia doesn’t like idiots.”

Sonia knew something was wrong the minute Dean stepped into the conference room with Sam and Charlie right behind him. “Sam, you and Cammarata find out if there’s a mine on or near Rio Diablo land. Sonia, can you step out here for a moment?”

Dean led her down a long hall past closed doors and wide openings with eight to ten cubicles set back in a work group arrangement. He opened a back door and led her outside to where the garage was bustling with activity around a burned-out SUV.

Dean took her hand and walked her around the side of the garage to where they had a modicum of privacy. It was dark; the sun had completely set. Sonia hadn’t realized it was nearly ten at night. External lamps lit the entire area.

“Victoria Christopoulis is going to cooperate in exchange for immunity.”

“Thank God. It’s about time we had a big break. Does she know where the women are? What did you say about a mine?”

“She doesn’t know the specifics, but she said they were taken to a mine. If we are right in our analysis and they are on Rio Diablo land, we’ll have some major issues, but—”

“Homeland Security has jurisdiction in matters of national security. I’ll take the heat. I’ll take anything if we get to them in time.”

“No need to do that. I think we have cause, and at this point, I’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission. I’m going to play with the time line a bit, contact the tribal council as we approach Rio Diablo boundaries, tell them what’s happened and hope the council doesn’t have huge loyalties to this little tribe.”

“Charlie came through?”

“I hate to admit it, but yeah, he scared her half to death. It put her in the right mind-set to cooperate.”

Sonia took Dean’s other hand and squeezed. “We’re close, so close, why the long face? She didn’t tell you they were already gone?” She tensed. “Or worse?”

He shook his head. “No, no, no. Not that. I have every reason to believe they’re still alive. It’s about your father.”

Sonia stifled a cry. “My dad? What’s wrong? Is he okay? Is it his heart—”

“No, not Owen. Sergio Martin.”

“Oh.” She glanced down, breathed deeply. She was going to have to get used to this. Once it all got out—She’d just have to develop a thicker skin, a stronger spine than she already had. She looked Dean in the eye. “Just spill it. I need to know.”

“He’s Noel Marchand.”

Sonia stared at Dean blankly at first, then the information—the name
Noel Marchand
—sank in.

She slowly shook her head. “I don’t believe you. Marchand is the most notorious human trafficker in the hemisphere. Some people in ICE don’t think he exists, at least as one individual. Some think the name represents
a gang, not a person. It’s not—not—not possible,” she stumbled over her words.

“Victoria Christopoulis confirmed it. She met him that day in the photograph. She’s scared to death of him, believes he’ll kill her. Believed he was capable of killing Jones and Greg Vega. I’m sorry, Sonia, but I wanted you to hear it from me.”

She turned and dry heaved, covering her mouth to hold in a sob.
No. No!

Her father had sold her. Why was she surprised that he was infamous? But the knowledge that his blood ran through her veins chilled her, humiliated her, made her feel tainted and dirty. How could she face his victims? How could she look at herself in the mirror?

She braced herself with both hands on the cinder-block wall of the garage and took deep breaths as silent sobs of anger and sorrow wracked her body. She wanted to forget, she wanted to disappear. Self-pity invaded her mind.
Why me?

“Sonia, you didn’t know. You couldn’t have known. But I had to tell you, even if you hate the messenger.”

She shook her head wildly back and forth, her chest tight. “Why would I hate you? I hate myself. Hate that I didn’t know!”

Dean took her by the shoulders and spun her around. “I never want to hear that again. You’re not God. You’re not all-knowing. You are Sonia Knight, a top-notch investigator, a compassionate cop, a beautiful woman. You are Owen Knight’s daughter, and that man is a damn good dad. Don’t forget it.”

She wrapped her arms around Dean and held on tight. She sobbed, releasing the pain and anguish. Dean absorbed it, shared it. She loved him for it. He had reminded
her of what was truly important. Her family wasn’t the man whose genes ran through her cells, but a mother and father who wanted her, who’d taken her into their home and loved her unconditionally, treated her as much as their own as they did their two sons. Owen and Marianne were her true family.

She whispered into his chest, “Thank you … for reminding me.”

“I love you, Sonia.”

She breathed in sharply, holding his declaration inside, felt his love and devotion. He’d already shown her how much he cared. She’d shared her secrets, her fears, her frustrations, and he not only understood but made her stronger by telling him. As if he’d made her past his own. She never realized how much she needed to have someone in her life to trust explicitly, to love beyond family. That she could be this lucky amazed her, but she wasn’t a fool. She wasn’t going to turn Dean away.

They heard voices in the courtyard around the corner. “Has anyone seen Hooper?”

Dean called, “Over here, Sam!”

Sonia let him go.

Sam ran around the corner. “We found it. I’m certain it’s where they are, if Christopoulis can be believed. It’s an abandoned mine right on the edge of the Rio Diablo property. And get this: it’s not tribal land. They bought it along with several other adjoining parcels over the last few years, probably with Jones’s illegal money.”

“Good work, Sam. Let’s go.”

Mr. Ling approached Noel as he finished loading his favorite gun.

They were both dressed in black. Once they were out in the night they could blend into the surroundings.

“They agreed,” Noel said. “We have one hour.”

“Mr. Marchand, the news.” Ling turned up the volume of the television with a remote.

“… Bob Richardson earlier this evening,” the newscaster was saying.

The shot cut to film of FBI headquarters, evident from the seal on the podium and the American and California State flags behind him. The ticker moving along the bottom of the screen repeated:

Richardson said, “Tonight the FBI has learned that notorious human trafficker Noel Marchand is in the greater Sacramento area. We have a witness who puts him at the scene around the time philanthropist and lobbyist Xavier Jones was shot and killed near his restaurant in Clarksburg.”

An old picture of Noel was put on-screen and Richardson’s voice-over said, “We’re releasing the first known photograph of Noel Marchand, taken seven to ten years ago in Mexico.”

Noel turned red. Where had the FBI obtained that photo? He never allowed himself to be photographed, but it appeared posed. Then he remembered. He’d been fishing with friends in Tres Palos. On his own property. Tobias had a new camera. A present from their father as the old man died, half out of his mind with syphilis. Noel had let Tobias take pictures, but he’d destroyed the film every night. The hobby lasted less than a month, when Tobias broke the camera. Who had kept the film?