No One Heard Her Scream (16 page)

"How so?" Becca asked.

"She . . . changed. She wasn't the person I thought, that's all." She shrugged, a hand stuffed into a pocket while the other held her cigarette.

"You gotta give me more than that, Sonja," Becca pressed. "Before she disappeared, when was the last time you saw her?"

"Months, I'd say." Her answer came without hesitation, punctuated by another shrug, the gesture du jour. Her improved memory did not go unnoticed by Becca, along with her contradiction of Rudy Marquez's story about the Mercedes.

Sonja paced her small living room. She took a quick look out her front window, peeking at the rain through dingy Venetian blinds. An animal trapped in a tight cage of her own making. With the growing darkness outside, the room melded into shadow, a blessing as far as Becca was concerned. But eventually, Sonja flicked on a lamp, the pale yellow struggling to make a difference. Ignoring the deluge, the woman turned and flicked ashes to the floor, a question on her mind.

"Why are you here, talking to me? I mean, it's not like me and Isabel were best friends."

Time to turn up the heat. She stood and joined Sonja at the window. A crack of thunder made Becca's heart race, but she kept her face stern.

"I have an eyewitness who saw you get into a Mercedes with Isabel the week before she disappeared. So if you lie to me, I'll know it. Now tell me what happened."

Becca held her gaze rock steady and climbed into the girl's space, her discomfort zone. Sonja only flinched for an instant, but the attitude came back with gusto. She raised her chin in defiance. But soon, her eyes glistened with the onset of tears. The sudden change took Becca by surprise, a tough girl taken down a peg.

"A Mercedes? I don't know anyone with that kind of car. Not then, not now. What's this about, Detective?" A tear slid down her face. Without hesitation, Sonja wiped it away. "Look, I'm telling you the truth. I don't know anything about Isabel and a Mercedes."

Becca hung tough. She wasn't done with her bluff.

"And your boyfriend, the one with expensive taste in cars? I suppose he never drove a high-priced ride like that."

"I don't know who you've been talking to, but I never had a boyfriend with that much jack. Look at me ... at this dump. Does that make sense to you?"

Sonja's shoulders took on the image of profound defeat. She retreated to the sofa and slumped into it. The girl had a point. Had Rudy lied to her about Cavanaugh's connection to Isabel? Why would he do that?

"Back then, I dated some, but no one in particular. I wasn't exactly considered outgoing as a kid. I don't understand. What has this got to do with Isabel?"

Her hardened expression melted into genuine concern. She looked lost. Becca joined her on the couch as the rain pelted the windowpane behind her.

"I'm trying to establish a time line prior to her disappearance. What did you and Isabel argue about?"

"What argument?"

"You said you grew apart, but that usually translates to an argument of some kind." Becca smiled. "My sister and I used to . . ." She stopped herself. "Tell me what happened between the two of you."

"There's nothing to tell, except . . ." No eye contact, but a dark trail colored her cheeks, makeup mixed with tears.

"I'm listening." Becca edged nearer.

"Look. Isabel and I were friends until she . . ." Sonja took a deep drag off her cigarette and blew the smoke into the air. With slender fingers, she swiped her face again. "Her mom is real sweet. I don't want her mother to find out."

"Find out what?"

Sonja leaned forward and stubbed out her cigarette onto a dirty plate. She collapsed back onto the sofa. With pain in her eyes, she began, "You gotta understand. Kids like us don't see a lot of cash. The money was tempting. I thought about going to college even. A real pipe dream for suckers, huh?" Bitter regret tainted her voice.

"Cash for doing what?"

"I don't want to get into trouble." She looked away, tears flowing. "No one can know."

Becca reached for her hand, a gesture she couldn't resist. "Talk to me, Sonja. Tell me what happened." Becca used her first name, a deliberate move.

A roll of thunder outside muffled quiet sobs. Sonja pulled her hand away, looking frail and thin. She crossed her arms over her chest, withdrawing into the past.

"Did someone try to recruit you into prostitution, Sonja?"

Becca took a chance by prompting her, not exactly following interview protocol. To get at the truth, she nudged Sonja and gambled on the prostitution angle. After a long moment, the young woman nodded and wiped her face with a sleeve, her eyes and cheeks red.

"Who?" Becca inched closer. "Who did this to you?"

She expected to hear Hunter Cavanaugh's name. Becca held her breath and fixed her eyes on the girl, waiting.

Time stopped. Sonja drew a ragged breath and whispered her secret in shame.

"Isabel Marquez."

Lightning flashed across the blinds, trailed by a loud crack of thunder. A stunned Becca never heard the sound.

"I never did it. I couldn't," Sonja Garza confided as she stood, her arms wrapped around herself. "No one knows. I was so ashamed I even thought about it. That's why I lied to you before. Denial is so much easier than admitting it to myself. And I always believed Isabel would twist what happened, to get back at me if I said anything."

The young woman walked toward the window and peeked through the blinds.

"I never wanted Isabel's family to find out," she added. "What good would that do? They've suffered too much already. I didn't want to be the one who told."

Becca knew what she meant. She'd seen the family's pain imprinted in the eyes of Hortense Marquez. And the brothers each carried his own burden.

"You won't tell them, will you?" Sonja turned her head and looked back over her shoulder. "I don't think they could handle it."

"Not sure I'll be able to keep a promise like that. Depends on how the investigation goes." Becca heard the compassion in Sonja's voice and wanted to reflect the same. "What happened? Tell me about Isabel."

A low rumble of thunder and light filtered through the blinds, then vanished, casting the room back into shadows. The meager light from the lamp strained against the gloom, but at least the storm had lost its loud bluster. Sonja turned from the window and leaned against a wall. Her eyes stared straight through Becca. The past eclipsed a dreary afternoon.

"She started hanging out with different people." Her voice was almost a whisper, choked by regret. "We grew apart, especially after she pushed so hard to get me to—"

Sonja stopped and lowered her head. Becca distracted her with another question.

"Who did she hang out with . . . exactly?"

She thought for a long moment, then answered, "I never knew. And there were the rumors."

"Rumors about what?" Becca asked.

She joined Becca on the sofa and gripped a pillow to her chest.

"Isabel came from a poor family, but all of a sudden, she flashed cash and wore expensive jewelry. I hated math in school, but even I knew how to add two and two."

"She wore a gold necklace. You know anything about it?"

"A gold necklace?" Sonja's brow furrowed.

"Shaped like a heart with small diamonds on it," Becca clarified.

Sonja swallowed hard, a look of surprise on her face. Eventually, she shook her head.

"No, I don't know anything about it. I think I saw it on her once or twice. She may have worn it for a class photo. But I never knew where she got it."

"Come on. You mean you weren't even curious enough to ask about it? If I saw my friend wearing a necklace like that, I'd want to know where she got it."

"You have to understand, Detective. We weren't talking much by then. She was such a stranger . . . and anything like that only reminded me how she earned it."

Her tears flowed again, more tragic in light of the distinct rhythm of the rain. A gentle patter doused the pane, lingering in the wake of the storm. She reached for Sonja's thin shoulder and stroked it with her fingertips, a reminder she wasn't alone. This time, Sonja didn't pull away.

As Becca looked across the small room, she saw the afternoon sun gain strength in spurts through the Venetian blinds. The storm had subsided. She took solace in nature's cooperation and hoped Sonja would, too.

"I'm sorry to dredge up the past. I do understand how hard this must be," Becca commiserated.

"I feel like such a baby." Sonja sobbed, her words garbled. "I haven't cried like this since those days . . . about Isabel."

"It's hard to lose someone. Especially like this."

"Can I ask you something, Detective?" Sonja wiped her eyes and looked up. "Ever since you walked in here, I've wanted to ask. You look familiar, like maybe I've seen you on TV. Is that possible?"

Becca had gotten this question before and always dismissed it without an answer. But with Sonja, she wanted to be truthful, to a degree. It felt like the thing to do.

"A while back, I lost my sister, Danielle. She was abducted and . . . My mother and I were interviewed by the news media."

"Oh God, now I remember. Danielle Montgomery, sure. I must have seen that." Sonja cupped a hand to her mouth in surprise. "Did you ever find your sister?"

Becca swallowed and brushed back a strand of hair behind her ear before she answered.

"No. She's dead." She didn't want to shed light on the details. She'd already said too much.

"I'm so sorry. Isabel's case must be hard for you." Sonja looked her in the eye.

For a moment, Becca felt a connection to a kindred spirit in her tragedy. But a sharp feeling of vulnerability closed in, and all she wanted to do was leave the depressing little apartment. The rain had eased enough to make a run for her car. Becca handed Sonja her business card and walked to the door.

"If you think of anything else, please contact me. Anytime." She forced a smile and touched Sonja's arm. "And thanks for your candor. It couldn't have been easy."

The younger woman only nodded. No smile. In truth, none of this had been easy, for either of them.

Becca walked out the door and headed for her car, under the steady drizzle. The face of Isabel Marquez flooded her mind. Up until now, she had built a perception about her murder victim. Being a recruiter for a prostitution ring had not been part of the equation. Sonja's revelation shocked her. It shouldn't have. Becca should have stayed objective and open to anything, allowing the evidence to lead the way.

Why hadn't she allowed her training and experience to guide her?

Becca unlocked her car and slid inside, starting it with a turn of the key in the ignition. She drove through the apartment complex and pulled onto the frontage road, with her wiper blades beating to a slow steady rhythm. The rain and traffic sounds were no more than white noise. In the aftermath of the storm, drivers jockeyed for position and made the drive home slow. It gave her time to think . . . about things she'd been avoiding.

The Marquez case took a backseat to the issues she had on her mind. It wasn't the murder investigation that challenged her most. It was how the case affected her, forced her to take a long, hard look at herself.

Her personal life had been the source of her weakness. Everything sprang from there. One by one, her failures emerged for a closer look, persistent like the unchanging rain. At the root of it all, she had lost her family—a link she thought would be impossible to break, indestructible. Becca blamed herself for the fragile tie. And with her sister dead and her relationship to Momma strained and virtually nonexistent, she compounded the blunder with another grand mistake. She let Diego Galvan get under her skin without really questioning his motives. The skeptical side to her nature had been stifled when she needed it most. Why?

But with the question barely out there for examination, she knew the answer. Her need to stay connected to another living soul had been the driving force. She'd become a master at erecting walls to keep others out, and the task had grown exhausting. Becca knew it and understood the need, yet she had broken down the barrier for Diego. She had reached out to a stranger—a man who might not have her best interests at heart. The move didn't strike her as savvy. She only hoped the word "self-destructive" wouldn't describe it best.

Her mind surged with questions about Diego Galvan.

How much did he actually know about her? Had Diego taken advantage of her vulnerability on purpose, for his own personal agenda? Yes, he could have learned about Danielle from recognizing her on TV as Sonja had. But his link to the FBI as an informant made more sense as the source of his great insight.

In the end, none of it mattered. She had allowed it to happen. Diego had gained a foothold in her heart, trust or no trust. Becca prepped the ground herself, making it fertile for whatever would sprout from their union. How far would she let him go? Diego might want more than she had to give.

"You are such a fool, Becca," she muttered.

At a stoplight, she ran fingers across her damp hair, looking at herself in the rearview mirror. The eyes of a stranger stared back, until the mirror shifted to another image. Her sister trickled from her memory, and Becca saw remnants of Danielle in her own face.

That's when she knew. She'd screwed up.

Her professional judgment on the Marquez case had been clouded by her obsession—a fixation to find answers in Dani's death. As a result, she had tainted the Marquez investigation, right down to the way she'd conducted her interviews.

Were Isabel's and Danielle's cases linked at all, or did she merely want them to be—need them to be? Was it easier to blame someone like Hunter Cava-naugh than to admit she might never find Danielle's killer—her own failure? She gritted her teeth as she made a right turn toward home.

The Riverwalk
Downtown, San Antonio

Becca stared out the window of her condo onto the river below. The rain had cleared the usual crowds of tourists. Stone walkways and big-leafed foliage were slick with sheen, making everything appear lush. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, it cast a fire against the lingering storm clouds. Orange and gray streaked the sky over the rooftops of the city.