No One Heard Her Scream (2 page)

"Break it up, you two. That's an order." The bellowing voice of Lieutenant Arturo Santiago forced her to stand down, but she hadn't gotten off the hot seat. "Montgomery, in my office.
Now!
And Murphy? You're next, after you hit the showers. I don't want to call in a HAZMAT team to fumigate after your sorry ass darkens my door."

A lieutenant always knew how to clear a room. Becca took a deep breath, trying to control the surge of adrenaline through her system.

Murphy shrugged and forced a grin. "Come on, L.T. I'm a ray of sunshine. No fumigatin' required." He backed off with a slight nod and pointed a finger at her. "This is my case, Montgomery. Are we clear?"

"Oh, I think we both know where we stand on the subject, yeah." She tugged into her sweats. "And I'll give your point all the consideration it's due."

Murphy stormed off in a huff, reading her message loud and clear.

Becca hadn't picked the fight, but she'd been prepared to end it. Practically egging Murphy on, she found herself wanting him to throw the first punch. And even more disturbing, she'd been disappointed when the lieutenant intervened. What the hell was wrong with her? She had let Murphy get to her, allowing her pent-up tension to cloud her good judgment. Now she had to deal with the lieutenant in the privacy of his office.

She knew what he wanted to talk about, and it had nothing to do with Murphy's sorry ass.

Lieutenant Santiago's office smelled of coffee and stale smoke, a by-product of the old homicide division, before antismoking legislation. Central Station had been smoke-free for quite a while, but the stench lingered from years past, infused into the walls. No amount of renovation had ever managed to eliminate the odor.

With arms crossed, Becca sat in front of his desk, waiting. She imagined how her conversation with the lieutenant might play out, but none of the scenarios were in her favor.

Play the hand you've been dealt. No fancy moves.

Behind his beige metal desk with walnut veneer top, a clock hung on the wall and marked the passing of time with a steady annoying beat.
Tick, tick, tick.
All part of the charade. Becca knew the man's game of intimidation, making her wait. So far, she had to admit it had worked pretty well. And the glass walls of the corner office made the room feel like a damned sweatbox, even at this time of day. She wiped a sheen of perspiration off her forehead.

To distract herself from the discomfort, she gazed around the room, taking in the details of the man's many accomplishments. Becca's eyes found a photo of Santiago with his family. At work, the lieutenant maintained a stern grimace, but the man had an infectious smile when he allowed it to show. Deepening age lines gave his face character. His short-cropped dark hair had receded to a crown worn like a laurel wreath around his head.

Shiny plaques of meritorious service, framed photos of him with the mayor, and coaching mementos from a local Little League team reflected his life in service to the community and law enforcement. At one time, such recognition would have meant everything to her. But now, with Danielle gone, it all seemed so pointless.

"Jesus, Dani," she whispered. "Why the hell—?"

Tick, tick . . .

Looking out the picture window to her left, she lost herself in the drama of sunrise. Filtered through a cheap set of Venetian blinds, the morning sun pierced heavy cloud cover with spears of brilliant orange, a quiet skirmish. City buses and commuter traffic droned in the background. It reminded her that life carried on, and the world spun on its axis, whether she came along for the ride or not. A humbling notion.

"You take your coffee black, right?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice, an unsettling reaction. Lieutenant Santiago entered the office, holding two cups of coffee. The hot beverage would exacerbate the heat, but she could use the caffeine. Becca reached for the cup as he shut the door.

"Yes, sir." She took a sip, breathing in the aroma from the steam. "Thanks."

"This office can be a bit stifling in the mornings, but I kind of like it."

She drank in silence, waiting for him to start. Knowing the lieutenant, she wouldn't have to wait long.

"What happened? Is it true you've been bird-dogging Murphy's work, conducting your own investigation?"

Becca avoided his stare, looking down into her cup. A lumbering silence filled the space between them, interrupted by the steady beat of the clock.
Tick, tick . . .
The lieutenant knew the answer to his question. And she didn't feel the need to incriminate herself.

"We already talked about this, Rebecca. Your involvement complicates the case. You're too close to it."

She looked up, narrowing her eyes.

"Maybe that's what the investigation needs, sir. A fresh set of eyes. Someone with a stake in this." She set her coffee down on the corner of his desk and crossed her arms. "Murphy is a good cop, but a real simple kind of guy. For him, thinking 'out of the box' is a radical concept, reserved for left-wing liberals, four-eyed geeks, and girlie-men."

Santiago raised an eyebrow and wrestled with his lower lip to avoid smiling.

"So why'd you let him get to you?" The man zeroed in on the heart of the problem. "You were ready to deck him."

She shrugged. "Seemed like a swell idea at the time."

"Not good enough, Rebecca." He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "Look, I know this has been rough on you, not being more involved in Danielle's case. I can't imagine how I'd feel if something happened to one of my kids."

His face softened in empathy. "Don't force me to stop you, Becca. My heart wouldn't be in it. But you gotta see, there's a bigger picture here. And I can't allow you to jeopardize this investigation."

"But my sister's case is getting lost in the shuffle of these abductions, sir." She pressed, her voice laden with emotion. "I gotta speak for her. I don't see anyone else doin' it."

His face settled into his usual stern expression.

"Need I remind you that the circumstances surrounding Danielle are a little different from the other two victims in this case? Yeah, all three lived here and were abducted from class outings across the country. But that's where the similarities end. Your sister left a trail after Padre Island, Becca."

His raised voice merged with an abrasive creak in his chair. The sound made her skin scramble like hearing fingernails screech across a chalkboard. Lately, her nerves were raw, but her revulsion had more to do with what he said. And the lieutenant added insult to injury by harping on his version of the truth.

"Look, you gotta face facts. Dani used her credit card at two gas stations and a motel. And we had an eyewitness sighting and a video to back this up. It looks like she ran away from home and hooked up with the wrong people."

An unreliable witness and one blurry video did not stack up to much in Becca's book. Even if the young girl in the videotape looked as if she wore Danielle's new clothes, identified by her sister's closest friends, it amounted to circumstantial evidence at best.

"But don't you see, Art? She'd never do that. Sure she had a rebellious streak, but what kid her age doesn't? Hell, you should've seen me."

Becca bolted out of her chair and stalked toward his office window, holding back the anger welling deep in her belly. She'd heard this account before, and it always made her furious, but talking about Dani in the past tense gnawed at her gut like a cancer. It didn't feel right.

"You? A rebel? Hard to imagine," he sniped.

"Sarcasm duly noted, but hear me out." She turned to face him. "I think someone stole her credit card and set up a bogus trail for us to follow. I think they wanted to throw us off what really happened to her."

"And what's your theory on that?"

Tick, tick, tick . . .
Becca hated to admit it. She was as clueless as Murphy on what happened to her sister.

At first, Danielle's disappearance looked like the random act of a stray predator. After interviewing Dani's friends and extracting the truth, investigators closed in on a local hot spot. Tire tracks, signs of a struggle, and spots of her sister's blood marked the crime scene. And the college kid she was supposed to meet? He had a damned, rock-solid alibi. So the search for Danielle began. Local law joined forces with a contingent from San Antonio to scour the neighborhood for witnesses. Reward posters and flyers went out. Volunteers and local pilots searched for signs of a body. Radio stations and television news teams blitzed the story. None of the efforts paid off.

In between a few promising leads, many hoaxes were investigated, draining the resources of the police. Eventually, evidence of her credit card use trickled in, the sightings leading the search away from Padre Island. The FBI was brought in when it looked like her trail crossed state lines. Then Becca's worst fear. A motel room splattered with blood—too much blood loss for anyone to survive. At first, she was in denial that the blood belonged to her sister. But the tests came back a match. Dani had died in a cheap motel room. No body found.

Two other abduction cases followed in different states, but with connections to San Antonio. And in the turn of a page, Dani's story became old news. The media moved on.

With Becca relegated to the status of family member, she'd been kept at arm's length from the investigation. Her pushing investigators and double-checking leads had alienated her from the insiders to the case. Censored verbal reports gave her limited information, so she'd resorted to stealing peeks at Murphy's case book. Now that looked like a dead end. The word "powerless" didn't begin to describe how she felt.

And looking into the eyes of her despondent mother on the day they buried Danielle's empty coffin cast Becca into a new brand of hell. A part of her died that day.

"I don't have any theories, not yet." Becca slumped against the window frame. "But if Dani's case is so different from the others, maybe I can conduct my own—"

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" Lieutenant Santiago clenched his jaw, a familiar gesture. "Sit. Now."

His command gave no room for interpretation. This was not an invitation to be declined. Becca heaved a sigh and trudged back to her seat, mustering a rebellious slouch.

"The FBI smells the work of a human trafficking ring with connections to San Antonio. And like flies to a pile of horseshit, they're buzzing over my jurisdiction. I don't need to tell you how
that
makes me feel. Pompous bastards." He furrowed his brow. "With you poking your nose into this, the feds have already raised their objections. Your link to Danielle could pose a problem for the prosecution if they find a connection, especially if a defense attorney gets wind of your involvement with evidence gathering. Do you want that?"

"I don't care about any damned court case, sir. I want justice for Dani."

"And that's the problem. Don't make me out to be the bad guy here. If there's some nut bag abducting and killing young women, it's my job—and yours— to put 'em away." A sad expression etched his face. "Don't make me force you to take time off. You and I both know how you'd spend it. I'd rather keep an eye on you myself."

With his brow furrowed, he leaned across the desk, concern overshadowing his personal disappointment. She owed Lieutenant Santiago so much. The man had been a mentor to her. Interfering in Danielle's case had been a flagrant betrayal of his trust and contrary to her sense of responsibility as a cop. Still, she had no choice. Straightening up in her chair, she waited to hear his version of a compromise.

"Before you hit the showers, get with dispatch. They got a call about skeletal remains found at the old Imperial Theatre, the one that just burned down. For now, I'm assigning you to the Cold Case Squad to handle it. On temporary loan."

"Is this an order, L.T.?"

"Does it need to be?" He matched her tone, ramped up the attitude. He'd lost his patience with the caring father routine. "Look, you've got a chance to give someone else closure here. And you must know how important that is. The pile of bones at the Imperial used to be someone's family. You do your job, I'll do what I can to keep you apprised of Murphy's progress myself. Deal?"

Becca crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, staring at him. He had played the guilt card like a master, no way for her to trump it. She cocked her head and crooked a corner of her mouth, watching as he basked in his victory.

He returned her smile. "If you need anything, or just want to talk, let me know."

"Thanks, L.T. I'll remember that."

Becca left his office and headed for dispatch, her mind working on what to do next. Lieutenant Santiago had been right about one thing. Closure was important. It would be worth
any
sacrifice.

The heat from the sun burned off the morning haze, but an early cool front brought a stiff breeze to jostle the trees. Real Texas weather. A taste of winter might come on the heels of sweltering heat or monsoon rains. This time of year, it paid to be a regular Girl Scout, prepared for anything.

Becca turned off Commerce onto St. Mary's Street and found a parking lot across the street from the Imperial Theatre. She found a spot next to one of the fire department trucks. Once outside her vehicle, Becca tugged at the collar of her white oxford shirt and buttoned the jacket to her navy pantsuit, preparing to go inside. Becca removed her sunglasses, slipped them into the pocket of her jacket, and clipped her ID badge on a lapel. She stared across the street to assess the damage from the front.

Yellow crime-scene tape whipped in the breeze, a flag for curious onlookers. Several people lingered on her side of the street and down a block or two. What they expected to see, she had no idea. For all they knew, it had only been a fire. News of the body had not been released. Still, morbid curiosity drew them like flies to roadkill.

But one man stood out from the rest.

Dressed in a sharp suit and tie, the guy looked like he had stepped off the cover of
Gentlemen's Quarterly
magazine with his swarthy good looks. GQ had mongo bucks written all over him. Wearing dark glasses, he leaned against a deep blue Mercedes S 600 parked along the street, hands in his pants pockets. Even without seeing his eyes, she knew he spotted her, his head turning with interest as she stood on the curb. He didn't look like the typical gawker who hoped to catch a glimpse of some action from the old burned-out building. Not this guy. He was anything but typical. And another facet of him caught her eye. Ever since leaving her Crown Vic, she had become his focus, holding his complete interest.