No One Heard Her Scream (7 page)

He shrugged. "Why are you here, Detective?" Before Becca answered, an older woman entered the room from the kitchen, wearing a blue house frock and a faded green apron, wiping her hands with a rag. Petite and rail thin, Hortense Marquez looked as if she'd been crying. Her eyes still brimmed with the sheen of tears. She wore a yellow bandanna wrapped around her head, and curly wisps of gray hair poked out from under it. Grief etched her face, making the woman appear older than her years. And despite the memorial of hope she'd set up in her living room, despair had found a home in this woman's eyes. Becca knew the look all too well.

"This is my mother. Please excuse us." After a quiet exchange in Spanish with the priest, the woman forced a smile and nodded before she left the room. But not before she gave Becca one final look, one she'd seen from her own mother's eyes. Although Becca knew only enough Spanish to be dangerous, no words were necessary. For the things that really mattered in life, there were no language barriers.

Once they were alone, the priest gestured for her to take a seat.

"Was there some reason you didn't tell her I was with the SAPD?" she asked as she sat on a green floral love seat, armrests frayed on the corners.

"Her English is not good. No sense in alarming her until I know . . . something for sure." Father Victor took a seat across from her, a wooden chair that had seen better days.

"I'm investigating your sister's disappearance."

Before she went on, the priest interrupted. "Investigating? It's been almost seven years. Why have the police taken an interest now?"

Suspicion narrowed his eyes. Father Victor had set aside his religious affiliation to become brother to Isabel, the patience and generosity of his profession forgotten.

"I know this must be difficult, but—"

"Know? How could you know?" He lashed out, his face wracked with grief. But when he looked into Becca's eyes, he stopped himself. "I suppose you see a lot of families like this."

"Unfortunately, that's true, but it's still not the same as going through it." Becca met his gaze. She wanted to stop, not go any further. Maybe it was his white collar. Or maybe she saw herself in him, like a mirror. "My baby sister, Danielle. She was taken . . . and killed. We never found her body."

The priest stared at her in disbelief. They sat in silence. The quiet gave Becca a strange comfort. She looked away to give him time to recover. Or maybe she needed the time. But when she looked up, the priest's eyes glistened with tears. The sudden display of sympathy caught Becca by surprise.

He reached for her hand, his fingers clutching hers. Becca flinched at his gesture. She hadn't been touched in a very long time.

"But if you never found her body, how could you know for sure?" he asked.

How could you know?
His words brought back a flood of doubts. Her acceptance of Dani's death had never felt real. She gave it lip service, but in the end, she didn't believe it herself. Not without a body. Becca felt an old familiar wall erecting. The tiny living room closed in on her. She gritted her teeth and pulled her hand away. Becca couldn't deal with his pity.

"We ... I know, Father."

She squeezed the casebook in her hand. Although closure for the Marquez family had its inescapable merits, she didn't want to be the one to rob this family of hope. Still, she had a job to do. Her usual mantra.

But as the flickering red votive candles of Isabel's shrine taunted her, a disturbing thought took hold. Had she really given up on Dani so easily? An empty casket. The headstone. Becca believed she'd done the right thing to give her mother closure, but now it all felt like such a betrayal. She avoided the priest's stare and took a deep breath.

"Are you all right, Detective?"

"Yes, I'm fine." She cleared her throat to shake off the emotion. No sense in prolonging this. "We've found some remains that may be your sister's. I'll need a sample of the family's DNA to help with the identification."

Father Victor shut his eyes and lowered his head, a quiet prayer. At least the man had his faith to give him strength. She gave him a moment, gazing around the room. Her eyes found a Marquez family photo hung on a nearby wall. In his priest garb, Victor stood behind his mother with Rudy and Isabel at her side, a picture taken at a happier time. It reminded Becca of another photograph. The one she'd brought with her from evidence.

"I'm so sorry for what your family has gone through," she added in a quiet tone. "Father Victor, can you tell me anything about the necklace your sister is wearing here?"

Becca showed him a photograph from her casebook, evidence from the archived box on the Marquez missing person case. Earlier, she had recognized the gold jewelry in the photo as being the same item recovered from the bones at the theater.

"I remember this. The Isabel I knew never could have afforded such a necklace." He clenched his jaw and held the picture in his hand, his eyes glazed over by the past. "She told me she bought it for herself, but I never believed that. At the time, I heard she was dating an older man, someone with money. But she would never talk about it. Not with me."

"If she didn't talk to you about it, Father, who
did
she talk to? How could you know about the older man if she wasn't the one who told you?"

"It's been so long ago. I forgot."

By his expression, Becca could tell she'd surprised him by her question. And his answer had been too abrupt. Coupled with the shift in his eyes, he looked like a man concocting a story. After the priest handed back the school photo, he shifted in his chair, a guarded posture. Another sign of his reluctance. Becca tried a different approach.

"The piece looks like a unique design. Can you tell me anything more about the heart charm?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that." With a fingernail, Father Victor picked at a chip in the armrest of his chair, avoiding her eyes. Another stall and another dead end.

"Well, who
could
help me?" When he didn't answer right away, she tried another avenue. Becca had to get him talking again. "Did you all grow up in this house, Father?"

"Yes, we did." A faint smile. "My mother did the best she could raising us after my father died."

"Tight quarters. And only one bathroom?" After he nodded, Becca smiled. "That could test the strength of a family, for sure."

"It wasn't so bad after I moved out. St. Mary's Seminary in Houston. The archdiocese gave me a scholarship."

"Good opportunity for you, but I bet Isabel and Rudy still fought over the bathroom even after you left. Typical brother-sister stuff, huh?"

"Oh, no. It wasn't like that. Isabel and Rudy got along great. They were inseparable, really. They shared—" He stopped himself.

"So Isabel and Rudy were close?" she asked.

The memory opened fresh wounds for the priest. Becca witnessed a dark haze spread across his face.

"Maybe Isabel confided in Rudy about the necklace and who might have given it to her. Do you know what she told him, Father?"

"How would I know that? I didn't even live here anymore. I can't help you, Detective. I have no idea what they talked about."

"Maybe Rudy can help me. Where is he now?"

"He's at work, but no telling when he'll be home. Is this really necessary?"

"How does he get to work, Father?" she persisted. She kept up the questions, hoping to distract him. And her constant use of his title was deliberate, reminding him of his calling.

"He drives himself, normally."

The man hadn't lied. The word "normally" was a smoke screen.
Normally,
a very clever one, but not today. Not when she knew about the truck outside.

"Why all the questions about my brother?"

And why all the resistance, Father?
she wanted to ask. But if she did, his limited cooperation would dry up in a hurry. Evasive didn't begin to describe how Father Victor had reacted to her questions about Rudy.

"Excuse me, Father, but what kind of vehicle does he drive?"

She painted him in a corner to see if he'd lie about the truck. He took a long moment to think. His moment of truth, or not. But by the defeated look in his eye, she knew there was no point to continue along this line of questioning.

"You know, Father, it won't take me any time to run a DMV check on the red F—150 parked in front. You want to save me some time?"

"Why would you assume that truck belongs to my brother?"

Suspicion edged his face, but by his contrite tone, she knew the man was more on the defense than the offense. Becca was still in control. Yet for her to admit she knew for certain the truck belonged to the cleric's brother, she might tip her hand on Rudy's trip to the Imperial. And she wasn't ready to do that.

"Call it a hunch. Your mother doesn't look like the F—150 type, in red no less. Is the truck yours, Father?" She had no idea if Roman Catholic priests owned vehicles or not.

"No. I came in a few days ago. Rudy lets me borrow his truck when I'm in town. My parish, St. John's, is in Houston."

"So how did Rudy get to work today?"

It took him a long moment to respond. He knew she had gotten the better of him again.

"I drove him," he replied. Before she asked another question, he pressed, "Detective, what are you after? If all you want is to talk about that necklace and get a DNA sample, I can help you. There's no need to dredge up the past with my brother."

Tough cookie. A priest with street smarts and a stubborn streak to boot. Father Victor was not making this easy. Being the oldest, he slipped into his big brother role with ease. When it came to Rudy, the man put up one helluva roadblock. But after taking a deep breath, the priest softened his expression and tried another approach.

"Look. Tomorrow I promise to bring my brother by your precinct. We'll cooperate with the DNA testing, but I'd like to be present while you speak to Rudy. As kids, he and Isabel were very close. I'm afraid this will break his heart. Can you understand that, Detective Montgomery? I'm trying to protect my family. What's left of it."

Becca handed the priest her business card.

"When would be a convenient time to talk to your brother?"

"I'll bring him by after work, around six if that's not too late."

"That's fine. Just ask for me." Becca wanted him on her side. "You want closure for your family, don't you, Father?"

Without looking up from her business card, he nodded.

"Please . . . help me do that." She leaned forward, resisting the urge to touch him. "It must be hard for you, not living here."

For an instant, pain tinged his expression. The conversation had turned personal again.

"I came in for my sister's birthday. It was yesterday." He couldn't look her in the eye. Instead, Victor stared at Isabel's shrine, his eyes mesmerized by the flickering candles. "We still celebrate her special day. My mother even wraps a gift, saving each one for when Isabel . . ." He steepled his fingers and pinched the bridge of his nose, slouching back in his chair with eyes closed. "It's been hard for all of us. I stayed with my mother today after I drove my brother to work early this morning."

Danielle's birthday wasn't for another couple of months. Becca wondered what she and her mother would do to mark the occasion. The thought twisted her gut into a knot until she replayed what he had said in her mind.

"Out of curiosity, what kind of work does Rudy do?"

"He's a mason, works for various subcontractors. The construction business in San Antonio is quite healthy. He does okay."

"Those guys work hard. He must have a pretty long day. What are his usual hours?"

"Dawn to dusk this time of year."

If Rudy was at work by dawn and without his truck, who had been outside the Imperial Theatre midmorning? Was Victor telling the truth about his hours, or protecting his brother once again?

Okay, she had to admit it. The brothers looked so much alike that Becca didn't know if she'd made a mistake in assuming the crime-scene videotape had been of Rudy in front of the theater. But maybe the DMV records influenced that decision. Thinking back, she recalled a man stood by the truck in worn jeans, a sweatshirt, and a jacket, sans the white collar of a priest in uniform. She would have remembered a priest. Doubts leached into her brain.

Which one had been outside the Imperial?

"Well, I won't take up any more of your time, Father." Becca stood. "The sooner we get things resolved, the better. Maybe you and I can find our answers, bring Isabel home once and for all."

"And maybe some questions are better left unanswered." Before she replied, he gestured for the door and walked her out. "See you tomorrow, Detective."

Becca walked down the short sidewalk to the gate, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. She felt the priest's eyes at her back. All she wanted was to shed light on a despicable crime, but this interview drilled another point home. She needed to learn much more about Isabel and Rudy. And after meeting Victor, new questions stirred in her mind. The priest knew more than he said.

Her investigation had taken a 180-degree turn.

Paseo Del Rio (The Riverwalk)
Downtown San Antonio

Staring out the window of her small condo on the Riverwalk, Becca took a swig of lukewarm beer, ignoring the flat taste. Her eyes took in every detail, yet nothing registered in her mind. The trip to the Marquez house had struck a personal chord, setting her into a deep funk. Becca ran fingers through her dark hair and pulled down the sleeves to her SAPD sweats.

Even though Father Victor Marquez looked anything but happy, the priest still had his family to protect. He ran interference for both his brother Rudy and their mother, a tight bond.

In sharp contrast, Becca had closed down to deal with her grief, shutting herself off from anyone who got too close—especially after Momma did the same. Before the abduction that ended Danielle's life, Becca would have bet good money on the underlying strength of her family. But in the end, the tie to her grieving mother had been as fragile as glass. Maybe they were too much alike. She remembered her last visit with Momma, hearing the words that broke her heart.