Читать книгу Crossing The Line: A gripping romantic thriller - Kierney Scott - Страница 11

Chapter Three

A chirping noise pierced the silence of the inky darkness. On instinct Beth’s hand reached out to silence her alarm but the noise continued. It was too early. And it was Sunday, why was her alarm on?

Beth gave the alarm another hard whack. When that didn’t silence it she gave the cord a hard yank.

“It’s your phone.” Torres’ deep voice was a gravelly whisper. He had been asleep too which meant it really was an ungodly hour. Beth glanced at the clock. She had to squint to make out the numbers: 3:38.

She slid her finger across the screen to accept the call. It was an unknown number. “Thomson,” she said.

“Agent Thomson, this is Detective Jamison from Carrizo Springs.”

“Uh huh,” she murmured. Beth glanced at the clock again. It was too early or too late, either way her brain hadn’t fully engaged. Carrizo Springs. She wasn’t working a case there. She couldn’t even think offhand where it was in relation to her.

“Sorry to bother you at this hour but there is an alert on file that says to contact you when there is anything to do with Los Treintas.”

Beth sat up, giving her eyes a good rub. “Yeah that’s right. Thank you. What is going on?”

“There was an incident tonight. A Border Agent’s house was vandalized. No confirmation yet, but it appears that his wife and children are missing.”

Beth’s heart stopped in her chest.

She shook her head. They weren’t missing.

Beth knew that if they were dealing with Los Treintas, his family was dead and it was only a matter of time before he knew it too. Oh shit…

Beth slid out of bed. “What’s his name?”

“Raul Garcia.”

The name didn’t mean anything to her. “Where is he now?”

“He’s home. Detectives and forensics are there.”

Where were her clothes? She has left them in a pile in the corner of the bedroom. She opened her top drawer and pulled out underwear. He shouldn’t be in his house, but he would want to be there in case his family came home. “Don’t let him pick up any packages. Intercept anything that comes to the house. Do you understand?” Los Treintas always sent the heads of victims to their families as a warning. Raul didn’t need to see that, no one did. Her heart was vibrating now, the beats too close together to discern one from the next. Another hit, just like Paige. Beth closed her eyes and pushed down all the memories from that night. She couldn’t deal with them now.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Send me the address to this number. I’m on my way.”

“What’s up?” Torres was sitting up in bed. She could just make out his form in the darkness.

“Just work. I need to go to Carrizo Springs.” Beth tried to sound nonchalant but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. Thoughts were firing at her, memories, only freshly buried.

“Tonight?”

Beth continued getting dressed. She pulled on a pair of fresh jeans and a T-shirt. “Yeah I shouldn’t be long.” Beth let out a rush of air. “No that’s not true. I don’t know how long it will be.” She considered telling him that there had been another hit but she wouldn’t. Torres was out. He didn’t need to be sucked into it.

No that was a lie. The truth was she needed him to be out. She needed a beacon on shore guiding her back to normality so she didn’t lose herself in this sea of depravity.

“I’ll be back…later.” Beth opened the safe where she kept her gun and slid it into its holster.

It took just over an hour to reach Carrizo Springs. Raul Garcia’s house was on the corner of a main street backing onto a gas station. It was nothing fancy, just a small stucco bungalow on a busy street. If he was on the Zetas or Treintas pay roll, he certainly hadn’t invested the money into the modest house or the old minivan in the driveway with a broken taillight and an exhaust held up with duck tape.

There was a rusted swing set in the yard and two bicycles lying in the grass.

“I’m Special Agent Thomson.” Beth held up her badge for inspection but the officers guarding Garcia’s door merely nodded and made room to let her past.

Beth’s breath caught when she saw the scorpion painted on the door, a dark maroon colour that had already dried and begun to crack. “That’s not spray paint,” she said to no one in particular. “Has it been tested? I need this tested.”

The younger looking of the two officers spoke. “Yes, ma’am, it’s blood.”

Beth nodded. “Human?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the officer said almost apologetically. He was young, still fresh-faced and alert, still eager, not yet beaten down by the job. Give it another few years.

“It needs to be tested to see if it’s a match to any of the victims.”

Another officer joined them at the door. “Jamison?” she guessed.

The detective smiled and nodded. He looked to be about forty. He was tall but slight. The Longhorn belt buckle around his waist was more than decorative; it kept his trousers anchored around his slim hips. He was bald now but based on his pale freckled skin and green eyes, he had been a redhead.

Jamison reached out and shook her hand. “Good to meet you, ma’am. Thank you for coming out tonight, well this morning now.” His smile was wide like this was a social call and he really was pleased to meet her.

Beth nodded. She did appreciate Texas manners. A man could be standing over a dead body and he would stop to exchange pleasantries with a lady.

“Any news on his family?”

The smile on Jamison’s face faded. “Yes, ma’am. Four bodies have been found off 83, just south of Crystal City. No ID yet.”

“Decapitated?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Beth took a deep breath. It wasn’t a surprise but still…another family torn about by Los Treintas. She shook her head. “Has the husband been informed?”

“No, ma’am. We were waiting for you. I thought you would want to question him first.”

She nodded again. “Thank you.” Jamison had done her a favour. He knew that once Raul Garcia was told the fate of his family, he would be inconsolable. His use as a witness would be more than compromised; he would be useless to the investigation. While there was still hope, Raul would do whatever he could to bring his family back alive. “Can you please call Victim Services? Have them on hand. He is going to need all the support he can get. And intercept any packages that are sent here or to his work. I can’t stress that enough.”

The heads of his family would already be in transit. The Los Treintas were predictable if nothing else. The heads were always sent to the family as a warning, as if losing a loved one wasn’t painful enough. Bile rose in the back of her throat as her body responded to the memory of the night her sister was murdered. She had never seen her dismembered head. She knew it had been sent because she had read the coroner’s report, but she had been spared seeing it. Someone had made sure it never reached her. She wasn’t sure who she had to thank for that, either Torres or Jessop, but she was grateful. She would do her best to extend the same courtesy to Raul Garcia.

“Can you please send me a copy of your case files? I don’t care how small a lead, I would like to see it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Beth took a deep breath. Time to get to work; time to figure out what made Raul Garcia a target. She stood at the threshold and surveyed the house; no high ticket items that would be out of keeping with a Border Agent’s salary, no flat screen televisions or abundance of electronics, just beige-coloured walls covered in framed photographs. Every wall had at least one family picture but most had several. There were school pictures, wedding pictures, candid shots taken at the lake or at birthday parties. Picture after picture of smiling children and their devoted parents. Grief pierced her veneer, tiny niggling shards of sadness found their way to the centre of her chest but she ignored them.

Judging from the pictures he had three kids: two primary school-aged sons and a preschool-aged daughter. They were beautiful, so young, so innocent. Beth’s throat constricted. She forced herself to look away. She couldn’t think about them right now.

Beth stepped over the pile of discarded shoes in the hallway. Even if she hadn’t seen Raul Garcia’s picture on the wall, she would have immediately recognized him as the victim. He was slumped over on the couch, his hands scrunched into fists, his eyes vacant. She recognized every emotion written on his face because she had felt them all, the anger, the disbelief, the frantic need to do something even though there was nothing to be done.

“I’m Special Agent Thomson – Beth. My name is Beth.” She didn’t reach her hand out to shake his because Raul had lowered his head into his hands.

She considered telling him she understood what he was going through but she didn’t, he wouldn’t appreciate it. No one understood anyone else’s pain. The sad truth of it was everyone was alone in their despair. People could empathize and support but they would never really understand the depth of anguish, they could never feel it. Grief was isolating and unique, singularly different for every person. Had anyone told her they understood what she felt when Paige was murdered, she would have laughed or screamed. No one could ever understand someone else’s pain.

“Special Agent? Like from the FBI? Did you find them?!” Raul asked as he jumped to his feet. He shoved his hand into his pocket. “Here. Take this. You’re going to need a recent picture of them.” He flicked through the pictures in his wallet until her found a picture. “Here.” He thrust the small picture at her. His hand shook as his fingers grazed hers. “It’s the boys’ first day of school. Amalia’s hair is longer now but it still looks like her. This will be OK, right?” His eyes pleaded with her.

A boulder lodged in the pit of her stomach. His family was never coming home but he didn’t know it yet. The enormity of that settled on her, squeezing out all the air from her lungs. She closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. For a moment she couldn’t speak. It was too real again. A month ago it was her waiting for news. She was the one in denial, hoping against hope that everything was going to be OK. This month it was Raul. Next month or next week it would be another family destroyed. How many more lives would the Treintas ruin?

Beth stared down at the photo. His whole world was represented in this picture. And they were gone. Her eyes began to burn. There were no tears, her body had none left but it hurt just the same.

Beth squeezed her eyes shut and told herself to focus. She wouldn’t be any use to anyone if she carried on like this. Later she could reflect and lament and feel despondent. Right now she had a job to do.

She put the picture in her pocket and pulled out a notepad. “I am from the DEA. The investigation into your family’s disappearance is ongoing.”

Raul visibly relaxed. He was expecting her to tell him they were dead. On some level he knew but he was fighting it with every ounce of reason he had. Guilt pricked at her but she ignored it the same way she ignored the pain in her stomach. “Mr. Garcia, when was the last time you saw your family? Where were you tonight?” She hated asking but she had to. He needed to be ruled out but more importantly, she needed to establish the timeline for the abduction.

“Maybe 6:00, 6:30. It was poker night. Some of the guys at work have a game. Once a month. We take turns hosting. Tonight it was at Sal’s.”

“I need the names of everyone there tonight. Anybody that knew you would be out tonight.”

Raul looked up. His dark brown eyes were rimmed with red circles. “Just my buddies from work.”

Beth waited for Raul to process what he had just said. It was possible that Los Treintas had stalked him, followed him, waited for the perfect moment to strike. But it was far more likely that another Border Control Agent had tipped them off. Thanks to Torres, the DEA had identified a dozen agents on cartel payrolls, but they were only the tip of the iceberg.

When Raul didn’t respond, she asked, “Why would Los Treintas want to send you a message? What contact have you had with them?”

He shook his head and started to cry. “I should have let them through.” Raul hunched over, his body shook as he sobbed.

Beth stiffened. Electricity ran the length of her spine. “Who?” She held her breath as she waited for a response.

“Three weeks ago a truck came through. Driver said it was medical supplies, but it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. I turned it away. The next day a guy comes through. He says that the truck will be coming through again. Offered me $1000 to look the other way. I should have taken the money.” Raul sobbed again.

Knowing everything she did about Los Treintas, she had to agree, he should have taken the money. But her job meant she could never admit that. Even if she could, she would never tell Raul. He didn’t need anything else to feel guilty about. Once the Treintas had clocked him, his family was as good as dead. She had seen it too many times to count. Plata o plomo: silver or lead. Cartels controlled people, either through money or violence. When Raul turned down the money, he had signed his family’s death warrant. But there was no dwelling on that now; it wouldn’t bring them back.

“What happened?” Beth pushed.

“I told my supervisor. But it didn’t matter. The shipment never came. I thought—”

“I need your supervisor’s name,” Beth interrupted. She caught Jamison’s gaze, one ginger brow arched in question.

“Chuck O’Grady. He’s a good guy. He said he would take care of it. But he didn’t need to. They never showed up.”

Bile rose in the back of her throat. That good guy may have gotten Raul’s family killed. Beth looked over again to Jamison. “Pick him up.”

Jamison had already started dialling as he walked into the other room.

“What can you tell me about the shipment? What was the name of the company?”

Raul shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Think, Mr. Garcia. Any detail could help. Take your time. What colour was the truck? Was there any writing on the sides? A picture or something.”

“There weren’t any markings. White, no logo, California plates.”

Beth nodded her encouragement. “Did you get the license plate number?”

“No.” Raul’s voice broke as he started to weep again. “Find them please. Please.”

She was losing him. He needed to focus; she needed to get him back. “It’s OK. What about the driver? What can you tell me about the driver?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.” The words came out in a breathless whisper. He was frantic now. He looked like a rabid dog chained to a fence. He rubbed his hands quickly over the chenille-covered arm of the couch. Over and over he rubbed, vigorously pressing his hand into the material. It was going to rip but he wouldn’t notice. Details like that could not reach him now.

Beth shook her head. “OK what about the man who offered you the money? Would you recognize him if you saw him in a photo line-up?”

Raul shrugged his shoulders.

“Was he Mexican?”

Raul nodded.

“Good. How tall was he?”

“I don’t know.” Raul scrubbed at his face. “Can we talk about this when you find them? I can’t think right now. I need my family. Please just find them.” He said more but the words were lost between gasps and tears.

Beth took a deep breath. She needed a description, a name, something to go on. She wasn’t getting anywhere. And she wouldn’t. She had been in the game long enough to know when she hit a brick wall.

Beth looked up when Jamison came back into the room. His brows were knit together; his mouth was a tight white slit.

“Did you find O’Grady?” Beth asked.

Before Jamison could answer, gun shots rang out on the street. Six shots, fired in quick succession followed by the squeal of tires.

Beth slammed her back against the wall, knocking a picture off the wall. “Get down!” she screamed. She drew her gun. “Call it in. We need back up.”

Jamison nodded.

Beth kept her back firmly against the wall as she made her way to the front door. She took a sharp breath before she opened the front door, scared of what she would find.

The two officers were slumped on the concrete steps, surrounded by pool of blood. At least one was still alive because the blood continued to drain from his body, but she could not immediately tell which one.

“Shit!” Beth dropped to her knees. “Call it in!” she screamed again. Shit! So much blood. She couldn’t even see where they had been shot. She rolled the younger officer onto his back. There were two shots to his chest and one in his neck. God he was so young. She didn’t even know his name. She never asked. She held his head in her lap as she checked for a pulse. “Oh God.” He was dead. She didn’t even know his name.

Jamieson knelt beside her. “Ambulance is on its way.”

“Check his pulse.” Beth pointed to the other officer.

Jamison pressed two fingers to the side of his neck. “It’s faint but there’s a pulse.”

Relief washed over her. Beth looked down at the lifeless body below her. “What’s his name?”

“This is Mike Philips and that,” he said pointing to the man in Beth’s lap, “is Tom Higgins. Tom is engaged. Going to get married December 1.”

Was engaged, Beth silently corrected him. He was dead now. He wasn’t getting married. But Mike still had a chance. Please let the ambulance get here.

“Where is O’Grady?” Beth asked.

“Killed, along with his wife and daughter.”

Beth nodded. No surprise there. There was no loyalty in Los Treintas. Even if you accepted their money, there was no guarantee you would be safe. People were expendable. When they were no longer of use, they were killed.

And some were left behind to suffer and serve as a warning. That is what Raul was, a warning for everyone else. He made a mistake by getting in a cartel’s way. Every Border Agent working would know his fate and it would be foremost in their minds when they were checking cargo or processing documents.

Behind her, Raul screamed. It was a guttural sound that reverberated in her core; it was a shriek that sounded more animal than human.

Her head jerked up and that is when she saw it: in a large clear bag, four severed heads.

“Oh God.” Beth sprung up. In an instant she was at Raul’s side, her arms around him for support. He screamed again as his legs bucked and he collapsed down on the worn floorboards of the porch, bringing Beth crashing down with him. She never loosened her hold. There were no words, nothing she could say to begin to numb the pain so she just held him as he screamed.

She closed her eyes. She had no emotions left, but she didn’t need them because she could feel all of his, each drop of pain that fell from him was absorbed by her, became her own. “I will catch the man who did this. I promise. I swear I will make him pay.”

Her words were swallowed by his sobs.

“I promise,” she said again and it was true. These people’s lives meant something. All of them. Beth was going to bring El Escorpion down.

He would pay.