“No,” Jan said. “But her father ate, and I remember bringing him three beers.”
Fran seethed every time the flight attendants referred to Zarco as Bella’s father, wanting to correct them. How could Dale not react?
“He had an unusual accent,” Jan continued. “Maybe Australian?”
“Did you see the girl get off the plane?” Dale asked.
“Well, she had to deplane.”
“But did you see her walk off on her own?”
“Sorry,” Jan said. “I don’t remember.”
Carla continued to study the photograph with a frown. She raised her head. “We did have a couple of wheelchairs meet that flight, but I don’t remember if this kid was in one.”
“Yeah, I don’t remember, either,” the male attendant said.
“So you don’t recall the father helping her deplane?”
All three shook their heads.
“What’s going on?” Carla asked. “Is the girl okay?”
“We hope so,” Dale told her. “But she hasn’t been heard from since that flight.”
“Yikes,” Carla said.
“That doesn’t sound good,” her male colleague muttered.
Fran stiffened at his ominous tone.
Jan nodded. “I knew something was off about that guy.”
“Anything else unusual about either the man or the girl that sticks in your mind?” Dale asked, shooting a quick glance to Fran. “Anything at all? You never know what might be helpful.”
Carla shrugged. “No drama that I recall. I agree the father was creepy, but the friendly skies are full of creeps.”
“Sorry,” Jan said. “Unless we’re alerted a child is unaccompanied, we don’t have time to pay much attention.”
Dale caught Fran’s gaze, eyebrows raised. Fran shook her head, unable to think of any other questions.
“Okay. Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate your cooperation.”
“Good luck,” Jan said, deliberately meeting Fran’s eyes.
Fran smiled at the flight attendant. She understands. She is a mom, too, and she knows I am the girl’s mother.
“I’ll pray for her,” Jan said softly. “I’ll pray for you both.”
Fran turned away to hide her tears. Dale reached for her hand and squeezed.
* * *
DALE OPENED THE passenger door to his SUV, and Fran climbed inside. He closed the door, the sound echoing in the concrete parking garage. Fran had been on the verge of tears since their interview with the flight crew and hadn’t spoken. She’d expected some huge revelation, but she wasn’t a cop. She didn’t understand that ninety-nine percent of police work consisted of pounding the pavement and asking questions. Civilians looked for the exciting “aha” moments they enjoyed on television.
The FBI hadn’t interviewed the flight crew because experience had told them they wouldn’t learn anything new. They knew Bella was on the flight with Zarco, although the trafficker had used his Arthur Finnegan alias. He’d likely drugged her once airborne so he could control her when they landed. The last thing Zarco needed was a hysterical teenager on his hands.
When Dale slid behind the wheel, he turned to Fran. She stared out the windshield.
“Are you okay?”
“How can I be okay?”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Now what?”
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“No.”
“You need to eat.”
“I could not eat.”
“So I’ll take you back to your hotel.”
“I do not want to go back to my hotel.”
“What do you want to do, Frannie?” he asked softly.
She crossed her arms around her middle. “I want to find our daughter.”
The anguish in her voice reached deep inside Dale and squeezed. “I know you do.”
“Talking to the flight crew was a waste of time. We learned nothing new.”
“We confirmed that Bella got on the flight and that Zarco drugged her.”
She turned to face him. “Why didn’t the flight attendants do something if they thought Bella was drugged?”
“What could they do?”
“Radio ahead and have authorities meet the plane.”
“And what if she had been a child terrified of flying whose father had given her a sedative. People medicate on flights all the time.”
“How could he drug her?” Fran squeezed her eyes shut. “She is just a little girl.”
He squelched the impulse to remind her of the obvious, that Bella wasn’t a little girl to the slaver. She was a commodity, something to buy and sell. Fran didn’t need to hear that right now.
Dale stared out the window, wishing he’d met his daughter before she’d been snatched. Even if by some miracle they found her alive and healthy, she’d be forever altered by this experience. She’d be fearful and likely never trust anyone for the rest of her life. Even with counseling, what kind of a life would Bella have?
And if they never found her, would Fran ever get over that loss?
His phone chirped, interrupting the heavy silence in the vehicle. Fran jumped, indicating how edgy she was. No telling what depressing path her thoughts had wandered down. Dale glanced at the readout.
“It’s Agent Rivas.”
“Maybe he has news,” Fran said, her voice eager. “Put it on speaker.”
Dale punched the speaker button. “Yeah, Javi.”
“Our team checked in from the warehouse.” Javi’s voice floated into the SUV. “They arrested one Ricardo Morales when he arrived with food for the children.”
Dale met Fran’s gaze. “Are they bringing him in for questioning?”
“He should arrive within the hour,” Javi said. “I’ll conduct the interrogation.”
“Thanks. I’m on my way.”
Javi disconnected, ignited the SUV’s engine and backed out of the parking space, a spark of excitement in his gut. This was what he loved about police work.
“I’ll take you to the hotel,” he told Fran.
“But you are going back to the FBI office?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
“You will sit in when the FBI asks questions of this Ricardo Morales.”
“I’ll probably just observe.” But, man, he’d love to be in the room with Javi. Would he agree? In three weeks they’d be working together on the new terrorism task force. This interview could be a trial run.
“I want to go with you,” Fran said. “I want to observe as well.”
Dale stopped at the garage entrance to wait for a break in traffic. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps I can provide information about Bella.”
“Either Morales recognizes Bella’s photo or he doesn’t.”
Fran looked away. “What good can I do at the hotel?”
“You’ll be comfortable. Please understand that asking questions is what police work consists of. We spin our wheels putting in time and drudgery before getting a break in a case.”
“I understand that.”
“I don’t think you do. It’s a long shot that we’ll learn anything new about Bella from this guy.”
“But we might. You will show him that inhaler?”
“I’m sure Javi will. Odds are Senor Morales will deny any knowledge, and you’ll consider this interview another giant waste of time.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “I should not have said that. I am sorry. It will not happen again.”
Dale stared at her fingers on his arm, surprised that Fran had touched him. He raised his gaze to dark bottomless eyes and sucked in a breath, flung back to a time when he’d been desperately in love with an adventurous young girl. A girl with a beautiful accent and the most amazing skill to create beaut
y with her hands.
In more ways than one. He swallowed hard.
He’d never been able to say no to that girl. He’d given her anything she wanted. But tonight he couldn’t give her what she wanted. He couldn’t give her their daughter back. Would that change anything between them if he did?
“Please, Dale,” she said. “I want to go. Take me with you.”
“It’s not up to me whether you can observe. That’s the FBI’s call.”
“I’ll talk to Agent Rivas,” she said. “He will allow me to watch. I’ll play the international incident card again. Threaten to go to the media. A grieving mother is always sympathetic.”
“The interview might take hours, probably will. What if you’re sitting in a waiting room with no television for entertainment?”
“I can draw,” she said softly. “I always carry a sketch pad in my purse.”
Dale shrugged, tired of arguing with Fran. Damn, but the woman was relentless. And he understood why she wanted to be there.
So why not let her spin her wheels alongside law enforcement? At least she’d see firsthand efforts were being made to find Bella. Perhaps that would give her comfort in the years to come when she thought about her daughter.
Their daughter.
A daughter he doubted he’d have the pleasure of meeting.
He’d do what he could, make every move he could think of to locate her, push the FBI to maintain the search, but he knew the odds. Children missing this long were seldom found alive.
CHAPTER SIX
FRAN CAUTIONED HERSELF to remain calm, to not allow her hopes to mushroom as she entered a room marked Observation with Dale. The space contained three computer monitors with blank screens.
Agent Rivas turned when they entered and nodded. He pressed a button on a phone and said, “Bring it up.”
The monitors blinked on with various views of a man slumped at a table. She’d expected a one-way window like those on the American police dramas on TV that Bella so loved, but the FBI had more advanced technology. Fran saw the advantage. One of the views was a close-up of the man’s face.
She assumed the man was Ricardo Morales.
So this is what a monster looks like.
This man, this Morales, appeared to be forty years old. He wore cheap, ill-fitting dark pants, a loose gray shirt, and needed a shave. His dark hair could use a trim. He lifted a can of soda with shackled hands and took a long drink.
Maybe she would soon learn information about Bella, but more likely she would again meet bitter disappointment. This roller-coaster ride of hope and despair exhausted her. She needed to maintain her strength for Bella’s sake.
“Ms. Scarpetta, are you certain you want to watch this?” Agent Rivas asked. “We’ll get to your daughter eventually, but that won’t be the focus of the interview.
“I understand,” Fran said.
“The discussion won’t be pleasant,” the agent added.
“Even so, I would like to observe. Please. My government will be grateful.”
Rivas looked troubled, but he nodded, and Fran released a breath.
“Has he said anything yet?” Dale asked.
“We’re letting him think about his situation awhile before we begin.”
“Did he resist or try to run?”
“No. He seemed more worried about what would happen to the stack of six pizzas he arrived with.”
“The children’s dinner was to be American pizza?” Fran asked.
“At least it was food,” Rivas said. He looked at Dale. “Do you want to sit in?”
“Love to,” Dale answered. Fran could tell he was pleased by the offer.
“We can work him like we did the perp on the Thevis case,” Rivas said.
“He’s refused an attorney?”
“Insists he doesn’t need one.”
Dale lifted his eyebrows.
When the men left her alone in the observation room, she turned to look at the suspect again, and decided this Morales did not appear worried. Why did he not request an attorney? Was he stupid? If he had been arrested inside the warehouse while delivering pizza to imprisoned children, that had to be a crime.
Surely forcing minors to work in captivity was illegal in America.
Wondering why she was alone, why no other agents also watched this interrogation, Fran collapsed into a chair, opened her purse and withdrew her sketch pad. Signor Morales possessed an interesting face, arrogant and yet sneaky...no, deceitful, at the same time. Could she capture those nuances in a drawing?
She removed her pencil from the binding, suspended its point over a blank page and found herself unable to execute the first slash. What is wrong with me? I do not know how to begin.
When Dale and Agent Rivas entered the interrogation room, she looked up. They pulled chairs away from the table and sat across from Morales. Rivas reminded Morales about rights that he had waived, including an attorney. Morales shook his head, said he had nothing to hide.
Rivas pointed to a camera located near the ceiling and informed Morales they were being videoed and that other people watched the interview. Morales nodded, said he understood, no problem.
So other federal agents were observing, but from a different location. Fran glanced around the room and located a camera.
Was the FBI monitoring her as well?
Then Rivas began asking Morales about the sewing machines and the children. Fran doodled on the page as Rivas posed question after question. At first Morales denied any knowledge of children being held against their will, insisted that he’d been hired merely to deliver food. Rivas kept at him until the man confessed that he also supervised the children as they worked, but claimed to be only an employee of the owner of the business, doing what he’d been instructed.
Dale would often interject with a question, and Fran realized that the two had a pattern they worked to wear down Morales. Morales admitted the rescued kids had worked long hours to produce cheap uniforms in the factory below their dormitory. They were paid nothing for their labors.
By the time he reluctantly revealed the name of his boss, a man named Charles Atwood, Morales could barely sit up in his chair. He requested something more to drink, and a bottle of water was delivered to the interrogation room.
Fran realized she was also slumping. She stood and stretched her arms overhead as Morales took a long swallow, emptying half of the water.
Rivas spread out photos of the dormitory on the table. “Nice way to treat kids.”
“Hey,” Morales said in a wounded tone. “I was a friend to those children.”
“Yeah, you’re a prince,” Rivas said, shaking his head.
“I take care of them, make certain they have food and water every day.”
“Strange how the kids didn’t have any water when we arrived,” Rivas said. “The temperature in that room was over a hundred degrees.”
Morales made a face. “Mr. Atwood must have removed it. I don’t know.”
“Are any of the children sick?” Dale asked.
“No, of course not.”
“What happens if they become ill?” Rivas asked.
“They go to the doctor.”
“Who takes them?”
Morales hesitated. “I do.”
He was so obviously lying, Fran wanted to laugh.
“Who pays?” Rivas demanded.
“I don’t know who pays.”
“Because they don’t go to a doctor, do they?” Dale demanded.
Morales shrugged.
Rivas reached into his pocket, withdrew the bag containing the inhaler, and placed it on the table.
“Which of the children used this?”
Morales stared at the object, his eyes going huge.
Fran leaned forward, convinced Morales recognized the inhaler.
&nbs
p; “You know who used this, don’t you?” Dale asked.
“Maybe.”
“Who?
“A girl.”
“Was she sick?”
Morales patted his chest with his shackled hands. “Sometimes problems with the breathing.”
“Did you take her to the doctor?”
“No,” Morales said, a sly look transforming his face.
“Why not?” Dale asked. “I thought you took sick kids for medical care.”
“Because we got rid of her. She was a troublemaker.”
Fran came to her feet. Got rid of her? What did that mean?
Was her Bella that troublemaker?
“A troublemaker?” Dale asked. “Explain.”
Morales nodded. “Always trying to get the kids to refuse to work.”
Rivas placed a photograph on the table. Bella’s photo.
Her heart racing, Fran plopped back into the chair.
“Is this the girl?” Dale asked. A chill ran down Fran’s spine at the deadly menace in his voice.
Morales glanced at the photo, sighed, and looked away. “Yes, that’s her.”
Fran closed her eyes. Mio Dio. Finally. Someone had seen her Bella.
“Where is she?”
Fran held her breath.
“If I tell you where she is, what’s in it for me?” Morales asked in an oily tone.
Fran recoiled. This horrible man knew where her Bella was and he wanted to negotiate for that information.
“What do you want?” Rivas asked.
“I’ve answered all your questions,” Morales said. “I want you to tell the DA how cooperative I’ve been.”
Rivas seemed to consider. “If your information is good, I could put in a word with the US Attorney’s office.”
Morales nodded, as if satisfied. “Mr. Atwood shipped her to Ybor City three days ago. She was pretty, but caused too many problems.”
* * *
DALE WANTED TO lean across the table and rip out Morales’s throat. This deluded freak considered himself one of the good guys, yet he casually revealed the fate of a vulnerable young girl as if she were a shipment of corn. And he’d only done it after Rivas dangled a carrot in front of his sweaty face.
Her One and Only Hero Page 10