Her One and Only Hero

by Sharon Hartley

For the next hour, he and Rivas continued to interrogate the sicko in an attempt to get more details about what happened to Bella. Morales insisted he knew nothing more than his boss had sent her to a colleague in the Tampa Bay area.

  If anyone could believe the son of a bitch, and Dale wasn’t certain that he did. The information flowed out of Morales too easily, was too pat. His reaction to the photo had appeared real, but had he truly recognized Bella?

  Or seized an opportunity to bargain for a lesser charge.

  By the time Morales signed his statement and was returned to a holding cell, it was after 10:00 p.m. Javi shut down the recording and muted the audio. Fran could still see them, but she couldn’t hear their discussion.

  A young female agent entered and handed Javi an electronic device.

  “Agents are preparing the warrant to search Atwood’s residence,” Javi said, flipping through the device with his finger. “We’ll bring him in first thing tomorrow morning. I assume you want in.”

  “Thanks,” Dale said. “I appreciate the courtesy.”

  “You bet.” Javi continued to look through the electronic documents. “Charles Atwood is listed as the registered owner of Uniforms Plus, a Florida corporation. Atwood is an American citizen, but the property ownership is shielded by a complicated series of offshore holding companies.” He glanced up. “It’s a forensic nightmare.”

  “Do you believe Morales?” Dale asked.

  “You mean about your daughter?”

  “Yeah.”

  Javi sat back, shaking his head. “I’d feel better if we got confirmation from Atwood, the name of his colleague in Tampa.”

  “Atwood won’t talk without an attorney present,” Dale said.

  “Agreed.”

  “Even if his attorney allows him to talk, Atwood could dispute Morales’s story.”

  Javi nodded. “Here’s the thing. Atwood is a wealthy man. I doubt if he ever even visited that sweatshop. That’s what he hired Morales for. It’s unlikely Atwood would recognize your daughter’s photo or the inhaler.”

  “Understood,” Dale said. “But we could press him for a location in Tampa.”

  “Yeah, of course we’ll try, but the son of a bitch won’t incriminate himself. I’m looking forward to visiting every company on his client list to inform them of the high price children had to pay for their no-doubt inexpensive uniforms.”

  Dale nodded. “Ms. Scarpetta will want to observe Atwood’s interview.”

  “Waste of her time. You need to explain Atwood’s counsel won’t let him talk.”

  “She’ll still want to watch.”

  Javi sighed and leaned forward. “I’m sorry to say this, Dale, but do I need to remind you how unlikely it is at this point that we’ll find your daughter?”

  Dale looked away from the sympathy in Javi’s eyes. “We’re not ready to give up, though.”

  “You’re thinking about a trip to Tampa.”

  “Probably, yeah. I have to go.” He met Javi’s gaze. “She’s my daughter.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out from the district office there,” Javi said. “God, I hate cases like this. I know how frustrated Ms. Scarpetta is.”

  “She’s a hot mess,” Dale agreed.

  “And believes law enforcement has let her down,” Javi said. “Apparently her family is well connected. I got a very persuasive phone call from the Italian consulate requesting we give her anything she needs.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Hell, if it makes her feel better, bring her with you tomorrow.”

  Dale shook Javi’s hand and went to find Fran. He needed to get her out of there.

  When he opened the door to the observation room, she leaped to her feet. The sight of Fran Scarpetta after all these years still startled him, causing a kaleidoscope of memories to crush rational thoughts. Right now she appeared wrung out, with dark circles staining the pale, translucent skin beneath her eyes. It’d been a long day...for them both.

  As she moved toward him, his gaze fell to her sketch pad open on the table, a red pencil resting on top of a page. She’d been drawing. He wanted to see what she’d created, but wouldn’t ask.

  At least he didn’t have to fill her in on the interview. She’d seen and heard everything Morales had to say. But he and his old girlfriend had a lot to talk about. They needed to decide what to do next.

  “Let’s go,” he said, holding the door open.

  “Tell me what is going on,” she asked in a voice laced with exhaustion.

  “I’ll tell you on the way to Miami. Come on. We’re done here for the night.”

  She grabbed her purse, stuffed her sketch pad inside and followed him down the hallway.

  In the elevator he said, “I need to eat. Do you want to come with me or go back to the hotel?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I’ll go with you.”

  “Good enough. We can talk then.”

  Dale chose an all-night diner that he frequented when working the late shift. The food was plentiful and good, although nothing like the gourmet quality Fran was no doubt accustomed to in Italy.

  They seated themselves in a worn-out booth with a chipped blue Formica table. A female server who’d waited on him before delivered menus and water.

  “Hey, Dale,” she said with her usual friendly smile.

  “Hi, Rita.”

  “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I changed sectors.”

  She nodded. “Be back in a few to take your order.”

  Fran leaned against the back of the booth and closed her eyes.

  “You okay?” Dale asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Just tired.” She opened her eyes and offered a faint smile. “You must be as well.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’m beat.”

  “I was impressed with how you questioned that pig,” she said. “You and Agent Rivas wore him down until he revealed much good information.”

  “Thanks. But I’m not sure I believe everything that pig said.”

  She sat forward, staring straight at him. “You don’t believe him?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Dale shook his head. He didn’t want Fran to crash and burn, but he needed to be honest with her, keep her grounded, not allow her to entertain unrealistic expectations.

  “Javi questions his story, too,” Dale said.

  “Why do you doubt Morales?” Fran asked, obviously shocked by the idea. She’d bought everything he’d said. But why wouldn’t she?

  “Morales could have fabricated the story about Ybor City to appear to be cooperating. It’s a common ploy among perps.”

  “Perps?”

  “Police slang for perpetrators, criminals.”

  Fran blinked. “But this perp recognized Bella’s photo. I know he did. And her inhaler.”

  “He appeared to, yes, I agree,” Dale replied.

  “But if the information does not prove true, then he has gained nothing.”

  “Right, but if we don’t find Bella in Tampa, he can insist that’s not his fault, that his boss must have moved her again.”

  “I see,” she said in a quiet voice. She reached for her water and took a long swallow.

  “We hope to learn more when we question Atwood tomorrow,” Dale told her. Why had he said that? Was he giving her more false hope?

  The server returned before Fran could respond. She ordered a Greek salad, while Dale requested a burger and fries.

  “Coming right up,” Rita said.

  After a moment Fran said, “Our waitress seems to know you well.”

  “I used to come here a lot.”

  “She likes you.”

  “I’m a likeable guy.”

  Fran nodded and fell silent. Dale left her to her thoughts, his own churning about t
he next move in the search, the best use of his allotted time off.

  “So you will arrest Atwood?” Fran asked.

  “The FBI will. This is their case.” Dale shrugged. “Javi is a good guy. He’s let me tag along because we’ve worked together before and will soon again on a joint task force.”

  “And perhaps because the missing girl is your daughter?” Bella murmured.

  Dale shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure. Probably.”

  “I was surprised you told him.”

  Dale sighed. “Yeah, I surprised myself. Saying it out loud, telling someone made it real.”

  “Are you ashamed that we have a daughter?” Fran asked.

  “Ashamed? No. Why would I be?”

  “Are you sure?”

  Dale leaned forward. What the hell was Frannie getting at?

  “I’m not ashamed of anything I did thirteen years ago, Fran. Are you?”

  “I am not ashamed that we made love,” she said, meeting his gaze. “How could anyone be ashamed of something so wonderful?”

  Something so wonderful? He stared into her dark, bottomless eyes. When she didn’t look away, he felt a smile form.

  “Yeah, that part was pretty damn awesome,” he said.

  Her beautiful mouth lifted into a smile, her first smile all day. Maybe the first real smile he’d seen on Fran since she’d reappeared in his life. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand, memories flooding his brain. He’d loved the girl Fran had once been more than life itself. He’d thought he couldn’t live without her.

  He’d been wrong.

  Rita arrived with their meals. Dale released Fran’s fingers and sat back.

  “Y’all want some coffee?” the server asked.

  “No, thank you,” Fran said.

  “No,” Dale said, and Rita placed the check by his plate. The aroma of the food reminded him how hungry he was, and he dug into his burger.

  Fran picked up her fork and moved the lettuce, onions and feta cheese around in her bowl. She stabbed at a black olive, but didn’t put it in her mouth. She needed to eat.

  What was she thinking about? Their time together in high school or their lost daughter?

  “Are you going to eat?” he asked. She was too thin, which worried him, but Dale had learned long ago never to comment on a woman’s weight.

  She pierced some lettuce and took the bite.

  Satisfied, Dale returned to his own meal.

  “Why wait until tomorrow to question Morales’s boss? Why not arrest him tonight?”

  “There are legalities that must be followed,” Dale explained. “And from what we’ve learned about Atwood, I doubt whether he’ll respond to any of our questions.”

  “How can he refuse to answer?”

  “In this country, you have the right to remain silent if what you say will incriminate you.”

  She took another bite of her salad and didn’t respond. In the silence, Dale considered his options and decided to switch gears. His gut told him he needed to make better use of his limited leave. A drive to Tampa would take four or five hours.

  “I want to watch you interview Atwood,” Fran said.

  “I know.”

  She lowered her fork. “You aren’t going to try to talk me out of it?”

  “No, I even got the okay from Javi, but at this point I don’t plan on observing.”

  She blinked. “What? Why not?”

  “Waste of time. I’ve only got one more day, and Javi will let me know any details the man gives up.”

  “Details about Bella?”

  “Javi and I don’t believe Atwood ever laid eyes on any of his slaves. But if Morales is telling the truth, Atwood sent a troublemaker, possibly Bella, away, and we need to find out where.”

  “Tampa. A place called Ybor City.”

  “Yeah, and Tampa is a big city where I don’t have any contacts. I’ll be starting from scratch in a town that I don’t know beans about. I’m not looking forward to that scenario.”

  She took a tiny bite of feta cheese. “We’re going to Tampa?”

  Dale smiled at her use of “we.” But of course he’d known she’d insist on going with him.

  “If we get confirmation that Bella was in that warehouse, yes, we’re going to Tampa.”

  “How will you get that confirmation if Atwood won’t talk?”

  “The FBI is interviewing the rescued kids.”

  Fran stared at him. “To see if they recognize Bella’s photo?”

  “Or the inhaler. They’d have no reason to lie while Morales does.”

  Fran started to ask another question when Dale’s cell phone buzzed.

  He checked the readout. “That’s Javi. Something must have gone down.”

  Eyes wide, Fran leaned forward expectantly as Dale withdrew the phone from his waist.

  “Yeah, Javi?”

  “Where are you, man?” Javi asked, his tone grim.

  Dale met Fran’s eager gaze. “Eating a late supper with Ms. Scarpetta. What’s going on?”

  “We found human remains. It’s a young female.”

  * * *

  FRAN BALANCED HER fork across her bowl, folded her hands in her lap to control their trembling and searched Dale’s face. He did not break their eye contact, but his jaw tightened. He blinked once, twice. He was trying not to react, to give away his emotions, but unquestionably he had received unpleasant information.

  Something that involved Bella. Something he did not want to tell her.

  Fran listened to the one-sided conversation with a growing sense of dread. Her belly churned. She shouldn’t have eaten.

  “Where?” Dale asked. “Yeah. Damn.”

  When he looked away from her, Fran felt tears form. She blinked them back, refusing to cry.

  “Agreed,” he said. “Yeah. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  He disconnected and placed his phone on the table. They both stared at it as if it were a deadly serpent that could strike and kill them at any moment.

  “Tell me,” she said, her voice a whisper.

  He met her gaze again, his intense green eyes full of sadness. “The FBI found a fresh grave near the warehouse they raided this afternoon.”

  “A grave?”

  “Unmarked, yeah, hidden.”

  Fran balled her hands into fists. “Did they find a body in the grave?”

  “Yes,” he said. “A young female.”

  “And they think this body could be Bella.”

  “They aren’t sure, but yes.”

  “They want me to see the body, to make an identification,” Fran said. “They need to know for sure.”

  “I’m sorry, Fran.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her beautiful daughter was too full of life. Bella could not be dead. Fran shook her head, denying the possibility.

  Dale reached for her hand with both of his. “I’ll be with you the whole time, Frannie.”

  She swallowed hard to wet her throat. “No,” is all she managed to say.

  “I know it will be hard,” Dale said, “but we have to know if the remains are Bella.”

  Fran closed her eyes. No.

  “Maybe I can use photographs to make the ID,” Dale said, squeezing her hand. “That way you won’t have to—”

  “The body is not Bella,” Fran said, opening her eyes. Dale gazed at her with such sympathy she felt the urge to cry again. “It cannot be our daughter.”

  Dale nodded and did not ask her to explain how she could be so certain. She had no explanation. Only blind hope. Faith. As long as she refused to believe Bella was dead, her daughter remained alive.

  Dale grabbed the check, slid out of the booth, and reached for her hand. “Let’s go find out.”

  She grabbed his fingers a
s if they were a lifeline. “Yes.”

  Neither of them spoke until Dale accelerated south onto I-95. She had expected him to drive north, back to the FBI’s offices.

  “Where are we going?” Fran asked.

  “The remains are at the Miami-Dade County Medical Examiner’s Office.”

  Remains? She hated that word, so clinical. Like remainders, as if what was left was not desirable. What a cruel way to refer to what was left of a young girl who had no doubt once run and laughed and played with her friends.

  She stared out the side window of Dale’s vehicle. Lights flashed by as they traveled. Of course, these remains she would look at were not her daughter, but had been someone’s daughter. Where was this other mother? What had happened to this child that she had been found in a lonely, unmarked grave far from her home?

  Had this other mother also not paid enough attention to her daughter? Had this other daughter run away to find a better parent?

  Fran swiped tears away from her cheek.

  Dale reached for her hand and laced their fingers. She grasped his hand but could not look at him. He drove in silence, one hand on the wheel, one hand holding hers, until he exited the expressway onto surface streets.

  Once parked, Dale opened her door and helped her out of his SUV. She allowed him to support her as they walked toward a boxy concrete building that resembled a tomb. An ugly tomb with no redeeming architectural features.

  As she placed one foot in front of the other, she felt empty, as if her body did not contain any bones.

  Dale passed his police ID through an electronic reader and a click signaled the release of the door. After moving through a foyer, they stepped into a frigid room with four or five gurneys lining the walls.

  Fran sucked in a breath. One of the gurneys contained a body covered by a sheet.

  A body much too large to be her daughter.

  “That’s a new delivery that hasn’t been processed,” Dale said.

  Fran looked away. Delivery? Processed? How could he be so casual about a corpse?

  “This way,” Dale said. The fact that Dale knew his way around the medical examiner’s office told her more than she wanted to know about the nature of his job.

  Chilled to her bones, her nonexistent bones, she wrapped her arms around her middle. I can do this.