It didn’t matter. This could save her.
She could sell them, get enough money to buy food, maybe even buy something for the baby.
She’d never sold drugs before.
How did she do this? Approach one of the gang members and offer to sell them to him? Surely he could sell them. She wouldn’t make as much as doing it herself, but who cared? As long as she had money to live on for a little while.
Wait. What if this was why Jessie had been killed?
She’d assumed it had been because of her, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was because Jessie stole the drugs from someone very, very bad?
Replacing the lid, she shoved the box back under the floor and covered it with the loose board.
Now what? She couldn’t do anything with this. That man might find out and come after her.
A sob bubbled up. She pressed her hand over her mouth to quiet it.
That could get her so much money.
It could also get her killed.
She didn’t care about the money. Or the drugs. She just wanted to be warm and full and safe.
She couldn’t do this. Not alone. She needed someone to help her.
The red-haired woman.
An image of the woman flashed into her mind. Jessie had always liked her, trusted her. While Monica hadn’t talked to her much, she’d always been nice. And she had kind eyes.
Monica closed her eyes on the moon-drenched landscape.
Tomorrow. She’d find the woman tomorrow.
Six
Zander swallowed more aspirin and focused on the report in front of him.
Or tried to. It was hard to do with the battle raging inside his head. Not to mention the unsettled stomach.
He should’ve gone straight home last night. One drink had turned into two, which turned into six… or was it seven?
Why did he do this to himself?
Whatever. It didn’t matter. He had a job to do.
He’d just finished researching all the exterminating companies in the city. None had a logo like Felipe had described.
Then Jimmy had called. The street contact didn’t know anything about Jessie or Monica, much less where they spent their time.
More dead ends. Hopefully his current project wouldn’t be.
He scanned the ME’s report. Jessie’s autopsy had provided them a fair amount of evidence.
The killer had known what he was doing. The wound had shown both control and precision. At only three inches long, the cut had successfully severed the carotid artery. The ME concluded that the killer had stabbed the victim just above the sternum, then sliced outward.
No suspicious trace evidence on the wound, but there’d been skin under Jessie’s fingernails.
Now if it only turned out to be from their killer, and the killer’s DNA was on file, they’d have him. In a few weeks once the lab finished processing the DNA, anyway.
Hairs found on the body had also been sent to the lab. The hairs, all short, appeared to be from multiple donors. A few were gray, most were brown, two were black. Given her line of work, he suspected most would dead-end, but they only needed one to pan out.
“Found our girl!”
Zander winced as Morgan’s voice buffeted his eardrums. Did the man have to talk so loudly?
He looked up. “You found Monica?”
Morgan’s exuberance dimmed. “Not that girl. Got an ID on our vic. Her name’s Amber Sheridan. Originally from Portland. Abusive father, timid mother, ran away when she was fifteen.”
Textbook case. Sad thing was he could’ve guessed most of those pieces. “Did local PD confirm with the parents?”
“Yep. Guess the father went ballistic. Told his wife it was her fault and hit her right in front of the cops. They’re booking him now.”
Too bad he wouldn’t stay there.
Okay, so Amber Sheridan.
Nothing like Jessie, but that was probably the point. She’d likely wanted to distance herself from her former life as much as possible.
“Any chance the father’s good for this? Maybe found out where she was and what she’d been doing, came down here to get her, then flipped out when she refused to go with him?”
Morgan shook his head. “Nah. Guy works at an accounting firm, who confirmed that he was there all day Tuesday.”
Not to mention that was a good nine hour drive, so unless the guy owned his own plane, he couldn’t have made the trip and been back to work so quickly.
“Anything interesting in the report?” Morgan nodded at the paperwork on Zander’s desk.
“I thought you were there.” Viewing autopsies was one of his least favorite aspects, so when Morgan had volunteered to go, Zander had been only too happy to let him go solo.
“Doesn’t mean there isn’t something in the report that I missed.”
Zander arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t you read it?”
A snort answered him. “That’s why I keep you around, kid.”
He clenched his jaw.
Not. Kid.
No point in saying it yet again, though. “I haven’t gotten any further than the ME’s examination. The forensics report is next on my list.”
Back-to-back homicides and short staffing had delayed the report, but at least he had it now.
The phone rang. Morgan snatched it up. The conversation lasted a few seconds before Morgan hung up, picking up his keys and badge in one fluid movement. “Hot call, kid.”
Zander followed his partner through the precinct, his thoughts drifting back to Jessie.
Poor girl was hardly cold and they were already moving on.
Death was an unforgiving tyrant.
₪ ₪ ₪
The shadow stretched across the floor from the doorway.
Celestine knew without looking who would be standing there. Only one man with open access to her moved that silently. In spite of the man’s presence, she kept her focus on the curly haired three year old sitting on the floor with her.
“How about we watch a princess movie? Does that sound fun, Angel?”
A smile lit the girl’s eyes as she nodded vigorously. “Princess!”
Celestine rose and scooped up her daughter, depositing her in her pint-sized princess plush chair. After turning on the sixty inch television and cuing up a princess movie, she crossed the room to where Ray waited.
“Hector’s retired.”
She didn’t have to ask if the killing had been necessary. Ray didn’t hesitate to kill, but only did so when it was warranted.
She also didn’t have to ask if the kill had been clean. With Ray, it had been.
“What did he do?”
Ray’s jaw tightened. “Caught him sampling the goods. Both varieties.”
So. Hector had been dipping into her drugs and using her girls. She really shouldn’t be surprised, but she’d thought he was smarter than that.
“Also saw him beating one of the girls.”
“Did he say why?”
Ray’s lips hardened. “Claimed a customer complaint. But when I started asking around, every girl I spoke to said he’d abuse them on a regular basis for no reason. All kinds of abuse, if you know what I mean.”
Oh, did she ever.
Idiot. Bruised girls would only appeal to a certain clientele. How much money had Hector’s temper and lust cost her?
Not to mention the cocaine that had gone missing on Hector’s watch, far more than he would have “sampled” on his own. “Did you find those missing kilos?”
“Still working on that. That little tramp I eliminated had them.”
Really. “And just how did she get them?”
“That’s where things get fuzzy.” Ray didn’t move, his dark eyes boring into hers. “From what I’ve gathered, Hector planned to add her to the collection. He picked her up, detoured to a motel for his own purposes, but she got away and took the drugs with her.”
The fool. How had she never noticed what a waste of flesh Hector had been? “Who’s in charge rig
ht now?”
“Carlos stepped in once he heard the news.”
Not good. That imbecile would run the place into the ground. Or worse, mess up so that the police caught wind of their operation. “I’m giving the whole thing to Damien.”
Ray’s eyebrows lifted. “You’d cut out your own brother?”
“He’s an idiot. I’ll not see this empire fall.”
Damien, however, was more than qualified. In fact, of all her men, he alone possessed the skills needed to take the enterprise to the next level.
And she was confident he’d keep his hands off the goods.
“And if Carlos resists?”
“He won’t.” Not only was he incompetent, he was a coward. “I’ll tell him personally.”
₪ ₪ ₪
An alley. Zander’s sigh hissed through firmly set teeth. Why couldn’t these things happen in a sterile room for once?
His gaze skimmed the surroundings.
Bar on one side, quickie mart on the other. Solid brick straight ahead. The back of some business, no doubt. A dumpster overflowed by the alley’s mouth and the area beyond had a variety of boxes, plastic, and miscellaneous trash.
No doors leading into this alley, making the only entry or exit option the opening he and Morgan had just come through.
Probably no security cameras in the surrounding businesses, but they’d have someone check to confirm.
The body slumped against the far wall.
Male, mid-twenties, Hispanic. Blood soaked the front of the man’s orange shirt and pooled on the asphalt beneath him.
Zander approached a uniformed rookie standing to the side. The rookie’s face had a gray pallor that gave him away as a first-timer. “You first on the scene?”
A jerky nod replied. “Me and my partner.”
Zander followed his nod toward a white haired cop whose hard expression said he’d seen far too many scenes like this.
“And you contained the scene right away?” The last thing they needed was a loose crime scene.
“Yeah.”
“Walk me through finding the body.”
The rookie shifted, angling his line of sight away from the dead man. “We were on patrol and got a report of a possible fight in an alley. We arrived on scene but no sign of a second guy. Just the body.”
“Who phoned it in?”
He pointed at a diner across the street. “A waitress. Said she didn’t see much, but saw a big guy in a dark uniform shoving our vic.”
Didn’t sound like she’d be much help, but they’d get her statement. Maybe she knew more than she thought.
Zander approached the victim.
The man’s mouth hung slack in a scream, but he was silent as the grave.
His short-sleeved orange shirt exposed scrawny arms. Tattoos dotted his biceps and a black gargoyle licked its pointed teeth from the man’s neck.
Zander stiffened.
He’d seen that tattoo before.
Rounding the body, he knelt on the man’s left side and looked at the tattoo on the man’s bicep. A fist crushing a heart, blood oozing through the fingers.
He’d know that tattoo anywhere.
“Alma Negra.” The words slipped from him like a sharp knife through skin.
His stomach lunged. Javier had been in that gang. He’d seen the same tattoo on Jave’s body at the funeral. Not the gargoyle tattoo, but evidently that was one that only the ranking members bore.
This man wasn’t just an Alma Negra member, he was prominent.
“What was that?” Morgan’s voice came from behind him.
“This guy was an Alma Negra.” Zander pointed out the tattoo on the arm.
Morgan remained silent, but Zander knew his thoughts were going the same direction. The Alma Negra gang was one of the most ruthless, with ties to a Mexican drug cartel. Word on the street was that the cartel’s head lived in the city, but no one would say who that person was.
Zander pushed to his feet, staring at the body in front of him.
This murder might just spark a gang war.
₪ ₪ ₪
Monica’s body shook so violently her teeth rattled. The alley across the street from the youth center provided little cover, but she needed to be close enough to intercept the red haired lady when she arrived.
She cowered against the brick wall behind her back.
Maybe the shadows would hide her. Maybe not. She wasn’t sure she could move if she wanted to. Getting here had taken almost all her remaining strength.
When would the lady arrive? It felt like she’d been waiting for hours, even though she knew it hadn’t been that long.
Movement down the block made her shrink back.
A flash of copper caught her attention. It was her!
She forced herself up on legs that threatened to fail her. Only a few steps. She could do this.
One foot in front of the other, she managed to cross the street. The woman reached the base of the steps.
She couldn’t let her get inside. “Wait!”
The word came out hoarse and frail, but the woman stopped and turned. Her eyes widened and she ran forward, her arm going around Monica.
Tears burst from her. Whether from the kind touch or the genuine concern, Monica didn’t know. Didn’t care. It was just so nice to be seen by someone as something other than a throwaway girl.
The woman rubbed her back. “Monica. Are you okay, sweetie?”
The tears came harder.
Had anyone ever called her sweetie before? If so, she couldn’t remember who.
Her knees buckled. The woman took most of her weight and guided her to the steps. Monica collapsed on the bottom step.
A hand rested softly on her arm. “I’m going to go inside and get some help, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Monica clutched at her. “No! Don’t leave. I–I came to see you. Jessie trusted you.”
She could sense the woman hesitating.
“Please. I–I don’t know where else to go.”
The woman eased down on the step beside her and pulled her close, her arm going around Monica’s shoulders. “Okay. I’ll stay right here.”
Chills assaulted Monica.
There was so much she needed to say. Why couldn’t she remember any of it?
Well, she could start by finding out who the woman was. Even though she’d met the woman once, she couldn’t remember her name. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Elly.” Elly fell silent for a second as she rubbed Monica’s bare arm. “Are you sick?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Although a fever might explain why she was so cold. And weak. “I’m hungry.”
“Well, we can fix that. I’m going to pray for you, then we’ll go in and get some food, okay?”
It’d take a heck of a lot more than prayer to help her, but it was a nice gesture. Monica found herself nodding.
She waited. For flowery, fancy words that rhymed or something. But nothing.
In fact, Elly said nothing at all. She just went perfectly still, one arm still around Monica’s shoulders, the other resting on Monica’s hands.
Monica’s trembling eased. Then stopped.
Weird.
Even weirder was that she felt stronger than she had a second ago.
Another minute passed before Elly’s arm fell away and she pulled back.
“Now. How about we go inside and see about that food, huh?”
Food. Now that sounded good. Maybe she could clean up, too. A hot shower sounded heavenly.
She pushed to her feet. Even her stomach had settled.
Maybe there was something to that whole prayer thing after all.
Elly slowly rose from the step, her movement shaky. Swaying slightly, she placed an unsteady foot on the next step.
What had happened to her? She hadn’t been like this a few minutes ago. “Are you okay?”
Elly offered a slight smile as she reached the top step. “I’ll be fine. Now how about that food?”
/> In the kitchen, Elly pulled out things to make sandwiches before sitting on a wooden barstool by the island.
No matter how many times Monica told herself not to, her gaze kept drifting to the tile where she’d last seen Jessie’s body. It glistened now, giving no indication that just days ago a girl had bled to death there.
“You can wait in the dining hall if it’s easier for you.” Elly’s tone was soft, her eyes caring.
Monica straightened her back. It was just a room.
“I’m good.” But Elly really didn’t look good. At all. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I just need to lay down for a bit, I think. Go ahead and make your sandwich.”
Piling on the lunchmeat and cheese, Monica added mayo and mustard.
She took a bite. Mmmm. Had a sandwich ever tasted this good?
Halfway through her sandwich, she realized that Elly hadn’t moved, much less made a sandwich for herself. “You’re not eating?”
“I’m not really hungry.” The words sounded weaker than before.
“I could make it for you.”
“That’s so sweet, but I’ll pass. Thank you.”
Monica scarfed the sandwich. She was tempted to make another, but her stomach was full.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
Elly’s question drew her attention away from the food. “I–I need help. Jessie–”
“Elly? Monica?” Betty’s voice came from behind her.
Monica stiffened. She liked Betty, but Betty was friends with that cop. She’d surely tell him what was going on.
“What are you…?” Betty drew closer, her hand brushing curls away from Elly’s face. “Land’s sakes, child! You’re burning up!”
“I need to lay down.” Elly’s elbows rested on the counter and she held her head in her hands as though it was too heavy for her neck.
“Let me get one of the boys to help you. Now don’t you move.”
Honestly, Elly didn’t look like she could move if she wanted to.
This was a mistake.
Monica slid her gaze around the room, then grabbed the loaf of bread. The meat and cheese would go bad if she took them, but at least she could eat the bread anytime.
“No, Monica.”
She looked up to find Elly’s gaze riveted on her.
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