by L. T. Ryan
“Did you hear Detective Tanner?” She placed her hand gently on his and squeezed. His eyes fluttered open. “What’s the connection between Sears and Anton? Why would they want to hurt you?”
He licked his lips and moved his head up and down, left and right, eyes shifting with every adjustment, like a dog trapped in a corner. One of the machines he was hooked up to beeped frantically as his pulse and blood pressure skyrocketed.
“Don’t be afraid, son,” I said.
Manny closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then looked Bridget in the eye. “Anton, he’s Sears’ son.”
25
Braxton excused himself from the room again and suggested we follow him out. My instinct was to keep the kid talking, but this wasn’t my case and definitely not my city. Bridget tugged on my sleeve. Reluctantly, I fell in step behind her.
“Any of you see this coming?” Braxton asked.
“Saw the booking photo of Sears minutes before joining you two in the questioning room with Anton, and I can say, with certainty, I would not have figured them to be a father-son duo.”
“Why’s that?” Bridget asked.
“Presumptuous of me, I guess, but their skin tones don’t match.”
“Sears is white?” Braxton said. He had his phone in his hand. A message half-typed on his screen.
“Yeah, and not thick. At least, not like Anton. Guess the guy got it from his momma.”
Braxton nodded and grunted. He finished typing his message and pocketed his phone. “Getting Brad on it. We’ll find out in a few.”
“What next with Manny?” Bridget asked. “Are we ready to move to the Liliana portion of questioning?”
“I think we need to ask if he knows why he was attacked.”
“Yeah,” Braxton said. “Let me take the lead on this one.”
We returned to the room to find Manny more alert than after our last huddle. He looked sheepish.
“Did I say something wrong?” Manny asked.
“No, not at all.” Braxton stood close to Manny’s head. He placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Manny, the thing is, we know you’re in here. We know what happened to put you in here. Now we know who did this, according to you.”
“Yeah?”
“What I don’t understand is why? You seem like a good guy. Watching out for your sisters. People in the building say you look out for them, chasing away their problems.”
“I do what I can.”
“So why did Anton and Sears do this to you?”
Manny’s face folded in on itself with pain as he turned his head away from Braxton. Bridget moved to fill the vacuum. She stood across from Braxton, placed her hand on Manny’s shoulder, took a protective tone.
“Manny, we’re only trying to help. Right now, it’s your word versus Anton and Sears. Anton has denied everything, even went so far as to say he’d catch whoever did this and punish them himself.”
Manny laughed in a way that sounded more like a cough. He slammed his eyes shut hard and grimaced. “Even if his pops made him do it, ain’t no way Anton is taking down Sears.”
“Why’s that?” Braxton asked. “Anton looks pretty capable. Big guy, young, probably handles himself well.”
“He only knows how to fight because of his dad. But his dad was a cop in the military. Special Forces shit, too.”
“You know what branch?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Navy, Army…?”
“Oh, Air Force, I think.”
“Security Forces, maybe?”
Manny mulled it over for a few seconds. His face hardened and he nodded. “Yeah, that’s it, Security Forces. Guess he was high up at one time.”
I didn’t have to look at the others’ faces to know we had a connection here, impossible as it sounded. But could David Lavelle and Sears have known each other?
“Manny, does the name David Lavelle ring a bell?”
Braxton groaned at my breach of etiquette, but instincts are instincts, and mine told me we had to strike now.
Manny broke off eye contact and found a spot on the ceiling to stare at. He clammed up, too, acting as though he hadn’t heard my question.
Bridget jumped in. “This is important, Manny.”
He glanced at her for a second, then shifted his focus back on that spot.
She continued. “What we’re seeing here is a growing web of people connected in unsuspected ways, Manny. I’m afraid that web is being filled with lies and misdirection. Do you understand me?”
Manny shrugged as he met her gaze a few more times, the duration growing longer. He knew the name. Might even know more about the guy than we did.
“David Lavelle,” I said. “What do you know about him?”
Making the assumption appeared to be enough as Manny pressed his lips tightly together, took a deep breath, and slumped as he exhaled.
“Yeah, I heard the name,” he said. “A few times.”
“From who?” Braxton asked. He had activated a recording app on his phone and placed it on the bed close to Manny. “And when was the first time you recall hearing it?”
He looked uncomfortable as he shifted in bed. Was it his injuries? Or the question? We all remained silent. He had to speak first, or we lost. That was the nature of negotiation, and make no mistake, every interrogation was a negotiation. Manny had information that we needed. A kid like him, having grown up on the streets, fending for himself and his family, he understood how the system worked. He had already convinced himself to talk. That I was sure of. Now he was trying to see what he could get out of us for doing so.
Manny lowered his chin to his chest and shook his head. It was time for him to draw this out. “Not sure, really. Guess I just heard it in passing a few times around the hood.”
“Around the hood?” It was Braxton’s turn. He straightened up, crossed his arms, and paced to the door and back. “Yeah, not sure about that. This guy had nothing to do with your section of town, Manny. He’d have to drive a good thirty, maybe forty, minutes to even get there. Man with a family, job, so on, that wouldn’t work so well for him.”
“I mean, that’s just where I heard it.” Manny sounded submissive, but the look he gave Braxton showed he felt anything other than that.
“Let’s quit jacking around.” Braxton reached into his pockets. “What do you want in exchange for talking?”
“I need to know my sisters are okay. Got it? That they won’t have anything happen to them because of this.”
Braxton seemed taken aback by this. I’m sure he’d heard plenty of requests in his time, as have I, and Bridget, too. We live in a “me first” world, and people ask accordingly. They always want to know what we can make their lives easier. Manny’s request mentioned nothing about himself, only his family. Why? Was he truly that virtuous? Or was he about to implicate himself in something that might take him away from his sisters, preventing him from protecting them?
“I’ll see what we can do,” Braxton said. “But you’ll be home in a few days. You’ve done a pretty good job taking care of them up to this point.”
“You seen what Sears and Anton did to me,” Manny said. “That’s just the beginning. No, you need to do something special for them. They can’t be harmed. Once I talk, they’ll know it was me.”
Sensing Braxton would be limited in what he could offer, Bridget spoke up. “Manny, you know I’m with the FBI, right?”
He shifted his focus to her and nodded.
“That means I have extra programs available that could help you and your sisters should you provide us with information that leads to resolution but also puts you in harm’s way.”
He pointed at his face. “Looks like I’ve already been there.”
“We don’t want that to happen again,” she replied.
“I know I don’t,” he said. “But I can handle it. My sisters, they wouldn’t survive this kind of attack. How could I live with that?”
The kid seemed genuine in his concern, and ready to face w
hatever outcome might lie ahead for his part in all this.
“I don’t think it would be out of the question for Detective Braxton to arrange for an officer to remain close by your sisters for a few days while we process everything.” She looked up expectantly at Braxton. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She continued. “See, he’s on board.”
Manny bit his bottom lip as he contemplated his next move.
Bridget eased herself onto the bed while squeezing Manny’s forearm. Seated next to him, she leaned over so they were almost eye level.
“Come on, why don’t you tell us everything you know about David Lavelle?”
Manny looked right and left, then to Bridget. He was having second thoughts. Not unusual, but it made me wonder what hold Spears had over him. For however brief a time, the man had been a father figure to Manny and his siblings. Welcome or not, that left an impression.
Braxton picked up a file folder and fanned through the contents. He placed a photo on the bed. “Can you tell me who that is, Manny?”
Bridget pulled away as Manny moved to pick up the photo. He nodded immediately and said, “That’s Lavelle.”
“You’re sure?” Braxton asked.
“Yeah. I remember him coming around when Mom was with Sears. And then…” He practically swallowed his bottom lip as his gaze traveled the ceiling. He was about to say something he shouldn’t.
“And then, what?” Braxton asked.
Manny shrugged, avoiding eye contact with any of us. He stared at the picture of David Lavelle. “Nothing.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“He came around a few times after, to, you know, visit my mom.”
Something felt off, like maybe the kid was making this up to cover his tracks. Looking at Braxton, I could tell he had more in the folder he was ready to reveal. I gave him a slight nod, which he returned before pulling out another picture.
“What about her, Manny?”
The room fell silent for a good thirty seconds while Manny studied the page. He did a poor job of masking his initial recognition and now he overcompensated by staring at the photo as though he were contemplating what the hell the Mona Lisa was smirking at.
“Do you recognize her?” Bridget asked.
A few seconds later, Manny squinted and nodded. “Yeah, if I remember right, she was Lavelle’s wife. I can’t remember her name anymore.”
“Must’ve been uncomfortable for you, given that Lavelle came around to mess around with your mother. Probably after you kids were in bed. Right?” I could feel Braxton’s anger at my input, but I had to see the kid’s reaction. It was everything I expected and more.
Manny’s insinuation that his mother had an affair with Lavelle was a lie, and his reaction to my statement made it even more clear. His face clenched up like a catcher’s mitt as he balled his fists. His eyes traveled slowly, from down by Braxton’s feet, across the room, past Bridget, avoiding her eyes because he knew she could disarm him, until he finally landed on me. He glared at me as though he were ready to pound me through three levels into the foundation.
“What?” I said. “You might look tough, but you’re a scared little kid inside.”
“Tanner.” Braxton grunted at me.
I ignored him. “What was it like, Manny? What was it like hearing about your mom and that cheating son of a bitch with her? That guy who was friends with your abusive step-father, coming around, taking advantage of your mom.”
“He ain’t never laid a hand on her! All right? You hear me? That worthless piece of shit had nothing to do with my momma!”
The air evaporated and the four of us were frozen in time. At once, it felt as though the heavens opened up and washed us with clarity.
“Then why are you making up stories about this guy?”
Manny deflated in that moment. He looked away. Said nothing.
“Why, son? What are you hiding?” I took a few steps closer. “Or, maybe, it’s not what. Is it, Manny? Who are you hiding?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled with a raspy sound. “You gotta protect them.”
I looked at Braxton. He nodded at me. Bridget reached out and squeezed Manny’s hand.
“The FBI will do everything it can to protect your sisters if the information you provide can help us.”
Manny squeezed his eyes shut and started talking. “Lavelle’s wife is named Emilia. Emilia has a sister.” He paused, and in that moment, made eye contact with me. I could feel his trust. Why me? I had no idea. But he had it. I’d do everything I could for this kid. “Her sister’s name is Liliana. The same Liliana you two was looking for that day.”
“Do you know where she went?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Ain’t no idea. But I can tell you where her house is.”
“She lived in an apartment a few doors down from you,” I said.
Manny chuckled, soon followed by a grimace. He caught his breath. “I still don’t know why she had that shitty apartment. Not when she has a five-thousand-square-foot house.”
26
Liliana’s house was every bit the five-thousand square feet Manny said it was. It sat on a couple of manicured acres with a healthy line of arborvitae blocking the view of the neighbors’ lots. Can’t say that she looked the part of someone who would own a house like this. But I’d based my opinion on her from what we’d heard from Manny and seeing her in Vegas.
Manny had handed over the code to unlock the front door and given us a basic layout of the residence. There were no alarms. No barking dogs. And no one greeted us at the entrance. Braxton entered first and performed a quick sweep.
Where the lawn and exterior were well-maintained, giving off the vibe that the house was lived in, inside was a different story. The furniture was covered with blankets. Dust coated the surfaces and floor. The heat was set to sixty, if that.
How long did Liliana plan to stay away?
“I’m gonna check the upstairs,” Braxton said.
“We’ll come with,” Bridget said.
“Doubt anyone is here,” he said. “Looks like there’s a bedroom down that hall. Might be the master. Check it out. The garage, too.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “Should be a door leading in over there.”
“Basement?” I asked.
“Yeah, maybe. See what you two can find.”
He trotted back to the foyer and hurried up the stairs. After his footfalls fell silent, Bridget turned to me.
“Split up?” she asked.
“Sure. You want the bedroom or garage?”
She had already started toward the kitchen. “Garage.”
With the doors closed, the hallway was dark toward the end. I left the light off. Figured if someone was down there, I didn’t want to alert them I was heading their way.
I moved slowly, taking a few steps, listening. Dread filled my chest as I considered maybe Bridget and I should have stuck together. She was armed. I wasn’t. I stood outside the first door for fifteen seconds before turning the knob. Nothing happened. I eased the door open and announced myself to an empty room. Completely empty. A quick check confirmed the closet and bathroom were holding no surprises.
I exited and entered the other room in the same manner. This one was twice the size of the previous, a king-sized bed against one wall, tidy, with a dozen pillows arranged against the headboard. A dresser lined with pictures opposite it. Again, I checked the bathroom and closet. From the items within, it appeared this was Liliana’s room. Half the closet contained the clothing I expected with my knowledge of the woman. The other half was a mix of outdoor gear and formal wear. Four boxes were perched on a shelf above. A wave of excitement washed over me. There was more to learn about Liliana. Did these boxes contain those secrets?
After pulling them down, I set them on the bed and inspected the contents of each. One contained a few old pairs of shoes. Another had some linens. The third had some promise. It was filled with receipts. A quick scan revealed there might be three years’ worth in
there. That kind of paper trail could lead us to her next location. The final box gave me reason to pause. Pictures drawn by a child. Most were of a child and mother. And as far as stick figures went, this one looked like a match for Liliana.
I walked over to the dresser where photos were lined up. All were of a little girl, from infant to roughly six or seven years old. One of them had a year painted on the frame. The kid would be ten or eleven at this point. I snapped a pic on my phone of each, then grabbed the boxes and returned to the kitchen.
The garage door was open. Aside from an SUV, it was empty. No bikes, bins, deep freezer. No Liliana. No Bridget. I waved off the initial pang in my gut. If something had happened, she would have yelled out.
One side of the fridge had several pictures held to it with magnets. Some were of the child. Soccer uniform. First day of school. Hospital gown. Prayer card.
Now I knew why the portraits in the bedroom stopped. And I had more insight into Liliana than at the start of our adventure.
“What’d you find?”
I stiffened at the sound of Bridget’s voice. “How’d you sneak up on me like that?”
“It’s a talent.”
“Yeah, I bet.” I fought off the adrenaline surge. “Found a bunch of receipts, some from as far back as three years.”
“Might be something in there we can use.”
“My thoughts exactly. What’d you find?”
“Whole lotta nothing.”
“Seems to fit the house, minus the receipts.”
“What’s in the other box?”
“Take a look.”
She pulled the contents out and fanned through the drawings.
“Did you know she had a kid?” I asked.
Bridget shook her head. “First I’m hearing of it. You sure it’s her kid?”
“Judging by the photos in the bedroom and on the fridge? Yeah. Sadly, I believe she lost her a few years back.”
“Like, disappeared?”
“Passed away. Photos seem to stop around six or seven with timestamps from four years ago.”
“Receipts. Photos of a mystery kid. What’s the third thing?”