A Girl Apart

by Russell Blake

  “I have nothing more to say. I’m innocent, and you’re crazy. I want a lawyer. That’s it.”

  “Do you have any idea how brutal prison is? Your holding cell is a beachfront condo in Cancún compared to CERESO. You think you’re so tough? You won’t last a week in there.”

  “You can threaten me all you want, but it still won’t make me guilty.”

  Montalbán’s expression darkened. “People like you disgust me. A good father, every opportunity, and you piss it away with drugs and gangs. Now you’re a killer, your own flesh and blood, and you show absolutely no remorse. They’re going to throw away the key when they convict you. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I didn’t kill my father. You’re batshit crazy. They should lock you up, not me. You’re a menace.”

  Montalbán leapt to his feet and drew his hand back to strike Ana Maria, and she flinched. He stopped just short of backhanding her and instead stepped away, visibly fighting for control. He stood, trembling with rage, his eyes blazing with hate, and then he stormed from the room without a further word.

  Ana Maria exhaled nervously, painfully aware of how vulnerable she was, and cursed under her breath at her temper getting the better of her, putting her in yet more danger. Something about the detective was unbalanced, she could see. It was almost as though he was taking her supposed participation in the crime personally – a volatile mixture when combined with the power to act unilaterally against her.

  Her only hope was that her brother would somehow be able to free her.

  Because judging by how the interrogation had begun, it was going to get nothing but worse, and at some point she could see that she might be bloodied and battered by the time she was arraigned on Tuesday – the next seventy-two hours could easily be the most perilous of her life. She had to keep her temper in check and stay reasonable and calm. Whatever was wrong with the cop, she couldn’t afford to enrage him any further. She’d heard stories of prisoners dying in custody, and she didn’t want to wind up another casualty of a system gone badly awry.

  Montalbán reappeared with a length of rubber hose in his hand and a malevolent gleam in his eye. He set it down on the table with a thunk and smirked.

  “You think I’m crazy, Señorita?” he said. “You are about to find out just how loco I can be.”

  Her eyes welled with moisture and her voice cracked when she spoke. “I’m sorry. But I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t. I loved my father. I did. There’s nothing you can do to me that will change that.”

  “Sorry? Yes. Well, you’ll be much sorrier by the time I’m through with you.” He paused and stroked the hose with the tenderness of a lover. “Sorry will be the least of your worries then. And we’ll just see about what I can do to make you change your ridiculous story. You might be surprised by how convincing I can be.”

  Chapter 18

  El Paso, Texas

  Neon lavender and coral streaked the dusk sky as Leah entered the Examiner building. The border had been a nightmare, with hours of waiting as late afternoon travelers queued up to cross. By the time she’d retrieved her car from the lot and driven to the office, her day was shot, and she dreaded the pile of work that had no doubt accumulated as Margaret took her revenge for Leah going dark. She had three messages from the woman on her cell phone, each progressively more irritated, and as she mounted the stairs to the newsroom, she silently prayed her supervisor had gone home.

  Leah’s luck held true, and when she entered the newsroom, Margaret was waiting for her with arms crossed, her face a mask of annoyance. Leah’s gaze flitted to a few of her co-workers still at their desks and then to her supervisor.

  “I was calling you all day. Where were you?” Margaret queried as Leah approached.

  “I’m sorry. I was out of the service area. In Juárez.”

  “Mexico? You didn’t clear that with me.”

  “I didn’t think I had to every time I ran down a hot lead.”

  Margaret frowned, and Leah could see her fingers whitening as she clutched her arms. “A hot lead? You disappear for an entire day, fail to report in, and that’s the best you can do?”

  “I had a meeting with the mayor there,” Leah said. “You weren’t here when I got the call to come down.”

  Margaret gave a weary sigh. “Leah, you’ve been walking around here like you’re something special and the rules don’t apply to you. Frankly, you’re lucky to have a job with any paper in the country after your performance in New York. And then you reward our generosity with this sort of behavior?”

  Leah looked at the other staffers, who averted their eyes and hurriedly packed their things before making for the exit. Nobody wanted to witness a dressing-down like this, and Leah flushed at the public humiliation.

  “Margaret, I was following up on the biggest story this paper has seen. I’ll make up for anything I missed by working late,” she said, trying to sound contrite.

  “That’s not good enough. I’m tired of the insolent attitude, the holier-than-thou tone, the arrogance. We’re going to have a meeting with Ridley come Monday. This has to stop. You’re no better than the rest of us, and the sooner you figure it out, the better, or you’re going to find yourself out on the street. Do you read me?”

  Leah considered possible responses and glanced at her watch. “What time do you want to meet?”

  “Be here at nine, Monday.”

  Leah nodded and began walking to her desk. Margaret watched her with narrowed eyes and called out to her as she neared her station. “If I were you, I’d consider my attitude long and hard. We’re not lucky to have you grace us with your presence, and I’m not your doormat. If you can’t feel any genuine enthusiasm for the work that everyone on this paper does, don’t bother coming in to work next week.”

  Margaret stormed out, leaving agitated silence in her wake. Leah’s mind churned, her blood boiling at the scolding. Maybe she should have answered one of the messages, but she didn’t deserve that sort of treatment, especially in front of her peers.

  Then again, she had no plan B. Nowhere to go. Margaret, like all bullies, had zeroed in on Leah’s weak spot and hammered at it with relish. Leah would have to suck it up with a smile or get a job at Mickey D’s, because she had no alternatives and the rent was due the first of the month.

  Her only hope was that Talbert would be more understanding. She’d seen Margaret interact with him, and she was always fake and sweet, backing down whenever she was challenged on one of her half-baked ideas. Leah would explain her story in detail, and if there was any justice in the universe, Talbert would support her. After all, he was the one who’d made the decision to rehire her, not Margaret, so she was calling his judgment into question as well by going after Leah. She was probably just too stupid to realize that dynamic.

  Leah reached her desk and rubbed her eyes, red and burning from the smog and dust in Juárez, where the air hung as a toxic beige haze on a still day like the one drawing to a close. A wave of fatigue washed over her as the adrenaline from the confrontation with Margaret drained away, and she collapsed into her chair, bone-weary and trembling.

  The office was now empty, and she sat with her eyes closed, marshalling her resources for the long evening’s work to come. She didn’t even want to look at what she’d been assigned – no doubt stories of lost dogs and fender benders.

  Her mind pored over the events of the day, and the fury that had greeted Margaret’s berating threatened to return as she relived the rebuke. Tempting as it was to give in to anger, though, Leah knew she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of letting it direct her actions, and she forced herself to calm down and figure a way out of the hole she’d dug.

  After several minutes, Leah sat up and opened her eyes. She stared at the paperwork on her desk and stopped at a yellow manila envelope with her name neatly printed on a white label. No return address, just Leah Mason in Times New Roman script. The envelope was glued shut.

  She set it aside and sorted through the rest of the d
ocuments that had accumulated throughout the day, and then rose and went to the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot. The thought of staying and working annoyed her, but the idea of going home to an empty apartment and staring at the walls while worrying about having a job on Monday was worse, and if she was going to focus, she would need several powerful jolts of caffeine.

  Leah waited by the coffeemaker until it gurgled its final drops, and filled her mug to the brim before returning to her desk. She sat and inspected the envelope again and then felt in her top drawer for a letter opener, her brow knitted with curiosity as to what it could contain.

  Chapter 19

  Leah slit the top of the envelope and dumped the contents on her desk. She stared at a color photo printed on ordinary paper: a man walking out of what appeared to be a bar or club, the name El Matador on a lit sign over the door. Hand scrawled in the margins were a name and a single sentence.

  The name rang a bell.

  Warren Moore.

  The sentence was easy to interpret: Sergio – bartender – ask about Moore.

  She tapped Moore’s name into her PC browser and waited as the ancient hunk of obsolescence churned. At least twenty search results popped up. She clicked on the first, a Wikipedia entry. Leah squinted at the screen, reading slowly.

  Warren Moore. Forty-six years old. Entrepreneur. U of T grad with a degree in business administration. Single, no offspring. Owner of Moore Industries in El Paso, Texas – a prominent import firm. Holdings included operations in Ciudad Juárez, El Paso, Austin.

  She scanned the data about his company, which had been started by his father and was privately held, and stopped at the photograph of him. Moore had a full head of straw-colored hair, blue eyes, and a tanned face slightly marred by the effects of time and debauchery. She pursed her lips and slid her glasses back up on her nose. He must have been good-looking in his youth, but was now on the downhill slope.

  Definitely the man exiting El Matador.

  Leah closed the Wiki page and clicked on another link, which took her to the home page for Moore Industries. The menu offered her information on its activities – standard border importer fare, with a division involved in real estate development, both in Texas and in Mexico.

  The About section listed a roster of personnel, with Moore occupying the top slot. A picture of the corporate headquarters, an industrial building in El Paso with attached warehouse space, gleamed in one corner of the page, and she jotted down the address and phone number before continuing to the next link.

  An hour later she was done with her research. Most of the information on the web was about Moore’s business activities, with a few entries on philanthropic endeavors with photographs from charity events in the U.S., always with a different local beauty on his arm.

  She supposed that was what you did when you were wealthy and single in society – one of the idle rich whose lives revolved around dream vacations and gala events with a roster of engaging companions to keep one company. Leah was guessing, because she’d never been in that circle, but Moore certainly fit the bill with his cocksure smile and piercing gaze. One of the lucky sperm club born into wealth and privilege, his father having built the business, so Moore had little to do but wait for him to die so he could take over.

  He appeared to be a competent businessman, expanding his company’s reach into Mexican holdings and diversifying into real estate, but Leah felt the innate bias that was a product of her lower middle-class upbringing insisting that it was far easier to get richer if you started out with serious money rather than having to bootstrap yourself from scratch. That she was aware of the bias was occupationally necessary, but on an emotional basis she felt that she was right – and also felt a stir of resentment at how easy he’d had it compared to many.

  She finished her coffee and forced herself to focus. Why would someone send her a cryptic photo with a note advising her to speak to a bartender about the subject of the snapshot?

  Her spidey sense tingled. Obviously because of her article about the Juárez disappearances.

  But why anonymously?

  Perhaps because the messenger was afraid of reprisals?

  Leah made a note to check with the front desk on Monday to find out who had delivered the envelope – assuming she was still employed.

  The thought jarred her. She couldn’t assume she would be.

  Which meant that the clock was ticking on getting something pretty amazing to justify her pursuing the leads today instead of writing a heartfelt story about a Boy Scout troop that was walking rescue dogs for charity.

  Leah fished her cell from her purse and scrolled through the calls until she spotted the number she wanted. She selected it and waited as it rang.

  “Bueno,” Uriel answered.

  “Uriel, it’s Leah Mason.”

  “Yes, Leah. What’s going on?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly ragged.

  “How did it go with your sister?”

  “Not well. We went to the station together, Ortiz and I, but they wouldn’t allow us to see her. Even declined a bribe, so it’s not looking good.” He paused. “Ortiz seemed surprised, but he promised he’d work on it over the weekend.”

  “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. After all you’ve gone through…”

  “Yes, well, best to stay optimistic. What can I do for you?”

  “Do you know a bar called El Matador?”

  “In Juárez? No. But that doesn’t mean anything. Remember that I haven’t been here for a long time. Why?”

  Leah plugged the name into her search engine. “I’m Googling it right now. Ah. Okay. It’s down in the Chavena district, near the train depot.”

  “That’s a rough neighborhood, Leah. What is your interest in it?”

  She sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that. I got a lead on the disappearances.” She told him about the envelope.

  “How do you know it’s legitimate?” he asked.

  “I don’t. That’s the investigative part of investigative reporting. But I won’t find out unless I run down the lead and verify it.”

  He took five seconds before responding. “It’s dangerous to go there at night.”

  “I sort of figured that, Uriel. But a bartender will be working at night, so I don’t think I have much choice. I need to talk to this Sergio, the sooner the better.”

  “You mean tonight?” He sounded surprised.

  “It’s Friday. Any bartender worth his salt will be on duty – it’s one of the big moneymaking nights.”

  “I think this is a bad idea, Leah.”

  “Maybe. But it’s also what I do for a living.” She paused. “You don’t have to go with me. I can go alone.”

  “That would be even worse.”

  “Then you’ll help?”

  It was his turn to sigh. “I can’t let you do it by yourself.” He hesitated. “How did your meeting with the mayor go?”

  “Not as well as I’d hoped,” she said, dodging the question. “But we agreed to another meeting, so that’s positive.” A little truth stretching was sometimes necessary. Uriel wouldn’t agree to escort her if he thought she were in active danger crossing the border again so soon after her confrontation with the mayor.

  “How long will it take you to make it back to Juárez?”

  She did a quick calculation. “Maybe an hour, tops. Shouldn’t be too much traffic headed south, right?”

  “Not necessarily. On a weekend, a lot of partyers cross from the U.S. side for cheap drinks and prostitution.”

  Leah frowned. “Is that legal in Mexico?”

  “Not technically, but the law isn’t enforced. It’s a big tourist attraction. Twenty to thirty dollars for fifteen minutes with a teenage girl. Less for an older woman. It’s an ugly part of poverty along the border. It’s been like that forever.”

  She looked down at her shirt and sniffed. Her nose wrinkled. “I should probably change before we meet up. Let’s make it more like an hour and a half.”

  “
Okay. You want to do this the same way as before? I can meet you at the crossing point, out on the street.”

  “That’s probably easiest, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll see you in an hour and a half.”

  Leah hung up and studied the photograph again before carefully folding it and slipping it into her purse. She had no idea where this latest twist would lead, but she felt the familiar thrill of excitement at being on the hunt, immersed in a story – a sensation that made everything she’d sacrificed worth it. She thought of Benedict’s words to her, his distillation of her nature into an easy summary, and smiled to herself at the veracity of his take.

  Leah would indeed do anything to learn the truth.

  She just hoped that this time, hunting a serial killer in what had only recently been the murder capital of the world, she wouldn’t wind up dead.

  Chapter 20

  Ciudad Juárez, Mexico

  Music throbbed from the doorway of the most popular nightclub in Juárez, an unusual mixture of discotheque and rock bar, the clientele mostly young Mexicans and a few braver El Pasoans taking advantage of the city’s drinking age of eighteen. A neon guitar player with hair hanging in his face strummed a Les Paul on the club’s marquis, strobing rapidly to create the illusion of his hand moving up and down over the strings. It was still early, but the strip clubs on either side of the rock club were doing a brisk business with gringo tourists eager to take a walk on the wild side in the city’s infamous sin zone.

  Warren Moore stumbled from the doorway of the girlie bar on the right, his arm around another man of the same age, both in Tommy Bahama shirts and khaki cargo shorts that cost a week’s wages for the locals. A third man stepped from the club behind them, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the brightly lit street, the gloom inside conducive to anonymity as well as smoothing out any imperfections of the dancers.