Len thought for a moment. “Don’t recall that one. When did it happen?”
“1986.”
He laughed. “No wonder. I was two years old. Why are you digging around in ancient history?”
“It’s background for my story.”
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
“The identity of the boys. Or the victim, if you can’t learn the boys’ names.”
This time the pause was longer. “Leah, if they were minors, the file would be sealed. But…wait. You said the charges were dropped?”
“That’s right. The victim declined to testify.”
“Then we’re not going to have anything. I mean, nothing was even computerized back then. We were all paper. But even if I could locate something, I can’t help you. The identities of boys who were never convicted of anything…really, Leah. There’s a pretty clear line there, and I’m not the guy to cross it.”
Leah’s voice quieted. “It’s really important. I won’t publish their names. I promise.”
“It doesn’t matter, Leah. Can’t help you. Sorry.”
“And the victim?”
“What I just said applies double for her. If you’re going to find anything, it’s not going to be through me.”
Len’s tone was firm and professional, with none of the playfulness of his earlier banter. Leah took the hint.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Len. I didn’t think it was that big a deal. I didn’t mean to offend you or ask you to do anything…unethical.”
“Let’s just forget it ever happened, okay? But the dinner invite still stands. I just so happen to be open tonight…”
“Got to take a rain check on that, Len. I’m going to be burning the midnight oil on this one.”
“Two-for-one special at Burger King. You have no idea what you’re missing. A six-pack of malt liquor, a cheeseburger…”
They both laughed at the absurdity of his offer. “Sounds tempting, but I have to pass, Len.”
“I can sweeten it with a soft-serve cone for dessert.”
“Maybe next week.”
She terminated the call and resumed scouring the web for information about Moore. Hours crawled by, and she was rubbing her eyes when she spotted a short piece on a charity event Moore had attended. The photograph at the top of the piece showed Moore shaking hands with a familiar figure: Ridley Talbert, the editor of the paper. Her heart sank when she saw that it had been published in the Examiner a year before.
“Great,” she whispered. “He’s friends with my boss. How does this get any worse?”
As she was getting ready to leave, the sky dark outside, her email pinged to alert her of an inbound message. She clicked on it and saw an email from a Hotmail account she didn’t recognize. When she read the body copy, it was short and to the point.
Here is what I can give you. See attached for the picture and some more background.
She opened the attachment, and there was the photo Saldaño had shown her of Moore with a young woman. She zoomed in on it, but it was too grainy at high resolution to make out detail, and she frowned – the girl could have been anybody.
Leah read the accompanying note cautioning her that she would need to move quickly, because once Moore knew he was caught, he’d take steps to shut down any trace of his activities. When she reached the end of the missive, Saldaño’s final words chilled her to her core: The police in Mexico will be of no help – in fact, contacting them could bring disaster, even in the U.S. Do not assume anywhere is safe.
Chapter 27
Ciudad Juárez, Mexico
Uriel and Gabriela scanned the narrow street, searching for a parking place near the address he’d been given by the private investigator earlier. The man had seemed more interested in how he was going to get paid than in providing any information, but in the end, once they’d agreed to meet the following day to exchange cash for data, he’d given Uriel the name and address of the mother of one of the last victims.
The house was a two-bedroom concrete box that sat on a dirt street in a neighborhood that screamed of poverty. A rooster ran across the road as the car slowed, and Uriel pointed to a spot in front of what looked like an abandoned home. Gabriela nodded and stopped the car, and then backed into the space, her expression concerned.
“You sure you want to do this?” she asked.
“He says he’ll have some more information for me tomorrow. But yes, there’s no point delaying. Every hour Ana Maria’s rotting in jail counts.”
Gabriela switched off the engine and turned to him. “How do you want to do this?”
“I’ll tell her the truth. I’m investigating her daughter’s disappearance, and I want to ask her some questions.”
“And if she asks who we are?”
“Investigators. If she’s living in a place like this, she’ll defer to authority. She probably can’t read or write and won’t know the difference between a police investigator or just an investigator.”
“So you’re going to try to bluff your way through?”
“I don’t see any other way, do you?”
“You could let the real investigator question her.”
Uriel shook his head. “I can’t afford the delay.”
They made their way to the address, a squalid hovel with bars on the windows and a dirt front lawn. A pit bull barked at them from the end of a chain in the yard next door, straining to charge them. Uriel offered a silent prayer that the chain held and stepped onto the raw cement porch to knock on the door.
A woman’s voice answered from inside. “Yes?”
“Señora Gutiérrez?”
“That’s right.”
“Sorry to come by so late, but we’re following up on the investigation into your daughter’s disappearance. Emilia?”
The door opened a crack and a woman in her forties peered out at them. “You’re investigating Emilia?”
“That’s right. And we need to ask you a few questions. I’m Investigator Uriel Sánchez, and this is my assistant, Señorita Ortega. We won’t need but a couple of minutes of your time.”
The woman eyed Uriel’s clothes and shoes, both expensive by barrio standards. “What questions?”
“Would it be possible to come in, Señora Gutiérrez? Your neighbor’s dog wants to eat us.”
“Ah, Brutus. Yes. Of course. One moment.” She unlatched the chain lock and swung the door open. “Come in.”
Uriel and Gabriela shook hands with the woman, who relocked the door behind her and then brushed by them to lead them into a postage stamp-sized living area. She lowered herself onto a wooden chair and motioned to the sofa. “Please. Have a seat.”
They sat, and Uriel adopted a serious expression. “As I said, we have just a few questions.”
“I’ve already told you everything I know. She was grabbed by two men on her way back from work, in front of her friends. They gave you a description. They didn’t recognize either of them or the van.”
“Yes, but this is more about Emilia’s background than the actual crime,” Uriel said, familiar with the gross details of the abduction from the newspaper accounts he’d researched with Gabriela after an hour of sorting through the rubble at his father’s house. “More about her social life. We’re trying to establish how the kidnappers targeted her.”
“They still haven’t contacted me about a ransom. I…I don’t think they ever will. Besides, what could I offer them? I’m hardly wealthy.” She paused. “I think my Emilia is dead. Like so many of the others, God rest their souls.”
“We’re trying to get to the bottom of this, Señora. How did Emilia spend her time outside of work?”
“She put in twelve-hour days, and it took her an hour each way on the bus. She didn’t have any time outside of work except for her day off – Sunday. We would go to church together and then for a big lunch with the others from the service. Then we would do our shopping, watch some television, eat leftovers, and go to sleep. She was a good girl. Never in any trouble.”
“Any boyfriends?”
“Plenty were interested, but I didn’t raise an idiot. She didn’t want to wind up like me, bringing up children on her own.”
“So nobody special?”
“I just told you she had no time for anything but work.”
Gabriela gestured to a photograph of a young woman in a pink ball gown. “Is that Emilia? She’s beautiful.”
“Yes. That was her Quince Años party. She was so happy…her whole life ahead of her.”
“So she was fifteen there?” Uriel asked – the Quince Años was an event thrown when girls turned fifteen, where they were officially presented to society as viable mates, much like Western debutante balls. Even the poorest Mexicans managed to rent or buy a gown for their treasure and pay the cost for her to participate in the rite of passage.
Mrs. Gutiérrez gave him an odd look. “Of course. I just said that.”
“When did she start working?”
“When she was sixteen. I couldn’t afford for her to finish school, so she got a job at the factory. It didn’t pay much, but it helped, and she sometimes worked at big dinners for rich people, busing tables, which brought in some extra. Her older sister has medical problems, so things have always been rough. We did what we had to in order to survive.”
“Older sister?”
“Yes. She lives with my sister in Hermosillo. The hospital there is better than any here.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Gabriela asked.
“Heart problem. She’s on a list for surgery, but it is long. My sister has more resources than I. Her husband sells cars, so he makes decent money.”
“Did Emilia go to any nightclubs?”
Mrs. Gutiérrez looked away. “Not that I know of. She was a good girl.”
“What about her friends? She must have been popular,” Uriel pressed.
“She had only those she worked with and a few of our neighbors. But nobody who would have kidnapped her.”
“How long have you lived in Juárez?”
“I was born here.”
“Only two children?” Gabriela asked.
“I can’t have any more. After Emilia, something inside went wrong.” She said the words with finality – it was the will of God.
“Can you think of anyone who had an interest in Emilia? Maybe someone who made their money illegally?”
“We don’t know anyone like that.”
“And Emilia’s father?”
She shrugged. “He’s long gone. Men are all the same. They get what they want from a young woman, fill her head with idiocies and lies, and then disappear when it’s time to take responsibility.”
The interrogation continued for another five minutes, yielding nothing new. Uriel thanked the woman, took down her phone number in case he had further questions, and with a final glance at the picture of Emilia, led Gabriela to the door. “Thanks again, Señora. You’ve been very helpful,” Gabriela said.
“I’m afraid it’s too late for my Emilia. All we can do is pray she is in a better place now.”
Outside, Brutus renewed his auditory assault, frothing at the mouth as he bayed at them. They walked wordlessly to Gabriela’s car, Uriel’s brow furrowed.
“What do you think?” she asked once they were inside the vehicle.
“Emilia was a beauty, wasn’t she?”
Gabriela nodded. “We all are when we’re that age.” She paused. “What about the mother’s story? Her daughter was a virgin who only went to church on Sunday and never even kissed a boy?”
“Never expect a mother to speak badly about her daughter,” Uriel said. “I’m sure she also did volunteer work at the orphanage.”
Gabriela smirked. “So you think it might have been one of the local boys or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe somebody at the factory selected her because of her looks, and works with the kidnappers. Anything’s possible.” Uriel hesitated. “Did you see her TV? Big flat-screen. And there was a satellite dish on her roof. Doesn’t that strike you as odd for a woman living in a dump in one of the worst areas of Juárez?”
“People spend their money in odd ways,” Gabriela said.
“Her microwave looked new, too. I saw it as we passed the kitchen. She seems to be doing well for someone scrabbling to get by.”
Gabriela started the car. “You think she’s involved in the drug business?”
“Anything’s possible, I suppose. But she’s a little old for it, isn’t she?”
“Then what?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I want to call our investigator and see what he’s capable of.”
“What he’s capable of?”
“Something’s off. I don’t know what, but I can smell it. She’s not telling us everything. So the question is, what’s she hiding?”
“And how do you answer that?”
“Have our man dig around. See if mom or daughter have bank accounts. Own a car. Cell phones. See if he can get records. Anything.” Uriel slipped his cell from his pocket and checked the time and then hit redial to call the investigator.
“Where to now?”
“You’ve burned your entire day helping me, Gabby. I was hoping you’d let me buy you dinner, if you’re willing.”
One side of Gabriela’s mouth tugged upwards and she looked away, checked the side mirror, and roared off with a rasp of tires on dirt, leaving the victim’s mother and the misery of her hardscrabble existence behind in a beige cloud of dust.
Chapter 28
An anthracite morning sky brooded over El Paso as Leah rolled into the Examiner lot early on Monday, the front moving in carrying with it unexpected humidity for the time of year. She was relieved to see that Margaret’s car wasn’t there yet, but Ridley Talbert’s polar white BMW sedan was. She’d worked all weekend on the Moore angle to the disappearance story and felt confident that she’d made sufficient links to justify approaching the editor with the information to get his take on it.
Leah yawned and gulped the rest of her convenience-store coffee, still groggy after only five hours of sleep. She’d devoted her entire Sunday to fleshing out the Moore dossier she’d created, which was as damaging as any she’d seen – the only thing missing being definitive proof. Saldaño hadn’t responded to two emails she’d sent requesting more depth on the statements of his witnesses, but she was hoping that Talbert wouldn’t press her for identities, given that the secondhand testimony came from a reputable journalist in Mexico.
She was at the building entrance when she heard a car coast to a stop nearby and a door slam. Leah looked over her shoulder as she walked into the lobby and saw that her luck had just turned for the worse: Margaret was hot on her tail, her expression resolute.
Leah took the stairs two at a time and was at the second-floor landing when Margaret called out behind her.
“Mason, I’m glad you’re here early. I’d like to get this over with before the rest of the newsroom arrives.”
Leah waited, seeing no alternative, as Margaret climbed the stairs and joined her.
“Good morning,” Leah said, keeping her expression neutral.
“I hope so. I asked Ridley to come in early so we could deal with your insubordination in as undisruptive a manner possible.”
“Respectfully, I haven’t been insubordinate. I’ve been doing my job.”
Margaret leveled a flinty stare at Leah. “Yes, well, that’s what we need to discuss.”
Five minutes later they were both seated in Talbert’s office. Margaret was summarizing her problem with Leah, making it sound like she’d single-handedly stopped the paper in its tracks, with only Margaret to thank for the fact it was still managing to operate. Talbert listened patiently, nodding occasionally. When Margaret was finished, he took a moment, pushed his reading glasses up onto his head, and looked to Leah.
“What do you have to say?” he asked.
“Margaret obviously has a problem with the way I’ve been pursuing my story. Instead of h
elping me, she has me writing copy an intern could do in their sleep, which I’ve done without complaint. But the first Juárez article caused a sensation, and I’ve been working on a couple of other angles for the second installment, and those necessitated me going to Mexico on short notice. I wasn’t trying to be insulting or insubordinate, as she’s framing it, by not responding to her calls. My battery died, so I physically couldn’t. Which I explained when I returned.”
Talbert nodded. “And what do you have to show for your time there? Proof’s in the pudding, as they say.”
Leah smiled. “How much time do you have?”
“An outline will suffice.”
“I anticipated that,” she said, and produced a file from her messenger bag. “I’ve been working fourteen-hour days on this, and the local angle is explosive.”
“Hand it over,” Talbert said impatiently.
Leah did, and he flipped the cover open and began reading. His eyes were unblinking as he turned the page, and when he finished and looked at her, any good humor was gone.
“I need to run this past the attorneys.” He regarded Leah thoughtfully. “Is there any supporting documentation or recordings you can offer to substantiate your take?”
“I’m working on getting something from the Mexican journalist. They’re his contacts and witnesses.”
Margaret pursed her lips at Leah, the get-together not going as planned. “I don’t want this meeting to get sidetracked. This isn’t about her story – it’s about how she’s been behaving…”
“Yes, yes, Margaret. I got that. But I’m the one who has to arbitrate the matter, and based on what I just read and Leah’s explanation, I see nothing to get my panties in a bunch over. She had a lead that was time sensitive and did what she had to do. Her phone was dead. What more could she have done, in your mind?”
“I don’t believe her,” Margaret said, pressing her lips into a thin line.
“Be that as it may, based on what I see here, it seems to me she’s spent a massive amount of time on this story, and if she’s gotten all of her assignments completed in a timely manner, this sounds like more of a personality issue than a work-product issue. Would that be safe to say?”
A Girl Apart Page 16