Dead Heat

by Allison Brennan

  “I want Jaime Sanchez,” he said, “but I doubt she’ll give him up. I want you to watch her. Assess her reactions. She’s not going to talk, she’ll have her lawyer here, but I’m going to try to get her to slip, to do or say something that’ll give us a direction. If you see an opportunity, take it. If I discipline you, don’t take it personally.”

  “I won’t. It would help if I knew what you were looking for.”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “She knows where Jaime is, I’m certain of it, but she’s not going to tell me. So I’m going to talk around it. Ask about the boy. See if she’ll spill something about him. About Jaime’s plans. I’m winging this right now. We have nothing, and I won’t tolerate having nothing.”

  Donnelly pushed himself as hard as his team—or harder. And here, now, she saw it clearly. He was beating himself up, either because George was dead or because Jaime got away. But there was something else under the surface, a deep craving to stop Jaime that went a lot deeper than an active warrant sweep. She’d seen it earlier, and now she didn’t know how she’d missed it from the beginning.

  “Jaime Sanchez was more than just part of the sweep, wasn’t he?”

  He glared at her. Angry. Then he sagged against the wall, a moment of weakness showing more than a hint of frustration. “I put them on the list. I wanted to take them down big because that’s the only way to keep them in a cage. Jaime Sanchez is a vicious gangbanger. He’s gotten away with drug running, kidnapping, attempted murder, conspiracy, and more—and I’ve never been able to nail him. We don’t have him on murder one, but I know he’s responsible for hits on rival gangs, likely pulled the trigger himself on several, and thinks he’s invincible. And dammit, he has every reason to think that because nothing sticks to him. It’s like he has a fucking evil angel getting him off, like disappearing before the sweep this morning.”

  “Could he have been tipped off?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I don’t think so. I put him on the list at the last minute because, like you said, he’s more than just a guy who skipped bail.” He ran his hands through his short hair, locked his fingers behind his neck. “Last year, someone in his gang was killed in a shootout that also took the life of an innocent fifteen-year-old girl walking to her grandparents’ house for dinner. The hit was in retaliation for Jaime stealing fifty thousand in heroin from his rival. And that’s not the first time people have died around him.” He hesitated. Lucy knew there was something more, but Donnelly didn’t continue. Instead he said, “The violence isn’t going to stop until we stop people like Jaime Sanchez.”

  The door opened and Donnelly pushed off from the wall.

  Mirabelle came in wearing handcuffs. Her lawyer, a short, older white male, walked in after her. “Agents,” he said, shaking their hands. “I’m Keith Glum, Ms. Borez’s counsel. I’ve spoken to Ms. Borez, and she’s distraught over her brother’s death. I’m sure you can understand. I’ve petitioned the court to release her on her own recognizance so that she can make arrangements for her brother’s funeral.”

  She looked more smug than grieving, Lucy thought. Maybe a little of both. Her eyes were rimmed red, and if Lucy’s guess was right—that George cared about family—then maybe Mirabelle did, too, in her own twisted way.

  “If your client cooperates, then we’ll go to the judge with my blessing. But for the last twenty-four hours, she’s been a pain in my ass.”

  “My client doesn’t have any information about the whereabouts of her brother, Jaime Sanchez.”

  “Okay, then let’s start with something easy. What time did he leave the house Saturday morning?”

  Mirabelle whispered in her lawyer’s ear. This was going to take forever, Lucy realized.

  Glum said, “She doesn’t know. She was sleeping.”

  “But she knew she was harboring a fugitive.”

  Again, whispering. Again, Glum answered. “Ms. Borez didn’t know that her brothers had missed their court date. She didn’t know they were fugitives.”

  “Bullshit,” Donnelly said.

  “If you’re going to yell at my client, I’ll be leaving with her.”

  “I’m not yelling,” he said. He leaned forward. “I’m investigating additional charges, and I have until tomorrow to file them. Including kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment of a minor.”

  “You’re fishing,” Glum said.

  “Ms. Borez, your daughter gave a statement that she has knowledge of at least one boy, approximately thirteen years old, who was chained in the basement. We found evidence that supports her statement. We found additional evidence that suggests more than one minor child was held against their will.”

  Mirabelle spoke rapidly in Spanish. Lucy picked up most of it—particularly that she spoke of Isabella, even though Donnelly hadn’t mentioned which daughter talked.

  The lawyer put his hand on Mirabelle’s arm. “Nothing a minor child said will be admissible. She was without counsel, without an advocate, and I plan to level charges against you for interviewing a minor child in violation of the child’s rights.”

  “I didn’t interview her,” Donnelly said. “She volunteered the information.”

  Technically, Lucy had asked questions. But it was a gray area, and one Lucy had felt comfortable swimming in.

  “I hardly believe a seven-year-old would volunteer information. Besides, she’s a young child with a vivid imagination.”

  Lucy took out the photo of Michael Rodriguez and slid it under Mirabelle’s gaze. She watched her expression turn from disinterest to shock. Then she locked it up tight. “Is this the boy from your basement?”

  But she already had the answer.

  Glum said, “No.”

  “You didn’t ask your client,” Donnelly said.

  “She already said that she was not keeping anyone against their will.”

  “But Jaime was,” Donnelly countered. “Mirabelle, if you’re scared of your brother, I understand. We can protect you, and your daughters—”

  “Like you protected George?” she screamed, pounding her fist on the table. And for the first time, Lucy saw the debate in her expression, the uncertainty that the course of action she’d chosen was the right one.

  “Help us help you,” Lucy said. “You don’t want your daughters to grow up in the system.”

  “I won’t be here tomorrow. I’ll have my babies back. Go to hell, puta.”

  Donnelly turned to Glum. “You need to explain to your client that if she cooperates we’ll help her. If she doesn’t, my hands are tied.”

  Glum said, “You have no case. Misdemeanor at most, and no judge is going to separate a mother from her two daughters on a misdemeanor charge. She’ll get time served, probation. Drop this farce and release her now.”

  “Felony kidnapping, felony unlawful imprisonment of a minor, harboring a fugitive, possession of drugs, possession of illegal firearms, resisting arrest, and I’m just getting started. Make a deal, and it all goes away.”

  “It’s all going to go away because you can’t make those charges stick, and you know it,” Glum said.

  “Watch me,” Donnelly countered.

  Mirabelle glanced at her lawyer, then said to Donnelly, “I’m not saying anything else.”

  Donnelly slapped his hands on the table and walked out.

  Lucy picked up her folder and said to Mirabelle, in Spanish, “Your girls need their mother. I hope you know what you’re doing, because right now they’ll only be seeing you behind bars for the next five to ten years.”

  Glum turned red as Mirabelle’s face drained. Lucy followed Donnelly out.

  “I need to do some legal wrangling to keep her inside after tomorrow,” he said. “I have enough to set the bail high but it might not be high enough. She’ll be out by Tuesday.”

  “She’s waffling,” Lucy said.

  “I don’t think so. Glum is convinced a judge will give her leniency.”

  “She was surprised we ID’d the boy. She’s scared.�
�

  “She should be scared. And you think she recognized him?”

  “She covered it up well, but you told me to watch. She has a telltale twitch in her eye. She knows him. She’s scared, and I don’t know if it’s Jaime or someone else. I need to talk to Bella, then maybe I can come back at Mirabelle, especially if you can get an insurmountable bail. She thinks she can manipulate the system, she’s not scared to push, but she doesn’t want to lose her girls.”

  “What about yesterday? When she didn’t care what happened to them?”

  “That’s the short term. She’s willing to play when she thinks she has the upper hand, but the longer you can keep her behind bars, the greater chance she’ll flip. Not on Jaime—I think there’s a family loyalty there, especially with George gone. But she’ll give you something worthwhile if it means she’s reunited with her daughters.”

  Donnelly watched Glum leave, and then Mirabelle was escorted out by a guard. He waited until she was out of sight before he said, “I’m meeting with the AUSA this afternoon. We’ll work on additional charges and bail issues, but it’s really a matter of getting the right judge.”

  “I still need to talk to Bella.”

  “I’ll get you the information on the Borez kids, but you’ll have to contact the CPS officer to make an appointment. You can’t talk to Bella alone, not this time.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach the woman, but she hasn’t returned my calls.”

  “I’ll track her down and set up the meeting. Be ready, no one likes to be ordered.”

  “If she had simply returned my calls, I wouldn’t need to ask for help.”

  Donnelly snorted a half laugh as he led Lucy back to the main police station. “Right. Because everyone is like us.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I know a kindred spirit when I see one. People like us, Kincaid, we are our job. Don’t even think about denying it. You’re not the type who lies to herself, so don’t lie to me.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  Donnelly was right. Not everyone was like them.

  Maybe if more people were, they wouldn’t have thirteen-year-old boys held captive by violent drug dealers, or little girls forced into foster care because of criminal parents.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jennifer Mendez was young, attractive, and—as Sean would say—had a stick up her ass. She was overdressed for a Sunday afternoon—unless she was coming from church—and obviously irritated that she’d been ordered to meet Lucy at the foster home where Bella and CeCe Borez were staying.

  “I don’t appreciate anyone going over my head,” Mendez said in lieu of a greeting when she showed up a full twenty minutes late.

  “I’m sorry about that, it wasn’t my call,” Lucy said, trying to be friendly.

  “Hmph,” Jennifer muttered. “Let’s get this over with, I have someplace to be.”

  “Do you have any background on the foster family?”

  “Of course I do,” Jennifer said. “Karl and Anna Grove. They take temporary, at-risk placements. Karl is a retired SAPD officer; Anna is a retired teacher and bilingual. I know how to do my job, Agent Kincaid.”

  “Call me Lucy.”

  Jennifer glanced at her and frowned, as if trying to assess the situation and not sure what to think. “Couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow?”

  “The younger Borez, Isabella, has some information we need to track another missing child. She met me yesterday, knows me—”

  “You mean because you arrested her mother?” Jennifer snapped. “She probably loves you.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with her mother’s arrest, and made sure she knew it. I built a rapport with her, I just need her to identify a boy for me.”

  “Let me see.” Jennifer stopped walking before they went up the porch steps.

  Lucy took the file out of her satchel.

  Jennifer said, “This is one of ours. Where did you get this?”

  “Charlie DeSantos gave me a copy.”

  “DeSantos?” She frowned, flipped through it. “Why’d he give this to you?”

  “Michael—the one here—made contact with his foster parents yesterday, with a note. DeSantos found out about my case and talked to DEA Agent Brad Donnelly. Because I’m lead on the missing boy, Brad sent him to me.”

  She returned the file to Lucy. “Your case?”

  “Donnelly is looking for a fugitive. I’m FBI; I’m looking for the minor.”

  Jennifer was skeptical, and while Lucy didn’t blame her for being protective of her charges, she also didn’t understand why she was putting up this roadblock.

  “If I tell you to stop the interview, stop the interview, got it?”

  “Yes.”

  Jennifer walked up the three steps to the small, clean, wood porch and knocked on the door. A moment later a tall, broad-shouldered bald man answered. He still looked like a cop, with suspicious eyes and stern expression.

  “Ms. Mendez.”

  “Hello, Mr. Grove. I want to apologize again for the short notice, but the FBI has an urgent matter and they believe Isabella Borez can help them. We won’t be but a few minutes.”

  He nodded. “It was a rough night for them, as you would expect. It’s not an easy situation.”

  He opened the door to let them in. The small foyer led to a living room on the right and a dining room on the left. The house was immaculate. So clean Lucy didn’t want to touch anything. But the delicious smells coming from the kitchen reminded her it was well past the lunch hour.

  “Anna is baking with Isabella. She’s a sweet kid.”

  “And CeCe?” Jennifer asked.

  “Hasn’t left her room. Angry. Scared. Defiant.” He said it in a way that told Lucy he was familiar with this behavior.

  “I’ll talk to her before I leave,” Jennifer said.

  They walked into the kitchen. Bella had flour on her face and wore a checked apron that was several sizes too big for her. She was watching Anna roll dough with big eyes, asking questions about why she put flour on the rolling pin and how long it was going to take to bake and why there was salt in pie when pies didn’t taste salty.

  “We have company, Anna,” Karl Grove said.

  Bella looked, her face frozen for a brief moment, and then she burst into a smile that melted Lucy’s heart.

  “Lucy! You came!”

  “I told you I’d try.”

  “I’m so glad!” Every sentence was an exclamation. Lucy loved young children. They adapted to changes so much easier than the older kids, like CeCe. “We’re making apple pie! And apple cobbler for the people next door. Mr. Pa-pa-paop—” She glanced at Anna.

  “Mr. Papapoulous,” Anna said.

  “Yeah, he had a heart attack last week and just came home from the hospital and we’re making sugar-free apple cobbler for him with homemade ice cream. Can you believe that you can have something taste good without sugar? And I never had homemade ice cream.”

  As she spoke faster, she reverted to Spanish.

  “I’m sorry I’m going to miss that,” Lucy said.

  “Why? Why are you going to miss it? Aren’t you visiting?”

  “Yes, but we can’t stay long.”

  Jennifer smiled. “Remember me?”

  “Yes. You brought us to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Grove until my mama isn’t in trouble anymore.”

  “How do you like your room?”

  “I miss my toys.”

  “If you make a list for me, I’ll bring you what you want.”

  Bella frowned. “Does that mean I can never go home?”

  Lucy’s heart twisted. But before Lucy could say anything, Jennifer said, “I know you want to see your mom and sleep in your own bed. And everyone is working hard to make that happen. But I don’t know when, and I want you to have everything you need while you’re staying here with the Groves.”

  The little girl bit her lip, but nodded.

  Lucy began to like Jennifer, her attitude outside notwithstand
ing.

  “Agent Kincaid has a couple of questions for you. You’re not in trouble, Bella. But Agent Kincaid thinks maybe you can help her find someone who needs help.”

  Bella nodded.

  “If you want to stop, just say the word, okay?”

  She nodded again and straightened in her chair. “It’s about the boy,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Lucy said.

  “I might get in trouble.”

  Lucy took Bella’s hand and said, “I promise you, cross my heart, that you will not get in any trouble.”

  “Not from you,” she whispered.

  Jennifer said, “You’re safe here. No one is going to get you in trouble.”

  Bella looked pained.

  “How about this,” Lucy said. “What if you don’t have to talk at all, but I’ll ask questions and you can nod or shake your head?”

  She glanced at Anna, then nodded.

  Lucy took out a photo of Michael Rodriguez. “Is this the Michael who was in your basement?”

  She stared at the picture and nodded.

  “Good,” Lucy said. “That’s great.”

  “Can I finish the pies now? Mrs. Grove needs my help.”

  “In just a minute, promise.”

  She sighed but didn’t move.

  “You told me yesterday that you thought Michael had been in the basement for three or four weeks. Right?”

  She shrugged, then nodded.

  “Had you ever seen Michael before then?”

  She shook her head.

  Lucy asked, “You told me that sometimes there were other boys who lived in the basement. Do you know how many? Three? Five? More?”

  She shook her head, then bit her lip. “Lots,” she whispered.

  “Were any of them recent? Like, while Michael was there?”

  She shook her head, then shifted uneasily in her seat. She kept looking at Anna Grove, as if to beg her to let her get up. Lucy wanted to ask more questions about Michael and what he did for Jaime, but Bella was getting skittish.

  Jennifer said, “Bella, you’ve done good. I’m proud of you for being so brave. Agent Kincaid and I just want to find Michael and take him home.”