A Pilgrimage to Death

by J. J. Cagney

The pain and fear her sister felt as she was stabbed and after, as she died—that she transferred to Cici in the dream, kept haunting her now.

  “When Anna Carmen died,” Sam said, “did you know Ernesto killed her?”

  “Don’t think he did. Postal inspectors . . . stopped drug ring then . . . but . . . murders . . . personal. Donnie’s death . . . personal.”

  “Who killed him?” Cici demanded. “Why?”

  Susan’s lips quirked up briefly. “Not me.”

  “You knew. When you came to my office, you knew all this.”

  “No. Thought I’d be okay . . . he never shared . . . documents with me. I was wrong.”

  “Did you see the person, Susan?” Sam asked. “The one who shot you.”

  “No. Just . . . big black truck . . . parked in back.”

  Cici fisted her hands.

  “The wife,” Cici muttered. “Ernesto’s wife. Maybe she’s the one who called in Donald’s death. The perfume you smelled.”

  “Check the safes,” Susan coughed out. “I didn’t have . . . time to get to . . . the one at the office . . .”

  Susan closed her eyes.

  She was dead by the time the paramedics arrived three minutes later.

  “Think she was telling the truth this time?” Cici asked.

  “Death bed confessions tend to be truthful,” Sam replied.

  “But Anna Carmen talking to the police?”

  Cici looked up as Sam watched the team bag Susan’s body for the medical investigator.

  She rubbed her palms up her arms, trying to warm herself, but her insides—her heart—remained frigid. She might never thaw again. Her sister was dead even after she did the right thing—went to the police as she’d been taught.

  Her twin was still dead.

  And Cici had to move on. Had to find the killer. Rodolfo deserved it, as did her sister, Marco Sanchez, and Susan.

  Cici raised her hand and pressed it to her mouth. She closed her eyes and drew in a long, deep, steadying breath. She tried again, then again. Many breaths later, she faced Sam, who’d waited patiently for her to pull herself back together.

  “So, you think Donald was working with the DEA to bring down the drug ring?”

  “Makes sense.” Sam slid his hands into his pockets. “More sense than most of what we’ve heard. Especially if the post office inspectors did shut down the last round.”

  “Can you check on that?” Cici asked. “I never heard about a postal bust.”

  “Neither did I,” Sam said, his eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, just that it was silenced. The only reason to silence a big bust is if you’re going after a bigger player.”

  “Donald was in Madrid once a week,” Cici said slowly. “That’s what Jaycee said. And Jeannette said he visited the Mayor’s office.”

  Sam nodded, approval lighting his eye.

  “I’ll talk to Jeannette in just a minute, but my guess is that Donald Johnson met someone there—in the mayor’s office,” Sam said. “An informant or officer. Probably DEA. Maybe Jeannette knows who that is.”

  “What? Why would she?”

  “Because the DEA handles most of the drug cases in the country.”

  “Their investigation supersedes yours?” Cici asked.

  She shivered again. She hated the idea of her church being funded off blood money.

  Sam laid his hand on the back of her neck, sliding his large palm under her hair. After another few minutes, her shivering eased. She wanted to say thanks, but Sam was staring off in the distance, working over the problem in his mind.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Sam said. “More like we’re both on the same big team. Good, the forensics team is here.”

  “Really?” Cici asked. “I thought the federal investigation always won out. Isn’t that true?”

  “You ready to go?” Sam asked, ignoring her last question. “Forensics will take awhile, and I need to get my evidence together to request some warrants.”

  “Um. Sure,” Cici mumbled.

  “Nothing like being enthusiastic there, my girl.”

  Sam drove to the police station where he spent the next hour and a half on the phone or in and out of his superior’s office while Cici cooled her heels in the tucked-away corner Sam called an office.

  When he returned the next time, his face was animated.

  “Got our warrant,” he said. “Call Evan. See if he’ll meet you at the law offices.”

  “Why?”

  Sam pulled her to her feet and shepherded her from the office.

  “Do you need to check on Justin?” Cici asked.

  “Did. He’s in another room, being watched.”

  “Oh.” Cici hustled after Sam, who used his long legs to their great advantage, impatient to get to his car.

  “I don’t understand why I need to call Evan,” Cici said as she slid into the car. “What are you worried about?”

  He turned to look at Cici, his eyes dark. “What am I not worried about? We have two more people dead in the last two weeks, one hell of a drug trafficking story going and a whole lot of people who could be complicit, colluding, or completely unaware. I’m hoping for option three, but from what you told me about J.R., I’m concerned he’s in the former camp.”

  “Complicit or colluding?” Cici asked, nervous flutters building in her stomach.

  “Right. Which is why I’d like to get into Donald’s office without J.R. knowing.”

  “How are you going to get in the safe?” Cici asked.

  They stopped at another light. Sam turned to look at her again. “You’re assuming the safe is still in his office.”

  Cici couldn’t think of a response, so she pulled out her phone and called Evan.

  “Cee, I’m not ready for another round,” he said on a sigh.

  “I need your help,” Cici wheedled. “It’s important.”

  “Related to Anna Carmen’s death?” he asked.

  Cici paused, considering. Sam hadn’t said she couldn’t tell Evan, but, then again, Sam suspected J.R.

  “Yes. Please?” Cici said.

  “All right,” Evan grumbled. “But you owe me details.”

  “Beer and hot wings still your thing? We can talk over those.”

  “It’s annoying that your sister told you everything,” Evan said. But a hint of laughter seeped into his tone.

  Cici smiled but it was softer than most. She liked this part of her new knowledge Anna Carmen imparted. “Yeah, but that’s how I know how much she loved you. Your office. Soon as you can.”

  Evan choked up a little and had to clear his throat. “I’ll meet you there,” Evan said before hanging up.

  Sam raised his eyebrows in question.

  “I’m guessing about twenty minutes,” Cici replied.

  “Cool. I could use a bite. How about the food truck on the corner of Old Santa Fe Trail?”

  “Sure.” Cici wasn’t hungry, but she should probably try to eat something. She shoved her phone back into her pocket. Now seemed as good a time to ask as any. “How’d you manage with Anna Carmen dating Evan? I mean, they were serious.”

  Sam faced the windshield in front of him but Cici caught him lowering his eyes as he shrugged.

  “You know how your sister was,” Sam said. “She made time to hang out. Sometimes Evan came, too.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Cici murmured.

  “This was before I went to Denver for the task force,” Sam said.

  “You miss it?” Cici asked.

  Sam sat, quiet. “Sometimes. You miss Boston?”

  “Yeah. But I came back here with a purpose. One I intend to fulfill.”

  The silence settled back around them.

  “You know she planned to marry him?” Cici asked.

  They’d never discussed Anna Carmen’s love life before, but Cici always assumed Sam wouldn’t marry—or even date all that seriously—because Anna Carmen chose another man.

  She wondered what it would be like to pine fo
r someone she’d never have. She did, a little, when she thought of how she could be in South America right now, covered in mosquito bites and pregnant with her first child. If she hadn’t broken up with Lyndon—and if they’d been a better fit.

  “I was happy for her,” Sam said. “Really happy because she’d found the man she was destined to be with.”

  Sam’s brow wrinkled and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Oh, no, she’d hurt him. Cici wanted to reach out and offer comfort but Sam seemed to pull tauter when she lifted her hand. Time to change the subject.

  “They still have the bleu cheese green chile burger there?” Cici asked.

  “Yep.”

  She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “I haven’t had one of those in ages.”

  Evan unlocked the door to the office, only a slight scowl tugging at his features when he spotted Sam trailing Cici.

  “Should I have asked for a warrant, Detective?”

  “You in possession of something you don’t want me to see, Counselor?”

  But even as he said it, Sam pulled a document from his back pocket. Cici’s heart fluttered as he handed the paper to Evan, whose face remained impassive as he examined it and then handed it back.

  “Will you two play nice?” Cici said in exasperation. “I want this done. For some reason, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  “Not the words I wanted to hear coming out of your mouth,” Sam muttered.

  “Why?” Evan asked, pressing the elevator button.

  “She has better intuition than anyone I’ve ever worked with. She was already at the airport, talking to the ticket agent when news of Anna Carmen came through.”

  Sam had called the station at her request after lunch to make sure Justin was still being held. He was, so Cici decided to keep her mouth shut. Her intuition wasn’t always spot on and Sam could have pointed that out. She appreciated that he didn’t.

  Evan turned to apprise Cici, who turned red under his heavy gaze. “I didn’t know that.”

  “For as similar as they look, the Gurule ladies have always been vastly different.”

  Evan turned to study Sam for the rest of the elevator ride. The car opened and Evan stepped forward, holding open the door.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Detective,” Evan said.

  “Glad to hear it, Counselor,” Sam replied.

  Sam dipped his head in a nod as he stepped out behind Cici.

  Evan led them down the hall. He’d just opened his mouth to speak when Sam pulled out his gun and stepped in front of both Evan and Cici. He raised the police-issue pistol, keeping both hands around the finger grips, his pointer finger resting lightly on the trigger.

  Get down, he mouthed.

  Cici crouched back against the wall, pulling Evan down next to her. He opened his mouth but Cici covered it with her hand and shook her head. Sam stepped forward, silent, so that Cici could hear the faint scuffling of feet and papers. Evan tensed under her fingers but Cici kept her hand there—a silent deterrent.

  The door to the office was closed, the name Donald Johnson still embossed in fancy gold paint on the door.

  Sam stood to the side of the door, glanced back to make sure Cici and Evan were out of harm’s way. Evan hovered next to Cici in a protective gesture she found strange.

  Sam slid his left hand forward and inched it onto the door handle. He turned it slowly. In one motion, he shoved open the door and stepped into the doorway, gun leveled.

  A long silence ensued. His gun never wavered, but Sam blinked, his shoulders bunching tighter.

  Beside her, Evan tensed as if Sam’s tension passed to him.

  Just when Cici thought she might scream or laugh or do something else equally as dangerous or embarrassing, Sam hissed.

  “Jeannette?”

  21

  Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall. —Shakespeare

  The woman’s sweet, melodic voice filled the space around them, making Cici’s nerve endings quiver.

  “Hi, Sam.”

  Cici’s jaw dropped open. She couldn’t believe it. Evan pulled Cici to her feet, but Sam glanced back and shook his head.

  Cici pressed against the wall again, her heart thundering. Sam didn’t think the threat had passed.

  Sancte deus. Now they had to worry about Jeannette?

  “Why are you here?” Sam asked.

  “I really think the better question is how you got in here. Do you have a warrant?”

  Sam’s scowl blackened further. “Why are you packing up those boxes?”

  “If you’re interested in that, I’ll need to see your paperwork, Detective.”

  “Do you have a warrant?” Sam shot back.

  “An ongoing one with Judge Rivera.”

  “Why are you working with a federal judge? What force do you work for, Jeannette? Don’t blow smoke up my ass because it’s way too late for that.”

  “Mmm. I’ve always liked how smart you are, Sam. Want to guess?”

  Evan choked again. “Is she always this snarky?” he whispered to Cici.

  Cici shrugged. Jeannette had always been kind, quiet—like the voice she’d first spoken in here today. Cici had no idea the pretty blonde led a double life.

  “What agency do you work for?” Sam demanded again.

  Cici waited for him to lower his weapon. He didn’t. She pressed her hands to her roiling stomach.

  “DEA,” Jeannette said. “I wondered if you’d catch on after I told Cici we saw quite a bit of Donald.” She sighed. “I definitely went too far with that statement.”

  “I’d like to see your credentials,” Sam said.

  There was another flurry of sound, then Jeannette said, “Satisfied?”

  “Hardly,” Sam muttered. But he finally lowered his gun. With jerky movements, he replaced it in his holster.

  “So, how’d you get in?” Jeannette asked.

  “Evan Reynolds.”

  “Oh? So, he’s the one in the hall? I thought I heard three sets of feet. Let me guess, you have the lovely reverend with you, too.”

  Sam sighed, his face pained as he nodded Evan and Cici over. Cici peeked around the edge of the door to see Jeannette packing up a third file box of papers.

  “I assume your clear-out means you don’t intend to share those documents with local PD?” Sam asked, hurt and frustration lacing his voice.

  “Good assumption, Detective. This is a delicate case we’ve been working nearly two years to close. It’s a huge entity across several states, plus the Mexican border. I can’t have local law enforcement screwing it up now.”

  “Think you’re going to nail Ernesto Espinoza?” Sam asked.

  Jeannette was good, but she still paused in the transfer of another batch of documents, her entire body tightening.

  “Who?” she asked, raising those beautiful blue eyes to Sam’s.

  “You know his wife’s involved,” Sam said, leaning against the doorjamb and practically pushing Cici and Evan back out into the hall.

  “What?” Jeannette’s voice turned biting. Definitely not the sweet blond woman Cici thought she knew.

  “Oh, and Susan Johnson’s dead.”

  “When?” Jeannette snapped.

  Cici shivered. Jeannette’s voice turned colder than ice and twice as sharp.

  Sam stepped into the room. “Just saying we could help each other.”

  “This is my case, Chastain,” Jeannette snarled. “Back off.”

  “I’ll just call your supervisor. Herman Baca, right? He’ll be pretty unhappy when I tell him the task force with the sheriff’s department and Española PD didn’t get put together because you refused to let it.”

  Jeannette paused in her packing. Cici didn’t understand what Sam was saying, but it was clear Jeannette did.

  “Last time Herm and I spoke, he was livid when I mentioned the problem with my warrant for the post office on Pacheco. I’m assuming he spoke with you about that?”

  Sam shifted, so C
ici couldn’t see Jeannette past his back, but the thud of the box and the curse words were fairly illustrative of Jeannette’s deteriorating mood.

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “First, for you to stop trying to hamstring my investigation.”

  Cici caught the side of Sam’s face and his narrowed eye.

  “That might be how they do it up in Denver, or even . . .” He considered Jeannette for a long moment. “The Dallas office.”

  Jeannette remained quiet this time, but even from her vantage point behind Sam, Cici knew he’d scored some kind of point.

  “By the way,” Sam said, “I already told Baca I want to see those papers you’re so keen to move out.”

  “How do you know Baca’s in charge?” Jeannette asked, exasperated.

  “I was on that task force up in Denver.”

  “Right,” Jeannette said on a sigh. “I should have taken your contacts there into consideration.”

  “Not seen me as the local, bumbling detective? Might have been smart because we are going to work together on this.”

  “Why?” Jeannette asked, her voice pleasant. “Why do you care so much about the drug ring?”

  “I don’t. At all. But I care an awful lot about the people you’ve snared in it. I think the boss-man in Dallas won’t be too pleased to hear that your informant Donald and his wife are dead.”

  Jeannette remained silent.

  “Which is why I’m telling you right now I have a warrant for the Johnson residence,” Sam continued, his voice somewhat pleasant. “I’m assuming you don’t have the paperwork on file for me to work with another agency or entity; you go in there, I’ll have to have you arrested.”

  “You are a world-class dick-wad,” Jeannette growled.

  “After the shit you’ve pulled this week and with at least Susan Johnson’s blood on your hands, that would be you, Agent,” Sam snapped back.

  Hearing these two, Cici felt a cold spark up her arms. They were fighting about more than jurisdiction, but Cici didn’t understand the real core of the argument. Unless . . . was this personal? Of course it was personal.

  “I want information. Something to help me ensure no one else dies. You want the glory for the drug bust? I would have given that to you, anyway.”