No One Heard Her Scream (11 page)

Becca ended the call and tossed the cell onto the seat next to her. She hit the gas pedal. No way Santiago would bar her from the investigation now.

"Detective Montgomery is going to be a problem, one I will place in your hands."

Hunter Cavanaugh collapsed into his black leather desk chair, the start of a headache pulsing at his temples. The study smelled of brandy and cigar smoke, with the underlying musty odor of old books. The combined pungency gnarled his stomach, intensified by the reversal of fortune to his morning. Cavanaugh sat behind his desk and stared straight through Brogan, his mind on other things.

"And let's keep this our little secret. Diego is not to find out. The last thing I need is for Rivera to hear about my little . . . hobby."

"But this body in the theater, they won't find a connection."

"Does that really matter?" He didn't feel like explaining himself to Brogan. "Being under a cop's scrutiny is never a good thing."

The pretty detective piqued his interest when he thought she was investigating the fire at the Imperial Theatre. Diego had given him a heads-up on the blaze being arson. Professional courtesy, the man had said. And when Detective Montgomery walked into the room, he felt like a kid waking up Christmas morning—a new toy caught his eye. Yet in no time, she doused him with a harsh reality. And she didn't look like the kind of woman who knew how to play outside the rules.

"I'm afraid the detective has no idea how to have fun."

"We could teach her." Brogan's face squeezed into a grin like a compressed accordion.

"Yes, I suppose we can." Cavanaugh crooked a corner of his mouth, a fleeting gesture. "But this couldn't come at a worse time."

"What do you need me to do . . . exactly?"

Although Brogan lacked imagination, he made up for his shortcoming with a genuine enthusiasm to execute a direct order. A quality Cavanaugh appreciated in a subordinate.

"To start, let's consolidate the merchandise. You know what to do. I can't have the police nosing around my affairs."

Cavanaugh recognized the necessity for shoring up his defenses, but he resented his need to do so.

"How far do you want me to go . . . with the detective?"

He saw the glint in Brogan's dark eyes and marveled at what little it took to amuse him. Despite Brogan's eagerness, Cavanaugh wondered if he could entrust his well-being to such a man. He took a deep breath.

"I have some ideas on the subject. Pour a brandy for both of us, Mr. Brogan. Let's talk."

Becca had to slow her steps as she trekked down the corridor to Lieutenant Santiago's office. Gauging by the play of light from a window, she knew his door was open. When she rounded the corner and stepped inside, Santiago looked up, his expression stern. But he wasn't alone.

"Detective Montgomery. Please come in and close the door." Santiago gestured for her to sit. She shut the door but remained standing.

Paul Murphy, dressed in a dark gray suit, white shirt, and his favorite red power tie, turned from the window as she entered the office. He leaned against the sill, arms crossed. Murphy stared at her, his expression blank. That surprised her. Normally, the man wore his smugness like an extra layer of skin. Arrogance fit him like a glove.

But the balding man to Murphy's left captured her attention. Tall and lanky, the older man wore his suit as if he were a human coat hanger. An unflattering cut couldn't be blamed for the guy's inability to fill it out. His dark eyes looked like two lumps of coal set amidst the deep wrinkles creasing his face. She got the distinct impression the lines were not caused by his stellar sense of humor. Becca extended her hand to force an introduction.

"I don't believe we've met. My name's Detective Rebecca . . ."

"I know who you are, Detective. Please take a seat." He didn't reach for her hand.

"This is Mike Draper with the FBI's Criminal Investigative Division out of DC."

Santiago made the one-sided introduction for her benefit. Without a word, Draper glared at her lieutenant, a look intended as a directive to get started. And Santiago complied, without so much as an insolent scowl.

"Draper has some questions for you. I expect your cooperation." Santiago turned his gaze to the man standing near the window.

"Your investigation on the arson fire and the bones found at the theater. Brief me on the case and the meeting you had with Hunter Cavanaugh this morning," Draper commanded.

"Sir, I can do that, but I'd rather talk about my sister's . . ."

"Your sister's investigation is off-limits to you. Now tell me about this case and Cavanaugh's involvement," the man insisted.

Becca tried to read him, but the fed didn't allow it. Something was going down, and she wouldn't be a part of it. She took a seat in the chair nearest her. Becca stared at the men who would deny her and made a deliberate choice. She was damned tired of playing by their rules.

"Not much to report yet, sir. I've got an appointment with the Medical Examiner this afternoon. No ID on the victim. As you know, nothing much can happen until we get that identification."

"Tell me about your meeting with Cavanaugh. What transpired?"

"We had coffee, sir," she replied. In a roomful of interrogators, she had to remain calm, an open book. "Cavanaugh seemed surprised to hear about the skeletal remains found after the fire. I don't think he's going to be much help. He's not even the owner of record for the property anymore. It's some kind of historical site."

If Santiago had gotten a complaint from Cavanaugh, her lieutenant would know she had lied about not knowing the identity of the victim. Her lie by omission. He gave no sign of that, so she stuck with her makeshift game plan. Becca had grown accustomed to treading on thin ice.

"Is that all, Detective Montgomery?" Draper persisted. "Do you suspect Hunter Cavanaugh of any wrongdoing on this case of yours?"

How much did this man know? If he or Murphy had dug around, they might know she had requested two archived boxes on missing persons. Would they call her bluff? To throw these men off their game, she decided to go on the offensive. After all, they had hit her broadside. Time to return the favor.

"At present, I don't have any reason to suspect Cavanaugh of anything." She hadn't really lied. "But I have some questions for you, sir."

Becca leaned forward in her chair, placing an elbow on Santiago's desk, her eyes fixed on the fed. She didn't wait for Draper's permission to go on.

"Just now, you called the Imperial an arson fire. The final report isn't out yet. Why would you call it arson? And how did you hear about my visit to Cavanaugh this morning? I hadn't mentioned it to anyone. What's really going on here?"

Draper tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes. For a second, she saw his flinch of surprise, but the man recovered quickly. Even Santiago and Murphy reacted. She saw it from the corner of her eye. But hitting the bull's-eye wouldn't win her any prize.

"By the end of shift, you will turn over all your case notes to Murphy. Any files you've started on the fire and the skeletal remains will be his."

"But, sir." She looked at Santiago for help. "Why am I being pulled off this case? I don't understand . . ."

Her lieutenant took back control of the meeting.

"You'll be reassigned. But until then, I'd like you to consider taking some vacation time, like we talked about the other day." Santiago sat back in his chair, his eyes unwavering. "You mentioned taking time to help your mother. I think that's a great idea."

Becca felt like she had stepped through a portal to another dimension, an alternative universe. Only the other day, her lieutenant told her time off was not an option. He wanted her close at hand, to watch her. But today, he doled out vacation days like party favors. Something was definitely up, and Arturo Santiago wanted her to play along. She knew the man, sensed his message. But above all, Becca trusted him.

She looked over to Murphy and shrugged.

"You'll have my files by the end of today." Glancing back to Santiago, she asked, "Anything else, sir?"

"No, that will be all. Thanks for your cooperation, Detective."

And just like that, she was out. Becca avoided looking at Draper and Murphy as she stood. She opened the door and walked out of Santiago's office without a sideways glance. The urge to slug them both would be way too strong. She headed down the hallway, gnashing her teeth until her jaw ached.

Thinking back to her earlier cell phone conversation with Santiago, the man had bucked the system to share the news on Danielle's case. No doubt the chief would have reprimanded him if Draper had found out. Maybe she still had Santiago on her side.

"Thanks, LT. But you and I aren't done yet. Not by a long shot."

Becca bounded up the stairs to her desk on the fourth floor, in no mood to ride the elevator with other people. She had until the end of the day to turn over her files and case notes. Murphy would get a sanitized version, one to back up the story she told Draper. She owed her lieutenant that much. In the meantime, Becca had a Medical Examiner waiting and the Marquez brothers coming at shift end. And if that wasn't enough to keep her busy, Isabel's background needed a thorough search.

Her investigation at the Imperial had gotten the attention of the FBI. She suspected the abducted girls and Danielle's case were somehow linked to all of this. The fed had all but confirmed that with his line of questioning. The arrogant bastard.

At the heart of it, she pictured Hunter Cavanaugh. Mike Draper didn't give a damn about Isabel. A seven-year-old murder of a local girl would have no sex appeal for a fed. But a wealthy guy with an international travel business and connections to the mob would lure Draper like a bottom-grubbing catfish to stink bait. A high-profile case that might cross borders.

"This is about you, Cavanaugh. I know it."

After today, Becca would be forced to take time off. Although she'd be cut off from the action, being on vacation would allow her to keep her badge and gun. A clever move on Santiago's part. Through it all, her lieutenant had proven himself a loyal friend. Maybe he'd keep her connected to the case within the SAPD.

But having someone on the inside of Cavanaugh's organization would be a real coup. Becca made up her mind. She would recruit Diego Galvan for the honor, even if she had to play hardball to get him.

"Sorry, Galvan. The gloves are off. Don't expect me to play nice."

Bexar County Medical Examiner's Office
Louis Pasteur Drive

The skeletal remains found at the Imperial Theatre had been steam cleaned and arranged in order on a light table. The bones were stark ivory white with a section of the skull cut out. A macabre jigsaw puzzle. And with all other lights in the room dimmed, the light table cast an eerie glow on the faces of crime-scene investigator Sam Hastings and the Medical Examiner, Charles Leibowitz.

The ME was a short, pudgy man with thinning white hair. His eyes bulged out from their sockets with puffy bags of skin beneath them. Shadows traced his full cheeks, masking their true size. Both men had pale green surgical gowns draped over their clothes, with latex gloves on their hands, same as she wore. Even with the added layers, she felt the constant chill in the room through her clothes.

"Well, the age, gender, and height are in line with what we know of the Marquez girl, but you say we'll have the family's DNA to match the mitochondria?" Leibowitz asked.

"Yeah, probably after six," Becca replied, bending over to look closer at the cutaway of the skull. "Tell me about this fracture here? An odd shape. Kind of a wedge."

"Blunt force trauma. The indentation is pronounced enough to indicate some kind of hammer. Something with a long, narrow head and slight curvature. See here?" The Medical Examiner pointed with a gloved finger. "The edge of the break in bone hinges downward. That indicates the bone was fresh and elastic when the injury took place. The fracture lines radiate out from there. But the blow wasn't a solid, dead-on strike. The impression is deeper here, but barely noticeable on this end. More of a glancing blow."

"But Sam, remember the scratches on the wall where we found her?" Becca turned toward the crime-scene investigator. "I thought she was buried alive."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Leibowitz beat him to the punch.

"Oh, this blow wouldn't have killed her," the ME explained. "I believe the cause of death will be determined more in the context of how you found her, Detective."

"Let me translate for Charlie," Sam intervened with a grin. "Buried alive in a vault without much air and no food or water is a pretty good indicator she didn't die of natural causes or a crack on the head. And the scratches on the wall and condition of her fingernails paint a grim picture. Charlie's right on the head trauma thing. She wouldn't have died from it."

"So the killer knocked her unconscious and bricked her into the wall, knowing she was still alive?" she asked.

"We may never know the killer's intention here, unless we get it in a confession. A head wound like that? There would have been a lot of blood given all the blood vessels in the scalp. Maybe whoever did it thought she was dead." Sam gave his opinion, one that would never end up in an official report.

"And back to the weapon. What kind of hammer, Sam?"

"Since we only have a partial impression, I'm gonna have to do some comparisons before I commit to anything. Unlike the good doctor here, I'm a hardworking stiff." Sam Hastings crooked his lips into a smile, a gesture that quickly faded. "Stiff? Can't believe I used that word in this place."

Becca raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember seeing any fabric in the hole where we found the bones. Any theories on that?"

"There's an outside chance the body was buried without clothing, but more than likely, the fabric deteriorated over time. You figured this girl went missing seven years ago, right?" When she nodded, he continued, "And we found evidence of rodent activity in the vault. That suggests another factor to the decay of fabric. Scavenging critters can break down the material pretty quick."