It was a nice day, so Ricky took the book he was reading—the fourth Harry Potter book, The Goblet of Fire—to the bench down the hill from Javi’s place. Javi didn’t care much about what he read, as long as he read for an hour every day. Ricky read a lot—a lot more than an hour. The book was very worn and half the cover was missing and there were stains on many pages, but Ricky didn’t care. He’d read the other books, but Javi hadn’t been able to find number four until last week, when he went to town. He brought it back for Ricky, and Ricky was so excited he almost cried. He was savoring the story, but he was almost done. When he was done, he’d read the whole series over from beginning to end.
Reading Harry Potter reminded him of his sister Becky. She had the whole series, brand-new and in pristine condition. She’d read him the first book over the summer, when it was too hot to go out and do anything. Ricky missed his family, but he missed Becky most of all. She liked him. His parents loved him, Tori tolerated him, but Becky really liked him and he liked spending time with her. She did things with him she didn’t have to do—like reading him Harry Potter and playing video games when no one else wanted to.
He thought about Becky a lot. He was sad, but not like before. Javi said he had perspective and time. Maybe. Or maybe he was just so used to the sadness it felt normal.
He heard footsteps and froze. They lived in a safe, remote area and no one bothered Javi, but Javi had warned him about bandits and kidnappers and drug mules who might cut through these hills. Under no circumstances could anyone think he was American. Ricky’s Spanish was really good now, and while he didn’t read it all that well, he could speak and understand it perfectly. Javi even taught him how to talk with an accent, so he’d sound almost native.
“Ricky.”
His heart skipped a beat. He turned and saw Mr. Young standing twenty feet away, at the top of the path that came down to his reading spot. Ricky didn’t know whether he should run away, but he sat there, a mix of emotions hitting him that he couldn’t quite sort out.
Fear.
Sorrow.
Joy.
Homesickness.
“Mr. Young.” He barely got the words out.
“Javi told me you were here. We need to talk.”
Ricky shook his head, but he didn’t move.
Mr. Young came down the path and sat next to him on the bench. “It’s nice here.”
It was Ricky’s favorite place. A creek ran through it—sometimes, it ran high and came all the way up to the bench that Javi had made. Sometimes, it barely ran at all. Trees provided shade, even on the hottest days.
“A lot has happened these last couple of days, Ricky. Yesterday, Ginny told us the truth. She kept your secret for three years.”
Ricky wanted to know what happened, but he was scared it would be very bad news.
So he remained silent. He didn’t want to know.
But Mr. Young continued talking.
“The FBI is in charge of your parents’ case now. I don’t know how to talk to you about this. I know you’ve been through hell, kid. So, I’m just going to tell you straight out. You know that your parents and sisters were murdered, that’s why you ran.”
Ricky closed his eyes. His chest got all tight and he didn’t want to remember.
“Their bodies were identified through DNA. Your grandparents now know that they are dead, but they also believe that you are alive. That you called them every Christmas, remained silent. Ginny told us that you saw one of the men who killed your parents and that he was a policeman. He came to my house and you thought he was going to hurt us, so you ran. I don’t blame you, Ricky. No one blames you for being scared. You were nine years old. But I need you to come home with me. No one knows that you were in the house that day, that you saw and heard what you did. I brought an FBI agent with me. You can trust him.”
Ricky jumped up. “No. No! They’ll kill me. They said they would kill me. And no one will believe me.”
“I believe you.”
“I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Please don’t make me go.”
“Ricky, I’m not going to make you do anything.”
Ricky didn’t believe him. He was a kid, Mr. Young was an adult. His bottom lip quivered, but he would not cry.
“It has to be your choice to leave. You feel safe here, and Javi has protected you.”
“Javi’s my family now.”
Ricky thought he saw tears in Mr. Young’s eyes, but Mr. Young was too big and tough to cry.
“He’s a good man. He’s not going to get in trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about. He did what he thought was right to protect a little boy who was in danger. I’m not going to make you leave here, even though I think it’s the right thing to do. But I need you to look at some pictures and tell us which policeman you saw at your house that day. It’s important. The FBI needs to know, so they can get evidence against him and put him in jail.”
“No one will believe me.”
“I believe you, and Agent Dunning will believe you. Then he will go back and arrest him.”
“I’m not stupid, Mr. Young. I know they can’t just arrest him because of what I say. He’ll say I heard wrong or I made it up and I don’t have any proof of anything. I was hiding in a closet.”
“The FBI is already building a case against the people who killed your family. They are working hard to find the truth and put the killers behind bars. They want you to feel safe again.”
“I am safe. I’m safe here.”
“Okay.”
Ricky frowned. He didn’t know what to do. “All I have to do is talk to him, right?”
“Ricky, if you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to talk. I know what you’re going through. I’ve lost people I care about. You know I was in the Army, right?”
He nodded.
“I lost friends. Good men I loved like brothers. You’ll never be the same. I wasn’t. But we go on because that’s what our fallen brothers and sisters would want us to do. To go on. To get up. To do good. To stand tall. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You have done nothing wrong. You don’t have to tell Agent Dunning anything you don’t want to. But we need you to look at some pictures and tell us who was in your house that day. And it would help if you could tell him what happened.”
“You promise I don’t have to leave if I don’t want to?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Ricky followed Mr. Young back to the house. It wasn’t a large house, but it was nice. Javi’s grandfather had built it out of stone, bricks, and wood. There was one room with the kitchen and living area and two small bedrooms off that. The bathroom had been added on when Javi was a little boy, he said, which was why it was on the opposite side of the house from the bedrooms. Later, Javi had enclosed the porch. His garage was bigger than the house because that’s where he worked and he sometimes had four cars in there.
Mostly, it was quiet. No traffic, no people, no television. Javi had a radio that got two stations. One with news, one with music, all in Spanish.
Javi was sitting at the table with the FBI agent. Ricky looked at him, suspicious. He remained seated, drinking a bottle of water.
Mr. Young said, “Ricky doesn’t want to leave, but he will look at the pictures.”
“I’m Agent Nate Dunning,” the FBI agent said. “You can call me Nate, okay? Thank you for helping us.”
Ricky sat down and nodded. He kept his head up when all he really wanted to do was go to his room.
Nate had pictures of six men. He placed each in front of Ricky in a row. But Ricky knew who was in his house before he finished. He pointed. “Him.”
“You saw him in your house, the night your parents disappeared.”
And even though Ricky didn’t want to talk, he started talking. He couldn’t help himself. “He had keys. My dad’s keys, they had an Astros key ring. He came in and I hid. He wasn’t wearing a uniform or anything, but he said to the taller man with the voice that it was true about
what happened to police in prison, just like the movies, and he wasn’t going to go to prison, so they had to find the deed. Then they went to my mom’s office and started going through all her stuff. He found it.”
“The deed.”
“That’s what he called it.”
“What about the tall man’s voice sounded different? You called him the ‘man with the voice,’ that sounds like an odd description.”
“I—I thought he sounded familiar. I didn’t really get a good look at him because I ran to hide, but his voice sounded like I heard him before. My mom would sometimes have her clients over to the house.”
“You think he was a client of your mom.”
“I don’t know. Can I go to my room? Please?”
He looked at Javi. Javi nodded.
Relieved, Ricky ran to his room. He sat on his bed and stared at his row of books. Most of the books he read Javi traded for others, but he let him keep his favorites. They gave him an odd sense of comfort. He had never really liked reading when he was at home. But now the books were his friends.
A knock on his door made him jump. Javi came in.
“Are you in trouble?” Ricky asked. “Mr. Young said you weren’t, but he could be lying.”
“JJ doesn’t lie.” Javi sat down at Ricky’s small desk. “I think you should go with JJ.”
Tears burned in Ricky’s eyes. “I don’t want to.”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“He did lie. He said I didn’t have to leave.”
“You don’t have to. I won’t force you to leave. I love you, son.” His voice cracked and he looked like he was going to cry, too. “You have people—family—in the US.”
“You’re my family. I love you. This is my home. I’ll be good. I won’t get in trouble. I’ll help more with the cars and the garden.”
“Oh, son, you are a good boy. You have never been trouble for me. Not one day. You have never once complained and I know living here is much different than there. Simpler. Maybe boring for a young man.”
“I like simple.”
“Me too, Ricky.” Javi looked him in the eye. He always did, as if he were the most important thing in the world, and that meant everything to Ricky. “You are sad. You will never learn to be at peace with what happened to your family if you don’t go back and face your fears. Face the people who did this. JJ will protect you. The FBI agent, Nate Dunning, he will protect you. You can trust him.”
“How do you know? You just met him.”
“Because sometimes you know what is right and who you can trust. It’s a little faith and a lot of experience. JJ would never have brought him here if he didn’t trust him.”
“I want to stay here.”
“If you want to come back, after you give your grandparents a real chance to love you and care for you, you know how to reach me.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You will do the right thing because you are a good soul. Sometimes, we have to do what is right even if it’s not what we want. Even when it’s hard.”
He got up and walked out.
Ricky stared after him. He didn’t want to leave.
But it was the right thing to do.
Chapter Twenty-five
THURSDAY AFTERNOON
Lucy had left two messages for Detective Reed. The first in the morning and the second while she was driving back to San Antonio. She still hadn’t called her back, and it was already after twelve.
Lucy headed over to the crime lab to talk to Ash Dominguez about the Victoria Mills murder. It might get her in trouble, but Ash was a friend as well as a colleague and he’d understand her need for confidentiality. Still, she wanted to give Reed a chance, so tried her a third time. Again, she left a message.
She’d just pulled up to the lab when her phone rang, and she hoped it was Reed, as the number was unfamiliar. She answered, but before she could get out hello she was treated to a verbal assault.
“You executed a search warrant on Southwest Bank and Frank Pollero? Without even a courtesy phone call?”
“Who is this?” Lucy demanded.
“Detective Garrett Douglas. You read me the riot act the other day for not jumping through your hoops when you want to talk, then you come to my county tossing around search warrants, interviewing old women, issuing BOLOs, without so much as a text message. And you wonder why everyone hates the fucking FBI? It’s bullshit like this.”
“Detective Douglas,” she said, working hard not to yell back or hang up, “I was under no obligation to report the warrant to you. It’s a federal investigation as you told me several times during our conversation on Tuesday.”
“Do you know what it’s like to be a cop in a small town? When you can’t fucking tell people what’s going on, they think you’re an idiot or out of the loop. The sheriff is pissed off, and your boss will be hearing from him!”
“That is your prerogative. If that’s all, Detective, I have—”
“And I was willing to help you, I just didn’t like you and your tough-guy partner coming in here and demanding shit on a three-year-old case.”
“You have a complaint, file it.” Lucy was shaking, she was so angry. “We set a meeting on Monday that you couldn’t be bothered to show up at, then you give us ten minutes on Tuesday and say that you already turned everything over to the FBI. It didn’t sound like you wanted to be involved at all, so we’re moving forward.”
“Three years later. We had every reason to believe that the Albrights had left the country. I’m sorry they were killed, had I known I would have done everything in my power to find their killer. And you’re running all over my town interviewing my citizens without the common courtesy of letting me know.”
If she’d told him, would he have warned Frank? As it was, Frank must have been suspicious.
“We first went to the bank. Pollero called in sick. So we went to his home because we had more questions. He wasn’t there. He lied to me yesterday, and he lied to you three years ago.”
“I know Frank. He’s a good man. Knew his wife, too.” His voice lost some of its angry edge, so Lucy continued.
“He still lied. Denise Albright didn’t go to the bank that Friday. The photo he provided wasn’t her. It could have been, just like the border security photo could have been Glen Albright. But he wasn’t convincing, and today we identified the person as Kitty Fitzpatrick. We came back with a warrant for all of Albright’s records and now our financial experts are going through them and comparing signatures from the Kiefer authorization papers to her personal bank account, which was notarized.”
“I don’t see Frank lying to the police.”
“This morning he called in sick, went to visit his daughter, and is now in the wind. You tell me whether he was lying or just taking an unplanned vacation.”
She and Nate had intentionally not roped Detective Douglas into their investigation because they didn’t know if he was trustworthy. She didn’t want to believe he was party to murder, but she would do everything in her power to protect Ricky, and that meant keeping his location and status secret.
“I’ve been working this case, and if you would have kept me informed we could have helped each other. I could have sat on Frank’s house. I would have talked to him, encouraged him to come clean. I’ve known him for fifteen goddamn years. I don’t see why you’re shutting me out!”
Lucy didn’t want this conversation now. She said, “When we met, you made it clear that this was our case. I need to go into a meeting. I’ll contact you later.”
“I don’t fucking believe this,” he said, then disconnected the call.
Lucy didn’t like confrontation. She mentally reviewed the conversation with the detective the other day, and she didn’t think he cared about the case. He just had his nose out of joint because she hadn’t called him about the warrant. But truly, she had deferred to Nate because he was far more worried about local corruption. After everything they’d gone through locally over
the last two years, they had reason to be cautious
And considering that Ricky Albright had witnessed a cop who could have been Douglas or Chavez entering his house and talking about his dead family—that was enough for her. She wanted to hear from Ricky directly, but she didn’t think that Ginny had remembered that conversation wrong. Not something that had such a huge impact on her life.
Still, the sheriff would likely call Rachel—or the ASAC—and complain about her and Nate. Fine. She would deal with the fallout later.
She checked her messages—nothing from Detective Reed—and Lucy grew irritated. The cop could be on a case, might not be able to call her, or could be avoiding her. Lucy wished she knew.
She tracked down Ash in the lab. He was talking to his assistant and motioned that he would just be a minute.
Lucy loved being in the crime lab. In some ways, she felt most comfortable here, working with tangibles, with facts, with evidence. She liked the morgue, too—learning how someone died, discovering trace evidence, caring for the dead as much as the living. She’d interned at the morgue in DC for eighteen months, thanks to her assistant pathologist certificate, and the current assistant ME helped her renew her certification by allowing her to assist with the occasional autopsy to give her the necessary hours.
Ash came over when he was done. “Sorry to keep you.”
“No worries, I came in without warning. I need a favor.”
“Anything. I was afraid you wanted something on the Albright case, and I don’t have anything new.”
“I have some news, but you can’t repeat it. We’re keeping it completely contained in the FBI right now.”
Cut and Run Page 26
