A Different Dawn (Nina Guerrera)

by Isabella Maldonado

  Ana rose to follow her, drawing near as she studied the one beside it.

  “That’s Samuel,” Ana said, her soft accent lending a lyrical quality to her words. “He was a year older than Victor. They were always close.”

  Nina took in the portrait of a handsome young man in a military uniform. On the wall next to the portrait, a shadow box contained a folded US flag secured in a triangular section at the bottom. A cluster of colorful ribbons, including a Purple Heart, filled the black velvet background at the top of the display. In the center of the arrangement, a five-pointed gold star hung below an eagle affixed to a blue ribbon with thirteen white stars in the middle.

  “The president presented that to us when Luis and I went to the White House,” Ana said as her husband joined them. “We received Sam’s Medal of Honor and his Purple Heart. He was killed in the Battle of Mogadishu.”

  Luis stood by her other side. “He was a soldier in the First Special Forces Operational Detachment,” he said, then added, “Delta Force.”

  Samuel Vega had been in the US Army’s elite Special Forces. If he were alive, she would have called him Uncle Sam. She would have also called him a hero.

  “Victor died in 1992, and Sam was killed in action in 1993,” Ana said, her voice strained with emotion. “Now we have no children, no grandchildren.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “The rest of our family is back east. We are all alone here.”

  The Vegas had never recovered from their grief. Nina wanted desperately to hug them, to offer them solace.

  There were photographs of both sons all over the living room, documenting their infancy through young adulthood. Nina noticed there were no pictures of Victor’s wedding or of Maria. It wasn’t until she examined the pictures propped on the mantel above the fireplace that she saw it. A small photograph of Victor at the hospital, holding his newborn daughter.

  She picked it up, careful to hide her trembling fingers, aware that it was probably the last picture of her father. “When was this taken?”

  Luis answered Nina’s question. “About an hour after our granddaughter was born. It was the first time any of us had a chance to see her.”

  Ana sniffled. “She was so precious. We all adored our little princesa.” She leaned on her husband’s shoulder. “Is that . . . um . . . is that a picture of our granddaughter or the other baby?”

  Nina placed the photograph back on the mantel. “There’s no way to be sure at this point.” She didn’t add that there was an excellent chance no one in the family had ever actually seen Maria’s child.

  Until Nina had arrived in Phoenix.

  “Every part of this horrible situation keeps getting worse,” Luis said.

  But Ana and Luis still didn’t know the worst of it. They would soon find out that their son and his family had not only been the victims of a murderer but of a serial killer. When the media inevitably got hold of that piece of the story, the whole nightmare would be revisited in excruciating detail. Scabs would be ripped off, and old wounds would bleed freely again.

  A heartbeat passed, and Victor’s father asked the question she had dreaded most.

  “What happened to our granddaughter?” he asked. “What happened to little Victoria?”

  “Victoria?” Nina said.

  Luis nodded. “They named her Victoria Maria Vega.” His eyes softened. “Victoria after my son and Maria after her mother.”

  Nina stilled as she heard the name that would have been hers. Not the name assigned to her by social workers, but a name given to her by loving parents. A name she would have carried with her through life with pride. She had seen it on digital copies of the birth and death certificates in Detective O’Malley’s files, but it had made no impression on her at the time. Now she found she could not speak.

  “Mr. Vega, we don’t know,” Perez said. “We are doing everything in our power to find her.”

  “Is she alive?” Ana asked, eyes brimming.

  Nina turned away, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. She wanted nothing more than to tell these people—her people—that their long-lost granddaughter had not only survived but stood before them.

  She wanted to comfort them, not as a professional but as family. It made no difference what she wanted. She had a job, and she would push down her feelings and do that job. The best thing she could do to honor her parents and their relatives was to put the man who destroyed their lives behind bars. To prevent him from visiting this kind of pain on any more families.

  “All these years, we have been so angry at Maria’s family,” Luis said. “We blamed them for what she did. But now it turns out she did nothing. She was innocent.”

  Nina found her voice. “I know this must be difficult,” she said, wishing she could tell them so much more.

  “It’s far worse than difficult, Agent Guerrera,” Ana said. “I’m reliving the worst day of my life.”

  Luis wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “But this time, we have new hope.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “We have a granddaughter out there somewhere.”

  Nina caught the pained look Perez gave her and knew they were thinking something completely different. Perez was under the impression that their granddaughter had died twenty-eight years ago somewhere in Maryland, but Nina knew better.

  “Can you find her?” Ana asked.

  “We will try,” Perez said. “It may take time.”

  She knew she shouldn’t ask the question that came unbidden into her mind, but she could not stop herself. “If you could speak to her now,” Nina said, “what would you say?”

  Perez’s brows furrowed as he regarded her thoughtfully. Her inquiry was not pertinent to the investigation. It made no sense.

  “We would tell her how much we love her,” Luis said without hesitation. “How much her father loved her. He counted the days until she was born. He and Maria had saved up their money and moved into a house with a nice yard so they could start a family. He was such a proud papa. She was such a pretty baby. We all adored her.”

  For her entire life, Nina had fantasized about hearing words like those. She had longed to hear someone call her mi’ja, my daughter. The other children had tormented her about being a throwaway. Unloved, unwanted, an outcast tossed in a dumpster like so much trash. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away. It had been stupid to ask such a question, and now she was paying the price.

  “Excuse me.” She cleared her throat. “I need to get something from the car.” She spun on her heel, left the house, and walked to the black SUV parked in the driveway. She placed a shaking hand against the fender and tilted her head back, briefly closing her eyes as she drew in gulps of air. The house had seemed claustrophobic, as if the weight of loss and grief had slowly constricted the space inside over the years.

  A deep male voice sounded from behind her. “You and I need to talk.”

  She whirled to see Perez gazing down at her.

  “I finished the interview and said goodbye for both of us,” he said.

  “I needed some fresh air,” she choked out. “It’s stifling in there.”

  His dark eyes narrowed. “What just happened, Guerrera?”

  “We don’t have time for this,” she said, redirecting him toward the investigation. “Cahill should be at the field office by the time we get back there.”

  Perez didn’t budge. “I’ve been a cop for long enough to know when someone’s holding out on me. And you have that all over you.” He crossed his arms. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’ve told you everything I can,” she said, hedging. “Everything you need to know.”

  Nina winced at the phrase every cop hated to hear from a Fed. She’d heard those words herself in the past and resented the hell out of them.

  “Typical,” Perez said, disdain sharpening the word. “We’ll play it your way for now.” He leaned in close to her. “But this isn’t over.”

  Chapter 37

  Nina took the manila
folder Wade handed her. They stood together in the hallway of the Phoenix field office, quietly working out the final details of their strategy for interviewing Robert Cahill.

  Buxton had designated her to conduct the interview with Wade while Perez briefed the others on what he and Nina had learned from the two families.

  Wade tipped his head toward the closed door of the interview room where Cahill waited inside. “He was none too happy to hear from me. He saw a news report about Thomas Kirk’s murder, and he’s feeling guilty about talking to us before.”

  Nina kept her voice low. “Why don’t I take the lead? I’ll get him to let his guard down.”

  “Ironic,” Wade said, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “because between the two of us, you’re way more dangerous.”

  “Only when I have to be.” She tucked the folder under her arm and opened the door to find Cahill seated at an oblong table, clutching a can of soda as if he thought it might try to escape.

  “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Cahill,” she began, extending her hand in greeting.

  Cahill lurched to his feet and awkwardly shook both of their hands.

  Nina laid the manila file on the table and pretended to smooth her slacks as she sat across from him, discreetly wiping his transferred sweat from her palms.

  “I feel like if I didn’t come in, you guys would track me down anyway,” he said, a petulant expression on his ruddy face.

  This was absolutely true, but she saw no need to belabor the point. “We won’t take up much of your time.” Offering what she hoped was a disarming smile, she opened the folder and lifted out a slim stack of photographs, spreading them on the table facing Cahill.

  “Do you recognize anyone?”

  “The last time I talked to you people, someone got killed,” Cahill said, eyes resolutely on her face rather than the array of pictures. “I’m afraid if I say anything else, more bad stuff’s going to happen.”

  “You liked Tommy, right?” After waiting for his curt nod, Nina continued, “Then your cooperation will not only help us identify the person who killed him but will make sure no one else gets harmed.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Oh, all right.” He studied the picture on the far left. A thin smile began to form. “This is Tommy Kirk, the way I remember him years ago.” The smile faded. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “Who are those two boys standing on either side of him?” Nina prompted.

  Cahill scrunched his eyes closed, pulling data from his memory bank. After a long pause, his eyes flew open. “Tye Brennan and Jared Hart.” He looked impressed with his own mental prowess.

  Wade was thumb-typing on his cell, no doubt forwarding the names to Breck in the command center down the hall.

  “How about this picture?” Nina asked.

  Cahill laid the first one down, directing his gaze to where Nina pointed. “Ah, I remember him. That’s Dante Coleman. We’re not supposed to have favorites, but he was one of mine.” A look of wistful curiosity softened his features. “I wonder whatever happened to Dante.”

  Nina tapped the next one, keeping the interview from lapsing into maudlin reminiscence. “And this one?”

  “He had a weird name,” Cahill said. “Something old . . . really old.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Let me think.”

  “We can come back to him,” Nina said. “What about this last one?”

  Cahill leaned toward the photo at the end of the row. “Chuck and Dan. The other kids used to call them Chip and Dale—when they weren’t around to hear it, mind you.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “You wouldn’t compare them to chipmunks unless you were looking for a beatdown.”

  Nina circled back to the one he couldn’t recall. “Can you remember who this one was? You said his name was something really old.”

  Cahill bent, fixing his gaze on the image again. “Yeah, but not just old, the name was ancient. It made me think of a gladiator.” He snapped his fingers. “Spartacus. Spartacus Spinx.” He looked at her. “Is that a weird name or what?”

  He had put names to all of them. Impressive. Now that his recollection had been primed and his mind was firmly in the past, it was time to ask the most important question of all.

  She gestured toward the collection of pictures. “Is this everyone in Tommy Kirk’s group of friends?” Cahill didn’t respond, apparently lost in thought, so she gently prodded him. “Is there anyone who used to hang with Tommy who’s not in these photographs? Maybe someone he helped get a job after leaving juvie?”

  Cahill started to shake his head, then tensed. “There was one other boy in the group,” he said. “Danny Creed.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Nina saw Wade texting the name to Breck. This could be the name of the person in the missing photograph. She turned her attention back to Cahill. “What do you recall about him?”

  “I figured I’d be having a conversation about Danny someday,” he said. “Just didn’t think it would be with the FBI.”

  “You thought Danny would get into trouble after he got out?”

  “Hell yes.” He froze, apparently unsure if he’d said too much. After giving it some consideration, he straightened. “I’m probably not supposed to talk about this stuff, but I’m retired now, so I’ll tell you this.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I worked in that facility twenty years. I saw my share of hardened youth, but I was never afraid of any of the kids . . . until Danny.”

  Interesting . . . and unexpected. She was anxious to hear what crime Creed had committed to land himself in a juvenile detention facility, but opted to let the story unfold organically in the order Cahill wanted to tell it.

  “How did he frighten you?” Nina asked.

  Cahill uncrossed his arms to tap his left temple with his index finger. “That boy wasn’t right in the head. He fooled most of the staff, the director too. He even had me convinced . . . until one day when he let me see who he really was.” Cahill’s eyes grew distant as he sank deeper into the past. “He did it on purpose too. I think he knew I was scared, and he liked it.”

  Nina found herself literally and figuratively on the edge of her seat as she leaned toward him. “What happened?”

  “I’ll never forget it,” Cahill said. “The staff psychiatrist and I called him into the office to tell him his parents were dead.”

  Nina exchanged a glance with Wade. This was the kind of trigger he had taught her to look for in someone’s youth. “How did Danny react?”

  “No tears, no sorrow, no emotion at all except anger. He was especially mad at his mother, who he kept calling ‘the bitch.’” Cahill’s shoulders twitched with an involuntary shudder. “I looked into his eyes, and they were cold and flat. Snake eyes. Not a spark of humanity in them, and here I was feeling sorry for him that he had just become an orphan. Hell, we also had to tell him his other remaining relatives didn’t want any more to do with him either.”

  With Creed’s rage toward his mother, Nina was certain they had found a good candidate for the unsub. Now she had to draw out more information, keeping the emphasis on Cahill and his perceptions of Creed since that seemed to stimulate his memory best.

  “And how did he respond to that?” she asked him.

  “More anger,” Cahill said. “Again, purely directed at his mother. Said it was all her fault. She had turned everyone against him.” Cahill’s ruddy skin paled. “And then he said it.”

  “Said what?” Nina spoke as little as possible, keeping the flow of information coming.

  “Before he arrived at our facility, I got a copy of the transcripts from his trial in juvenile court,” Cahill began. “Wanted to read through it to see what I was dealing with because he’d been assigned to me. All through the trial, he never admitted what he did to his sister. At first, I thought it was on the advice of his court-appointed attorney, but he never copped to it from the very beginning. Kept saying it was some sort of an accident, but people wouldn’t believe him. Claimed he was tried for a
crime he didn’t commit.”

  Nina held her excitement in check with effort. Now was the proper time to ask the critical question. “What crime was Danny Creed convicted of?”

  Cahill swallowed audibly. “He killed his baby sister the day after she was born.”

  Chapter 38

  Nina schooled her features, hiding the impact of Cahill’s words, which had caused a seismic shift in the investigation.

  “Danny Creed was convicted of murdering his baby sister?” She wanted to be sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

  Cahill nodded. “But he claimed she died by accident.” He shrugged. “Hell, he was so convincing I began to wonder myself. When he came to the detention center, he maintained his innocence to everyone.” He paused a beat. “That is, until the day we told him his mother shot his father before turning the gun on herself. Only Dr. Novak and I were in the room, and we didn’t have an internal video system in the psychiatrist’s office. Danny must have been shocked or something, because he finally admitted what he’d done. Told us he’d killed his sister in cold blood.” Cahill shuddered again. “I’m telling you, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up when he broke into a big grin as he described smothering that little baby.”

  Nina kept the horror from her expression. “What did you do?”

  “What could we do?” Cahill said. “Danny went right back to his usual self the next day, like he’d never said a thing. Even when Dr. Novak brought it up, Danny insisted we both misunderstood him. Denied he ever confessed to anything.”

  “He gaslighted you and the doctor,” Wade said, speaking for the first time since the interview began.

  Cahill nodded vigorously. “That’s what he used to do all the time. Started a lot of fights with the other kids that way. Got to the point where we felt like we had to record everything he said. You could never pin him down on anything. Never took responsibility, never helped anyone unless it was to his advantage, never showed an ounce of compassion to another living soul.”