In Desperation

by Rick Mofina

  As they drove across Phoenix, Hackett boiled things down.

  Most of these cases involved criminal-on-criminal acts. Many times people never reported them to police. They paid the ransom, cleared the drug debt and the hostage was released.

  Or things ended with a corpse.

  You could argue that there were no true victims in this type of crime, but this one involved an eleven-year-old girl so he kicked his biases aside. As the city blurred by, he undid his collar button and loosened his tie. His gnarled face fixed into his perpetual grimace, the flag of his life as a twice-divorced hard-ass who was raised in Yonkers.

  What did he have in this world?

  Two ex-wives; four grown children, none of whom would speak to him; a slight limp from a gunshot wound; and a bastard’s attitude that hardened as he counted the days to his retirement.

  Hackett couldn’t remember the last time he smiled. Maybe when the Cardinals won a game? His outlook was shaped by the crap he’d faced from his time as the FBI’s legal attaché in Bogotá, Guatemala City and Mexico City. He was intimate with the work of narcoterrorists. His limp was a daily reminder of his role in the botched rescue attempt of an American aid worker, taken hostage by cocaine traffickers in Colombia.

  The narcos had been tipped that police were coming and the aid worker, a red-haired medical student from Ohio named Betsy, and three Colombian cops, died in the firefight. Later, while recovering in hospital, Hackett learned that one of the cops had been on the traffickers’ payroll, a betrayal that, like his bullet wound, had scarred him.

  That was ten years ago and since then Hackett had watched helplessly as the drug lords, with the increasing power of Mexican cartels, extended their reach deeper into the U.S. Corruption greased the drug trade, a fact evinced by the latest memo concerning cartel infiltration of U.S. police ranks. Intelligence showed that cartels were suspected of having “operatives” applying for and getting jobs within U.S. law enforcement. This threw a cloud of mistrust over joint-forces operations, underscoring that you never knew who was on your side. It was an affront to Hackett, who abided by the Bureau’s motto: Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity. These factors weighed on him as they came to Mesa Mirage.

  Larson had finished taking notes over the phone.

  “No complaint history on the caller’s address. The mother has no criminal history, a spotless driving record. No registered firearms. She’s unmarried and no custody issues-the same for Lyle Galviera. He resides near Tempe and is president of Quick Draw Courier. No arrests, warrants or convictions. He does not possess any firearms. His company is clean.”

  “And we’ve got people moving on his company and his home?”

  “Yes, based on the statements the kidnapped girl’s mother gave to the sheriff’s deputies we’ve set things in motion to expedite search warrants on Galviera. And we’ve got our Evidence Response Team rolling to the mother’s house to process it as soon as possible.”

  “I’m concerned about the time that’s passed since it happened. How many people have walked through that house, contaminating our scene,” Hackett said.

  “I figure we’ll want to get the place processed quickly and get a task force set up in the house,” Larson said.

  “You figured right.”

  Hackett considered Larson a solid young agent. Three years out of Quantico, she’d grown up in Pennsylvania, the daughter of a Pittsburgh cop. She was quiet but sharp, and one of the few agents who could stand working with the walking slab of embitterment known as Earl Hackett.

  They neared Cora Martin’s street and recognized a number of unmarked county and Phoenix PD units. As the FBI had requested, they were keeping a low profile but positioned to immediately choke all traffic in the neighborhood.

  Hackett stopped their sedan at Cora Martin’s house. A man answered the door. The two agents held up ID.

  “Special Agents Earl Hackett and Bonnie Larson. FBI,” Hackett said.

  “Jack Gannon.” He swung the door open. “My sister’s over here.”

  He indicated the woman sitting on the couch, twisting a tissue in her fists. Her hair was messed and her eyes reddened. After the agents introduced themselves, Hackett said: “Cora, a lot of people are going to work full tilt to get Tilly home safely but we’re going to need your help.”

  “Anything.”

  After assessing the house and making calls for support, Hackett and Larson talked further with Cora.

  “Will you volunteer your property to be processed by our Evidence Response Team, who will look for anything to aid us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. While they do that, would you and your brother come to the Bureau with us now to help us with a few questions?”

  “Leave? No. I don’t want to leave-the kidnappers could call.”

  “We’ll put an agent here and we can arrange to have any calls that come to your landline go directly to a dedicated line at the Bureau where you can answer. We will not miss a call.”

  Upon returning to FBI headquarters, a redbrick and glass building at Indianola Avenue and Second, the agents took Cora alone to a separate meeting room, leaving Gannon to wait in a reception area.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Larson asked Cora.

  She declined.

  “All right, tell us what happened,” Hackett said.

  Cora recounted everything. Hackett grilled her, often coming back to the same questions several times. What did she remember about the men? Had she ever seen them before? Height, build, scars, tattoos, accents? What did they touch? Did she still have the duct tape they’d used to bind her? Did she get a look at the car, a plate? The model, make? Prior to the kidnapping had there been any strange incidents? Did Tilly report anything odd at school, like strangers watching her, approaching her?

  What did she know about Lyle Galviera? Did the five-million-dollar demand mean anything to Cora or the business? Was he a drug dealer, a drug user, a gambler, a big spender? Did he have debts? What kind of businessman was he?

  “Let’s go over this again.” Hackett read his notes. “The kidnappers told you that Lyle uses his company to distribute their product, launder money and that he’s stolen five million dollars from them. Do you know which group or gang this is linked to?”

  “No. I wish I did but I don’t.”

  “More than twelve hours went by before you called police,” Hackett said. “I need you to explain the delay to me again.”

  “I told you, they said that if I went to the police they would kill Tilly. I told absolutely no one. I did all I could to try to find Lyle. I don’t know where he is. When nothing worked, the only person I told is my brother, Jack. I begged him to help me and he told me to call the police.”

  Hackett let a few moments pass in silence before he and Larson left Cora alone in the room.

  The agents sent for Gannon, leading him to a separate room where Hackett sipped coffee from an FBI mug and flipped through his notes.

  “And what’s your line of work, Jack?”

  “I’m a correspondent with the World Press Alliance.”

  “You’re a reporter with the newswire service?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were in Mexico when she called you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where in Mexico?”

  “Juarez.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what were you doing there when she contacted you?”

  “I was working on the WPA’s series on the drug trade.”

  Hackett and Larson exchanged a look of unease.

  “Is that right?” Hackett asked. “Yes.”

  “Who did you talk to down there? What were you doing?”

  “I talked to other journalists, morgue officials. It’s all in the profile that I wrote. The WPA will put out a day-of-death feature.”

  “A ‘day-of-death’ feature?”

  “Yes, it’ll likely run in tomorrow’s Arizona Republic, and about two thousand ot
her papers around the world.”

  “I’ll have to read it,” Hackett said. “Is it possible there’s a link to your activities in Mexico and what’s happened to your niece? Like maybe you pissed somebody off? Cartels have been known to go after journalists.”

  “I know, but I doubt it,” Gannon said.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve only been there a few days and my sister said that the people who took my niece asked for Lyle Galviera, said he owed them five million dollars. Until today, I’d never heard of the guy.”

  “Would you say you and your sister are close? Keep in touch regularly?”

  “No. She ran away from home when she was seventeen and I was twelve. I never saw her again, until today.”

  “So it’s fair to say you don’t really know your sister that well?”

  “It’s been difficult, yes.”

  “And here you are, directly from Juarez, Mexico?”

  “That’s right. Here I am.”

  Hackett stared at him for several long seconds before he and Larson met with other people in the Bureau and made a few calls. Then they led Gannon to the room where Cora had been waiting and questioned them together.

  “Cora,” Hackett started, “I need to know more about Tilly. Does she have any medical condition we should know about?”

  “No.”

  “Does she have a boyfriend?”

  “God no, she’s eleven.”

  “Does she use drugs? Is she flirtatious? Does she spend a lot of time chatting on the internet?”

  “No.”

  “Is she a good student?”

  “Yes. She has above-average grades. She likes school.”

  “Describe her relationship with you.”

  “She’s a good girl. We have a strong relationship. There’s just the two of us in our family. We’re as close as any mother and daughter can be.”

  “Where’s Tilly’s father?”

  “I don’t know. He’s been out of the picture from the start. I raised her alone.”

  “Again, characterize your relationship with Lyle Galviera. You indicated it’s more than boss-employee.”

  “I started working there five years ago and last year we started dating.”

  “Are you engaged?”

  “No. A few months ago we talked about marriage but we decided to keep dating, see where things go.”

  “Describe Lyle’s relationship with Tilly.”

  “He adores her and she likes him.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would have reason to take this kind of action against you?”

  Cora was stabbed by the memory of California.

  No one must know what happened. It can’t be connected to Tilly’s abduction. She can’t be the one to pay for my mistake. I have to keep that night in California secret. No one must know. Not Jack, not the police, no one. I have to protect Tilly. This is the one thing I have to keep secret until I know who took Tilly.

  The one thing.

  The kidnappers said this was about Lyle, not me. Please let that be true.

  “No.”

  “What about Lyle and his company-any enemies?”

  “I can’t think of one. Everyone likes Lyle.”

  “Is the company involved in the trafficking of narcotics?”

  “I told you, no, not to my knowledge. I know we were facing some hard financial times. Lyle had to lay off a couple of people and told me to watch office costs, but drugs? No, this is all wrong.”

  “You said that this morning the kidnappers called you at your office?”

  “Yes. When I got loose, I went there immediately to try to find some clue as to where Lyle was. They called me on my cell phone and put Tilly on.”

  “Did she give you any idea where she was?”

  “No, it was only for a second and she sounded so scared.”

  “How did they get your number?”

  “Tilly would have given them my cell phone number.”

  “Have you ever been involved with illicit drugs, Cora?”

  She was struggling to hold herself together and covered her mouth with her cupped hands, feeling her brother’s eyes upon her. “Yes.”

  “Elaborate.”

  “For about ten years, starting when I was seventeen, I was addicted to drugs-pot, coke and crack. I was messed up. I drifted across the country. I hit bottom. I cut myself off from my family. Then I got pregnant with Tilly. I got clean for her, started over with her. I changed my name from Cora Gannon to Cora Martin.”

  “Why did you change your name?”

  “To put my past behind me and start over. I moved to Phoenix, put myself through college and started a new life. I got clerical jobs. I’ve been clean since.”

  “So it’s been about twelve years since you’ve used?” Hackett asked.

  “Yes, about that.”

  “Did you deal?”

  “I didn’t deal. But I knew dealers.”

  “Do you associate with them now?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think anyone from your past could be involved in this?”

  “I knew bad dealers, but that was a long time ago, another life. Anything is possible, but no, I hope not.”

  “Can you provide us with names of those old dealers?” Hackett asked.

  “I never knew their real names-they were street names. There was Deke, a white guy in Boston about fifteen years ago. Before that, Rasheed, a Middle Eastern guy in Toronto.”

  Larson made notes.

  “When did you last have contact with people in the drug trade?”

  “About twelve years ago. My old life is dead, behind me.”

  Hackett stared at Cora. Fine threads of doubt and apprehension webbed across his face before he said, “Are you telling us everything we need to know?”

  Several moments passed before she answered.

  “Agent Hackett, I’ve made mistakes. I have not lived a perfect life but I am a good mother and I swear to you I am not involved.”

  “All right.”

  Larson’s cell phone rang. After listening for about ten seconds, she said: “They’re almost finished processing the kitchen and the living room.”

  Hackett adjusted his sleeves.

  “We’ll take both of you back to the house in Mesa Mirage. The task force will set up. We’ll have people from VAP, our victim specialist unit there too, to help you with anything you may need. You’re going to have a lot of police keeping you company.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Cora said. “But there’s something I need from you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your word that you will do all you can to bring Tilly home.”

  Cora’s request gave him pause. It was identical to the plea he’d heard from the mother of the aid worker from Toledo, Ohio, who’d been taken hostage by Colombian drug traffickers.

  “Give me your word you will bring my daughter back.”

  He did.

  But he brought her home in a coffin.

  Now, looking into Cora’s face, Hackett told her the truth.

  “I give you my word I will do all I can to find your daughter.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stared at Cora. “And to arrest the people responsible.”

  7

  Phoenix, Arizona

  A few miles north of Mesa Mirage, at the South Desert Bank & Trust, Bill Grover, the assistant manager, realigned the stapler and pen holder on his desk.

  The two FBI agents sitting across from him were studying the files Grover’s branch had assembled with some urgency. The action was in response to a warrant to provide the FBI with records on all of Lyle Galviera’s financial dealings and those of his courier company.

  The agents, Ross Sarreno and Winston Reeve, were the Phoenix Division’s white-collar crime experts. They wore dark suits and somber expressions. Whatever they were chasing, it was serious, Grover thought.

  First, they confirmed that there’d been no activity on any credit or bank cards held by G
alviera since the day before he was to depart for his California business trip. However, on that day, there was a cash withdrawal from one of his accounts for nine thousand dollars.

  This guy was planning something, Reeve thought after he and Sarreno studied the company’s banking files.

  “These records show the company is in trouble,” Reeve said.

  “Yes.” Grover cleared his throat. “The big boys were securing their hold on Quick Draw’s regional market. About two years ago, Lyle’s outstanding debts climbed to about four million dollars. A few times he came close to not making payroll. We could no longer extend his line of credit. Things were getting dire. We were talking about Chapter Eleven.”

  “Then he turns things around, appears to have found a source of business and funds,” Reeve said. “Ten months ago he begins knocking down his debt with significant weekly payments, fifty-, seventy-, ninety-five-thousand-dollar range.”

  “He said it was the result of a new business model.”

  “But all of the transactions were in cash,” Reeve said.

  “That’s correct.”

  “This is a courier business. It does not deal primarily in cash. The transactions could be indicative of money laundering. Under the law there’s an obligation to report this activity,” Reeve said.

  Grover reached for the file, tapped at specific pages.

  “You’ll see here that Currency Transaction Reports were filed with the IRS for all of his cash transactions over ten thousand dollars.”

  “What about SARs?”

  “This bank filed three Suspicious Activity Reports with the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network at Treasury.”

  “What was their response?”

  “Nothing to us. We did our part.”

  “The bottom line here, plain and simple?”

  “He owes $1,950,000 by end of next month and if he does not pay that amount in full he will lose his company. Now I know Lyle built that company practically from the time he was a college kid and I don’t think that he was going to let that happen under any circumstances.”