Hard Evidence

by Pamela Clare

  She'd spent the hours before sunrise running the details of the case through her mind again and again, trying to separate assumptions from facts. Then she'd worked the facts onto a spreadsheet and come up with a plan of action. Getting her hands on Maria Ruiz's autopsy report was at the top of the list.

  She got Chief Irving's voice mail, started to demand the autopsy, but found herself apologizing for what had happened to Officer Taylor instead. Only when she was about to hang up did she remember why she had called. She quickly tacked a request for the autopsy onto the end of her message.

  "If we don't receive the document today, I'll be filing a formal request under the Colorado Open Records Act," she said as Sophie walked toward her, a steaming-fresh latte in hand. "Thank you, sir. I'll be waiting to hear from you."

  She hung up, picked up the cup, sipped, groaned. "At least there's one constant in the universe—caffeine. Thanks, Sophie."

  Sophie sat. "If you think you're going to get away with not telling me what's going on, you're flat-out wrong."

  And Tessa saw she meant it.

  They met in a quiet corner of the cafeteria downstairs— Tessa, Sophie, Holly, and Lissy. Kat had been in the middle of an interview and too busy to join them. Sipping her latte, Tessa told them what she hadn't been able to tell them yesterday, leaving out any mention of Julian—the way he'd broken glass to get to her, the way he'd comforted her, the way he'd driven her over the brink with his mouth and hands. The way he'd let slip his lack of true feelings.

  Instead, she stuck to the events pertaining to the case, hoping they'd forget about the man in die black leather jacket. After all, that's what she needed to do—forget Julian.

  By the time she'd reached the part where she'd found the nude photo of herself, they were staring openmouthed.

  "Apparently, he'd shot Officer Taylor on the way in, realized Taylor's presence meant the cops were there, and stayed only long enough to decorate my door before sprinting off." Tessa shrugged, feeling a strange sort of numbness about it all. "I made a spreadsheet last night—well, this morning. I need to get the girl's autopsy, and then I need to talk to those gang members again. They were trying to tell me—"

  "You made a spreadsheet? God, Tessa, you're as crazy as Kara!" Holly looked angry. "Neither of you know when to call it quits. If I were you, I'd catch the next flight to Madagascar and hang with the lemurs until Chief Irving told me the bad guys were behind bars."

  "You should come stay with me and Will," Lissy offered. "He's got a big, old shotgun, and I know he wouldn't hesitate to use it. He cares about you, Tessa. He's mad as hell about what you've been going through. You shouldn't be alone."

  Tessa hadn't been alone, but she didn't say that. "I can't, Lissy. What if it had been Will who'd gone after Wyatt and had gotten shot? I'm not putting any of you in danger. Besides, I think they're moving me to witness protection this weekend."

  Holly gave a wry laugh. "Wait till Kara and Reece find out. Reece will show up armed like the Marines and drag you-"

  "Except you, Holly. I wouldn't mind risking your life. Can I stay at your place?" Tessa almost laughed at the look on Holly's face.

  "Yes, I'd mind! Are you kidding? I don't want crazy, boob-grabbing killers coming around my place. Sorry, Tessa, but friendship has its limits."

  "Nice, Holly." Lissy glared at her. 'Tessa, you can stay with us."

  Then Sophie, who'd been quiet, looked at Tessa through narrowed eyes. "You're not actually thinking of going back out on the streets to search for those gangbangers, are you?"

  "Of course not!" Tessa lied. She glanced at her watch. "I-Team meeting."

  Five minutes later, she found herself telling the story again, this time in the conference room in front of the entire I-Team plus Tom and Syd. She was glad she'd gone through it once already, because she was even more numb the second time around. No tears, not even a break in her voice.

  She told them about Chief Irving's plans to transfer her into a witness protection program over the weekend and explained she'd probably be telecommuting for the next few weeks starting Monday. She'd expected Tom to argue with her about this, but he merely nodded.

  "Irving has been in contact with me," he said. "IT will have a computer ready by the time you leave on Friday."

  She put herself down for a twenty-inch story about last night's shooting. As a follow-up to her original piece, it would also be a first-person account, a personal look at the aftermath of being a murder witness. She knew she'd have to walk a fine line to tell the story without revealing anything Julian had told her off the record, but she was confident she could do it.

  "I also have an interview in half an hour with a woman in Boulder who runs a program for homeless teens. I'm not sure what it's about, but I'll check in afterward. I might be able to squeeze some inches out of that."

  Tom, who seemed to be in a strangely good mood, actually smiled. "Good work, Novak. Glad you're safe."

  "He's getting laid again," Joaquin whispered as they left the meeting. "Kara's mother took him back."

  "The way I see it," Julian told Wyatt, "you owe me your worthless life."

  Wyatt glared at him from behind a black eye and a handful of stitches but said nothing.

  Julian had spotted him at six in the morning, trying to hop a train for Vegas. When Wyatt had realized Julian was after him, he'd reached for his .38 despite a crowd of early commuters. Julian had taken him down with a kick to the face.

  They'd been at it for four hours now, Wyatt refusing to speak and Julian suppressing the urge to break the bastard's neck. Here was the son of a bitch who'd assaulted Tessa, who'd photographed her, who'd surely intended to kill her. Here was the piece of shit who'd shot Taylor. Here was the scum who'd kept Maria Ruiz prisoner, sold her, and helped murder her.

  "Do you really think Burien intends to let you live? That's why you were skipping town, isn't it? You knew he'd come after you. Were you there when he lit up Toby Grant?"

  Wyatt's glare lost some of its anger and his skin went pale.

  "Blew his head off with a forty-four Mag, didn't he? What a damned mess! We had to ID him with fingerprints. No head." Julian looked Wyatt in the eyes. "Burien's got a round chambered for you right now, Wyatt. Every cop out there wants a piece of you for what you did to Officer Taylor. Truth is, I'm the best damned friend you've got. You can either cooperate with me, or I'll put you in minimum security, where you can sit and wonder when—and how—Burien's going to finish you."

  Julian let the silence stretch, let fear do its job. It seemed like he'd spent the bulk of his hours interrogating people lately, playing the intimidation game. Hadn't it been just a week ago that he'd had Zoryo in this same room?

  He leaned down, drew Wyatt's gaze to his, held it. 'Tell me about Pasha's."

  Wyatt's body jerked, and his pupils dilated, but he remained silent.

  So Zoryo hadn't been lying. Pasha's was tied to Burien.

  Julian sank into a chair, crossed his arms over his chest. "Why do you want to die for that bastard? Why are you going to make your future—which sucks, by the way—harder than it needs to be? Don't you see that you're a throwaway in his eyes? They tossed Toby's corpse in a trash bin to rot. Symbolic, don't you think?"

  Wyatt looked down at the floor, looking suddenly less like a tough guy and more like a kid, his body shaking. "You really think you can keep him off me?"

  Julian leaned in, lowered his voice. "I know I can."

  And Wyatt broke.

  For the next hour Julian grilled him relentlessly, doling out rewards of bathroom breaks, coffee and doughnuts, adding a dash of make-believe sympathy and even praise.

  "You had no idea what you were getting into, did you, Johnny? You had no idea what he'd expect you to do. You didn't want to hurt those girls. I can see that. Once you got in with him, he called the shots. But he never controlled you, did he? You fooled him—you fooled Burien. That journalist—he only told you to follow her. You came up with the rest on your own, didn't
you?"

  Wyatt nodded, a serious look on his face. "She's a hot little piece. He told me I could have her, do whatever I wanted to her when it came time to pop her. But I didn't want to kill her. I was going to find a way to make him think she was dead and keep her."

  Julian stood and turned his back to Wyatt, almost unable to control his rage, an image of Tessa's frightened blue eyes in his mind. "He'd never have figured it out. You'd have won."

  "And she'd have been grateful and happy to do whatever I wanted, 'cause she'd always know I could have killed her instead."

  If you so much as think of touching her, Wyatt, I'll make you eat your own balls.

  Julian changed the subject, not sure how long he could keep from killing Wyatt otherwise. "How can I find him, Johnny? How can I find the man who wants to kill you?"

  Wyatt seemed to hesitate at this final betrayal. "He always met us at an empty warehouse in Commerce City. It's on Brighton Road not far from the old refinery. That's where he popped Toby. Shit, he's going to pop me, too!"

  "I'm not going to let him." Julian motioned to the guys on the other side of the one-way mirror to get Wyatt out of his face. "We're going to put you in protective isolation and under guard, and I'm going to have one of my own men bring you whatever you want from the commissary."

  "I'd like a pack of smokes."

  "You know they don't allow cigarettes in jail, Johnny." Julian stepped back as two officers entered and got Wyatt to his feet. "But if what you told me checks out and I catch that son of a bitch, I'll smuggle you in a whole goddamn carton."

  He watched the guards lead Wyatt away, heard Irving come up behind him.

  "That was top-notch work, Darcangelo. I ought to save this as a training tape."

  "Let's get that warehouse under surveillance."

  "Done. If Burien shows up again, we'll be waiting for him." Irving paused. "You should know that Ms. Novak called this morning to request the autopsy report of one Maria Con-chita Ruiz. I don't know how she got the name, but—"

  Julian almost laughed. He'd told her the victim's name off the record in an attempt to comfort her, but she'd lost no time using it to her advantage. As long as she didn't publish it, he supposed she was keeping her side of the deal. "She got it from me."

  Irving raised a bushy eyebrow. "Want to tell me how that happened?"

  "Not really. Got any fresh coffee in this place?"

  * * *

  Tessa was in the middle of writing when Kara walked up to her desk looking worried and holding out a latte. "Coffee break, Tess."

  Tessa told her story for the third time, only this time it wasn't so easy. Perhaps because she knew Kara had been through something even worse, Tessa found it difficult to hide her feelings.

  "It all feels surreal—like I'm living someone else's life," she said, trying to put into words how she'd felt all day.

  "Well, let's see." Kara counted on her fingers. "In the past nine days, you've witnessed a murder, had the man you thought was the killer pull you into a closet and kiss you, been arrested, been groped by one of the real killers, had a cop shot outside your home, found a naked photo of yourself the killer stuck to your apartment door. I can see how a person might find that unsettling. The bottom line is you've been through hell, and you need sleep."

  "That's easier said than done." Tessa wanted to tell Kara about Julian, to make sense of her own feelings by sharing them, to ask Kara's advice. But she knew talking about her emotions would force her to feel them, and she was doing such a good job of not feeling now. It was better to say nothing and to stay numb than to open herself to the hurt she knew was there.

  "Reece and I want you to stay with us until this blows over."

  Tessa shook her head. "As much as I'd love to take you up on it, how do you think I'd feel if something happened to Reece or you or one of the kids? I can't, Kara. But thanks. It means a lot to me that you care enough to take that chance."

  Kara whipped out her cell phone. "Hi, hon. Yeah, she's being stubborn."

  Then Kara handed the phone to Tessa.

  Reece's deep voice sounded in her ear. "You're going to stay at our place tonight if I have to carry you, got it?"

  "Okay." For the first time all day, Tessa felt herself near tears. "But if you guys end up dead, don't hold it against me."

  * * *

  "A lot of homeless teens end up as victims of trafficking." Colleen Kenley, the director of a nonprofit that aided street teens, sat in the conference room with Tessa, having been kind enough to drive down to Denver from her office in Boulder. With shoulder-length blond hair and a model's face, she didn't look old enough to head an international organization.

  Tessa looked up from her notes. 'Trafficked? You mean sold?"

  Ms. Kenley nodded. "Or transported against their will. Forced or coerced to have what we call survival sex—sex for food, shelter, protection. We've worked with teens whose experiences have run the gamut from trading sex for food or drugs to being forced into full-time prostitution."

  "How terrible!" Tessa didn't realize she'd quit taking notes until the pencil fell from her hand. She leaned down, picked it up. "Don't the Johns realize these kids are underage?"

  Ms. Kenley's face was grave. "I think that's the point."

  Tessa's stomach turned.

  Then Ms. Kenley told how she'd worked with a fourteen-year-old from Utah whose parents had thrown her out of the house after she'd told them she was a lesbian. The girl had been picked up during her first week on the street and brought to a trailer somewhere in town, where she and another teen had been forced to work as prostitutes, enduring sex with as many as thirty men a night.

  "They gave her heroin and beat her, rewarding her with occasional trips to a local convenience store where they let her buy candy. She could have asked for help or tried to escape, but she was too afraid to try, sure they would kill her."

  Ms. Kenley was still speaking but Tessa scarcely heard her.

  There were four of them, girls about the same age. They'd come in, buy gum, candy, maybe shampoo or lip gloss, then they'd go again. Never smiled. Never said a word.

  She remembered what Mr. Simms had told her, and her heart seemed to skip a beat. "I-I'm sorry, Ms. Kenley, I hate to interrupt. Can we go back? I have a couple of questions."

  By the time the interview was over, Tessa was certain the girl she'd seen murdered was like the girl Ms. Kenley had described—a teenager forced into prostitution. She'd been murdered for trying to flee. Tessa had no proof—not yet—but all the pieces fit.

  This had nothing to do with gangs at all.

  It was a case of sex trafficking.

  Chills shivered down her spine.

  Then, out of nowhere, Julian's words came back to her.

  / know things about kidnapping and sexual assault that are beyond your worst nightmares.

  She punched Chief Irving's direct line into her keypad. She groaned when she got his voice mail again. "Chief Irving, this is Tessa Novak calling to let you know I am hereby filing a request for Maria Conchita Ruiz's autopsy report under the Colorado Open Records Act. Expect a written version of the request via facsimile within ten minutes. Further, I wish to request an interview with you regarding Ms. Ruiz's murder and the crimes of human trafficking and forced prostitution."

  The words came out in a rush, and when she hung up the phone she felt the same surge of adrenaline she always felt when she closed in on a big story.

  She stood and hurried toward Tom's office, hoping she could get at least ten inches for this story—front page, above the fold. If they didn't have room, they would have to make room.

  "No me he olvidado de ti, Maria," she whispered.

  I haven't forgotten you.

  @

  "I can't comment on an ongoing investigation, Ms. Novak."

  Julian leaned against the door, listened to Tessa's voice over the speaker as she interviewed Chief Irving, anger warring with admiration. He had to hand it to her. She'd put the pieces together d
amned fast, making the leap from gangs to trafficking far quicker than he had imagined she would.

  "Can vou at least confirm that vou're oursuine a possible sex-trafficking angle on this homicide?" She sounded exhausted but also confident. She had good instincts and clearly knew she was onto something.

  "That would be commenting, and I just told you I can't do that."

  "Was there evidence on the body of sexual assault, sexual abuse, or drug abuse?"

  "I believe I'll let the medical examiner's notes speak to those points. You should have the autopsy report by now."

  There was a moment of silence, and Julian could almost feel her frustration.

  "Can we go off the record?" she asked.

  "I trust you, Ms. Novak. Off the record, then."

  "I have read the autopsy report, and it indicates to me that this is a case of sex trafficking. Maria Ruiz was fleeing her captors when they shot her down. They kept her in that basement apartment with other three girls, forced her to have sex with dozens of men, and shot her up with heroin. John Wyatt was one of her captors. The man who pulled the trigger and was later killed was another. The person you and Mr. Darcan-gelo are hunting for—the man who wants me dead—is the man who pulled their strings."

  Irving hit mute. "I told you she was good. How the hell did she put that together?"

  "Ask her."

  Irving hit the button again. "What makes you leap to this conclusion, Ms. Novak?"

  "I just interviewed a woman who runs a program for street teens. Some of the trafficking scenarios she describes are almost identical to observations that the medical examiner, Mr. Simms, and neighbors made about Maria. Unhappy candy-buying sprees. Always under supervision. Lots of cars pulling up to the house. Her age. The way she was dressed. Evidence of multiple sex partners. Needle tracks. Bruises. There's not a piece that doesn't fit, sir."

  Julian stepped forward and leaned down toward the mic. "You win the prize, Tessa. I'm impressed. But what do you propose to do with this information—write a front-page article that will send these bastards deeper underground and make it tougher for us to catch them?"

  "Why, it's Batman!" she said, obviously still hurt and angry with him. "I knew you had to be lurking there somewhere. I want to see these bastards behind bars as much as you do, and you know it! I want to expose them, make it impossible for them to hide! I want to wake the public up so that we can stop this terrible crime!"