Midnight Crossing: A Mystery

by Tricia Fields

“What about the other woman?” Marta asked. “Do we know if she was raped?”

  “The doctor won’t tell us. Patient confidentiality. We’ll have to wait on her to offer that kind of information,” Josie said.

  “Cowan also confirmed time of death was what he originally thought. She’d been lying in the desert for two days. The official time of death is now ten p.m., but it’s obviously an estimate.”

  Josie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “We had originally thought it happened during the day, and we were surprised Dell hadn’t heard the shots.” She pulled her calendar up on her phone to look at the date. “That was the night of the water meeting. Dell and I had come into town together. It was a special session that everyone in town knew was going to get heated and would probably last for hours. Which it did,” Josie said.

  “So maybe the killer is someone who knows you well enough to figure you’d be at that meeting,” Marta said.

  “And they took advantage of you and Dell both being gone,” Otto said.

  They sat for a moment, trying to decide if the new information changed the course of the investigation. Otto finally moved on. “Was the psychiatrist able to share anything?”

  “Her name is Isabella Dagati,” Josie said. “Lou is running a search for her name. We still don’t know where she’s from. She may be bilingual, Spanish and English.”

  “That’s more than I thought we’d get today,” he said.

  “There’s more,” Josie said. “The doctor said she repeated the words Josie and help multiple times. He interpreted it to mean that she went to my house, seeking help.”

  Otto frowned. “Not that you had provided her help at your house, and she was just repeating that you’d helped her?”

  “That’s exactly what I thought. The doc said that considering her body language and facial expressions he thought she came to me for help.” Josie paused. “He said she viewed me as a kind of savior.”

  Otto’s eyebrows shot up.

  “It makes sense to me that she would latch on to you like that,” Marta said. “You were her savior. You finally put an end to the nightmare she’d been living for days. But it seems like a big jump for the psychiatrist to conclude that she was seeking you out specifically, if she can’t even talk much yet.”

  “I agree. Without having been in the room, it’s hard to know how he came up with that idea.”

  “Brazen is a respected psychiatrist. He works with PTSD. I don’t think he’d make a statement like that if he wasn’t confident in his assessment,” Otto said.

  “So let’s take the information at face value. What does that tell us?” Marta said.

  “Here’s the way I see it. The women were either traveling with a man or a group, probably held against their will. At least one of the women was raped multiple times. We can assume things got bad enough that the women planned an escape. Someone gave them my name and told them where I live. They crossed the border and came to my house for help. Whoever they were with crossed the border, hunted them down, and killed one of the women. The men came back to the place where they killed her, searching for the one who escaped. That’s when Nick and I heard the car and discovered the woman on my porch.”

  Otto nodded and asked, “What about security at the trauma center?”

  “I’m working with the sheriff to make sure we have someone posted there twenty-four/seven,” Josie said.

  “Someone had to tell the two women who you are, and give them directions. Who would do that?” asked Marta. “If someone locally had found the women, they would have contacted you. They would have helped the women to safety.”

  “Maybe somebody helped them from across the border. Someone in Piedra Labrada gave them my name.”

  “Could be a human trafficking situation gone bad,” Otto said.

  “I met with Jimmy Dixon from Border Patrol earlier today. He said there was a trafficking outfit that moved women from Guatemala through El Paso. It got busted last year. He’s checking into recent activity,” Josie said. “I also talked to Selena Rocha.”

  Marta nodded. “The hairdresser from Venezuela. Did she have anything?”

  “She said if the girls are truly part of a human trafficking scheme, that this wasn’t the destination. They would have been headed to San Antonio, Houston, Dallas.”

  “Sure. Makes sense,” Marta said.

  “Maybe the women heard about a female cop and came to you for help,” Otto said, pointing at Josie.

  Josie nodded. “It makes sense. I’ll call Sergio and see if he has any ideas.”

  Sergio Pando was a Mexican Federales officer who grew up with Marta in Mexico. His wife was killed ten years ago, an innocent bystander caught in the middle of cartel warfare. His life now revolved around his high school–aged daughter, keeping her safe in a world gone crazy.

  Josie put her desk phone on speaker. “Sergio, this is Josie Gray.”

  “Josie! It’s good to hear from you.”

  “How are you? How’s your daughter?”

  “I’m good.” He laughed. “And my daughter is a senior in high school now. She has turned into what you call a social butterfly.”

  Josie smiled. “So you’re staying busy keeping up with her.”

  “That I am. And tell me how Marta is. She never stops by anymore to visit.”

  Josie glanced over at Marta, who looked away in embarrassment. Marta knew that Sergio had pined after her since childhood. When Marta married her husband, a man with alcoholic demons he’d never been able to tame, Sergio had married too, but he’d told Josie years ago that he’d never stopped loving her.

  “Marta’s doing well. She’s sitting here with me. We’re actually calling to see if you can help us with some information.”

  “Absolutely. What can I do?”

  Sergio had heard about the two women and the fact that the surviving woman was found at Josie’s home. Josie explained her theory and asked, “Does it seem plausible that two women, traveling through Mexico, would connect with someone in your town who would lead them to me rather than to a safe spot in Piedra?”

  “Of course it does. Right or wrong, the general feeling is that once you’ve made it this close to the border, your only hope for help is to make it across. People stake everything on their trip across the border. They flee Guatemala and Honduras, trying to escape the cartels that are destroying their cities. Many of them have sold everything, their homes and their belongings, to pay for the trip north. They believe, even if you get picked up by the U.S. authorities, that they’ll help you find shelter and food.”

  “Does it seem reasonable that someone would have sent them to me, specifically?” she asked.

  “You’ve had two bad run-ins with the Medrano Cartel. Both times, you lived. Not only that, but you humiliated them. Your name is known in Piedra Labrada. I’ve heard you called señora con muchas vidas.”

  “Which means?”

  “Lady with many lives.”

  Josie sighed audibly.

  “That’s it. You don’t get more than one life with the Medranos. People think you have the saints on your side.”

  Josie winced. “It’s got nothing to do with saints, Sergio. I don’t want this to get weird.”

  He laughed. “You don’t have a choice, Josie. The saints choose you, not the other way around.”

  “I just need to know who helped these women get to me.”

  He made a noise as if he was thinking. “Do you know of Señora Molina?”

  “No.”

  “She’s a hundred years old, with the heart of a lion. She’s the mother to the women and children who have none. If anyone could help you, I’d say it would be her.”

  Sergio provided Josie with directions to the woman’s home. “The local story is that she took a vow of poverty over fifty years ago, not as a Catholic nun, but as a servant of God. The locals say she trusts no one and helps everyone. She’s an amazing woman, but she has no phone or anything beyond the basics. You’ll have to chance a visit and hope t
o find her home.”

  Josie thanked Sergio for the information and ended the call with a promise to visit soon.

  “I’ll go tonight. Nick’s staying at my place until we clear this up. He knows Piedra Labrada, so he can help me find the woman’s home. He also speaks fluent Spanish. I might stand a better chance of talking with her if he’s with me.”

  Otto huffed as if irritated. “You need to take him with you for protection. If he can’t go with you tonight, then call it off. Sergio said you’re known in town. Well, that means you’re known in town by the cartel too. Play it safe.”

  “I got it. And Marta, can you check in at the trauma center? See if you can get anything else out of Isabella?”

  Marta nodded. “I don’t feel good about her staying at the center. But we don’t have any victims’ assistance homes in town. With the house for battered women closed down we have nothing.”

  “I’ve got an idea on that. Let me work on it for tomorrow,” Josie said. “There’s a sheriff’s deputy posted there until eight. Why don’t you relieve him and stay through your shift. I’ll call the sheriff and make sure he’s got someone who can cover you at midnight.”

  * * *

  Marta parked her jeep in the parking lot at the trauma center and carried her printing kit inside, where she found nurse Vie Blessings in her purple scrub suit and bright pink tennis shoes talking to Caroline Moss, the mayor’s wife.

  Marta had never cared for Caroline. She was rich and uppity, and Marta always felt as if the woman thought she was doing Marta a favor when speaking to her. Marta wanted to remind her, You might be the mayor’s wife, but he’s mayor of a town with twenty-five hundred people in it, not exactly bragging rights.

  Rather than interrupt the conversation, Marta took a seat in the waiting room.

  When Caroline left, Vie approached Marta. “You here to check on Isabella?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “She’s a popular girl.”

  Marta frowned in confusion. “Someone’s been here to see her?”

  “Selena Rocha stopped by earlier and asked if she could speak with Isabella, but she was asleep.”

  Marta nodded, surprised at the news. “Josie talked to Selena earlier today.”

  Vie shrugged. “She said she wanted to offer her help. She said she’s from South America and might be able to talk to her. I suggested she work through Josie.”

  “I’d prefer that. She may hear information we could use and not realize it’s relevant,” Marta said.

  “And then Caroline stopped by to see her.”

  Marta followed Vie’s glance out the window, where they watched Caroline drive away in her convertible

  “She said she’s having a dinner tomorrow to raise funds for the local missions and she wanted to know what the woman needs, clothes and shoes, basic necessities to help her get back on her feet.”

  Marta nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt for her earlier thoughts.

  “She asked if she could talk with her, but Josie told me not to allow outside visitors until you know more about her background.”

  “Is she awake? I’d like to ask her a few questions.”

  Vie pointed down the hallway. “She’s watching television.”

  Marta stopped in the hallway to talk to Sheriff’s Deputy Scott Wilson, who was sitting in a chair outside the patient room. Wilson was in his early twenties, with a heavy build and a southern way of drawing out his words. He’d had a crush on Marta’s daughter in high school, but Teresa had preferred the bad boys. Marta could only hope she’d passed that phase in her life.

  “Hey, Marta. You here to relieve me?” he asked.

  “I am. Anything to pass along?” she said.

  He sighed heavily and stood. He leaned in and whispered to Marta so that Vie couldn’t hear as she walked into the room. “Nothing. Hope you got a pot of coffee in your car. I ran out of things to do after I counted the floor tiles for about the tenth time.”

  Marta laughed and he patted her on the back before taking off.

  * * *

  After Vie checked the woman’s vital signs and left the room, Marta pulled a chair beside the bed. She reminded her that she’d sat with her in Josie’s living room early that morning, and Marta noted that she made eye contact at the mention of Josie’s name.

  “We’d like to help you, Isabella. We can help you get back to your home and your family if you’ll give us some information.”

  She paused and the woman turned her head away to stare across the room at a painting. Marta took a deep breath, knowing the following request would probably shut her down.

  She opened her bag and pulled out her pad and ink, smiling, attempting to lighten the task. “I’ve brought a kit with me. I need to get your fingerprints here on this paper. It will help us get your records in order.” She set everything up on the rolling bedside table and stood, holding her hand out. Surprisingly, Isabella held her own hand out in response and allowed Marta to print her as she talked.

  “Where do you live?”

  Isabella remained silent.

  “Are you from Mexico? Maybe Brazil?” She paused. “Guatemala? Honduras?”

  Nothing.

  “Do you live here in the U.S.?”

  No reply.

  “Can you tell me where your friend is from?”

  Isabella closed her eyes and her face tensed up as if she were trying to fight back tears.

  Marta dropped Isabella’s hand and slipped everything back in her bag. “Can you tell me your friend’s name? Her first name?”

  She shook her head. “No, no, no.”

  “You can’t tell me, or you don’t know?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know her name.”

  Tears poured from her eyes until she began shaking and then sobbing. Marta pushed the call button beside the bed and a moment later Vie rushed in. She looked at Marta accusingly.

  “What happened?”

  “I asked about her friend and she started crying,” Marta said.

  “I think you’d best go,” Vie said.

  * * *

  Back in the hallway, Marta was sorry that she’d caused such a reaction in the young woman, but she was interested to learn that Isabella claimed not to even know the other woman’s name. She sent a quick text to Josie and Otto to that effect and took her position on the chair in the hallway, settling in for a long night of waiting and wondering.

  SEVEN

  Josie arrived home at 7:30 p.m. and found Nick on her couch reading a True Crime magazine and drinking a beer. He pitched the magazine onto the coffee table as she sat beside him.

  “You look like you need some sleep.”

  She shrugged and blew air out in frustration. “I feel like we’re checking tasks off a to-do list. No big breaks yet. Did you hear anything today?”

  “I have feelers out about the trafficking and two missing women. Since we’re in Medrano territory I have guys checking there first. There’s no doubt the Medranos are involved in prostitution and trafficking, but I don’t know about transportation routes. Did Border Patrol have information on routes?”

  “Jimmy Dixon’s working on it.”

  Josie watched Nick take a long swig of his beer, and again she was struck by his physical presence. When he walked into a room he filled it up; he was big and intense and couldn’t blend into a crowd if he wanted to. In contrast, Josie tried to fall back and observe; she attributed this to being a cop, but she knew it was also her personality. She watched the condensation drip down the bottle and onto his jeans and took in his hard jawline. He smiled without turning to face her.

  “You okay with the view?”

  She laughed. “A little cocky, aren’t you?”

  “Just making sure you’re satisfied.”

  “I was deciding what kind of a bodyguard you might make.”

  “The best.”

  “You busy tonight?” she asked.

  “I’m your man.”

  She smiled as she no
dded. “Good. I need an escort to Mexico.”

  * * *

  Nick carried dual citizenship in the U.S. and Mexico and frequently made the trip across the International Bridge. Driving in his black armored SUV, they passed through customs with no issues, and within a few minutes they were driving parallel to the river, headed for desert country. Once they were out of Piedra Labrada they both rolled down the windows and let the warm night air blow through. When Josie had told Nick about Señora Molina he said he knew her. Apparently she was a legend with the young kids in the area. When somebody needed a place to crash, they could count on her.

  Nick pulled off the marked gravel road and onto an arroyo that led down into a shallow streambed a half mile from the Rio Grande. The arroyo was dry, since no measurable rain had fallen in the area for several months. The monsoons should have started in September and people were getting nervous that the territory would have another fire season like the year before.

  As Nick drove over the fallen boulders in the dry creek bed, Josie couldn’t help smiling at the night. The sun had faded and a fresh scattering of stars cast light across the sky. They were driving along slowly enough to catch the whirring sound of the night insects in the cottonwood trees at the top of the arroyo. In spite of the unpleasant nature of the trip, she relaxed into the night and breathed in the smell of juniper and creosote, a pungent earthy scent like perfume to Josie.

  She felt Nick’s hand rest on her own, lying on her thigh.

  “You like this, don’t you? The rough desert?” he asked.

  She took a minute to respond. “I do. It’s strange to think back, how I grew up in the Midwest, but I never felt at home until I moved here. It’s like my body was meant to be here, with the heat and the wide-open spaces.”

  In the failing light, Josie could barely make out the turnoff that Nick pulled onto from the arroyo.

  “How could someone in trouble ever make it out here?” Josie asked. “It would be impossible to find.”

  “That’s the beauty of Señora Molina. To get here is a feat in itself. It’s not like some kid who had a bad day at school would make his way over here for help. You have to seek her out to get here. And she recognizes that. She’s a pretty amazing lady.”