Zahera put both hands on her shapely hips. She wasn’t amused. I didn’t want to piss her off because I needed a big favor.
“Do you think you could convince your Carlos to take all of this evidence we’ve collected, say he has well-placed sources, and then get it on the news today?”
She took in a breath. “Brilliant idea. Not sure he’ll agree to it, but I can ask. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”
“He could say no, but then we’re screwed,” Cristina said.
Shaking my head, I added, “If he says no, more people may die. That’s what I think of this Russell character. And it might start with his daughter.”
31
A pack of morning joggers trotted by our crew at Concepion Park just south of I-10. They pumped out breaths into the frosty morning air. Zahera and I sat on a bench in a gazebo made of stone, and Cristina played with Joey near a tree. They were both having a blast.
“She looks like a regular teenager for a change,” Zahera said.
“It’s great to see, for her and Joey.”
Cristina was playing tag with the boy, and every few times around the tree, she let him catch her, which was then celebrated with a high-five and a rib-cage tickle session.
“When are you going to process the little giggle machine?”
“I knew if I took him in this morning, I’d get too many questions. I’d never have enough free time to do this. Or I might just get fired. That might be inevitable anyway.”
I took in a deep breath. As my lungs emptied, I tried thinking about life without my CPS job. It was a love/hate setup. I loved the kids, ensuring kids were safe, even watching parents figure out life to the point of getting their kids back. But there were parts of the job that were hard to stomach, not the least of which being the hardcore bureaucracy. And of course there was Hubbard.
Sipping from my third cup of coffee of the day, I noticed a man walking up in a long trench coat and a New York Yankees cap, the brim pulled low.
“I can’t believe it,” I said, standing up to greet Stan. He had called just as we left my apartment to say he had found evidence that would prove Miguel’s innocence. It was hard to contain my excitement, and then I told him about our decision to use the media to expose this new evidence about Russell. He wasn’t keen on our idea, but he couldn’t come up with an alternative approach, so he’d grudgingly agreed to meet us at this park.
Zahera pushed back from the table when she saw him. “Whoa, I thought you were a flasher for a second.” She winked at him, giggling.
I put my hand on his arm and could quickly see Stan was anything but jovial. After inspecting the woods behind us for a second, he sat down on my side of the picnic table, ensuring he could see down the trail in both directions. “Do you mind keeping an eye on the woods?” he asked Zahera. “I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.” He shifted his sights in both directions, as if he were watching a tennis match. “Who’s the kid?”
“Long story, but it connects with the information Cristina got from Damon last night.”
Keeping his gaze on the pair running around the tree, Stan said, “That girl’s got balls.”
“It’s how she survives every day.” I knew that mindset well.
A moment later, a tall man carrying a backpack approached the gazebo. I nodded at Zahera, who got up and gave Carlos a hug. He joined us at the table, pausing for a second when we introduced him to Stan.
“Are you supposed to be Deep Throat?”
Zahera snorted out a laugh, but Stan offered nothing more than a blank stare. “Easy for you to say. Your reputation and livelihood aren’t on the line.”
Carlos opened a notepad and set his phone in the middle of the table.
Stan held up two hands. “No way you’re recording me. If you turn that on, I’m out,” he said, wiping his face.
Carlos glanced at Zahera and then back to Stan. “Zahera said you have evidence that could free a little kid from a murder charge.”
“Voluntary manslaughter,” Stan said with some defiance in his voice.
“I can see you’re stressed—”
“I’m not sure you understand, Carlos. If my name gets out, I don’t just lose my job—which supports a child with special needs—I get blacklisted. Every cop in the country will see me as a rat.”
“Every?” Zahera asked.
Stan turned his cold stare to her, his palms face down on the table.
“I’m just saying that might be an over-exaggeration,” she said to him. “There are cops out there who want to expose the ones who skirt the law, like Huerta.”
“Okay, not everyone. But a large percentage.”
“Hold on,” I said. “We’re all here for a reason.”
“To get a scoop?” Carlos said, eyebrows raised.
“To right a wrong. To share information about Russell Gideon that will hopefully force authorities to reopen the investigation. And to keep Miguel out of jail. So let’s drop all the petty stuff and trust each other, okay?”
Everyone nodded, not another word was spoken on the topic of mistrust.
Carlos pocketed his phone, then pulled a pen from behind his ear and touched his notepad. “I just want to know what kind of information would lead to dropping the charges against Miguel?” he asked. “He admitted to killing Tommy Gideon, and it was corroborated by Monique Gideon. What am I missing?”
“Lots to share about Monique, Damon, and their interactions with her adoptive dad, Russell,” I said.
“Adoptive dad? Didn’t know she was adopted.” Carlos’s round eyes bugged out.
“Let’s not bury the headline here,” Zahera said. “Stan?”
He licked his lips. “After Ivy and I spoke late last night, I went back into the office. It was almost deserted, aside from janitors and a few uniforms filling out forms.” He glanced over at Cristina and Joey, then said, “I started thinking, and that got me pissed.”
“At what?” I asked.
“At whom. At Huerta, mainly. He’s purposely kept me out of the loop; didn’t respect me enough to get my opinion on any of this. It’s been stressing me out,” he said. “So I took a walk.”
“Around the neighborhood?” Zahera asked.
Stan gave her the look. “I took a casual stroll around the station.”
“Casual?” I asked.
He nodded. “That’s when I stumbled on an office that hasn’t been used in over two years, ever since a flood caved in the ceiling. The moment I looked at everything on the whiteboards, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest.”
Cristina walked up as he paused to clear his throat. Joey was just outside the gazebo, playing with a couple of sticks.
Stan cleared his throat. “It’s obvious that little fucker, Huerta, has been using that office as his personal war room.”
Carlos made notes, and Stan focused on every stroke the pen made, but he refrained from making a snide comment.
“What did you find, Stan?” I scooted closer.
“The timeline. The one that shows the series of events from the first gunshot to the last.”
“The same one Huerta and the DA referenced in the press conference that showed Miguel could have shot Tommy and then made it back to the living room?” Carlos asked.
“Allegedly,” I added.
Stan pulled his phone out from his coat’s side pocket and opened his photo app. “I took a couple of quick pictures.” He scrolled to the right, then set the phone in the middle of the table. “Hard to see much unless you zoom in. But if you assume that the start of the events began with Tommy being shot, Miguel would have only had two point five seconds to make it into the living room against that wall where we found him before the last shot—if we’re to assume the last gunshot is the one that grazed Miguel in the shoulder.”
Carlos put two fingers on the phone and stretched the screen so that it would zoom in on the whiteboard.
Stan continued. “Huerta apparently ran several tests in the house, which you can see
outlined in the second picture if you scroll to the right. The fastest any adult could make it to the same location where Miguel was found was three point five seconds. No way Miguel would have been any quicker. He couldn’t have killed Tommy. Plain and simple.”
“Huerta pinned Tommy’s death on Miguel, knowing he didn’t do it,” I said, my mind still trying to comprehend that a sworn officer of the law would do such a thing.
“What would make him do that?” Zahera asked, shaking her head.
“You think I have issues,” Cristina said. “This former IA fucker has issues. If I come across that guy on the street, I’m going to cut him up.” She gritted her teeth, which drew stares from around the table.
I looked at Carlos, who was writing something on his notepad. Then he raised his head.
“Can I use these photos in my package?”
“Your package?” Cristina snickered.
“A package. It’s a term in the TV news business for the full story, with video, voice-over, the whole works,” he said, turning his gaze back to Stan. “Can I use them?”
Stan huffed out a breath. “I just can’t take the risk.”
Carlos opened both hands, his face showing exasperation.
“What if Carlos were to draw out the timeline himself?”
Stan turned away and stared for a moment at Joey , who was sitting on the ground, stacking rocks. When he turned back around, he said, “I think I’m comfortable with that.”
Nodding, I said, “Carlos, then you can say that the timeline—”
“I’ll just have my graphics guy do it. It will look better.”
“And you say you got this from an anonymous source,” Stan said as more of a statement than question.
“How about a person close to the investigation?” Carlos countered.
Stan repositioned his cap on his head. “A person with knowledge of the investigation. I wasn’t close to shit,” he said with a forced chuckle.
Carlos made another note, then looked back up, holding his pen at eye level. “I talked to my producer on the way over here. Told her we might have a story that could turn this investigation upside down. Corruption on the highest order. So my question is why? Why would Huerta do this?”
“In my opinion, he probably took the first bit of evidence and assumed it was the truth,” Stan said. “He shared his assumptions about Miguel’s guilt early on, as if they were facts, to a lot of folks, even me. Then when it was proven wrong, he couldn’t go back and say his instincts were off. He’d look like an idiot to everyone in the department, and to the DA.”
“This man must have a small penis,” Zahera said.
“If he doesn’t, I’m going to cut it off.” Cristina pounded a fist into her opposite hand.
I did a double-take on Cristina.
“I’ll need to give Huerta and Ballard a chance to comment on this new information before the five o’clock news,” Carlos said, eyeing each of us in turn.
“I figured as much,” Stan said, and then he looked at me. “Maybe you and I can meet at a bar later, watch Carlos do his thing, and then toast the end of our jobs.”
I smacked his shoulder. “You sound like me, Stan. I think it will all work out. But I might take you up on that drink.”
“Hold up. We’re just getting started,” Carlos said. “Monique Gideon had corroborated Miguel’s admission of guilt, which might have been why Huerta so easily jumped to his conclusion.”
“She said that Tommy was taking up for her, since Miguel had coerced her into doing some pretty sick things,” I said. “But Cristina got Damon to admit that Russell has been raping Monique for years, all in exchange for drugs. At this point, I can’t believe anything Monique said about Miguel, especially since her interview with Huerta took place with Russell in the room.”
“It was just Russell in there with Monique, not her mom, Gwen, right?” Carlos asked.
Stan nodded. Carlos dropped his pen on the table, staring at Cristina. “Tell me you got this audio-recorded.”
“Sorry, dude.”
“Can I use your name?”
“Only if you want to find me stabbed to death tomorrow morning,” she said.
“Another anonymous source. That’s what I’ll use.” He scribbled on his pad. “The real question is, if Miguel didn’t kill Tommy, then are we to assume it was his dad, Matt?”
Sighs from all around the table until Stan spoke up. “It makes the most sense, logistically speaking, according to the timeline. It was his gun that killed Tommy—they found the gun next to him in the kitchen, and of course he was positive for GSR. The guy was completely unhinged, angry at the system. Who else had motive, assuming Monique’s story is nonsense? And let’s not forget he had killed his wife just hours before.”
“I can’t disagree with what we know as fact,” I said. “But besides getting Miguel out, we just want the case reopened and thoroughly investigated using the full resources of the San Antonio Police Department and the Bexar County DA’s Office.”
“Might need to bring in FBI, just for a trust factor,” Stan said.
Carlos made another note.
“Let’s not forget about our buddy, Russell.” I then explained to Carlos the info we’d collectively learned about Russell—his high-volume travel schedule and the fact he had returned to San Antonio the day before the hostage situation but had chosen to stay in a fleabag motel.
“But he wasn’t even at the house, so how could he have killed Tommy? He didn’t want to kill his own son, right?” Carlos chewed on the end of his pen.
“Russell wasn’t there, period. It doesn’t make sense to debate something that could not have happened,” Stan said.
“But we can’t let what Russell has done be swept away either. At the least, he raped his own daughter. He was involved in drugs. Who knows, he might have done the same thing with other girls he knew he could control.”
Cristina twitched, and then I saw her eyes drift to the rafters of the gazebo. I wanted to ask her if something had sparked a memory from her past, but I didn’t want to put her on the spot. We’d talk later.
We all stood, Carlos flipping pages on his notepad.
Zahera walked by me on her way to Joey, then stopped and flicked my arm. “Ivy, you forgot to bring up the break-in at your apartment, how you thought Zorro had been killed, and the creepy note left behind.”
“What the hell, Ivy?” Stan said.
Zahera went on to quote the note verbatim—her photographic memory was off the charts sometimes.
He looked at me, aghast. “You didn’t call me?”
“You were at home, Stan. You do have a life. I called the cops, though, and filed a report.”
His beady eyes narrowed. “Who in this shit-pile of an investigation would take it that far, to threaten your life?”
Carlos was watching our conversation intently. “No one has a theory?”
Silence.
“Okay, I have one,” Zahera said. “How about Russell? You guys were digging into his life, calling his boss, and really uncovering what might be considered a secret second life. That might be motive right there.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “He didn’t seem like the violent type to me,” I said. “But if he’s doing all of that other freaky shit, anything is possible, I suppose.”
Joey ran over and tugged on my jeans. “Ice cream,” he said with a big smile.
I wanted to give him one more ice cream treat before I took him to CPS.
“Carlos-watching party at Ernesto’s?” Zahera asked.
I could see Cristina off to the side, deep in thought.
“And you’re welcome to join us, Cristina. I can order you a Shirley Temple,” Zahera added.
Cristina rolled her eyes—her automatic response to anything Z.
32
The clink of glasses brought my attention back to the bar. With familiar voices talking all around me, I sipped my lemon-drop martini—Zahera had gotten me hooked two summers ago—and found my reflec
tion in the mirror behind the pyramid of liquor bottles. My frizzy hair halo had evolved to the point where it looked like I’d stuck my finger in an electrical socket. Dark shadows hovered under my tired eyes.
It had been a hell of a day, starting with having to process little Joey. I actually felt a tug at my heart when I let him go into Joanna’s arms. He was screaming for more ice cream. Immediately after that emotional goodbye, I was summoned into Hubbard’s office where she handed me a slip of paper that notified me of my termination, effective immediately. No discussion, no questions, just a slip of paper. I thought about telling her what we’d learned about the rush to charge Miguel and how his charges would likely be dropped, Russell’s criminal acts against his adopted daughter, and how the whole case would implode. But something inside told me not to speak up. Something told me I couldn’t do it anymore. Or that I shouldn’t do it anymore.
“There’s the teaser with Carlos standing outside police headquarters,” Zahera said, nudging my arm to look at the TV, which was perched in the corner of the same establishment where I’d shared a meaningful conversation with Saul.
“I’m here. I see it.”
“You’re here, but not really here.” She flipped her long, silky hair over her shoulder to face me. “Hubbard is an ass. I have this lawyer friend, one of the few good ones out there, who specializes in wrongful termination.”
“Thank you, Z, but it’s really not necessary. I think this was meant to be. I might be subdued, but for the first time in a while, I feel like I can finally breathe. And it feels good.”
An attractive man wearing an expensive suit walked by and winked at Zahera, who promptly crossed her shapely legs. She leaned closer to me while keeping her eyes on the man. “You need to get yourself one of those,” she said. “In fact, I’d feel better if you did have a boyfriend like him…to take care of all your needs.”
She nudged my arm again and I smiled. “I’m not going there.” I thought of Saul again, and my heart skipped a beat.
“Seriously, Ivy, after what happened to Zorro and that threatening note, you need to protect yourself. Either you get a man, or you move in with me.”
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 20
