by Diane Kelly
“Got it. Now for the baskets themselves. Should they be an actual basket? Bonnie thought a tin planter would be a cute alternative. We could add a cut flower in a vase or maybe one of those little succulent plants? A flowering portulaca would be nice. That way they could take it home as a keepsake.”
They sure had put a lot of thought into this, hadn’t they? Far more than I ever would have, given the limitations in my time and creativity. “The tins sound wonderful.”
“Good. I liked that idea, too. We’ve been debating whether to add something for the bath. Maybe some lavender lotion or bath oil?”
“Lavender lotion would be great.”
“Or would you prefer a different scent? Maybe jasmine or vanilla?”
“Lavender is fine.”
“Are you sure?”
The only thing I was sure of was that all of these details were making me think that Ajay and Christina had the right idea running off to Vegas and keeping things simple. “I’m sure, Mom. Lavender is perfect.”
“All righty. By the way, I took Jesse shopping for flower girl dresses. We found a pretty little purple one that will match your wedding colors. But you know Jesse.”
Of course I knew my little niece. She was a three-and-a-half-foot-tall, much younger version of me, full of piss and vinegar and sugar and spice and puppy dog tails. Hey, puppy dog tails weren’t just for boys anymore. Hooray for gender equality!
“And?” I asked.
“And she doesn’t want to wear fancy shoes. She’s insisting on wearing her pink cowgirl boots with her dress.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I wouldn’t want her in anything else.” Heck, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her in anything else. She even slept in the boots on occasion.
“I’ve been looking at mother-of-the-bride dresses online. Some of them sure are dowdy. But I found a few pretty ones, too. I’ll send you the links. Let me know what you think.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “Hey, by any chance have you and Bonnie planned to rent a party bus to take people from Dallas to Nacogdoches?”
“No,” she said, “but that’s a wonderful idea! It sure would make things easier for the guests. We could stock the bus with Bonnie’s peach sangria, maybe play some movies or games on the ride out, and make it a real fun time for everyone. I’ll look into it.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of this. Had Madam Magnolia actually predicted the future, or had she just manipulated it? Hmm … My mind went round and round, much like the wheels on a bus.
We made small talk for a couple more minutes, then I begged off. “Gotta go. But thanks for everything, Mom,” I said with complete sincerity. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for all the effort you’re putting into the wedding plans.”
“Just give me a couple of cute grandchildren I can dote on and we’ll call it even.”
Jeez. I wasn’t even down the aisle yet and already my mother was talking babies. I only hoped I could be half the mother to my own kids that my mom had been to me.
We ended the call with mutual declarations of “Love you!”
As much as I wanted to return to Amor y Vengaza and see what happened between Isidora and the barista, I’d have to wait to find out. I needed to get my butt to bed. After staying up late last night, I was totally pooped. Besides, tomorrow night a bunch of us were heading to Las Vegas for Christina and Ajay’s wedding. I didn’t want to be too wiped out to have fun.
I scooped Anne up in my arms and headed upstairs to bed.
chapter twenty-five
Put in Your Batteries!
Friday morning, I scrambled around my place, rounding up a pair of jeans, shoes, and a couple of cute tops for the weekend in Vegas. I tossed a pair of heels and a red satin dress into my suitcase, too. They’d be the perfect thing to wear to a wedding in Sin City and the nightlife we’d enjoy afterward. Of course, my bikini went into the outside pocket. As hard as I’d worked all week I was looking forward to relaxing poolside, or maybe taking a late-night dip in a hot tub with a glass of wine in my hand. To hell with those warning signs about drinking alcohol in the Jacuzzi. Some risks were worth taking.
On my way out the door, I hid a key under the doormat for my neighbor, who promised not only to feed and water my cats and tend to their litter boxes, but also to give Annie some love and reassurance that her mommy would come back home shortly. Henry couldn’t give a rat’s ass whether he received any affection or whether I ever returned, being above such things. Nevertheless, I forced a hug and kiss on him before I left. He returned my love with a growl and hiss. “Ungrateful brat.” I chucked him affectionately under the chin.
As I pulled out of my driveway, a call came in from Agent Castaneda. I pulled to the curb to speak with him. I knew he’d planned to return to the Telephone Canyon area with the infrared cameras last night. Is he calling to tell me they’d found Nina, Larissa, and Yessenia? My heart fluttered with hope. Then it turned to stone. It was just as possible he’d found them, but that they’d no longer been alive. Ugh, I hate this case.
“Good morning,” I said. “Did you find the girls?”
“No,” he snapped. “And we lost Salvador Hidalgo.”
What?! “Lost Hidalgo? In jail?” How the hell could that have happened? Did he tunnel out with his toothbrush? Slither out through a sewage pipe?
“He made bail and was released in the middle of the night,” Castaneda explained.
Darn. I’d kinda hoped he had to swim through sewage. It would’ve served the rat right. “Who paid for the bail bond?”
“Allegedly his mother,” Castaneda said. “But she barely has two nickels to rub together. I bet the funds came from someone else.”
“Zaragoza?”
“Possibly,” he said. “We had an agent trail Hidalgo after he was released but he seemed to know he was being followed and pulled a fast one. He rented a car and drove to a twenty-four-hour restaurant in Alpine. He must’ve had someone meet him there with a car and change of clothes. My guy had eyes on the place, never noticed Hidalgo come out. When he didn’t see him for an hour or so, the agent went inside. He found Hidalgo’s clothing in the trash can in the men’s room.”
Dammit! “So there’s no telling where he is now.”
“No. He could still be in the area, or he could have snuck back into Mexico. I’ve got an agent watching his house in Dallas, and everyone along the border is on alert, but this guy’s a slippery bastard.”
The minute-by-minute evolution of an investigation is part of what kept the job of a federal law enforcement agent so interesting. But it was also part of what made it so frustrating. You never knew how things would turn out. You could luck into something and solve a case quickly, or you could work your ass off over weeks or months, years even, and have it all be for naught.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, issuing a silent prayer that no more lives would be lost before the guy could be tracked down and soon. The ransom on the kidnapped girls was due in three days. If he isn’t found before then …
“You’ll let me know once you find him?” Of course, my question assumed they would find him. That could be an incorrect assumption. But any other thought made me sick to my stomach.
“I sure will.”
“In the meantime,” I said, “I’ll get over to the courthouse and see about getting a search warrant for his bank records.”
“Good. Thanks.”
We ended the call, and I immediately placed another, this one to Ross O’Donnell, an attorney with the Department of Justice who regularly represented the IRS. “Hi, Ross,” I said. “Got time to trot over to the courthouse with me and get a search warrant?”
“No problem,” he said. “What is it this time?”
“Human smuggler named Salvador Hidalgo,” I said. “I need to get his bank records, see if they provide any evidence of unreported income.” I was fairly certain they would.
“You got a witness for me?” Ross asked. “Or some kind of supporting d
ocumentation?”
“Of course,” I said. After all, Judge Trumbull was a notorious hard-ass who leaned left. She didn’t hand out search warrants unless they were clearly, well, warranted. “I’ve got notarized affidavits from four Honduran citizens testifying that they paid Hidalgo eight grand each to smuggle them into the U.S. through Big Bend National Park. He also gave the men birth certificates, social security cards, and voter registration cards so that they could work here. I can show from the tax filings that there are multiple men across the U.S. working under the same names and social security numbers.”
“That ought to do us,” Ross said. “Meet me at the courthouse in fifteen minutes?”
“On my way.”
To speed things up at the courthouse security check, I left my gun, pepper spray, and cuffs at the office. Ross and I met in the courthouse lobby. We made our way through security together, patiently enduring the beeps as someone or other forgot to remove their belt or bracelet. A quick ride up in the elevator and a few steps down a hall, and we entered the courtroom over which Judge Alice Trumbull presided.
Judge Trumbull was, like my boss, a tough old broad. While Lu dyed her hair a bright strawberry blond, though, Judge Trumbull had allowed nature to take its course and let her hair go gray. She wore little makeup over her loose jowls. While she might not be the most attractive woman to ever grace a judicial bench, there was no denying she knew her business. She ran her courtroom with a practiced efficiency.
She spotted me and Ross walking in the door and raised her chin to let us know she’d get to us ASAP. When the witness who’d been testifying on the stand was dismissed, she held up a palm to the attorneys at the opposing tables facing her. “Hold on just a minute, folks,” she said. “We’ve got a federal agent back there who looks like she needs something.”
Ross and I strode quickly up to her bench.
“Special Agent Holloway is seeking a search warrant,” Ross said. “She’d like to see the bank records of a suspected human smuggler.”
“Human smuggler?” she repeated. “You mean like a trafficker? Sexual slavery?”
“No,” I said. Thank God. What Hidalgo did was bad enough. “This guy gets people across the border, but then they’re on their own.”
She frowned. “So you’re targeting undocumented immigrants? Aren’t there bigger fish for you to fry?”
“I understand where you’re coming from, Your Honor. The problem is, this smuggler’s been leaving people to die in the desert. We also suspect he’s responsible for the kidnapping of three girls who were being brought into the U.S.”
She held out her hand. “Let me see what you’ve got.”
I handed her the affidavits, tax records, and the photos of the girls, providing a quick oral synopsis of what she was looking at. “Border Patrol agents have suspected for some time that a man named Salvador Hidalgo has been smuggling people across the border, and they believe he was responsible for the deaths of several migrants found in Big Bend. The four men whose affidavits I’ve given you are from Honduras. They’ve told me that they paid Hidalgo several thousand dollars to bring them and their families across the Mexican border into the U.S. Border Patrol agents plan to arrest Hidalgo as soon as they can track him down. If I can get his bank records, I’ll be able to see if his financial transactions show the types of patterns consistent with human trafficking. It’s likely that he may also have failed to report the income he earned from his activities.”
She nodded and flipped through the pages, her eyes skimming over them. She glanced up at me. “These guys witnessed a murder in Honduras?”
“Yes,” I said. “The killers came to their homes and assaulted them a few days afterward. The men feared they’d be killed themselves if they stayed, maybe their families, too. That’s why they fled.”
Trumbull shook her head. “And I thought having my AC go out in my house was a life-and-death situation. First world problems, huh?”
“First world, indeed.”
She came to the photos of the girls. “Pretty young things,” she said softly. “Are these the girls who were kidnapped?”
I nodded. “A man phoned their aunt. She lives here in Dallas. She’d paid a man named Zaragoza to bring her nieces into the States. A gang member was putting pressure on the oldest to have a relationship with him.” I paused for a moment and let the silence say what I didn’t want to, what that relationship would have meant for the young woman. “They were kidnapped somewhere near the Texas-Mexico border. The ransom’s due Monday. The man who phoned said if it wasn’t paid the girls would never be seen again.”
She closed her eyes and put her hands over her face for a moment as if to shut out the harsh reality I’d just presented her with. Only her mouth was visible. Her mouth said, “Some days I hate this job.” She let out a loud sigh, removed her hands, and signed the search warrant. She handed the completed document back to me. “Go get him,” she said, “and save those girls.”
“Thanks, judge. We’ll do our best.”
With that, she turned her attention back to the attorneys waiting at the tables and the trial we’d interrupted. “The defense may call its next witness.”
Ross and I slunk quietly out of the room and made our way back out of the building, parting on the sidewalk out front.
He raised a hand in good-bye as he headed off. “Later.”
“Later.”
On my walk back to the office, I stopped by the main downtown location of the State Bank of Dallas and spoke with the manager, showing him the search warrant.
He read over the document and looked up at me, his expression curious, though he seemed to know better than to ask any questions. While I normally didn’t share information, in this instance lives were at stake and I could use the bank’s help in keeping an eye out for Hidalgo. I decided to break with protocol and give him the scoop.
“The accountant holder is engaged in human smuggling,” I said. “He abandoned several people in the west Texas desert. They didn’t all make it out alive. We also believe his network is responsible for the kidnapping of three girls.”
He eyes went wide in shock. “That’s awful!”
“It is. It’s also why we need to nail the guy as soon as possible.”
The manager complied immediately with the warrant, taking me back to his office where he printed out a complete record of Salvador Hidalgo’s account since it had been opened eight years ago. When the printer finally whirred to a stop, he pulled the warm stack off the machine, secured it with an extra-large binder clip, and handed it to me.
“Thanks. I appreciate your help.” I slid the thick stack of documentation into my briefcase.
“If there’s anything else I can do,” the manager said, “don’t hesitate to call.”
Might as well capitalize on his cooperative attitude, right? “There is one more thing you could do,” I said. “Can you let your staff know that if Salvador Hidalgo comes into the bank someone should call me immediately?”
“I sure can.”
I handed him a stack of my business cards, enough so that he could place one at each teller station.
“Have a good weekend,” I told the man as I left.
“You, too.”
Oh, I would. After all, I was off for a weekend of fun in Las Vegas. It was just the thing to take my mind off work for a while. Oh, who am I fooling? I won’t be able to stop thinking of those poor, defenseless girls.
I returned to the office and dug right into Salvador Hidalgo’s bank records. Any financial evidence that was indicative of human smuggling would be the icing on the cake, as would any additional tax evasion charges. Of course, I hoped we could spread some pretty thick icing on that cake. I wanted to see Hidalgo put away for a very long time, like, say, life.
Sure enough, the bank statements showed a clear pattern of transactions consistent with human smuggling, including cash deposits made by third parties, presumably families in America who paid Hidalgo to smuggle their loved ones i
nto the country. If the man surfaced again, he’d have a hard time refuting the hard evidence against him. While he made large withdrawals on a regular basis and hadn’t kept a significant balance in the account, the records showed he’d received funds totaling over one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars in each of the last several years. Of course, none of that income had been reported on his tax return. Yep, looked like tax evasion could be added to his list of charges. Neener-neener.
I scanned the documents and sent the computer files to Agent Castaneda via e-mail, following up with a text to let him know what I’d found. Bank records in your e-mail inbox. Clear evidence of tax evasion.
Having done all I could on the Hidalgo case, it was time to visit Laurie Murphy at the Small Business Administration in Fort Worth, which sat around thirty miles to the west of Dallas. But first, lunch. My stomach had been growling for the past few minutes, telling me it wanted to be filled. Some sweet potato fries sure would taste good about now.
I headed down the hall to see who might be available to ride over to Cowtown with me. Eddie was busy, but Hana Kim agreed to accompany me. She and I had worked a recent case together against a catfishing Casanova who’d found people on dating sites, gained their trust, then stolen funds from them through a check-cashing ploy. We’d had some fun taking the jerk down together.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked.
“Just look tough and intimidating,” I said.
She narrowed her eyes, flared her nostrils, and gritted her teeth. “How’s this?”
She looked like a bull about to charge. “Perfect.”
She gestured to my face as we headed out to my G-ride. “What’s with the orange glow?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t figure it out.”
“You think all those wasp bites had something to do with it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
On our way to Fort Worth, I drove through a hamburger joint to pick up an order of sweet potato fries. “You want anything?” I asked Hana as we idled at the drive-through menu board.
