No One Heard Her Scream no-1

by Jordan Dane

  "Sounds logical. What are your plans?"

  "Rudy Marquez, Isabel's brother, told me he saw his sister get into a Mercedes one night, along with a friend of hers, Sonja Garza. He followed them to Cavanaugh's estate."

  "No kidding. Could be a connection worth exploring, Becca."

  "Yeah, I thought so, too. I'll track down Sonja Garza later today."

  "Before I forget." He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a thick white envelope. "You received a couple of faxes. I thought they might have something to do with your theater case. I made copies for you but gave the originals to Murphy."

  "Yeah, I'm sure he was thrilled."

  Becca opened the envelope and looked at the contents. She had contacted Hans Muller's architectural firm and the subcontractor on the first renovation of the theater, asking for the roster of personnel on the job. The work coincided with the time frame of Isabel's disappearance. She spotted Rudy Marquez's name on the subcontractor's listing easily enough, but the architectural firm's statement would require some review. The billing of time had more detail. She wanted the invoicing for comparison against the subcontractor's payroll records. Becca shoved the documents back into the envelope and set it on the table by her plate.

  "Personnel records. I'll have to check them out. Thanks." She took her last bite of refried beans and set her fork down. Santiago had wiped his plate clean. "So tell me, Art. Why did you decide to help me?"

  The waitress slipped the check on their table and refilled their coffee cups. Santiago waited for the girl to finish and leave before he answered Becca's question.

  "Draper is an arrogant ass, and he's pissing on my jurisdiction. And you? You're one of mine. End of story." He shrugged. "And if he's got an informant on the inside, I don't want you getting wrapped up in the middle."

  Santiago stared at her for a moment, but after a while, he rolled his eyes and grinned.

  "You're probably gonna ignore my sage advice, so do me a favor. Don't fly solo on this one, Becca. If you need backup, call me. And just for grins, let's pretend I'm your supervisor. Keep me informed, will ya?" Without waiting for her reply, Santiago reached across the table and tossed her the check. "By the way, the tab's on you."

  "Thanks, Art. Remember this at my next evaluation. A raise would be nice."

  Before he took off, Santiago stood and fixed his eyes on her.

  "Without knowing more about this inside informant, I'd proceed with extreme caution. He might self-destruct in Draper's face. And with the stakes being so high, killing may become a part of the equation. Watch your back."

  Becca nodded and gave him a mock salute, pretending a show of humor she didn't feel.

  "Draper won't keep me apprised of every detail, only the big-ticket items if I press him. So I don't know how much help I'll be, but I'll do my best," he added.

  "You've already been a big help. Thanks, L.T. Nice to know you're on my side."

  She watched Santiago leave, but his words remained in her mind. Watch your back.

  In light of what she learned from the lieutenant, maybe her coercion of Galvan had been hasty, guided more by her libido. Would she heed Santiago's warning, or would she trust her own judgment of a man with soulful dark eyes and a gentle touch?

  Lieutenant Santiago could play the role of cavalry if she got herself painted into a dark and dangerous corner, but she still needed a wingman, someone on the inside of the investigation.

  The next time she met him, Becca would have to decide if she trusted Diego Galvan.

  Texas weather earned its notoriety for sudden change. Leaden clouds lumbered in for the late afternoon, with the rumble of thunder heard in the distance. The wind kicked up, not to be outdone.

  As she got out of her car, Becca looked toward the darkening horizon, hoping she'd be done before the onslaught of rain. Rush-hour traffic in San Antonio was tough enough, but an abrupt downpour would make it impossible. She had upgraded from sweatshirt and jeans to a rust-colored skirt and blazer, her gun at the small of her back in a holster. But given the weather, she might not have made the right choice. Becca turned her attention to an address she came to find and headed toward the building.

  Sonja Garza lived in a modest apartment down from Ingram Park Mall off the Loop 410 frontage road. The drone of traffic from the freeway groused in the background, a steady murmur. Gang signs had been spray-painted in black on the mailbox units, utility boxes, and a brick wall at the entrance to the parking lot. No one bothered to clean them up. They'd only reappear.

  Sparse shrubs and small patches of lawn were the only real color to the bland setting of white brick with a layer of dirt at its base and beige paint peeled by the sun. And if the drab, unkempt appearance to the complex didn't tell the tale, by the looks of the cars in the parking lot, rent must be cheap.

  With the smell of rain heavy in the air, Becca walked up the wrought-iron steps to the second floor, one of the units in the back of the parking lot. She knocked on the door marked 203.

  A young woman, with straight dark hair to her shoulders, answered the door. High cheekbones and a narrow chin with thin lips of glossy pink. Her almond-shaped eyes were outlined in smudged black, a bit much for daytime. The slender young woman wore faded blue jeans and a T-shirt in black under an oversized blue plaid shirt rolled at the sleeves. A black leather wristband. She had a pseudogrunge goth style that gave her an edge.

  "Sonja Garza?"

  "Yes." She narrowed her eyes and stood her ground at the door, playing the role of gatekeeper. Becca showed her badge.

  "My name is Detective Rebecca Montgomery with the San Antonio Police Department. I'd like to ask you some questions about Isabel Marquez."

  "Isabel?" she asked. Sonja looked as if she didn't know the name, but her questioning expression eventually faded to dread. "I was on my way out."

  "This will only take a minute," Becca insisted.

  It took a long moment for Sonja to shrug and back away from the doorway.

  "Come on in . . . for a minute." She tightened her jaw, and her posture tensed as Becca stepped through the door. "I'm not sure how much I can help, Detective Montgomery."

  The apartment was not very big. From the front door, Becca got a good picture of the whole place. A small living room and galley-style kitchen with one bedroom and bathroom to the rear. Chipped and uneven harvest gold linoleum butted up against dated brown shag carpet, with forgettable furnishings to match. The stale odor of cigarettes, grease, and cheap perfume lingered in the air. Dirty dishes lay in the sink alongside empty takeout Chinese cartons, a feast for the flies buzzing the room.

  Hard to believe Sonja Garza was only a few years younger than Becca. Different choices, another road taken. Depressing.

  When she noticed Becca canvassing the room, Sonja rolled her eyes, and said, "Maid doesn't come until tomorrow."

  Becca was afraid to sit down, but if she wanted to encourage Sonja's candor, she had to help the woman relax.

  "Yeah, same with mine." Becca smiled. "Hard to find good help these days."

  Sonja returned a quick grin and joined her on the sofa. She sat on the edge of the couch, looking like she'd rather be sitting in a dentist's chair, getting drilled for cavities.

  "Do you work, Sonja?"

  The young woman avoided her eyes. "No. Not right now. I got fired a week ago from a warehouse job, night shift. Alejandro Meat Packing. Guess now I have time for travel."

  Becca ignored her sarcasm. "How well did you know Isabel?"

  "We went to high school together. Knew a lot of the same people. Hung out sometimes," she replied, nodding like a bobblehead doll.

  Underneath the makeup, Becca saw the young girl Sonja might have been in high school. But the years had taken their toll, aged her through the eyes. An old soul.

  "Is there something new? Has Isabel been found?"

  "I'm looking into her missing persons case. When was the last time you saw her?"

  "We, umm . . ." Sonja stalled
and avoided eye contact. She crossed her legs and picked at the chipping polish on a fingernail, her stubby nails polished in black. "I can't remember. It's been too long ago."

  She had no preconceived notions about Sonja, but she hadn't expected to get the cold shoulder from a friend of Isabel's. Her evasive demeanor struck a chord. Becca searched for a way to get her talking.

  "Someone told me you and Isabel were friends. What did you used to do together?"

  "I don't see how me telling you about two kids shopping at North Star Mall is gonna help your investigation."

  When Sonja's attitude flared, Becca kept her cool. Not an easy trick.

  "Your insights might give me a better picture of Isabel. What can you tell me about her?"

  "What do you want to know exactly?"

  Answering a question with a question—not a good sign. Becca sat back, letting the young woman know she intended to stay a while. The rain started to pour outside. In no time, it battered the front window in waves. The sound only added unnecessary tension to a room filled with it.

  "Oh, I don't know. Basic questions like, who were some of her friends? Where did she like to hang out? Did she have any enemies? Was she dating anyone in particular? Things a friend should know."

  Becca couldn't help the edge to her voice. She was tired of playing games. But her new approach garnered the same resistance. Sonja glared in silence.

  "You're not being very helpful, Ms. Garza. That makes me wonder why." Becca prepared to take the gloves off. She needed answers, and Sonja looked like a girl who could provide them but chose not to.

  "Do I need a lawyer?"

  She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Sonja. "Not if you have nothing to hide."

  When the woman kept her silence, Becca added, "You want to take a ride downtown, make this official? Because I'll be more than happy to oblige. You've probably got your lawyer on speed dial. He can meet us."

  She shut her eyes and shook her head. "Look, before Isabel disappeared, we grew apart and things changed between us."

  As she talked, Sonja stood and walked into the kitchen to light a cigarette. She blew the smoke into the air with force.

  "How so?" Becca asked.

  "She . . . changed. She wasn't the person I thought, that's all." She shrugged, a hand stuffed into a pocket while the other held her cigarette.

  "You gotta give me more than that, Sonja," Becca pressed. "Before she disappeared, when was the last time you saw her?"

  "Months, I'd say." Her answer came without hesitation, punctuated by another shrug, the gesture du jour. Her improved memory did not go unnoticed by Becca, along with her contradiction of Rudy Marquez's story about the Mercedes.

  Sonja paced her small living room. She took a quick look out her front window, peeking at the rain through dingy Venetian blinds. An animal trapped in a tight cage of her own making. With the growing darkness outside, the room melded into shadow, a blessing as far as Becca was concerned. But eventually, Sonja flicked on a lamp, the pale yellow struggling to make a difference. Ignoring the deluge, the woman turned and flicked ashes to the floor, a question on her mind.

  "Why are you here, talking to me? I mean, it's not like me and Isabel were best friends."

  Time to turn up the heat. She stood and joined Sonja at the window. A crack of thunder made Becca's heart race, but she kept her face stern.

  "I have an eyewitness who saw you get into a Mercedes with Isabel the week before she disappeared. So if you lie to me, I'll know it. Now tell me what happened."

  Becca held her gaze rock steady and climbed into the girl's space, her discomfort zone. Sonja only flinched for an instant, but the attitude came back with gusto. She raised her chin in defiance. But soon, her eyes glistened with the onset of tears. The sudden change took Becca by surprise, a tough girl taken down a peg.

  "A Mercedes? I don't know anyone with that kind of car. Not then, not now. What's this about, Detective?" A tear slid down her face. Without hesitation, Sonja wiped it away. "Look, I'm telling you the truth. I don't know anything about Isabel and a Mercedes."

  Becca hung tough. She wasn't done with her bluff.

  "And your boyfriend, the one with expensive taste in cars? I suppose he never drove a high-priced ride like that."

  "I don't know who you've been talking to, but I never had a boyfriend with that much jack. Look at me ... at this dump. Does that make sense to you?"

  Sonja's shoulders took on the image of profound defeat. She retreated to the sofa and slumped into it. The girl had a point. Had Rudy lied to her about Cavanaugh's connection to Isabel? Why would he do that?

  "Back then, I dated some, but no one in particular. I wasn't exactly considered outgoing as a kid. I don't understand. What has this got to do with Isabel?"

  Her hardened expression melted into genuine concern. She looked lost. Becca joined her on the couch as the rain pelted the windowpane behind her.

  "I'm trying to establish a time line prior to her disappearance. What did you and Isabel argue about?"

  "What argument?"

  "You said you grew apart, but that usually translates to an argument of some kind." Becca smiled. "My sister and I used to . . ." She stopped herself. "Tell me what happened between the two of you."

  "There's nothing to tell, except . . ." No eye contact, but a dark trail colored her cheeks, makeup mixed with tears.

  "I'm listening." Becca edged nearer.

  "Look. Isabel and I were friends until she . . ." Sonja took a deep drag off her cigarette and blew the smoke into the air. With slender fingers, she swiped her face again. "Her mom is real sweet. I don't want her mother to find out."

  "Find out what?"

  Sonja leaned forward and stubbed out her cigarette onto a dirty plate. She collapsed back onto the sofa. With pain in her eyes, she began, "You gotta understand. Kids like us don't see a lot of cash. The money was tempting. I thought about going to college even. A real pipe dream for suckers, huh?" Bitter regret tainted her voice.

  "Cash for doing what?"

  "I don't want to get into trouble." She looked away, tears flowing. "No one can know."

  Becca reached for her hand, a gesture she couldn't resist. "Talk to me, Sonja. Tell me what happened." Becca used her first name, a deliberate move.

  A roll of thunder outside muffled quiet sobs. Sonja pulled her hand away, looking frail and thin. She crossed her arms over her chest, withdrawing into the past.

  "Did someone try to recruit you into prostitution, Sonja?"

  Becca took a chance by prompting her, not exactly following interview protocol. To get at the truth, she nudged Sonja and gambled on the prostitution angle. After a long moment, the young woman nodded and wiped her face with a sleeve, her eyes and cheeks red.

  "Who?" Becca inched closer. "Who did this to you?"

  She expected to hear Hunter Cavanaugh's name. Becca held her breath and fixed her eyes on the girl, waiting.

  Time stopped. Sonja drew a ragged breath and whispered her secret in shame.

  "Isabel Marquez."

  Lightning flashed across the blinds, trailed by a loud crack of thunder. A stunned Becca never heard the sound.

  CHAPTER8

  "I never did it. I couldn't," Sonja Garza confided as she stood, her arms wrapped around herself. "No one knows. I was so ashamed I even thought about it. That's why I lied to you before. Denial is so much easier than admitting it to myself. And I always believed Isabel would twist what happened, to get back at me if I said anything."

  The young woman walked toward the window and peeked through the blinds.

  "I never wanted Isabel's family to find out," she added. "What good would that do? They've suffered too much already. I didn't want to be the one who told."

  Becca knew what she meant. She'd seen the family's pain imprinted in the eyes of Hortense Marquez. And the brothers each carried his own burden.

  "You won't tell them, will you?" Sonja turned her head and looked back over her shoulder. "I don't think they cou
ld handle it."

  "Not sure I'll be able to keep a promise like that. Depends on how the investigation goes." Becca heard the compassion in Sonja's voice and wanted to reflect the same. "What happened? Tell me about Isabel."

  A low rumble of thunder and light filtered through the blinds, then vanished, casting the room back into shadows. The meager light from the lamp strained against the gloom, but at least the storm had lost its loud bluster. Sonja turned from the window and leaned against a wall. Her eyes stared straight through Becca. The past eclipsed a dreary afternoon.

  "She started hanging out with different people." Her voice was almost a whisper, choked by regret. "We grew apart, especially after she pushed so hard to get me to—"

  Sonja stopped and lowered her head. Becca distracted her with another question.

  "Who did she hang out with . . . exactly?"

  She thought for a long moment, then answered, "I never knew. And there were the rumors."

  "Rumors about what?" Becca asked.

  She joined Becca on the sofa and gripped a pillow to her chest.

  "Isabel came from a poor family, but all of a sudden, she flashed cash and wore expensive jewelry. I hated math in school, but even I knew how to add two and two."

  "She wore a gold necklace. You know anything about it?"

  "A gold necklace?" Sonja's brow furrowed.

  "Shaped like a heart with small diamonds on it," Becca clarified.

  Sonja swallowed hard, a look of surprise on her face. Eventually, she shook her head.

  "No, I don't know anything about it. I think I saw it on her once or twice. She may have worn it for a class photo. But I never knew where she got it."

  "Come on. You mean you weren't even curious enough to ask about it? If I saw my friend wearing a necklace like that, I'd want to know where she got it."

  "You have to understand, Detective. We weren't talking much by then. She was such a stranger . . . and anything like that only reminded me how she earned it."

  Her tears flowed again, more tragic in light of the distinct rhythm of the rain. A gentle patter doused the pane, lingering in the wake of the storm. She reached for Sonja's thin shoulder and stroked it with her fingertips, a reminder she wasn't alone. This time, Sonja didn't pull away.