by Jordan Dane
Now, Becca held back tears and forced the nightmare from her mind. She pressed cold, trembling hands to her face as if she could wipe it all away. The trauma of her close call with death had been the culmination of an exhausting siege to her psyche that had started with Danielle's abduction. She understood the consequences of the ordeal, but living through it was another story.
A faint sound poked at the edges of her awareness. And a light pierced the dark. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The hospital room came back into focus. And she heard it again.
"Are you okay?" A whisper.
She turned toward the hospital bed and saw her sister.
"Becca. You okay?" Dani asked again.
She got up from her chair and stretched her back, walking toward the bed with a show of nonchalance she didn't feel. Becca still couldn't believe it. Dani was really here.
Bruises mottled her sister's body, and the dark circles beneath her eyes made her pale skin look gray and pasty under the dimmed hospital lights. Yet the most startling change was in her eyes. The natural twinkle of youthful innocence had been stripped away. Haunted eyes stared back, made old before their time. The stark change in Danielle broke her heart.
But Becca had another chance to do something about it and redeem herself with her family. Near the window, Momma lay curled up on a cot, fast asleep, the most content she'd seen her face in a very long time. Seeing her family together again, Becca wanted to pinch herself, to make sure she was really awake.
"Go back to sleep. It's still early." She smiled and stroked her sister's hair, leaning over to kiss her forehead.
"You've been crying." Dani reached a hand to her cheek.
Becca hadn't realized her tears showed on the outside. She wiped her face and took a deep breath. The cobwebs of her nightmare had crumbled but lurked under her skin.
"I'm okay, really. Nothing for you to worry about, Dani." Becca reassured her in a hushed tone, but a rush of emotion brought the tears back with a vengeance. "I can't believe . . . you're really here."
Dani's blue eyes pooled and her lips trembled. "Me too."
She knew her sister. Dani couldn't talk about it. Not yet.
"Excuse me. Detective Montgomery?"
Becca turned to see a nurse standing at the doorway. "Yes."
"I have a call for you at the nurse's station," she whispered. "Detective Paul Murphy. He didn't want to disturb your family by ringing the room directly. Would you like the call forwarded here or . . ."
"No, I'll take it out there. I'll be right behind you. Thanks."
Becca turned back to Dani and shrugged. "I've got to take this. I may be gone for a while, but I'll be back real soon, honey. You get some sleep, okay?" With drowsy eyes, Dani lifted a corner of her mouth, a fleeting smile. Becca kissed her sister's cheek and walked out the door.
She knew why Murphy had called so early. Last night, she asked for his help to close the Marquez case. Since it had been reassigned to him, Becca proposed they team up. But the paperwork would show it was all Murphy. A fair trade. In her mind, it didn't matter who got credit for the collar. Finding Isabel's killer had always been her greatest priority.
And with the morning papers no doubt carrying the story of the warehouse siege, time would be critical. She didn't want her suspect to rabbit out of town. When she got to the station, the nurse gestured for her to take the white phone on the counter.
"Murphy? It's Becca."
"We've got your suspect Mirandized and in custody. Interrogation room number 3. No one in or out, like you said. We'll be ready when you are."
"No lawyer?"
"Not so far."
"Okay, I'm on my way."
A fine line. It would come down to how well she walked one. Becca had nothing more than circumstantial evidence in her bag of tricks for a seven-year-old murder investigation. A necklace of dubious ownership found with the bones, contradictory interviews between potential suspects, and a dead man's version of the truth. She needed an undeniable confession that would hold up in court. Everything by the book. And yet, she'd have to pull out all the stops to manipulate her suspect into admitting to murder. A tough sell.
She opened the door to a room adjacent to interrogation room number 3. In the dark stood Paul Murphy in a rumpled suit that looked like he'd slept in it. He probably had. The pale light coming through the two-way mirror in the next room outlined his silhouette. He glanced over as she entered, then shifted his focus back to the woman sitting at the interrogation table. Sonja Garza.
"Hey, Becca. We took her cigarettes and lighter, told her about the ban on smoking in the building. That pissed her off. She's been stewing for almost an hour. Apparently, she's not a morning person either."
"An early-morning house call from the SAPD would tend to ruin your day."
It looked like Sonja had thrown on whatever lay crumpled on her floor. Or maybe she'd slept in her wrinkled white T-shirt and threw on jeans and an unzipped hooded sweat jacket to get out the door with an impatient Murphy. Either way, the dingy T-shirt made her skin appear washed-out under the fluorescent lights. And without her usual dark-eyed makeup, she lost five years. Becca pictured the girl she'd been in high school.
But most of all, Sonja lacked her usual edge. She picked at the chipped nail polish on her hands, looking bored. A complete contradiction to the fidgety nervous behavior she tried to hide. Jaw flinching, anxious eyes unable to stay focused for long. And without her smokes, Becca imagined Sonja's skin crawled with the ants of her nicotine addiction.
"She looks pretty ripe. How do you wanna play this?"
"Sonja and I have a rapport from the times I've interviewed her. But she's lied to me, thinks she can do it again. I'm gonna nail her this time." Becca shifted her gaze to Murphy. "I need this interrogation to go off without a hitch, Paul. I've got less than zero on evidence, circumstantial at best. The DA will want more. I need a confession, and it's got to be solid."
"How are we gonna get it?"
She liked hearing Murphy use the word "we." Considering she had wanted to rearrange his face once, and he'd probably had similar sentiments, they had come a long way.
"Matt Brogan is going to help."
"The dead guy?" Murphy stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. Maybe she had.
"Yeah. I have no intention of resurrecting the bastard, but he's going to make a brief comeback. Brogan'll play his part in nailing Sonja one last time. And I suspect he'd appreciate the irony."
Becca explained her game plan. Armed with little more than a heaping mound of horse hockey and nerve to match, she walked into the interrogation room with Murphy.
"Well, it's about time. I've been waitin' over an hour." Sonja's eyes flared, her jaw tight.
"Yeah, sorry about that. But I'm sure we'll be able to wrap this up pretty quick with your cooperation." Becca sat across from Sonja and pointed a hand toward Murphy. "I'm sure you've met . . ."
"Yeah, yeah. Detective Muscle for Brains. Cooperation on what?"
Murphy glared at the woman and stood with hands in his pants pockets. He liked to move around the room, forcing her to watch him.
"We have a few questions for you, regarding Isabel Marquez. Detective Murphy has read you your rights. Do you want an attorney present during this interview?"
Sonja sagged into her chair, her eyes looking from Becca to Murphy. "I got nothin' to hide. No, I don't need no lawyer. Let's get this over with."
It always amazed Becca how frequently suspects waived their rights to an attorney to appear as if they had nothing to hide. Nothing like cop shows on TV. Becca had counted on Sonja's doing exactly that. And she didn't disappoint. In a show of apathy, the woman pulled at a strand of her hair and inspected it for split ends. No doubt a poor substitute for a cigarette.
All interrogation room interviews were videotaped and recorded to document the process and the treatment of the suspect. Special permission from the detainee was not required. Becca aimed to record irrefutable evidence to be used in court by
the district attorney and avoid the pitfalls of making a contribution for the defense.
After she asked Sonja a few questions to establish her relationship with the dead girl for the record, Becca hit her with the first nail in her coffin. She knew Sonja would lie straight up, the start of her slippery slope.
"When was the last time you saw Matt Brogan?"
The shocked and indignant expression on Sonja's face told Becca she had struck a chord. She gave her the opportunity to tell the truth, knowing the woman would choose a different path. Lying had become far too easy for Sonja, a weakness Becca hoped to capitalize on.
"You mean the guy that raped me?" She flung both hands in the air and shook her head, a display of exasperation. "Do you think I got him on my speed dial? I can't pinpoint the exact date, but the night he raped me would be close enough, wouldn't it?"
"So approximately seven years ago. Is that correct?" Becca leaned on the table, forcing Sonja to meet her eyes.
"Yeah."
"And you haven't seen him since that night?"
"No, thank God. Like I told you before, people with money don't exactly travel in my social circle. Why? I thought this was about Isabel."
Murphy walked behind Becca and caught Sonja's attention, a distraction from the woman's question. She returned his glare, her outward hostility toward him showing, the man who stole her smokes and woke her too damned early. Now he slouched against the wall with the two-way mirror, playing his head game . . . and loving it.
"And you also said Isabel Marquez tried to recruit you into prostitution, to work for Matt Brogan. But you turned her down because you couldn't go through with it. Is that an accurate statement?"
"Yeah, sure." She fidgeted in her seat and heaved a dramatic sigh, latching her eyes on to Murphy. "What did you do with my smokes, man? I better get 'em back. They cost money."
"Smoking is banned in the building. We wouldn't want you to break any laws while you're here." He slathered on the sarcasm.
Sonja rolled her eyes and sank into her chair, ignoring him again. Becca knew how tough a job that was.
"Look, I already told you all this," the young woman said.
"Yes, you did. And you also told me Isabel arranged for you to attend a party at the Cavanaugh estate around that same time. Can you tell me about it?"
Sonja regurgitated the same story she had told Becca before, nearly verbatim.
"So Matt Brogan insisted Isabel set you up. He raped you and allowed others at the party to do the same. Is that true?"
"Yeah, Isabel set me up all right. And she left me there . . . with them."
"And even though you believed you were drugged, you remember enough of the incident to make this claim."
"You don't forget somethin' like this, lady. I still get nightmares."
"Why do you think she did it?"
"Because of Brogan. He's a mean son of a bitch. When he wants somethin', he gets it."
"And he wanted you." Becca didn't bother to attach a question to her statement, knowing Sonja couldn't resist elaborating.
"Yeah, he wanted me all right. He wanted what he couldn't have otherwise. Guys like that don't take no for an answer. I found out the hard way."
"How did Isabel feel about Brogan's interest in you? Did she ever act jealous?"
Sonja raised her voice and clenched her fists on the table until her knuckles went white.
"She hated it! The bastard never got enough. For him, an innocent young girl had a target on her back. Fair game and open season year-round. Isabel despised him for it, but she was too weak to say no and walk away. For whatever reason, she needed him like an addict needs a fix. Running with a guy like that? She was bound to get into trouble."
A glimpse of personal truth. Becca knew with the right question, centered on Sonja's feelings for Brogan, the woman might project her own emotion onto Isabel, a coy game. She liked to dangle a bit of truth in front of Becca, her pattern of lying.
"And he was the one who bought her the expensive gold necklace, the one with a pendant shaped like a heart with diamonds on it. Isabel told you Brogan bought it for her, right?"
"Yeah, she did. She bragged about it in fact. Tried to tell me if I worked for him, I could have the same things, like it would be enough." Sonja leaned her elbows onto the table, her eyes fixed on Becca. "You know, you should really be talking to Brogan about all this. But you promised to keep my name out of it. He'd kill me if he knew. You won't tell him, will you?"
"No, he won't be hearing it from me." Becca raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. Behind her, Murphy cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.
"'Cause I think the son of a bitch killed Isabel and dumped the body where no one would find it. She knew too much. I don't know how or where he did it, but I got a gut feeling he's behind it." Sonja narrowed her eyes. "Hey, why all the questions about Matt Brogan? Sounds like you believe me. He's a sick, twisted guy."
"No more twisted than a woman who arranges a rendezvous with the bastard who raped her seven years ago. A little mattress mambo at a fleabag motel off Guadalupe Street sounds like more than just talk. It sounds like a history of lies and cover-ups."
Sonja's eyes grew wide, and her mouth opened. Her face twitched with a nervous tic of her lips.
Murphy turned a chair around next to Sonja, and straddled it, his elbows on the backrest. "Maybe you got a different definition of hard feelings. Sounds real cozy to me."
"You see where I'm coming from, Sonja?" Becca gestured with her hands. "Matt Brogan is hard to shut up once he gets going, especially when he's got a different version of the truth. And you lying to Murphy and me is proof enough you're hiding something. You've already lied about how well you knew the man who allegedly raped you. Hell, for all we know you've got him on your Christmas card list. That makes no sense if what you said is true. He didn't rape you."
"He told you that?"
"And a lot more. Care to revise any of your previous statements?" Becca asked.
"Matt's here? God, is he pissed?"
"He's been better." Becca cocked her head to one side.
A panicked look spread across Sonja's face. "If he knows I said anythin', he'll kill me."
"You should have thought about that before you lied to me . . . and implicated him."
Implying a dead guy was alive and kicking wouldn't play too well with the church crowd. But police used all sorts of tactics to get a confession, part of the fine line Becca walked. This session would be recorded and used in court. If the defense screamed foul, they would be opening a nasty can of worms about Son-ja's relationship to Brogan, allowing the prosecution to pick at an old festering wound in front of a jury. It wouldn't be worth the risk.
Sonja raked fingers through her hair, then clasped her hands to the back of her neck. She looked deep in thought, considering her options and taking a stroll through her maze of lies. The woman released her grip and let her arms land on the table with a thump.
"You lied about the necklace, too." Becca rocked forward on the edge of her seat and watched the color drain from Sonja's face. "Brogan said so. And considering he's the one who allegedly bought the thing according to you, that's another strike against your version of reality. The guy's got a pretty healthy ego, but with your track record of lying, I'd say he's the odds-on favorite to pull ahead in the stretch. And as for him raping you? He said he never needed to. You were all over him."
"The rape happened. I swear."
For the first time, a tear rolled down Sonja's cheek. Before yesterday, Becca might have believed she'd been capable of remorse, but not today.
"Oh, Matt had plenty to say about the rape."
"He told you?" Sonja asked, shock on her face. She winced and wrapped her arms over her chest and rocked back and forth. After a long moment, she opened up. "He forced me to get Isabel to the party. You don't know what he's like."
"You knew Isabel would be raped. You could've said no."
"Not to Brogan." Her eyes glazed over. "Isabe
l was the party. Him and his friends were waiting for us to get there . . . Isabel to get there. I slipped something into her drink, thinking it would make it easier for her to take it. And maybe she wouldn't know I had anything to do with what happened. But Brogan screwed that up, too. He kept her after the party . . . for his men. No drugs."
More tears, but Becca got the feeling these tasted bitter with regret, more from getting caught than any real remorse.
"He made me watch, you know." Sonja grimaced, and her lips trembled. "Matt, the guys at the party, and his men after . . . the bastard made me watch it all. I thought I loved him once, but you don't love a guy like him. He's a user."
Becca had a sudden appreciation for Sonja and Brogan's mutual attraction. But her heart ached for Isabel Marquez, the innocent girl caught in the middle. Her only fault was being a poor judge of character. And despite Rudy and Victor's efforts to protect their sister, the brothers couldn't be everywhere at once. At some point, they had to let go and hope Isabel would be safe and make the right choices. But that didn't happen. And Becca had a taste of how they must have felt after their worst imaginings had been trumped by the reality of her murder.
"What did she do? Threaten to go to the cops?"
"Not at first. I almost convinced her to forget it. I told her no one would believe her against rich guys like that. And she had no real proof it even happened. So much time had passed, but I guess it ate away at her. 'Cause after the argument she had with her brother Rudy, things changed."
"So you killed her."
Sonja shut her eyes tight and drew a frazzled breath. "It's just that . . . Isabel was gonna ruin everything. I couldn't let that happen." Silence. She clenched her teeth and stared off into space.
"Isabel was going to tell the police about her rape. Tell me what happened?"
"After her brother left the theater, she started talking about what happened at that fuckin' party. Right in the open. The workers took off after all the shouting, but anyone coulda heard her if they walked back in. She didn't care. Her brother Rudy got her all upset. Isabel never told him what happened, but she thought if she told the cops, it would be like confession and wipe her slate clean somehow. God would forgive her. She could be so stupid like that."
