The place reeked, and JT had seen enough. He stepped outside again.
“Do you have an ID?”
“Peter Chavez, friends call him Papi. Had a steady job for years, laid off, his wife left him and took the kids into Beaumont where she could work as a hairdresser. He’s been working for the last year at one of the refineries. Drinks too much—I’m sure ya’ll smelled that stink—and has been arrested a half dozen times for assault. Drunk bar fights. Spent six months in jail last time—nearly killed the guy with a broken beer bottle.” Garcia shook his head. “He sure pissed someone off.”
“He was executed,” JT said.
“That he was.”
“Did someone call in the gun shot?”
“Nope. His wife called it in at ten this morning—she was dropping off the kids for the weekend.”
In that disgusting pit?
Well, JT could imagine. There were times his mother hadn’t lived much better. When all you cared about was your next fix, you really didn’t care if your house was clean or stunk of your last regurgitated meal.
“The kids didn’t see that—did they?”
“She said no, I think she’s lying. But don’t matter, she gave her statement and I let her go before you got here.” Garcia had a calm, too calm and slow, way of talking. He sounded like a bumpkin cop, but that was either an act or just his personality. JT knew from Sean’s background on the guy that he’d graduated summa cum laude from Texas State University in Houston with a dual degree in criminal justice and biology. He’d served in the Army as an officer for ten years before leaving the military and becoming a cop.
“She has an alibi?”
“She didn’t kill him—she’s a hundred pounds soaking wet. I tested her hands for gunpowder residue, came up negative. Her alibi will be verified, no doubt, but I’ll follow through. Always do.” He paused, assessed the surroundings with sharp eyes. “We canvassed the neighbors, no one claimed to see anything. Might be lying, but it’ll be mighty hard to turn any of them. They don’t like us folks very much, though it’s gotten a bit better since my men and women have been helping rebuild. Disasters have that effect of bringing out the best and worst in people. Anyway, coroner said he’s been dead two to four hours. Hard to figure more exact since the humidity and heat messes with TOD, and our coroner is just a bit too cautious with his estimates. My guess? Smack dab in the middle and we’ll call it three hours.”
“Nine this morning?”
“Nope, that’s two to four when the coroner got here pretty close to the call, about eleven. So I’ll call it eight a.m., take or leave. I know where he likes to drink, one of the few bars that didn’t cut him off. Wanna come along for the ride?”
JT almost said no. But an execution in the small town of Port Arthur less than twenty-four hours after Hirsch shows up? Could be a coincidence. JT didn’t believe in coincidences.
He followed Garcia’s government-issue police Bronco. Before they entered the bar—which had opened at six a.m. and already had several cars in the lot—he asked, “You said Chavez has been in prison for assault. Any chance he could be involved in something more serious?”
“Like?”
“Sex trafficking.”
Garcia rubbed his mustache. “Can’t say. Wouldn’t think he was smart enough to pull something like that off, but he’s been known to frequent prostitutes.”
“Underage?”
Garcia’s expression shifted slightly. “These questions are mighty specific.”
“It’s why I’m here, Chief. My security company is helping the FBI track a sex trafficking ring and word is one of their principals is here in Port Arthur.”
“Well, let’s find out what Papi Chavez has been up to, shall we?”
The bartender didn’t want to talk to the police, but Garcia was persuasive and the man eventually gave up Gino Dominguez, a local pimp.
“Well, shit,” Garcia said in his southern drawl when they were back in the parking lot.
“Problem?”
“Gino is a tough nut to crack. Sure, I know he’s running girls, but he doesn’t run the young ’uns. I would know. I keep an eye on him a bit, but we have far more serious crimes here than a few hookers looking to make a buck. I ran him up for beating on one of his girls, told him if it happened again I’d be all in his business, and he’s been quiet.”
“So?”
“Well, I’ll tell ya, I’ll back your play, Mr. Caruso, but I have an idea, if you’ll trust me with it.”
JT’s patience was wearing thin, but Garcia had been more than helpful in including him this far along.
“Tell me the plan.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was shortly after noon when Sean called Lucy.
“Meyer’s on the move. Same black van he drove in with. I have no idea what he’s been doing for the last two hours, but he came in alone and he’s leaving alone. Unless someone is in back.”
“Brad posted an unmarked pick-up truck, an undercover car that looks like shit—his words, not mine—down the street. Rusty green and the back gate is missing. He’ll follow, you frog-leap him.”
Sean laughed. “I love you. It’s leapfrog.”
“Right. That’s what I meant. I gotta go, but keep me in the loop.”
She hung up. “Meyer is on the move,” she said to Brad.
“I know—my guy checked in. I sent him Sean’s make, model, and cell phone. Proctor is standing by.”
“He may not go to the house.”
“Wherever he goes, if it’s a private location, we’re taking him down,” Brad said. “Orders from Donovan.”
Lucy understood Kate’s reasoning, but it might not help them find the girls.
Still, Lucy was itching to interrogate him. She’d read his file, had a solid sense of his personality and how to make him flip.
Lucy was usually good at waiting, but now she was antsy.
They were so close to finding Hope.
Or not. You don’t know how long Meyer has been in San Antonio. He could have her anyplace in Texas. Anywhere in the south. He might have dumped her or sold her or have her working the streets in another city.
But he knew where she was three weeks ago. Lucy had to believe she could make him talk.
Her phone rang. Sean. She put him on speaker.
“You’re here with Brad, me, and his team.”
“Meyer pulled into a house right off Hackleberry. Smack dab in the middle of the neighborhood where you lost him.”
“It was three vans.”
“There’s a long driveway, garage is behind the house. I almost missed him, but I saw the garage door go down. The property is deep enough to conceal three vans.”
Brad told Sean, “Circle the block and stake out the north end. I’ll have my guy sit on the south. If he leaves, I want to know. I’m bringing in SWAT.
* * *
They staged the SWAT team one block over, out of line of sight of the house.
Nate was there—which pleased Lucy. Jason Lopez was also there, which made her nervous. What was he going to report to Rachel?
Do your job, Lucy, and stop thinking about office politics.
Leo Proctor and Brad were in charge, which made Lucy breathe easier.
“We have two men on the rear, and two men in an unmarked van in the front. We have civilians in houses surrounding Meyer. No good intel inside, but based on one Good Samaritan who was very chatty with Agent Kincaid earlier, six to eight women live on-site. The neighbor thought they were college girls. Came in all hours of the day and night.”
“Ginger?” Tia Mancini asked. She was there representing SAPD.
“No visual.”
Lucy said, “The house is owned by a company and managed by a local property management firm. We’re sending the names to the white collar agent on the task force hoping to get intel before we sweep them up into the net.”
Proctor said, “Donnelly and I assessed all entrances. There are three on the main house, two on the
garage. I have two men on each entrance, no exceptions. There are both hostiles and innocents inside, and I don’t want to see any blood. Kincaid, your plan.”
“Detective Mancini and I will approach the house with a warrant for Ginger’s arrest. We’ll be on open coms. The goal is to extract all residents from the home before engaging Meyer.”
Jason said, “What if he’s just sitting in the living room? Takes a hostage.”
“He’ll hide,” Lucy said. “As soon as we identify ourselves as law enforcement, he’ll bail. He will either hide in the house—if he thinks we’re just looking for Ginger—or if he’s suspicious, he’ll go out the back.”
“And we’ll nab him there,” Proctor said. “Vests, everyone, including you Kincaid, Mancini.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Lucy said.
“Wait,” Jason said.
Everyone looked at him.
“This is happening quickly. What if our intel is wrong?”
“It’s not wrong,” Brad said, irritated.
“It just seems we’re rushing when maybe a stealth approach is warranted.”
Brad looked at Lucy. “Kincaid? This is your op.”
Why was Brad putting her on the spot?
Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe he was shifting his weight to her, showing Jason and everyone else that he trusted her judgment.
“I’ve read his psych profile and analyzed his crimes,” Lucy said. “He’ll hide or bolt. This is our best lead to find Hope Anderson, and we need to act now. She very well could be inside that house—if not her, then the four other underage prostitutes our asset identified.”
Proctor nodded, then spoke into his com to his team. “Wait for my signal.” Then to Lucy and Tia, “You two are on. Be safe.”
Lucy and Tia approached the house on foot. In a low voice, Lucy said, “Are you really okay?” She was a bit worried because Tia had nearly died right in front of her only nine months ago.
“Honey, don’t you worry about me. I’m good.”
Tia knocked on the door loudly. There was no answer, but they heard a television in the front room.
Tia rang the bell and knocked again. “SAPD! We have an arrest warrant for Ginger Foxx, open the door now or we will come in.”
There was some scrambling, then a tall black woman opened the door. It wasn’t Ginger, but she also wasn’t one of the underage prostitutes.
“Badges,” she said. She didn’t have a southern accent. She eyed both of them suspiciously. Calculating.
Tia and Lucy both showed their badges and ID. She took her time looking at them. Buying time, certainly.
“Ginger Foxx,” Tia repeated.
“Ain’t here,” the woman said.
“We have a warrant to search the premises.”
“Well, this ain’t my house, I think I’ll be calling the landlord. Come back in an hour.”
“What’s your name?” Lucy asked.
“Desiree, not that it’s your business. I ain’t Ginger.”
Desiree was one of Hirsch’s people. Lucy hoped Brad had picked up on it through the open com.
“Well, Desiree, the warrant gives us the right to enter these premises. Stand aside or you will be arrested for obstruction of justice.”
The woman scowled, then opened the door wider.
“Are there any guns on the premises?”
“Don’t know, I don’t live here, like I said. Just visiting.”
In her earpiece, Lucy heard, “Have a runner!”
“How many people are in the house?” Lucy asked. There were two girls—neither obviously underage—sitting on the couch staring at the television. Either terrified of Desiree or terrified of the police. Maybe both.
Desiree shrugged.
She had a bad feeling. She said, “Agent Proctor, I need two female officers to frisk and cuff as we clear the house, and two officers as backup.”
“Ten-four,” he replied.
In less than a minute two SWAT officers and two SAPD cops approached, only one was female.
“I’ll back them up, you clear the house,” Tia said. “This way, you three.”
“We ain’t done nothing!” Desiree said. “You can’t frisk us.”
“We can. It’s for our protection as well as yours.”
“Fucking cops.”
Donnelly, who was geared up but not wearing full SWAT tactical gear, entered after the three women were removed by SAPD to be identified and detained while they cleared the house.
“Place is a fucking pigsty,” he said.
Partially empty takeout cartons, pizza boxes, and a plethora of beer, wine, and hard liquor bottles were stacked precariously high on the dining room table. It had once been a nice house—it had a solid foundation and structure—but the carpets were old and stained and the hardwood floors warped. An unclean smell of body odor and an abundance of conflicting perfumes wafted through Lucy’s nostrils.
“Dunning and Lopez grabbed Meyer leaving through the back door. You were right, he bolted.”
“It’s how he hasn’t been caught—he’ll rabbit over confrontation.” He acted the big tough guy with those who couldn’t defend themselves, but when push came to shove he was a scared thug who didn’t want to go back to prison.
“Let’s clear this place.”
Donnelly and one SWAT officer cleared the ground floor and basement. Lucy went upstairs with the other officer. Proctor moved in with another team as backup. It was a clean, precision operation. Lucy found fourteen girls upstairs, several of whom were clearly underage, plus a few she suspected might be as well. She asked each one for their name and age. They gave their first name only and all said eighteen or older. She had to eyeball it, make an educated guess. Six she separated as underage. They would be taken to a hospital instead of the jail.
“You can’t arrest us!” one of the younger girls said.
“What’s your name?” Lucy asked.
“Sara,” she said defiantly.
Sara. Word had come down from Bella Caruso that there was an underage prostitute named Sara who was a problem and might turn on her fellow hookers.
“Most recently from Phoenix,” Lucy said bluntly. The surprise on Sara’s face told Lucy she was right.
She turned to her backup. “Separate Sara from the others. Under no circumstances is she allowed to talk with any of the other girls.”
“You’ll be sorry,” Sara said. “I’ll be out in a day, and you know it. You have nothing on me.”
Lucy ignored her. She was staring at the bedroom Sara and three of the other girls had been hiding in.
She’d seen this room before.
The walls were painted pink. The queen-sized bed was made with a simple green and white comforter. A couple generic pictures had been mounted, but that wasn’t what caught her eye. It was the unicorn lamp on the nightstand.
It was so ugly and cute at the same time that Lucy couldn’t forget it. It had been in the most recent videos of Hope.
Hope had been here a month ago. In this room. In San Antonio.
Was she still here? If not, where could she have gone?
She turned and jumped when someone moved behind her.
Brad.
“ERT is on their way to process.”
“Hope was in this room a month ago.”
“I didn’t see her. We have sixteen women in custody, six flagged as underage, one you isolated. Meyer was caught fleeing, and we found another guy in the basement. Wouldn’t give us his name, but he had ID on him—it says he’s Thaddeus Brown from Los Angeles.”
“I need to talk to the girls right now.”
“You know my office shares the FBI ERT, right?”
Lucy nodded, but she couldn’t be concerned about office politics right now. She realized the problem she and Rachel had wasn’t going to be resolved anytime soon, but the FBI had the best forensic processing unit in the area. San Antonio PD was good, but because there was clearly evidence of child pornography on-site, jurisdicti
on naturally fell to the FBI. She wanted it that way, she just didn’t like that she was using this task force to go around Rachel. She wished her boss was on her side. They could do so much good if they worked together.
She recognized, not for the first time, that she’d been spoiled the last six months with Noah in charge of her squad. He’d been her training officer in DC, he’d been a mentor and a friend. The mutual trust they’d fostered was instrumental in solving multiple complex cases. Without it? They wouldn’t have stopped the black market baby ring. They wouldn’t have put an end to the Flores Cartel and their human trafficking organization. People would have died.
Trust was crucial in this business, especially when you were a field agent. Lucy trusted Brad, and that’s why they’d worked so well together from the beginning.
But they’d worked together to earn that mutual trust. Rachel wasn’t even giving her a chance.
At this point, finding Hope was Lucy’s priority, and all other problems in her life had to be put aside until she knew exactly what happened to that poor girl.
Lucy went back downstairs. The girls had been ordered to sit on the driveway. There were SWAT officers guarding them. She looked each one over carefully. None of them was Hope. The house and garage had been cleared, no one else was inside. Drugs and weapons were confiscated. Lucy pulled out her phone and showed Hope’s picture to each and every one of the girls and asked if they had seen her. “This is Hope Anderson. She’s also known as Pixie.”
Some of the girls clearly didn’t know who she was. But several of them reacted. She had Brad write down their names. She would separate the two groups and have them interrogated separately.
“Ginger Foxx isn’t here,” Lucy said to Tia when she got to the end of the row.
“Nope, but we have a lead on her. It’s all about timing—she was returning from the store, saw our trucks, slipped away before anyone recognized her. My department will track her down.”
“When you do, let me know, but you take the lead on interrogating her. We want Hope—Ginger would know exactly who she is because she was in this house three weeks ago.”
Breaking Point Page 27
