Breaking Point

by Allison Brennan

  “On it,” Tia said and walked off to coordinate with SAPD.

  Brad approached. “What are we doing?”

  “The five girls I flagged to the hospital, the sixth—Sara—to a solitary cell at juvie.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. The others to jail unless any of them claims to be under eighteen now that they’re going to lockup. But I need to interrogate Anton Meyer as soon as possible.”

  She was relieved she didn’t have to explain or justify herself. She told Leo Proctor to alert ERT when they arrived that the girl they were looking for had been in the pink room. They had Hope’s DNA on file from the missing persons report her grandparents had filed, and if they could tie Ginger or Meyer to Hope, they could pile on charges until one of them broke.

  Everyone had a breaking point. It was just a matter of psychology—figuring out what they feared the most. If it was Hirsch—or the mysterious Z—then Lucy would play it a different way. She could lie and manipulate and tell them anything to get them to cooperate. And she would, because as soon as Hirsch realized they were onto him, he might cut his losses and disappear.

  But right now he didn’t know this chase was all because of one girl. He might think it was because of the shooting in El Paso, or the body found at the trucking company. He would most likely go under for awhile, then pop back up when the heat died down. If that were the case, Hope might be safe awhile longer.

  But if he suspected that Hope Anderson was the reason for federal and local investigations, he would have her killed without hesitation. Lucy couldn’t let that happen.

  Brad drove and Lucy called Kate. Her sister-in-law sounded rushed.

  “I heard about the raid. No shots fired, everyone in custody. Win-win.”

  “Partly. Ginger Foxx is in the wind and SAPD is taking lead in tracking her down. I have proof that Hope was here a month ago. The same room that was in the NCMEC videos is in that house. I alerted ERT about the room, it was recent enough that there is likely DNA evidence. But I need some leeway in interrogating Anton Meyer.”

  “Anything you need. What do you have on him now?”

  “I expect Meyer to lawyer up, but he’s not the sharpest tack and I can play with that. The problem is these girls are scared and I don’t know if I can get any of them to talk right away. The others are old-timers, and they’re not going to talk to a cop. I’ll talk to Tia Mancini about putting a ringer in jail with them, see what we can shake out when they don’t think anyone is paying attention. Anyway, I want to push on the Hope angle. She’s fourteen so she’s covered by local and federal special circumstances laws. There were drugs found in the house, but not enough to argue distribution and sale unless ERT digs up more. I need time with the girls and leverage with the suspects.”

  “Meyer isn’t going anywhere—there’s an active warrant for him out of Jersey, and with the video you found of him with Hope, we can hold him on child porn charges. Do what you have to do.”

  “Thanks.”

  She hung up and took a deep breath, then called Tia Mancini. “Tia, it’s Lucy.”

  “We still haven’t found Ginger.”

  “Can you get to the hospital and work on the five girls?”

  “Sure, is that the priority at this point?”

  “You have everyone in SAPD looking for Ginger, but you’re one of the few who can weed through the bullshit from the prostitutes.”

  “True.”

  Tia had a huge amount of compassion for girls in this situation, but after last year when one such girl used and twisted that compassion, ending up with Tia on the operating table, Tia had become more cautious.

  “I need just one who will agree to talk,” Lucy said. “The sooner the better. I’m going at the suspect hard.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  “And would you ask each of them if they recognize Hope? No one admitted it at the house, but one on one they might. I know she was in that house a month ago, and she was also in Los Angeles a year ago. According to our undercover asset, two dozen girls were moved from El Paso to San Antonio, and most of them came from Phoenix or Los Angeles. Don’t give them any hint that we have someone on the inside. If they make bail and go back to the business, I don’t want to risk our asset.”

  “I’ll call you when I have something.”

  Brad drove to the jail where by now their suspects would be processed and held until their arraignment—or in Meyer’s case, his extradition to New Jersey, if the feds allowed it. Lucy would rather keep him here in Texas because Texas had much broader laws, and after so many years would the witnesses in his original Jersey case be reliable? He might get sentenced for fleeing to avoid prosecution, which would mean much less jail time than manslaughter or human trafficking or child rape.

  “Who do you want to go at first?” Brad asked Lucy. “We have Desiree, too. Her prints were in the system—Desiree Jones, resident of Los Angeles, California. Multiple arrests for prostitution in L.A., no real jail time. Thaddeus Brown has an active warrant for assault from six months ago. Missed his court date.”

  L.A. They definitely knew who Hope was. Had they come with the girls from El Paso? It made sense. Hirsch pulls them in, relocates them to a place where they know no one. Keeps them on edge, under his thumb.

  “I can see pros and cons with each.” Meyer was definitely going in for more jail time, but he would have more information on Hirsch than even Desiree might have. It would be easier to negotiate for a reduced sentence with Desiree. Even let her walk in exchange for her testimony. Lucy had no doubt that they could build a solid case against her, but it would take a lot of time and resources and the charges were minor compared to Hirsch. She had a record, but all misdemeanors. A good lawyer would get her off with time served. She might know that. Unless Lucy could convince her they had more on her than they actually did.

  Prostitution—even when you ran the organization—wouldn’t get her more than a slap on the wrist. Tia Mancini’s experience with Mona Hill over the years had proved that. There was no evidence that Desiree was privy to the underage sex tapes, because she hadn’t been in Texas three weeks ago. Ginger? She would have known. It was her house, her girls, and she let Hirsch in.

  But Tia’s people were still looking for her. And putting her in the house at the time the tape was made would be difficult.

  “Brad—remind ERT that it’s a child pornography case and we need any and all tapes, cameras, photos. Especially print that room—if I can place Desiree or Ginger or Meyer in that room three weeks ago, I can jam them so hard they’ll never get out of prison.”

  “I’ll send them a message, but they know what they’re doing.”

  Of course they did, but Lucy learned that reiterating what was important helped focus the team.

  Lucy had one ace in the hole with Meyer, and she was going to play that card. It might be her only chance.

  “Meyer,” she said.

  Brad seemed surprised. “Are you sure? He’s a convicted felon, has a long rap sheet, wanted for attempted murder. He has no reason to flip, because you can’t cut him a deal.”

  “I know.”

  Lucy didn’t know if she was making the right call. “I need ten minutes to set up something,” she said when they arrived at the jail.

  “I’ll talk to the warden and take care of the paperwork.”

  “Thanks for trusting me with this.”

  “Luce—I’ve trusted you from the beginning. Remember last year when I played bad cop with the Sanchez family in order to get George to turn? It was your idea that George was the weak link, but it was my idea on how to work the situation. You trusted me even when I berated you in public. You knew it was part of the game, and you went with it even when others on the team didn’t see the play for what it was. That shit is hard to explain to people, but I’ve never doubted you. That you risked your life and your career to save mine is icing on the cake.”

  Lucy didn’t know why Brad’s words affected her so deeply. Maybe because
of the problems in her own office; maybe because she was doubting her own reasoning with Anton Meyer. But she needed it.

  “Thanks, Brad.”

  * * *

  Anton Meyer was the same age as Martin Hirsch but had a much longer rap sheet. Lucy had talked to Joe DeLucca, Suzanne’s boyfriend, and asked for more background on Meyer, over and above what was on his rap sheet. Joe passed along one tidbit that Lucy might be able to use to her advantage.

  She sat at the table. Meyer was handcuffed, but otherwise not restrained, directly across from her. Brad stood in the corner, arms crossed, observing, playing the role of big tough cop.

  “I’ll be out by the end of the day,” Meyer said.

  Lucy looked at her watch. “It’s five p.m. It is the end of the day as far as the jail is concerned, but you won’t be getting out today or any day in the future.”

  He laughed. “I can post bail.”

  “You won’t get bail.”

  “You must be new,” Anton said, leaning forward, trying to intimidate her. “Fresh meat.” He licked his lips.

  This was a man who was naturally intimidating, in size and attitude, and he expected men and women—but especially women—to cower. She didn’t flinch—showing fear would be the end of the interrogation and she would never get anything out of him.

  He said, “Let me explain something to you, chica. There’s a thing called an arraignment. That means that the po-lice need to state the charges in front of a judge. The state—that would be you—will ask for a ridiculous bail. My lawyer will counter. The judge will set it somewhere in between. And I will pay it and walk the street and you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”

  “It’s a felony to threaten a federal officer.”

  He laughed. He had no fear of her or her office.

  “They sent in a little rookie to talk to me? They know they have no case.” He looked over at Brad. “You her trainer? Training her proper?” He winked and laughed.

  Brad glared at him but didn’t open his mouth. Lucy had asked him to refrain from getting involved in the conversation unless she gave him a signal. She knew it was difficult for him to stand back, but she had to play this delicately.

  Anton Meyer didn’t respect women. He’d likely faced female cops in the past and treated them like objects. Used foul language, gross flirting, insults. The men he expected to rise to defend them, reiterating his belief that female cops were weak. But with the male cops, he understood the game—he could pound his chest with the best of them. If Brad stepped in to defend her, nothing she said or did would matter to Meyer. They’d still put him in prison, he’d still go away for a long time, but she wouldn’t get the information she needed.

  Brad, unknowingly, had given her the final piece of her interrogation puzzle when he reminded her of how they’d played George Sanchez. Interrogation was as much a game of chess as it was an interview.

  Lucy, however, couldn’t lose her temper either. She had to remain calm no matter how loud or belligerent Meyer became. No matter what he said about her, about women, about Hope.

  And above all, she could show no fear.

  “First, Mr. Meyer, there’s an active arrest warrant out of New Jersey. So at a minimum, you’d be extradited back to that state.”

  He showed no concern about the warrant. What had Joe said? The witness may have recanted. Meyer didn’t fear the warrant because he was familiar with the system. He could claim he didn’t know, he could plead to a lesser charge, or go to trial. If the statute of limitations was up they wouldn’t even have a case.

  “However, my colleagues in New Jersey have given me broad discretion. We have numerous federal charges we can make against you, and the state of Texas has numerous charges as well. All of these will have to be dealt with before you can even consider being released on bail. Even if your attorney expedited on Monday in federal court, I would ask my SAPD counterpart to immediately arrest you again and you’ll go through the same process in another court. Then, if you were granted bail there, I would arrest you and extradite you to Arizona where you would go through the process in their court. And if you were granted bail again—and still had the money to pay—I would extradite you to California where we would go through this yet again. Then in Illinois—don’t you remember that rape charge you bailed on in Chicago? Statute of limitations is five years, it’s only been three, so I can let you see the inside of their prison system. And then, finally, New Jersey. Between now and then I would have far more charges and more states to move you to. So trust me when I say even if you had the best attorney on the planet and unlimited resources, you won’t be getting out of jail for at least a year, just going through this process.

  “Couple that with the fact that one of the charges against you is pedophilia, and the fact that we’re in Texas which is not only a death penalty state but has some of the toughest laws against child pedophilia in the country, I don’t see you making it out of Texas alive. I take some comfort in that.”

  Meyer glowered at her. “I’m not a fucking pedophile. You have nothing because that’s a fucking lie.”

  “Agent Donnelly, what is the legal definition of pedophilia?”

  “Sex with a child under the age of fourteen.”

  “How old was Hope Anderson when she was kidnapped?”

  “Twelve.”

  “How old is she now?”

  “She was fourteen last week.”

  “So last month she was thirteen?”

  “Correct.”

  “So anyone who is convicted of having sex with Hope Anderson last month would be a pedophile, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Brad said.

  Lucy turned on her tablet and showed a screen shot of the video of Meyer raping Hope. “Cybercrime experts at Quantico and the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children have verified that this video was uploaded twenty-three days ago. Hope was thirteen.”

  “So? No one will believe she’s a kid. Look at her—she’s a total woman.”

  “How she looks is irrelevant. She’s a child, and the burden of proof is much lower. She could have a fake ID that says she’s twenty-one, and it will not matter. She will not have to testify. She will not have to face you in court. This isn’t the only video I have. We’ve found numerous videos of Hope and you, as well as other men, and we’re in the process of using advanced facial recognition programs the military has developed in order to identify said individuals and issue warrants for their arrest. We have already ID’d two men and issued warrants.”

  She was making it all up. While it was true that they were working on identifying the men in every video, it took far more time and resources than either Quantico or NCMEC had.

  Meyer didn’t know that.

  “I’m not a pedophile!”

  “That won’t matter when I inform the warden that you are.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “I can do it, I will do it, I will enjoy doing it. Sex with a child under fourteen is the legal definition of pedophile, and do you think the men in prison are going to argue semantics with you? You can whine, ‘oh I thought she was eighteen’ but when I get done spreading the word, no one will believe you. They will do to you what you did to Hope, but far, far worse.”

  He lunged for her and she didn’t budge. She’d been waiting for it because she’d intentionally baited him, and had willed herself not to move. Brad flinched and took a step forward, but he didn’t interfere.

  Meyer slammed his handcuffed fists on the table. “You fucking bitch, you can’t do any of that! I’ll tell my lawyer! I’ll fucking skewer you. And when I get out, I’ll make you suck my dick, you two-bit whore cop!”

  His spittle sprayed everywhere, but Lucy didn’t move a muscle. “In addition to pedophilia,” she said, using the word far more often than she needed to because it seemed to set Meyer off more than anything, “we have you on sex trafficking across state lines. That is a federal crime. However, I would much prefer to send
you to state prison in Texas where they really, really, really don’t like child rapists.”

  He slammed his fists down again. “Bitch!”

  “As I said, we have two men identified from the videos, and as soon as we locate them we’ll offer them the same as I’m about to offer you. A deal, for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Martin Hirsch and Thomas Zimmerman.”

  At the name of Zimmerman, Meyer blinked. He leaned back in his seat and stared at her. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  Oh, he knew. He knew exactly who Lucy was talking about.

  “Plus, the exact location of Hope Anderson.”

  “I don’t know any Hope.”

  “You called her Pixie.”

  That she knew the name surprised him, but it was clear that either he didn’t put Hope and Pixie together until that moment, or that he had forgotten until now.

  “You were with her here, in San Antonio, last month. Maybe even more recently. She wasn’t at the house this afternoon. Where is she?”

  He was thinking. Was he thinking of lying? Or trying to figure out a way out of this?

  “So what you’re saying, if I tell you where this girl is, I walk?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m not going to say shit.”

  “What I’m saying is, if you don’t tell me where this girl is, I will make sure that every prisoner on your cell block knows that you’re a pedophile who likes raping little girls.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  She smiled, a mere upturn of her lips, and waited.

  “What do I get? Time off? Time served? What?”

  “You get to live,” she said so quietly that no recording could hear her.

  “Agent Donnelly,” Lucy said, “what federal judge is on call this weekend for arraignments?” Lucy asked while Meyer considered whether she was serious.

  “Hodgins.”

  “Hmm. And Monday?”

  “Perez, I believe, will be handling all arraignments on Monday.”

  Lucy glanced at Brad. They were making this all up, and that Brad realized what she was doing thrilled her to no end. “Legally, we can keep him until Monday, right?”