by Taylor Lee
Following the heavyset man down the hallway, Ryker noted that his host was wearing creased trousers and a dress shirt, the first such ensemble he’d seen since arriving in Sierra Vista. After meeting the minister of one of the many Baptist churches, who had also been wearing blue jeans and a checked, pearl-buttoned cowboy shirt, Ryker decided that combination constituted the de rigueur dress in this bustling southwestern town.
Taking off his Stetson and putting it on the hat rack his host indicated, Ryker stepped back to admire the spacious room they were entering.
Dark paneled walls and a blazing fire in the enormous stone fireplace that took up most of one wall upgraded the southwestern décor he’d come to expect by several hundred notches. The genuine leather furniture and handcrafted tables spoke to his host’s discriminating taste. One entire wall featured bookcases, several filled with gold-engraved, leather-bound books, confirming that if his host wasn’t well read and literate, he should have been. Artfully placed throughout the room were magnificent sculptures depicting a range of expected western subjects. As with the paintings that adorned the walls, Ryker recognized the work of several renowned contemporary southwestern artists.
“This is an impressive room, Barrett. Although, seeing the grounds surrounding your home, I’m not surprised. Tell me, in the daylight, does this place look like the mansion it seems in the dark?”
Meier tossed his head dismissively. “Let’s just say it’s comfortable. But please, Agent Thompson, tell me your drinking preferences. I’m a bourbon man myself.” Pointing to what Ryker could see was an extremely well-stocked bar, he added, “As you can see, I can meet all but the most esoteric tastes.” Pinning him with what Ryker soon realized was a rare smile, his officious host bragged, “But then, I’ve never met a man, or woman for that matter, whose tastes I couldn’t serve.”
Choosing not to test his host’s braggadocio, Ryker said, “Bourbon is fine for me. I’ll have what you’re having.”
Meier reached for a familiar bottle and said imperiously, “If you’re a bourbon man, I presume you know Four Roses. However, if you haven’t imbibed their fiftieth anniversary small batch, trust me, it’s a collector’s item. And at twenty-three years old, it is exceptionally drinkable.” He added with a sniff, “Make that sip-able.”
Ryker smiled at the arrogant man and nodded in agreement. “No, sir, I haven’t had the pleasure of sipping or guzzling that high-end booze, but it is my pleasure to do so now. Sip, that is, not guzzle.”
Apparently not knowing if Ryker was making fun of him, the portly German frowned as he reached for two Glencairn glasses, which Ryker knew from his libation-snob colleagues were the only acceptable way to drink fine bourbon. Pouring a healthy portion of the aromatic liquor into each of the glasses, Meier handed Ryker one, then raised his in a salute. Pointing to the high-backed leather chair across from the blazing fire, he indicated that Ryker should sit.
As he sank onto the chair, Ryker took a sip of the potent alcohol and nodded in appreciation. Smiling at his grim-faced host, he said pleasantly, “I don’t know if I should thank you or not. It will be hard to return to my Maker’s Mark that, if I’m up on my bourbon, is only two-thirds as expensive as this fine potion.”
Meier hesitated, then appeared to relax somewhat. “Good, Agent Thompson, I’m glad to see that you appreciate the finer things in life. I can tell you that in this godforsaken part of the country that is a rare trait and non-existent among the natives.”
Ryker didn’t hide his surprise. Quirking a brow, he said, “Given this house, I’m surprised that you refer to any part of this expensively appointed estate as godforsaken. I would think that whatever gods decreed such utilitarian matters as the kind of abode we inhabit or the liquor we imbibe that you are doing well for yourself.”
Apparently not willing to take umbrage at Ryker’s obvious sarcasm, Meier flicked a dismissive hand. “Don’t misunderstand, Agent Thompson. I am pleased that I have managed to create a lifestyle that, at least as far as creature comforts go, is ‘well appointed,’ as you say. You can thank my former wife for this largesse. She managed to inherit a portion of the copper mining industry a few hundred miles from here. I can’t deny that having married into one of the many branches of the Phelps Dodge mining empire has its perks. However, that doesn’t negate the fact that this is as godforsaken country as any I’ve had the misfortune to be stationed in.”
“I disagree, Barrett, if I may call you that. Forgetting the personal wealth you’re surrounded with, I’m surprisingly taken by this rough countryside I find myself in. I hadn’t expected the natural beauty of the place. Like many Easterners, I assumed the desert was an unforgiving field of sand. To my surprise, Sierra Vista not only has desert but also extraordinary mountain ranges. And frankly, the variety of vegetation covering what I’d naively assumed was barren ground is, in a word, remarkable.” Before his host could disagree with him, Ryker put up his hand.
“Two things, Barrett, before we discuss the mission I’m here to conduct. First, you may call me Ryker. Agent Thompson isn’t necessary. Second, do know that I’m aware of your personal circumstances. I understand that your wife died two years ago from an apparent suicide following years of intermittent hospitalization for depression. You have my sympathies. Moreover, I’m aware that you chose to remain at this post because this is where your connections can be used most effectively and, not incidentally, where you can enjoy all the creature comforts you inherited. Obviously, one doesn’t become the highest-placed ICE agent in the surrounding states without some powerful strings being pulled. I say this knowing that you undoubtedly consider a mere FBI agent a level several hundred degrees beneath your own. However, do know that this particular FBI agent has an important assignment. That is to figure out how—and why—a man as knowledgeable and as connected as you are permitted the level of iniquity that is taking place beneath your admittedly raised nose and chose not to smash it to oblivion.”
Ryker was surprised to see what came close to a genuine smile cross the older man’s crafty visage at his impudent takedown. Meier reached for the bottle of Four Roses and refilled his glass. Without asking, he topped off Ryker’s barely touched drink and said in a dry voice, “May I presume, my impertinent young friend, that in the proverbial sense, the gloves are coming off?”
Ryker smiled in return. “Yes, Barrett, that is a good presumption. And again, proverbially speaking, if you glance at the floor, you will see that the gauntlet has also been thrown.” Raising his glass, he waited until Meier raised his in response, then added, “By me.”
Chapter 4
Tanya parked her black and white with the cherry top rack in front of the sheriff’s office. Jumping out, she headed for the entrance and ignored Gunnar’s eager questions, making it clear she wasn’t interested in discussing their new case.
The voluble man caught up with her and persisted, “Wassup, Deputy? You can’t tell me you aren’t as surprised as I am at Doc Mason’s findings.”
Tanya glared at her partner, not able to squelch her annoyance. “Why should I be surprised, Detective Sorenson? That for once, a young Latino girl who was murdered might not be a wetback? A beaner? That she’s a nice girl, rather than some taco head sneaking into our country?”
“Geez, Tanya, what brought that on? You know I didn’t mean that.”
Not able to pinpoint what had upset her and knowing that she was treating her partner unfairly, she shoved out a sigh. “Sorry, Gunnar. It’s just that I’m so sick of this. Damn, a beautiful young girl was murdered. But it wasn’t enough for the bastard who did it to just kill her. No, he had to rape her after he’d beaten her and then for good measure, he strangled her to death. And yes, I’ll admit it. I’m not looking forward to working this case. Face it. We both know that in a day or two at the most, we are going to be dealing with grief-stricken parents.”
Seeing the frown on the concerned detective’s face, as much she hated to, Tanya admitted it would have been easier to deal with
this ugly situation if the tortured victim was an illegal immigrant. At least then she’d merely be meeting with border agents who were as hardened to the reality of death on the border as she wanted to think she was. In the past, she’d listen to the border agents’ frustration and understood their callousness when they insinuated, if not directly claimed, that the “vics” got what was coming to them. The fact that, in this case, the victim was a nice girl, likely someone who lived in Sierra Vista and maybe even went to the high school Tanya had attended, changed the equation in a way that Tanya was finding it hard to come to grips with. God Almighty, was she getting as perverted as Sledge Perkins and his hooligans? As cynical as the border agents? Was she truly differentiating among victims depending on their immigration status? The thought horrified her as much as it upset her. Which made the scene she faced when she entered the sheriff’s office all the more unsettling.
Sonia Vargas looked up when she entered and pointed to the door inscribed Sheriff Titus Trouble, Cochise County Sheriff’s Office. “The sheriff wants to see you, Deputy Trouble.” Glancing at Detective Sorenson, the desk sergeant added, “Privately.”
Tanya walked into her father’s office and closed the door behind her. Seeing her father’s deeply furrowed brow, she knew from the way her gut was clenching that her prognostication regarding the murdered girl was on target. She sank into the chair in front of his heavily carved oak desk and met her father’s gaze. Breathing out a hard sigh, she said, “You don’t have to tell me, Dad. Someone is claiming our murder victim.”
Titus nodded. “It wasn’t five minutes after you called to describe the coroner’s findings when Mr. and Mrs. Acedo appeared, begging us to help them find their daughter Violeta. Apparently, the Higley High sophomore has been missing for two days. Her parents are frantic. They are convinced something horrible has happened to their beloved daughter. Somehow they heard that a girl had been found on Sledge Perkins’s ranch. Unfortunately, the picture they showed Sergeant Vargas confirmed that Violeta Acedo, their fifteen-year-old daughter, is our victim.”
Tanya shook her head. “I knew it, Dad. As soon as I saw her at the morgue. I knew we were going to be dealing with frantic parents.”
Titus nodded in agreement, then said tersely, “Because it’s your case, Deputy Trouble, you will need to tell the parents that our victim is their daughter.”
“I know that, Dad. As you taught me, it’s part of the job.” She hesitated and then appealed to her narrow-eyed father. “Dad, what about this is so unsettling? The fact that we can’t just write the dead girl off as an undocumented immigrant? Is Tara right? Have I become so cynical that I don’t get upset unless our victim is someone’s child? As if an illegal immigrant isn’t? That the illegal is less human somehow or less dead?”
Tanya knew she sounded ridiculous, but meeting her father’s gaze, she was relieved to see understanding, not criticism, in his expression.
“Unfortunately, Tanya, we all become inured to the hideousness of the border atrocities we deal with on a daily basis. Face it. It’s complicated as hell. We are law enforcement professionals charged with protecting the border and punishing people who come into our country illegally. But it’s challenging when we know that the illegals are desperate individuals who’ve paid more money than they make in a year to disreputable criminals who don’t care if their human cargo lives or dies. It’s difficult not to become cynical. We’re charged with managing a situation that has a dozen conflicting elements. Becoming hardened is a coping mechanism. It’s how we try to live with an untenable situation.”
Apparently seeing her troubled expression, her father’s voice was kind and thoughtful. “Perhaps the fact that you are clearly upset about the young girl who was murdered indicates that you aren’t cynical as charged and certainly not dispassionate.” He hesitated, then breathed out an audible sigh. “However, as your father, when you are forced to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Acedo, I might wish that you were as hardened as you fear you’ve become.”
It didn’t take Tanya five minutes with the grieving parents to understand her father’s enigmatic assertion. The teary-eyed couple waiting for her in her office rose to meet her. Their expressions were pained, searching. Her solemn expression must have confirmed the reality they were dreading. Meeting her gaze, Mrs. Acedo cried out and fell against her husband, sobbing bitterly. The small man, his eyes wide and pleading, asked haltingly, “Is she? The girl you found? Is she . . . our daughter . . . Violeta?”
After several hours that included accompanying the devastated parents to the morgue where they confirmed that the beautiful girl lying there was their beloved daughter, Tanya began carefully questioning them. “Mr. and Mrs. Acedo, I cannot begin to imagine how difficult this is for you. Please know that I, along with everyone at the sheriff’s office, will not rest until we arrest and punish the hideous person or persons who killed your daughter. But now, if you are up to it, I need to ask you several questions. Anything you can tell me will help me find the men who did this to Violeta.”
Mr. Acedo looked up at her, his face ravaged with pain. “You don’t understand, Deputy Trouble. Our Violeta was a good girl. She was on the honor roll. She wanted to go to college and become a teacher.” His words caught in a sob. “Why would anyone want to hurt her? Why?”
Tanya shook her head. “I can’t answer that, Mr. Acedo. But please, tell me a little more about your daughter. Who were her friends? Did she have hobbies, after-school activities that she participated in?”
After listening to their halting replies, liberally sprinkled with tearful breakdowns, Tanya asked the question she’d been dreading. “You indicated that Violeta didn’t come home Tuesday night. But you didn’t report her missing until this morning.” Seeing the parents glance at one another, Tanya asked gently, “Has Violeta been gone for two days before? Or was this unusual?”
When neither parent responded, Tanya pressed them. “When Violeta didn’t come home Tuesday night, where did you think she was?”
Mrs. Acedo jumped in. “We thought that she was at Marcie Jones’s house. She and Marcie were on the cheerleading squad. Sometimes when they got back late from a game, Violeta would stay at Marcie’s house.”
Mr. Acedo quickly interjected, “You don’t understand. Violeta was a good girl. She—”
His wife interrupted before her husband could finish. “But she didn’t always tell us where she was going . . . ” She added defensively, “Violeta was very popular. She had many friends. Everyone loved her.”
Tanya nodded. “Did you notice lately that she had any new friends, some that you didn’t know as well or perhaps didn’t like?”
This time Mr. Acedo interrupted his wife. Glaring at Tanya, his voice was shrill, repeating for the third time, “Violeta was a good girl. No matter what she did, she didn’t deserve to die.”
Seeing that the parents were beginning to unravel, Tanya nodded in agreement. She decided she’d gotten all the information she could for the moment from the ravished parents. Taking pity on them, she closed the interrogation. “No, Mr. Acedo, Violeta most certainly did not deserve to die. I know you are exhausted. I think I’ve asked you enough questions for the moment.” At their obvious relief, Tanya rose to her feet. “I will have one of my officers drive you home.” As she walked the shaken couple to the door, she said, “I told you this before, but please know, Sheriff Trouble and I, along with everyone who works with us, will not stop until we find the evil men who did this.”
After the Acedos left, Tanya shot Gunnar a hard glance. The detective had been standing to the side throughout her interrogation of the parents. Glaring at him, Tanya said bitterly, “Now comes the part I hate the most. Finding the people who are willing to tell us what the Acedos’ lovely daughter has been doing that her parents don’t know—or were unwilling to tell us.”
Gunnar grunted in agreement. “Yeah, Tanya. The parents are always the last to know.”
“Or admit that they know.” Tanya added, “I can tell you on
e thing—I’m never having kids.”
“Hmm, does the doc know that? Knowing the Courtland clan, they’ll be looking for an heir to all that moola they’ve accumulated over the generations.”
Tanya said flippantly, “Guess we’ll just have to add another clause to the pre-nup.”
Gunnar frowned at her askance. “You mean to tell me that cocky bastard is making you sign a pre-nup?”
Tanya raised a dismissive shoulder. “Nope. I’m making him sign one.”
****
“Marcie, I know you want to help us find the despicable person who killed your best friend. I also know, according to some of your and Violeta’s other friends, that you and she have been hanging out with some older guys—men who don’t go to Higley High.”
When the sullen young woman looked down, picking at her garishly painted fingernails and not answering, Tanya waited for a long moment, then said carefully, “Marcie, you can answer my questions now—all of them—or we can go to the sheriff’s office and you can answer them there. After we call your parents to join us.”
Marcie glared at her. Ringed with multi-colored eye shadow that matched the purple and green streaks in her jet-black hair, her dark eyes sparkled defiantly. “So what if Violeta and I were tired of hanging out with teenagers? Just because we’d met some other guys—cool guys—doesn’t mean that any of them would ever hurt me—or Violeta.”
“I agree, Marcie. But according to Jason Fridley, the captain of the football team, and Sherry Peterson, who was on the cheerleading squad with you and Violeta, neither you nor Violeta showed up for the game on Tuesday night.”
When the surly girl stuck her chin up in the air, obviously intending to dismiss Tanya’s charge, Tanya held up her hand. “Look at me, Marcie, and listen to me. We have learned from several of Violeta’s friends, as well as her teachers, that you and Violeta have not only been skipping football games but also skipping classes. Clearly, whoever your new friends are, cool or not, you have developed some bad habits. That said, I’m only going to ask you once. Who were you and Violeta with on Tuesday night?”
