by Diane Capri
Ryser didn’t hang up, which was a good sign. Anger might fuel her in the right direction, too. Jordan had to count on the possibility, at least.
“I’ve learned new facts you’ll be interested in. About Hugo Diaz, the guy who kidnapped me after he crashed that Cessna. And the guy arrested in that Super Adderall drug bust, Evan Groves.” Jordan paused, then added a probable truth, even if she couldn’t prove it yet. “Both are members of El Pulpo.”
“Obviously.” Ryser sounded preoccupied, disinterested.
“Both use aliases. We’ve identified Evan Groves as Aaron Robinson. Do you have a real identity on Hugo Diaz yet?”
“Not yet. We’re working on it.” Ryser was definitely involved in something else. Not paying attention.
“Hugo Diaz.” Jordan took a breath and put as much confidence into her tone as she could muster. “I know who he is.”
“Okay.” Ryser had covered the phone and was talking to someone.
“Did you hear me? I said I know Hugo Diaz’s real identity.” No response. “If you’re not interested, I can call Tampa police instead.”
“What? I’m sorry, Jordan. We’re swamped here with the aftermath of our raid last night.” Ryser sounded exhausted. She’d probably been awake for the last thirty-six hours. “Hugo Diaz. He’s behind bars. We’ve been searching databases around the country. We haven’t found anything on him yet. I promised I’d let you know when we identified him and I haven’t forgotten you.”
Jordan’s whole body was shaking. She had been running on determination for so long. Ryser was her best chance. Ryser could help her. They could help each other.
“I said I have uncovered Hugo Diaz’s real identity. I know who he is.” She crossed her fingers and fudged the truth just a little. “And I can prove it.”
“Okay.” Ryser’s voice carried mostly disbelief, but she was paying attention. “Who is he and how can you prove it?”
“There were fingerprints left at the scene of my mother’s murder. And DNA. I got the case file from my father’s attorney. I want to find out if they match Groves or Diaz.” Jordan paused. “Can you help me with that?”
“I understand why you suspect Groves,” Ryser said, accepting the non-answer to her question for the moment. “Your mother testified in his manslaughter case and you think he resented her. But Diaz? Why do you suspect him?”
“Several reasons.” Jordan crossed her fingers. “I’m almost to your office now. If you have about half an hour, I can bring the evidence and show you.”
Ryser was quiet. Brenda Fox’s murder was Jordan’s obsession, but not Ryser’s case. Not even an FBI matter, at least, up to this point. And it was five years cold, too.
Jordan hoped Ryser would be intrigued enough to help by the potential El Pulpo connection. El Pulpo was Ryser’s case and Jordan knew how much she wanted to get the big boss and shut El Pulpo down in Tampa.
“I can be there in fifteen minutes, tops.” Jordan’s foot pushed the accelerator deeper. “Maybe ten.”
“Hang on, I’m just back to my desk. Lemme just double check. We may not have access to your mother’s police file. It’s a state case. We haven’t been working on it.”
Jordan heard a tap, tap, tapping in the background for a few moments too long.
Ryser finally spoke. “Nothing’s coming up related to unidentified fingerprints or DNA in your mother’s case. Brenda Fox, right?”
“How can that be?” Jordan’s mind froze. “It’s in the file from the attorney.”
“The lawyer’s file doesn’t necessarily contain the same stuff in the official investigation files.” She must have heard the desperation in Jordan’s voice, though. “The case is old. We may not have everything. I’m still looking.”
“I’m parking now. Be there in two minutes.” She turned off the ignition, grabbed the redwell, and jumped out. “Oh, can I bring my phone into the building this time? I have to show you some things.”
“I’ll call security to authorize your clearance.” Ryser hung up.
She shouldn’t be here at all. She’d be late getting back to work. But solving her mother’s murder was too important. If she could help close down El Pulpo, so much the better. She wouldn’t give up this chance. Not for any job in the world.
Jordan dashed the two blocks and ran up the stairs to the FBI building’s entrance. Passing through security and riding the elevator up to Ryser’s floor were the only things that slowed her down.
“I found the official case file on your mother’s murder. Most of it is not available electronically.” Ryser spoke without looking up from her desk the moment Jordan appeared in the doorway. “Lots of unidentified fingerprints. A few were entered into the databases. The DNA report is there, but it looks like there was no match at the time in any of the databases.”
Jordan put the heavy redwell in one of Ryser’s visitor chairs and plopped her butt into the other one. “What does that mean?”
“It means we can’t find out much right now.” Ryser turned away from the computer. “So what have you got in that redwell?”
“What about the current cases against Groves and Diaz? Do you have access to those files?”
“There are federal charges pending against both of them. We have access to everything contained in those investigations.” Ryser leaned in across the desk. “The Florida state cases are different files. We may or may not have everything there, but we’re all working together. We can probably get what we don’t have.”
“I see.” Jordan blinked, her thoughts scrambling to understand. She’d assumed the FBI would have access to anything and everything they wanted instantly. As Tom would say, she’d been watching too many cop shows on TV.
“I’m very busy here, Jordan.” Ryser gentled her voice. “So help me decide whether to go through all of that. Tell me what you’ve got in that redwell.”
CHAPTER 16
Jordan pulled out her phone and found the screen shot of the results of the facial recognition work from Tom’s software. She handed the phone to Ryser. “First, look at this.”
Ryser glanced at the screenshot. “That’s Diaz. I recognize the photo from your drone practice video you showed us. Who’s the kid?”
“His name is Mark Gifford.” Jordan pulled the elastic aside, opened the redwell and pulled out her mom’s yearbook. Riverside Middle School Footsteps 2006. She flipped quickly to the soccer team pages. She passed the yearbook to Ryser and pointed to the photo she’d used for the face recognition.
Ryser studied the photos for what seemed like an eternity. Jordan wanted to jump in and point out the similarities between the boy and the man like she’d done with Tom. But she held her tongue. Ryser did this for a living. She knew what to look for.
If Ryser saw the same thing Jordan had seen, then Jordan would be forever satisfied that she was right. Mark Gifford had become Hugo Diaz. So far, so good.
Ryser emailed the screen shot photo to an FBI mailbox somewhere. Then she returned the phone and looked at Jordan with real interest for the first time today. “What else do you have in there?”
Yes! Jordan wanted to fist-pump the air, but she pulled the elastic and opened the redwell. She found the two photos she’d placed right in the front and the autopsy report.
Steady, Jordan. Be objective. Pretend it’s not your mom. You’ve seen this photo enough. Pretend you’re desensitized.
“This one shows the floor under her body in the kitchen. Crime scene techs took the photo after she was moved.” She pointed to a quarter. In the photograph, based on the outline of the body inside the blood on the floor, the quarter seemed to have been lying under Brenda Fox’s torso. There was an evidence flag next to it in the photo. “The quarter had a partial thumb print on one side and a partial forefinger print on the other. The prints were unidentified at the time, but did not belong to me or my parents.”
“So the detectives concluded the quarter dropped out of a pocket during the struggle or something and the prints belong to one
of the killers. Could be.” Ryser nodded. She reached for the photo. She studied it closely and laid it to one side on her desktop. “What else?”
“This is the autopsy report. These two paragraphs.” Jordan pointed and handed the report to Ryser. “It says the medical examiner removed skin and blood from under the victim’s fingernails. The DNA was tested, but didn’t match anyone they compared it to at the time. Not my dad, for sure.”
“Since this DNA hasn’t been submitted to the databases I checked, we may be able to run it now. We could get a hit. There’s a lot more DNA samples in our systems now than we had five years ago. Better collection and testing techniques, too. Sometimes we get lucky.” Ryser had finished scanning the report and cocked her head. “What’s that last one?”
Jordan looked at the photo again. This one was also taken by a crime scene tech. It showed her mother’s body, exactly the way she’d seen it when she walked into her kitchen that night. Jordan squeezed her eyes shut and closed off her heart. For the moment.
“Here, on her right side. See this mark on the floor?” Jordan scooted closer to the desk and laid the photo close to Ryser. She swallowed hard and pointed with a shaky finger. Her voice was raspy. “It looks like a J, doesn’t it? When I first saw it the night of the murder, that’s what I thought. I thought it was mom maybe trying to communicate with me or leave me a message that she didn’t finish. I thought the J was for Jordan.”
Ryser picked up the photo and examined it closely. Unlike Jordan, she’d never seen the photo before. She spent a few moments examining the scene before she pulled out a magnifying glass and focused on the J.
“But you’ve changed your mind?” Ryser asked. “About the J?”
Jordan cleared her throat. She folded her hands and looked down. Then she took a deep breath and said what she’d not spoken aloud before. “Now I think it’s a fish hook. An El Pulpo fish hook.”
Ryser didn’t scoff. She didn’t argue or deny the possibility that Jordan was right. She simply asked, “Why do you think so?”
Reality hit Jordan painfully hard in the chest, knocking the wind out of her. She wanted to run and felt rooted to the spot at the same time. Her stomach heaved. She clamped her jaw and her lips until the wave of nausea passed.
Ryser poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the credenza behind her desk. She handed the water to Jordan. After she’d taken a few sips, Ryser said, “Tell me what you know about this fish hook.”
Jordan nodded. She cleared her throat and offered a watery smile. “I’ve seen the symbol before. The first time, it was tattooed on Chester Flynn’s neck.”
Ryser nodded. “The El Pulpo soldier who pressured Salvador Caster to hire El Pulpo shrimping captains after Caster’s father was murdered. He’s in prison now. Still alive, last I checked.”
Jordan felt a jolt to her spine. She hadn’t known Sal’s dad was murdered by El Pulpo. But Sal’s whole situation made more sense. It confirmed that El Pulpo had been doing business in Tampa for a very long time.
“The fish hook was scribbled on a rent receipt in the cigar factory when I was kidnapped, but I didn’t recognize it at the time and I don’t have that receipt. You might be able to get the original from the landlord.” Jordan picked up her phone.
She thumbed through her photos until she found the best one of Claire’s bubblegum-pink car. “These swirly scratches were made deep in the paint to my friend’s car outside Infidel Brewery a couple of weeks ago. I thought they were just scratches, but now I can see the fish hook there.”
“How is that related to El Pulpo?”
“I can’t prove who keyed Claire’s car. And she’s already had the damage repaired, so you can’t see it for yourself. But Hugo Diaz was there that night and I chased him out to the parking lot after he tried to roofie another girl’s drink.”
Ryser took the phone and looked at the damage to Claire’s car. She touched the screen and sent the photo somewhere by email. She returned Jordan’s phone. “Any more?”
“One more.” Jordan thumbed through to the photos she’d received from Detective Grey. “Here the fish hook is stamped on the barrels and boxes inside that El Pulpo container on the ship this morning, after the FBI raid.”
Once again, Ryser examined the photos, emailed them, and returned the phone to Jordan. “Is that all?”
Jordan slumped into the chair. All of a sudden, she felt drained.
She did have more evidence. Nothing as strong as what she’d already shared, but compelling in Jordan’s mind. Two pairs of fishing boots had left footprints at the murder scene and the boots were never found. Two knives, one ordered online by that tragic rabbit email address. The escape by boat into the Gulf that left no trace of the boat or the killers to this day. And the mysterious lack of any paper trail for Groves or Diaz before they surfaced in Tampa less than a year ago.
All of these pointed a bright red arrow straight to El Pulpo as far as Jordan was concerned. Aaron Robinson and Mark Gifford were simply not capable of making all of those things happen on their own.
She said nothing. She’d given Ryser enough. It was Ryser’s turn to offer something valuable now.
Ryser didn’t offer anything at all. Not even a comment. Was she processing what Jordan told her? Or what?
She glanced at the clock on Ryser’s wall. Already well after six o’clock. She’d promised Theresa she’d be back at the station long before now. She had two stories to package for the eleven o’clock newscast.
“I’ve got to get to work.” Jordan stood, collected the photos and the autopsy report off Ryser’s desk and returned them to the redwell. “Can you find out about those fingerprints and the DNA?”
“I requested the partial prints from the coin. Looks like they came in while we were talking.” Ryser looked at her computer screen and punched a couple of keys. “I’ll run them against the Groves’ and Diaz’ prints collected when they were recently arrested. We might be able to get an answer later today.”
“But listen. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.” Ryser turned to look at Jordan. Her voice was friendlier. Maybe she wasn’t so angry about Jordan’s 911 call and the botched raid anymore. “A fingerprint match, even if we get one, is some evidence that Hugo might have been at the scene. He’s got one of the best lawyers in the state, Brad Shane. Shane will say partial fingerprints on a coin isn’t enough to convict Diaz. He would probably be right.”
Jordan nodded. She’d expected that after what Jenny Lane told her about reasonable doubt.
Maybe the fingerprints alone wouldn’t convict, but they had more. “What about the DNA?”
“That’s a little more complicated.” Ryser settled back into her chair. She rested her hands on the chair arms. “The DNA from your mom’s fingernails has been tested and it’s in the system. We have DNA from Groves, I believe. But I’m not sure about Diaz. I’ll find out. If we have it, we can compare and see if we have a match.”
Jordan’s breath caught in her throat. “And if the DNA does match?”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it,” Ryser replied. “But right now, you’re way farther along than you’ve been for five years. Be satisfied with that. We’ll get to the bottom of your mom’s case, Jordan. You’re not the only one who never gives up, you know.”
Jordan had heard that before and she believed it. But she was tired of waiting. She wanted her life back. And her dad’s life back. Five years was long enough to wait.
“You’ll call me as soon as you know anything?” Jordan asked before she left.
“I promise.”
CHAPTER 17
Ryser didn’t call until almost 11:30 p.m., which was a good thing because Jordan wouldn’t have been able to take the call any earlier.
She and Theresa had worked furiously against deadline. They sent both packages, the ropes course and the FBI raid, off to producers at the very last second.
Jordan was proud of the ropes course story. Patricia wasn’t thrilled with it because Jorda
n had focused on the course itself instead of promised positive results. They’d run it anyway if they needed the filler. The important thing was that Jordan had completed her assignment.
The FBI raid story was solid, beginning to end. It was some of her best work, and Theresa’s too. They might even win an award with that one. Richard should be pleased. She hoped.
When Jordan’s phone rang at 11:30, they were both slouched in the break room. Jordan felt like limp spaghetti. She probably looked like it, too. Theresa didn’t look much better.
“I’ve got to pick this up,” Jordan said.
“No problem. I’ve got a date tonight.” Theresa jumped up and dashed off down the hallway, makeup bag in tow.
Jordan grinned weakly. That woman is a force of nature. “Jordan Fox.”
“Thought you’d want to know right away.” Ryser’s tone wasn’t full of victory, but it was closer than what Jordan heard from her earlier today. “The unidentified partial prints on the coin at the scene. Looks like they might belong to Diaz. Keyword might. I’ve sent them off to our expert to examine and decide.”
Jordan tried to breathe, but air came neither in nor out. She nearly choked on the lump in her windpipe. She propped her elbows on the arms of the chair and dropped her head into her hand.
“Are you there? Jordan?”
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s really good news.” She wiped a moist strand of hair from her face.
“It’s better news than we had before, but it won’t be enough to convict him of anything.” Ryser, as always, bringing her back down to earth. “The circumstantial evidence is strong. Diaz had no reason to be in the house. The coin was found under her body. No other prints are on the coin, front or back. So it’s reasonable to assume he dropped it there at some point before she died. Doesn’t prove he killed her.”
“At least we know it’s possible. That’s more than we knew before.” Man up. Spit it out. “What about the DNA? If it belongs to Groves and Diaz, that will convict them, won’t it?”
