The Chase

by DiAnn Mills

  “We’re doing everything possible to ensure she’s comfortable.” Her eyes filled with compassion.

  “I’m concerned you can’t tell when she’s hurting.”

  “I assure you that we nurses, who are giving her around-the-clock care, can tell if she’s uncomfortable. Her blood pressure elevates and the lines on her face deepen. Of course, we administer her medication in a timely fashion.”

  “Please make sure she has the strongest available. I’ll call her doctor in the morning to see if her pain medication can be upped. I don’t give a flip about addictions or if she’s sleeping.”

  “Yes, sir. I—”

  “Tigo. ‘Sir’ makes me feel like I’m at the office instead of my own home.” He smiled. “You and the other nurses are doing a fine job. Ignore my bad moods. This is … It’s hard to watch my mother suffer. I’m helpless, and I’m angry.” He glanced at the door leading to his mother’s room. “Sometimes you get the worst of it.”

  “I understand. Many times I believe the end days are harder on those viewing their loved ones suffering than the patients enduring the struggle.”

  “Suppose you’ve seen it all. I dread the day one of you has to call me.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Guess I’m selfish, wanting to keep her alive when she has no quality of life. She was always so active. Never one to give in to sickness.”

  Natalie said nothing. Not that he expected her to.

  “She’s a fighter,” he said. “Just like she’s fought every ordeal of her life.”

  “You’re right.” Natalie offered a faint smile. “At times I feel like she’s telling me not to give up.”

  “That’s my mom, a little powerhouse. And we can’t allow any doctor’s report to dictate her progress or deterioration.”

  “Well said.”

  “Her faith is strong, but where is her God in the midst of this?”

  “He’s with her, helping her be courageous.”

  “You’re Christian?”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t take care of Mrs. Harris or any other patient without my faith.”

  “Thank you.” Tigo’s verdict on God was still out, but he respected those who found comfort in Him.

  “Your neck?”

  “Work hazard. Five stitches. Mom will love the story.”

  A few hours later, while Natalie took her evening break, Tigo sat at his mother’s side, holding her limp hand. Loneliness enveloped him … the familiar pang of wishing he had someone. A dog might help. But his dedication was divided between his mother and his job. When would he have time for anyone or anything else?

  He glanced at the crucifix above his mother’s bed, remembering the many times she’d taken him to church. Praised him for being an altar boy and urged him to pray. What good did her piety do her now?

  “What a day, Mom. Nearly got myself blown away trying to play the big FBI agent who could single-handedly bring in Cheeky Lopez. Remember him? He’s the leader of the Arroyos. How many times have you warned me about my pride? Looks like I need to listen.”

  He wished she’d squeeze his hand or even move a finger. Instead her mind and body were paralyzed, trapped between the effects of the stroke and cancer and the medication that allowed her to endure it all. Maybe she heard him, and he made sure nothing was said in her presence that he wouldn’t say if she were coherent. At times he could envision the feisty woman telling him he wasn’t Superman or reminding him he had a partner.

  “I have a new sidekick for the next few months. A woman writer. A real nuisance, but drop-dead gorgeous. Problem is I don’t know how to get rid of her. I did a background check. Learned she’s from Texas City and the youngest of six kids — three sisters and two brothers. Dad’s a retired oil worker. Both parents are active in church, a rather conservative denomination. I’m sure they’re proud of their daughter and her achievements.” He paused. “I’d like to explore who she is and what makes her a super-achiever. She worked at a day care during high school and in the summers between college sessions.”

  He considered that aspect for a moment. “She must’ve loved kids to return to that line of … torture to finance her education. She’s obviously intelligent. Received a Jessie H. Jones scholarship and attended Baylor on a full ride. Nominated for a Fulbright. Graduated summa cum laude with two majors — communications and Spanish. Passed on grad work and took a job with Channel 5. Soon rose to news anchor on prime time. She did that well for a few years and won awards for her reporting. Took a few daredevil chances to find the truth.”

  He paused to consider some of the things he’d learned about her reporting days. “She successfully talked a young girl down from jumping from a ten-story office building. Another time she approached a day care that was under investigation for hiring workers without conducting proper background checks. And because of her appeal to the public, several crimes were averted.

  Anyway, she quit to become a writer. Quickly earned New York Times bestselling status. That’s impressive — I’ve got to hand her that. But I feel like I’m babysitting. Fiction is not my thing, and it would be so much easier if she’d go back to writing about women, writing about things she already knows.”

  He patted her hand. “Sure could use some of your wisdom with this one. She’s writing about the Cherished Doe case. You know how I feel about bringing that little girl’s killer to justice. You instilled in me the importance of making sure kids are protected. Wish I could do something. Anyway, Linc’s given this woman permission to follow me around while she learns the art of being an agent. Sure messes up my investigation of the Arroyos and their gun smuggling.”

  As much as he wanted to go deep undercover, the idea of leaving his mother alone during her last days was heartless. Some would argue that she wasn’t even aware of his presence. But he’d know. She deserved more … so much more.

  His cell phone rang and interrupted his thoughts. The caller ID read “Candy.”

  “Hola,” Tigo greeted in Spanish.

  “Dulce le llamaba mucho,” a man said.

  “We’re friends. Of course she called me a lot.” This was either Candy’s pimp or whoever had killed her. Tigo had learned Bling had been released when he coughed up an alibi.

  “Tell me your name, and I’ll ask her.”

  “She’s dead, so it’s not her who wants to know.”

  “Smart man, but we know who you are.”

  “I doubt it.” Tigo noted a slight lisp in the caller’s voice. “Give it your best shot.”

  The man laughed. “Usted es policía.” He spat the words and cursed.

  Tigo hoped that meant Houston PD and not the FBI. “Wrong. This time you tell me who you are.”

  “You already know. Watch your back ‘cause we’re out to get you.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Kariss launched the second day of her FBI research by bringing Starbucks to Tigo. Yesterday, she’d made the offer to bring him coffee each morning, and he’d agreed. Tomorrow she’d bring him a blueberry scone or muffin just like he’d requested for Wednesdays. Her mother always said a good cup of coffee shared with friends was a great way to start the day. However, Mom didn’t know Tigo and his dynamic disposition.

  Flashing a smile, she held his venti black in one hand and her hazelnut latte, minus the whipped cream, in the other. Setting the cup in front of him, she waited at his desk until he lifted his head from the computer screen. “Peace offering.”

  He nodded and reached for the drink. “That’ll do for the first fifteen minutes.” He toasted her. “Thanks.”

  Ah, progress. If only for a little while.

  “Are we off to anyplace special today?”

  He chuckled. “Nowhere I can take you.”

  “Going undercover, I presume. Where?”

  “Ryan and I have a couple of gun shops to check out.”

  She scrunched her forehead, then caught herself. If she didn’t stop overusing the muscle between her eyes, she’d have to resort to a facial filler. “Visiting a gu
n shop isn’t dangerous.”

  “I didn’t say where, and I didn’t say the business was legit. Nor did I say how many thugs would be watching our every move. However, you could deter them for a few minutes.”

  “Then I can go?”

  “Two words — no way. Nor do you say a word to any of your family and friends about anything you hear or see.” He grinned.

  “I don’t imagine you’d be willing to do what it would take to keep the bad guys busy.”

  “Try me. I can talk big.”

  “So I noticed.” He took another drink. “This will kick me into gear.”

  “I could take notes.”

  “Dead issue, Kariss.”

  The chair she’d used yesterday was missing. “How was your evening?”

  “Fine.” He’d noticed her looking for the chair. “The cubicle next to me is empty.”

  He looked tired, which meant he’d probably had a busy night running from bad guys. Or maybe they’d run from him.

  “Mine was fine too. I read up on gun smuggling in Houston. How’s the ‘Don’t lie for the other guy’ campaign going?”

  He eyed her, a give-me-a-break look. “In my opinion, straw men don’t give a flip about the feds teaming up with the firearm industry. Gun smugglers and those who help them are interested in what’s going to fill their pockets, not billboards and slogans.”

  “It’s a program designed to educate the public and enlist their support.”

  “Sounds good on paper, but I don’t see any of the stats dropping. Maybe if they print their material in Spanish a few grade school kids would take notice.”

  Ouch, Tigo’s cynicism was in high gear. “My point is the good guys might more easily detect a straw purchase.”

  “In theory.” He took a long drink. How did he drink his coffee that hot?

  “Guess I’ll go to my new desk and make myself at home. When are we leaving?”

  He lifted a brow, and she laughed.

  “I reviewed the cases you helped the FBI solve. Good investigative reporting.”

  She heard a little admiration and decided to freeze the moment. “Thanks.”

  He studied her, and she could almost hear the wheels spin. “Kariss, what I do is dangerous and I will not get you involved. You heard about my little experience with a gang yesterday — with zest. Think about this: the ones involved in Houston’s cartels and gangs take on different appearances. The guy volunteering to coach Little League may be dealing thousands of dollars of cocaine. The person you choose to represent your area might be involved in human trafficking. The gal who does your nails could be smuggling weapons. Do you get the picture?”

  The understanding of what Tigo and all those involved in the FBI and other law-enforcement agencies did to keep people safe sobered her. “Hard to trust anyone.”

  “Right. The arrests I’ve made haven’t gone unnoticed. Every time I expose myself is a risk. It’s not a question of if I’m on a gang’s radar. The question is when will they learn my identity? The arrests made as a result of your TV coverage have exposed your identity to those who might want revenge too.”

  “I’m aware of repercussions.” Her face flushed. “Risk was something I didn’t heed. However, I did take a self-defense class upon the insistence of family and friends.”

  “Do you have a handgun?”

  “No. And I don’t want one.”

  “Guns to bad guys are like words to you. They’re tools of the trade. So observe me if you must, but it will be on my terms. If I have to look out for you, then I can’t do my job, and we both end up in a pool of blood.”

  She nodded while apprehension seeped through to her bones. “I will not be a liability to you or the FBI.”

  Kariss knew he’d dramatized his scenario to frighten her, like the previous day. But he made sense. She wasn’t naive. Neither did she want to spout that none of the dangers mattered. She valued her life and his. Linc and Tigo had given her boundaries, and she needed to stay within those parameters.

  Latte in hand, she took a seat at her new desk. After powering up her laptop, she used her cell to call Detective Montoya. Perhaps he remembered something about the case. She left a message and made a note on her spreadsheet about the contact. She felt weepy. The disappointments from yesterday had crashed her excitement to write the story. Nothing seemed to be going right.

  Shaking her head to rid it of unwanted emotions, she pulled up her research file.

  Tigo had an idea, one he couldn’t toss aside. Kariss’s intent of writing Cherished Doe’s story had dredged up his frustration at not being able to solve the crime. All the times his mother had volunteered to work with children at church and her genuine love and concern for them had floated back into his thoughts. He opened the cold case file, which he did periodically. At times the case consumed him. Took him to a dark place where mercy had no room. The data had not changed … only time. The case had frustrated law enforcement officials long enough.

  Tigo’s mind whirled. A child didn’t enter the world and disappear without touching someone’s heart.

  Kariss understood the value of enlisting public sentiment in solving crimes. She’d been good at it, and her methods had been successful.

  He lifted the phone and contacted Linc’s office. Thirty minutes later he quickened his steps to the SAC’s office and took a seat on the leather sofa.

  He hoped this wasn’t a mistake. “I want to talk to HPD about reopening the Cherished Doe case.”

  “Why?” Linc’s irritation was evident by the deepening lines on his brow. “We haven’t had any new developments to warrant the time or work.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “How much of this is you, and how much is Kariss?”

  Good question, but that had nothing to do with why he sat in Linc’s office. “Her questions jostled my memory. Got me to thinking about it again.” Tigo studied Linc’s face. “I’ve never given up on Cherished Doe. Just ran out of places to run down answers. Honestly, the elapsed time has strengthened my determination to solve the case.”

  “What’s your new idea?”

  “I’m suggesting a different angle. What if the FBI, HPD, and Texas Rangers make a last-resort appeal to the media for public support? Show the autopsy picture of the unidentified child. Interview residents at the Pine Grove Apartments again. Representatives from all three law enforcement agencies could hold a press conference. Offer a reward. Talk it up so the whole city is looking for answers.”

  Linc walked to the window of his office facing Highway 290. Tigo joined him, noting the inbound morning traffic had not thinned. The only sound in the office was the hum of the air-conditioning, although Tigo sensed activity going on in Linc’s head.

  “I despise cold cases. Makes me feel inept,” Linc said. “But we had tons of media coverage five years ago. If we didn’t have any success when the case was fresh on our minds, why would now make any difference?”

  “Maybe the right set of eyes didn’t see it then,” Tigo said. “Or maybe someone was afraid to come forward then and now circumstances have changed.”

  “And you want me to convince HPD of this crazy idea of yours.”

  “None of us have been able to shove Cherished Doe into a file.” Tigo nodded at Linc’s desk where he knew the photo of his son sat. “I don’t have a son or a daughter. If I did, nothing could stop me from taking good care of them. Adults get themselves into unfortunate situations, but a child has no means to fight back. Especially a little girl who was starved to death.”

  “You made your point. I’ll make a few calls. See what happens. We’ve never made an effort like this before. If conducted correctly, it has the potential to significantly impact the public to help us find how this child died.”

  “Thanks. I think it’ll work.”

  “It’s worth a shot.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The following afternoon, Kariss sat at the desk assigned to her at the FBI office and played a word game on her iPhone. Whenever plot
problems occurred, this was her method of forcing creativity into her mind. By toying with words, the tools of her craft, characters and their situations fell into place.

  What she really wanted to do was drive back to Pine Grove Apartments.

  Tigo stuck his head around her cubicle entrance just as she added eighteen points to her score. “A press conference has been called for Thursday morning regarding Cherished Doe.”

  “What?!”

  “The FBI, HPD, and Texas Rangers are making a last-ditch appeal to the media in hopes of finding out what happened to the little girl.”

  Neither the Houston Police Department nor the FBI had solved the mystery. They’d labeled the little girl’s killing as a cold case and tucked the child’s scant information into a file labeled “pending inactive.”

  Glancing at Tigo, Kariss rubbed the chills of emotion rising on her arms. She didn’t know whether to turn a cartwheel or shout hallelujah or both. This time the person or persons responsible would be found. She could feel it. A new strategy to find Cherished Doe’s killer was exactly what she’d hoped for. She filled her lungs with hope and determination.

  “Where will it be held?” she finally said.

  “Right here. Our media coordinator is making the arrangements.”

  Tigo explained how he’d talked to Linc about convincing HPD to enlist the public’s help. “Finding what happened to that child is important to every law enforcement official who’s ever worked the case. Fresh eyes could make the critical difference.” He walked away then turned to face her. “Your interest surfaced a need to try one more time. Thanks.”

  His gratitude nearly sent her over an emotional edge. “Thanks. I’ve never heard of reaching out to the media in this manner. And I’ve been there.”

  “If it works, then we’re onto something for the future.”

  “I hope so. My fear is the one responsible has slipped back across the border. That may be a wrong assumption, though — profiling the killer because the child was Hispanic.”

  “It’s a good reason to include the Spanish networks. The law enforcement agencies involved are offering a reward for information leading to an arrest.”