by DiAnn Mills
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Linc thinks that your attendance at the press conference will show a viable connection with the past and present. Some of the reporters will be your peers.”
“Oh, I’ll be there.” An image of the past, when she’d first reported Cherished Doe, intensified the longing to bring closure to all who were involved. “But I don’t want anyone to know about my book project. That sounds self-seeking.”
Approval swept across his face. “All right. You might have an ending to your story, and we might have an arrest.”
Detective Montoya hadn’t returned her call. But she’d probably see him on Thursday. For the first time this week, she felt positive about the case.
By Thursday morning, Kariss’s anticipation about the press conference had swung into high gear. She hadn’t tweeted, posted information on Facebook, or informed any of her friends or family about the press conference. But with those self-imposed restraints came two sleepless nights while she waited for Thursday morning. Too many scenarios of what might have happened to the nameless child kept her thoughts spinning.
Last night she’d dreamed about the autopsy picture. In her suspended state, she walked along the pine trees at Pine Grove Apartments.
“Help me,” a child’s voice whispered.
Kariss ventured toward the sound, and into the canopy of thick trees any semblance of light vanished.
“Help me,” the whisper came again, and a faint breeze bathed Kariss’s face.
Brush crackled beneath her feet, and she struggled without a path. All she heard was the haunting cry for help. Ahead in a clearing, a faint light poured through from the treetops onto a small form wrapped in a pink blanket. The body moved and frail arms reached out to her.
“I have you,” Kariss said, bending to the hard earth. “Hold on tight.”
As she reached for the child, a burst of fire erupted from the woods. Hot flames burned her face and hands, beating her back from the child.
The cries for help grew louder. Then they stopped, and all she heard was the crackle of fire.
Kariss had awakened terrified and found it impossible to go back to sleep. Must the past stalk her forever? Would she ever find redemption?
She had no idea what it felt like to be a mother, but she’d seen her own mother protect and care for two boys and four girls. Kariss’s parents had placed their children’s needs above their own. Wasn’t that what parents were supposed to do? Nurture and grow their children into responsible members of society. Teach them the difference between right and wrong, and instill the value of education. Love them, not hurt them. Feed them, not watch them starve to death.
At nine forty-five, Kariss and many agents made their way ceremoniously to the enclosed area outside of the FBI building. The early June temps were pleasant. The blue sky looked promising, or maybe she was simply reading into the day the hope in her heart. But what Kariss noted was the FBI emblem carved into the stone behind the podium. If any agency could find a way to solve this seemingly unsolvable crime, it was this prestigious law enforcement bureau.
Houston’s chief of police stood alongside Linc with Detective Montoya and members of the Texas Rangers. Some of the men and women she didn’t recognize, but she assumed they were representatives of Crime Stoppers. Every TV network, radio, and newspaper reporter in the city was poised, camera ready and notepad open. She inhaled the buzz of a story breaking into the lives of Houstonians.
After Linc welcomed the crowd, Chief of Police Blackburn stepped up to the podium.
“Five years ago a female child between the ages of four and seven was found in a clump of trees beside Pine Grove Apartments in south Houston. We named her Cherished Doe because to date her identity and how she died remain a mystery. She wore green pajamas and was wrapped in a quilt, then placed in a purple, flowered bag. Medical examiners ruled the cause of death as starvation. She was discarded like an unwanted animal.” Chief Blackburn’s gaze spanned the crowd. “On behalf of the FBI, Texas Rangers, Crime Stoppers, and HPD, we implore you to help us find out what happened to this child.
“Note the little girl had a scar on her neck and two on her abdomen indicating a feeding tube. She was of Hispanic descent. I don’t understand why the child was not taken to a hospital or a fire department when the caretaker could not or would not provide care. We who stand before you need the media’s help to solve this case. Those responsible for Cherished Doe’s death must be brought to justice. The message to the public needs to be clear. We will not tolerate abuse of our children. In addition, we are offering a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward — twenty thousand from the FBI and five thousand from Crime Stoppers.”
Kariss studied Chief Blackburn’s face. His jaw tensed while he gave the passionate plea for communities to think back to the time of Cherished Doe’s death. He asked the media to show the graphic autopsy photos and to interview residents of Pine Grove Apartments. Not a sound came from the reporters, as though each person struggled with their reaction to the horror.
Once the press conference and a Q&A were conducted, the crowd slowly dispersed. Kariss wove through those still mingling in hopes no one stopped her. She wanted to type her notes and observations while they were fresh in her mind.
“Kariss Walker.”
She cringed, recognizing a familiar voice. She turned to greet Mike McDougal, a tenacious reporter for Channel 5. A man she’d dated for a brief period — a low time in her life.
“Haven’t seen you in ages.” He cast a leering glance her way. “You look great.”
“Thanks. I saw you’re still writing articles and a regular online blog.”
“My life, the reporter. You were the one who first reported this case, right?”
She smiled into his deep-blue eyes, his trademark for manipulating the most determined woman. “You have a good memory.”
“Thought so. How did a bestselling writer finagle an invitation here?”
“I originally reported it. Guess I’m lucky.”
He laughed. “I’m not swallowing that. You must be back in the game.”
“Never know.” She walked the twenty feet to the FBI office.
“Which station?” He had followed her.
“Does it really matter?”
“So you haven’t signed the contract.”
“Gotta run.”
“How about dinner?”
“I’m seeing someone.”
“Coffee? For old time’s sake?”
“Too busy.” Her fingers touched the door. Detective Montoya stood inside, and she breathed relief. His build reminded her of a bouncer.
“I don’t give up easily,” Mike said.
“See you later.” The urgency to record what she’d heard and seen in the faces of Linc, Chief Blackburn, and many of those in attendance quickened her steps. But first she’d visit with her old acquintance. She greeted the homicide detective.
“Morning, Kariss. Good to see you here. It’s been a few years.”
“That it has. Did you receive my message about wanting to chat about this case?”
“I did. Sorry, the work piles up. Do you still want to talk?”
“Let’s put it on hold. I called before I learned about the press conference. Hope we all can find the answers.”
“You never forgot about Cherished Doe either.”
She nodded. “What happened was a terrible wrong. The little girl doesn’t even have a name.”
“Reaching out to the media is a brilliant move. Hey, I saw you started writing novels.”
“Yes. I’m now exploring a suspense novel.”
“I don’t read much. With your background, why don’t you write something everyone would read, like biographies?”
Kariss continued to smile. She’d not change her mind. Today had reinforced her desire to write this book. Some might say it was to further her career by appealing to public sentiment. Meredith claimed she’d lost her mind. But if Kariss faced the truth, her reason
s were to eliminate the vile members of society who preyed on children. Was she foolish to think she could make a difference?
Tigo stayed until the media disbanded, like soldiers given a mission. Chief Blackburn had done a good job. He was a man of strong convictions, and his beliefs formed his appeal. Now to see how the media spun a twist on the story. For certain, investigative reporters were on their way to the Pine Grove Apartments, internalizing the press conference and working on how they’d question the residents.
Back at his desk, Tigo viewed some of the agents standing outside their cubicles searching their communication devices to read the reports. He was just as curious, and the evening news could not come fast enough. But all the agents had work to do that had nothing to do with this morning. He was one of them.
After checking his phone messages, he listened to one from Jo-Jack. Perfect. The man must be hungry … or needed a fix. Tigo returned the call.
“Hey, Jo-Jack. What’s happening?”
“Are you still interested in buying a little information?”
“Depends on what you have.”
“What interests you?”
“The Arroyos and guns. Who’s buying. Who’s selling. The woman’s name who’s over the mules.”
“That could cost you plenty. Heard what happened to Candy, and the word is they’re after the one who was payin’ for the info.”
“What did she tell them?”
“Nothing. They’re wastin’ anyone they suspect. Two bodies on the northeast side make me nervous. Cheeky gets the job done.”
“Nothing new there. What else have you heard?”
“They think her contact was the same man who shot and killed two of them a few days ago.”
Tigo wasn’t going to admit anything to him. “Could be. Makes me wonder who told them about the arrangement with Candy.”
“Not me. I’m not stupid. You’d have me picked up.”
“Remember that. Can’t shoot up in jail. Do we have a deal?”
“Let me see what I can find out.”
“Don’t wait too long. You can be replaced.” Tigo disconnected the call and wrote a quick note to Ryan. The two needed to work out their next move. The Arroyos had slit Candy’s throat and weren’t hiding it. They were after revenge and liked to use intimidation to keep others in line. Tigo would lay low awhile. Get rid of his old disguise.
Tigo frowned at the mound of unfinished paperwork on his desk and the work in his in-box. One of them was an EC, electronic communication report, so he could pay Jo-Jack. He pulled it from the stack and began filling in the blanks. The informant’s payment fell under the category of “services rendered.” Too bad Tigo couldn’t hire someone to fill in the blanks.
He sensed Kariss in his cubicle’s entrance, watching his every move. She’d been listening to his side of the conversation.
“What happens now with Cherished Doe?” she said.
“We wait.”
“Care to talk about how you feel the press conference impacted the media?”
He shook his head. “No point in it. What we need are results.” He turned his attention back to the EC. “It went well. Like everything else, the indicator will be in the response.”
CHAPTER 10
All afternoon and into the early evening, excitement wove through Kariss. She followed various TV channels on her iPhone and stayed at the FBI office past six o’clock to view the evening news’ live feeds. Each station had a unique spin, a heart-wrenching plea for community action. The reporters warned the viewers of the autopsy picture’s graphic nature and presented the reward as a way of encouraging those with information to step forward. The theme of every TV story was the atrocity done to Cherished Doe and the reality that she could be a child the viewer might recognize.
Kariss expected someone to call within minutes, and Tigo had warned that an influx of prank calls would have to be analyzed for solid information. But she felt certain that by tomorrow, answers would be available and the case solved.
Over four hours later, the agents who’d remained at the office buzzed with optimistic comments. Linc, Ryan, and Tigo were among them.
Tigo took a quick look at his watch. “I need to get home.”
“Sure.” Ryan stretched. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah. I told Natalie I’d be home by nine, and here it is ten-thirty.”
Kariss noticed that Tigo didn’t wear a wedding ring. He either had a live-in girlfriend or he viewed a wedding band as a determent to his undercover work. What about kids? Since he and Linc were college buds, he probably had a few of his own. Kariss cringed. She pictured Tigo as a no-excuse type of parent. Ah, maybe not. She shook off a twinge of what she recognized as jealousy. An emotion she didn’t need or want. Besides, he interested her about as much as a toothache.
That was a lie. The more she was around him, the more she felt a strange attraction.
“See you at seven in the morning,” Tigo said to Ryan. “We’ve got to work out a few details.”
She wished she could be a fly on the wall during that early-morning meeting, but she was too tired to ask. Today had been enough to lift her spirits. Soon they’d all know Cherished Doe’s name and how she died, more so the identity of the killer. “Thanks for letting me stay to view the media reports.”
“No problem,” Linc said. “What happened today in cooperation with the media is monumental. Let’s pray it works.”
Kariss recalled Linc and Yvonne were Christians, like her family. The mention of prayer worked for them. She didn’t find it offensive, just part of who they were. But most people of faith seldom spoke openly about it in the workplace. Not sure how she felt about “witnessing.”
She walked to her desk and gathered her purse and laptop. She’d check her phone messages on the way home.
Tigo fell in step with her to the lower hall leading to the parking lot. He held the glass door open. “You were where you needed to be today. Like us, you were there in the beginning and never forgot the case. Thanks for pushing us to give it one more try.”
“You’re welcome. We all have a stake in identifying the little girl.”
“However, don’t tell anyone I admitted you were right.”
“I’m sworn to secrecy.”
He laughed and walked toward his black, sleek truck, an F-250 Ford Lariat.
She appreciated his compliment. Tigo was an enigma. He fit the profile of a TV or movie superhero who cleverly saw what others didn’t. But she’d also seen him involved as a team player.
She opened the door to her Jaguar and caught another glimpse of him. Respect for his position settled in her, and she hoped to understand him more over the days and weeks ahead.
Shaking her head, she put aside her analysis of Tigo until she got to know him better. She slid inside her car, the new-car scent reminding her of how much she valued the Jag’s performance.
She pulled onto the highway and punched in her mother’s number, ignoring the flashing light that reminded her Meredith had called. Dealing with her agent’s continuous tirade after such a rewarding day wasn’t on the calendar.
“Hey, Mom. Got your message.”
“Wanted to say I saw you on the six o’clock news. The camera did a panoramic view of those attending the press conference, and I saw my beautiful baby girl.”
“You’re biased, but thanks. What did you and Dad think of the media coverage?” Kariss knew with certainty they would be honest.
“Well, I cried. But you’re not surprised with my confession since you girls inherited the same propensity for tears. The chief of police did an outstanding job of requesting help from those who were able to enlist public sentiment. I mean, sometimes all I hear is politically correct — what do you call that?”
“Jargon.”
“Yes, that’s it. I respected the way he worded his appeal. It showed he cared.”
“Wonderful. I wondered how the public would interpret the message.”
“Reminded me of th
e church. You know how the body of Christ is unified in purpose, no matter what the denomination.”
Here it comes. “I see a similarity. So—”
“We’re in a great sermon series. Why don’t you join us Sunday, and we’ll take you to lunch? Vicki’s going too.”
Spending time with her sister and her family was tempting. “Mom, thanks, but I have plans.”
“What could be more important than feeding your soul and your stomach while being with those who love you?”
Peace and quiet without preaching.
Stop it, Kariss, that’s tacky. Disrespectful.
“Would you think about it?” Mom’s voice wasn’t pleading, only sincere. Kariss refused to criticize her mother’s faith. It simply wasn’t for her.
“I will. And I’ll call Vicki.”
“What are you writing now?”
“I’m putting together a story about an FBI agent who solves a cold case. Very much like the Cherished Doe.”
“Oh, honey, that will be another bestseller for sure. But are you ever going to write for a Christian publishing house? Those are the only kind of books my friends read.”
Kariss’s heart crashed into her toes. “I don’t think so …” Her voice trailed off.
“Oh, sweetheart, I wish I could give your books to my friends. But this one sounds too violent.”
“I understand. But some aspects of the crime must be presented to make the story real.”
“What about God?”
Please, Mom. “If I wrote for a Christian audience, I’d lose thousands of faithful readers. Those readers pay the bills and allow me to give to worthwhile charities.” She refused to say that she’d given much to her parents’ church. That wasn’t necessary … and she’d grown up in that church.
“I think you’d have even more readers. You, Kariss, are a gifted writer. You’ve been given a special talent. You were born doing things naturally with words that others only wish they could attempt. I love you no matter what you write. So let’s end this discussion. Want to go shopping on Friday night? Dad has a meeting, and we could do dinner and hit the mall.”
