by DiAnn Mills
“No idea. I just know the Arroyos are out for blood. There’s a contract out on the man Cheeky was supplying info to.”
“No surprise there.”
Tigo left the store and joined Ryan in the car. Five minutes later, Jo-Jack slid into the backseat and they drove to the next intersection. After Jo-Jack signed the EC form, Tigo handed him one thousand dollars in an envelope. He hoped this informant stayed alive.
Friday night, Kariss sat on the sofa with her cell in hand waiting for Univision to broadcast Aquí y Ahora. A half-eaten container of Moose Tracks ice cream sat on a plate in front of her. She watched the clock. The Cherished Doe documentary would be presented as the last segment of the program.
Her heart slammed against her chest until she closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down. If she were a praying woman, she’d talk to God about bringing the right people to view the program tonight.
The story opened in a playground setting. Children played on swings, a small boy climbed the steps to a slide, and little girls squealed their delight on a merry-go-round. The sound of laughter mingled with “Mommy, look at me” and “Push me, Mommy.”
One mother stood alone with her back to the TV camera. She held onto a stroller where a little girl sat watching the other children. The camera didn’t capture the little girl’s face, only the back of her head. The male narrator talked about the world’s most precious treasures — children — and the sacrifices made to ensure they were healthy, happy, and safe. The program continued with an interview from Detective Montoya and his accounting of the Cherished Doe case. Two mothers from the Pine Grove apartment complex expressed their horror surrounding the little girl’s tragic death.
The common response from the interviewed mothers and Detective Montoya centered on the question, “Why didn’t the mother take the child to a hospital/fire station/Catholic Charities/CPS for help?”
Graphic shots filled the screen with a plea from Detective Montoya for any persons who had information about the unsolved case to come forward. The FBI’s number flashed on the screen along with information about the twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward.
When the program concluded, Kariss considered driving to the FBI office to be near the phone lines. She doubted if her security status allowed a late-night visit, but she wanted to be there. Univision’s coverage of Cherished Doe had been a sympathetic appeal to the Hispanic community. The men and women interviewed had appeared shocked that the identity of the little girl and the person responsible for her death were still unknown.
But all she could do was crawl into bed and trust that Tigo called her in the morning with good news. Keyed up and emotionally drained, she lay awake with the autopsy picture of Cherished Doe fixed in her mind.
Tigo worked the phones the night Aquí y Ahora broadcast Cherished Doe. The program aired at ten p.m. and then again at one a.m. Three calls came in around ten-thirty, but the people offering obscure information were obviously more interested in the reward than helping to solve a crime. At 1:07, one of the phones rang, and Tigo answered it.
“I know who the little girl is from Aquí y Ahora,” a man said in English with a Hispanic accent. “I’ve seen the program twice tonight, and she looks like my niece.”
“Thank you for calling.” Tigo gestured for a tracer and secured another agent’s attention to listen and record the conversation. “Sir, what’s your name?”
“Gilberto Olvera, and I’m an American citizen.”
“Why do you believe the little girl on tonight’s program might be your niece?”
“Her looks and her medical condition. I’m not interested in the reward. I only want to bring forth this information for my brother’s sake, the child’s father. I hope I’m wrong, but it doesn’t appear so.”
“Where is your brother?”
“He lives in Mexico, and his name is Xavier Olvera. If I’m correct, the little girl’s name is Benita.”
“Was she in your care during the time of her death?”
“No. Five years ago when my brother was deported, his wife and child still lived here in Houston.”
“We’d like for you to come in and talk to us.”
“I can drive there now. I won’t be able to sleep until I know for sure that this is my niece.”
“We can pick you up, so—”
“Sir, I called you. I’ve given you my name, my brother’s, and my niece’s name. We’ve been on the phone long enough for you to trace me. Give me the address of your office, and I’ll be there within thirty minutes.”
Tigo trusted Gilberto’s words and nodded to the agent recording the call. “All right.” He gave the address. “An agent by the name of Tigo Harris will meet you at the entrance of the office. In the event you change your mind, we’ll find you.”
“I gave you my word. If Benita is the little girl found dead five years ago, that concerns me.”
Gilberto disconnected the call. Tigo breathed in and studied the agents beside him. He didn’t know whether to celebrate or be cautious. But Cherished Doe might be Benita Olvera, and the little girl who had starved to death might have family who cared about her. He rubbed his face, conscious of how this case had affected him differently from so many others. Other cases were adults and the few children involved in violent crime had identities. Cherished Doe didn’t even have a proper tombstone. “I think we’re onto something. We could have the answers before sunrise.” He turned to the agent tracing the call.
“We traced the call to Gilberto Olvera on the southeast side of town.”
For Tigo, the caller could not get to the office fast enough.
CHAPTER 13
Kariss had just drifted off into a deep sleep when her phone rang at six a.m. When the ringtone of Jerry Lee Lewis’s “Great Balls of Fire” alerted her the third time, she grabbed her cell off the nightstand, her hand trembling from being wakened. Calls this early were never good news.
“Kariss, this is Tigo. Looks like we’ve identified Cherished Doe.”
Fully awake, she sat up in bed. “Wonderful! How did it happen? Who called the office?” Her heart sped alongside the internal fuel racing through her veins. “You have a name and how she died?”
“We think so. Her father is in Mexico, and we’re working on having him brought here to make the official identification of the little girl and for questioning.”
“Do you think the father killed her?”
“He couldn’t have. The little girl’s death occurred while he was in Mexico.”
“What about the mother?”
“The information about her is vague.” He yawned. “I’ve been here all night, working on pure adrenaline. Too keyed up to head home. Anyway, I thought you’d want to know.”
“I really appreciate this. I know you’re tired, but I have so many questions—”
“I understand. We got a call at 1:07 from a man who claimed to be Cherished Doe’s uncle …” Tigo told her about the call and Gilberto Olvera’s arrival at the FBI office twenty minutes later.
“So what’s next?”
He yawned again. “Want to have breakfast? I could tell you what happened during the questioning.”
She tossed back the coverlet. “Where do you want to meet?”
“There’s an IHOP fifteen minutes from the office. Say forty-five minutes?”
“I know right where that is.” Tigo hung up before she had time to ask any more questions. She headed to the closet and reached for her jeans.
A tingle in her stomach reminded her of the news. Cherished Doe had a name! Slipping her feet into sandals, she grabbed her cosmetic bag. Oh, yes, her laptop needed to go with her. Did the media know about the call made to the FBI? Was anyone in custody?
Although Kariss arrived at the restaurant ten minutes earlier than the scheduled time, Tigo was already at a booth drinking coffee. He waved her over. For a man who’d been up all night, he looked good. But when she scooted into the booth across from him, she could see how bloodshot his eyes were.
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A server approached and filled her cup with steaming-hot coffee. They both ordered omelets — his filled with everything imaginable and smothered in cheese, and hers filled with mushrooms and tomatoes.
“Tigo, tell me what happened when Gilberto Olvera arrived at the office.”
“Linc and I showed him the autopsy photos, and he identified Cherished Doe as his niece, Benita Olvera. Her father is his brother, who was deported to Mexico a little over five-and-a-half years ago.”
“Shortly before the child was found.”
“Yes. Gilberto confirmed that the little girl was born with a physical condition that required a feeding tube, and she was alive when her father, Xavier, left the U.S. He even gave us the name of the doctor who was treating her.”
“Another lead.”
“We learned later that the doctor is now practicing in Denver.
He can’t give us much more information than Gilberto, except for the date of the last time he treated Benita.”
“But the little girl starved to death. Are you thinking the mother is to blame?”
“Not sure at this point. We have more questions than answers.”
A cold, snakelike sensation curled up Kariss’s spine. “Where’s the mother now?”
“Good question. Gilberto hasn’t seen her in a few years, but he heard she entertained men. Last address was the Pine Grove Apartments.”
“Let me guess. Agents went to question her early this morning, and she doesn’t live there anymore.”
“You got it. Another family occupies the apartment she used to live in, and the resident manager has never heard of her. Right now, we’re arranging to get the father here.” He paused and she caught a glimmer of compassion. “Gilberto called him from our office. I talked to him for a few minutes, and he was … upset. He’s been sending his wife money for the care of their child for five years. Naturally, he sent it to a post office box.”
Kariss cringed. “She took the money even after the little girl was dead? How could she be so cruel?” She remembered Chief of Police Blackburn’s statement about the child being discarded like an unwanted animal. The words mirrored her thoughts. “She starved her own child instead of taking her someplace where qualified people could care for her?”
“It looks that way, but we don’t know the whole story. We’re looking for her.” Tigo leaned across the table. “Take a deep breath and relax until we learn the truth. Maybe the mother isn’t involved. Who knows? Maybe she met the same end as her daughter.”
Kariss took a drink of orange juice. “You’re right. I’m jumping to conclusions. My fiction mind is working overtime. When will the father arrive?”
“As soon as the paperwork is completed and arrangements made.”
She flexed her fingers to ease the tension in her body. The answers were so slow in coming, but she wasn’t the only one needing to understand what happened five years ago.
Benita … what a pretty name for a sweet angel.
Tigo opened the blinds to his mother’s bedroom and let the morning sunshine stream across her bed. Her eyes were closed in a drug-induced sleep that allowed her to escape the pain. She wouldn’t want it this way. How many times had she told him that in the event she was terminally ill, she didn’t want to be drugged? No sleeping while death stalked her door. It would keep her from experiencing life to the fullest. But Tigo couldn’t bring himself to endure the torment in her eyes and the cries from her lips.
Forgive me, Mom. I love you too much to watch you suffer. For my conscience’s sake, I’m insisting on strong pain medication.
His dear mother, Francisca Harris, an Argentinean immigrant who’d earned her U.S. citizenship and raised him alone after an ugly divorce. She’d become a high school Spanish teacher while struggling through the woes of having a deadbeat ex-husband who never paid child support. Money was always tight, but she made sure Tigo wore the best clothes and had the advantages of every American child. She was the strongest woman he’d ever known, and now she was reduced to sleeping her remaining days.
He kissed her forehead and took her limp hand, noting the peacefulness in her face. How long had it been since he’d seen her dark-brown eyes with their mischievous twinkle or her wide smile?
Ryan’s request for Tigo to go undercover went against his vow to spend as much time as possible with his mother. When her body gave in to the cancer, he’d dive deeper into his investigation. His heart told him she’d encourage him to continue his work and stop the gun smugglers.
Tigo yawned, his eyes feeling like they held bags of sand. Although he longed to crawl into his own bed, the satisfaction of identifying Cherished Doe settled in his bones. Easing into a chair, he ran his finger over his mother’s veined hands and parchment-thin skin.
“We may have some answers for a case that has haunted me for a long time,” he said. “Our Cherished Doe may be Benita Olvera. We’ll know soon.” He proceeded to tell his mother all that had happened during the night.
Once he finished, he tucked the sheet around her neck, the way she liked it, the same way she used to do for him. She’d told or read him stories during his younger years, and when he learned to read, he read to her. Just as he often did now.
Tigo studied her beloved face and shook his head. The once strong and resourceful woman had taught him how to play baseball, escorted him to church, and helped him see where his teenage rebellion was headed. She deserved so much more. None of which he could give her.
“I’m heading to bed, Mom. The days of staying out all night are fading into memory. It’s making an old man out of me.” He stood and glanced around, looking for a way to make her more comfortable.
The fresh red roses that she loved were replaced every five days. Their scent filled the room, reminding him too much of a funeral home. Would anyone ever understand his devotion to the woman who had molded him into the man he was today? He pulled a wilted petal from one of the roses and examined the others. Only the best for his mother.
Tigo left the room and nodded at the day nurse, an older woman with kind blue eyes and a warm smile. “She’s resting peacefully. I need some sleep, so when you need a break, knock on my door.”
“Tigo, I’m fine. Get your rest.”
“But you are the one who cares for my mother. I’ll expect the knock.”
He could blow away a gang member with little remorse or walk into the midst of gun-bearing criminals wearing a disguise. Who would ever think the gruff and tough Special Agent Santiago Harris doted on his dying mother?
Or that the memory of a little girl who’d starved to death never left him alone.
CHAPTER 14
Kariss wondered if today she’d learn what happened that day years ago that ended in a child’s death. Gilberto and Xavier Olvera arrived at Houston’s FBI office on Wednesday morning for questioning with Tigo and Ryan. She hoped she could meet the Olvera brothers and offer her condolences. But she understood Tigo and Ryan had protocol to follow, and she’d not interfere. Sometimes her assertiveness annoyed them. Yet in her eagerness to honor the child who’d occupied her thoughts for so long, she didn’t want to impose upon the agents and the Olvera brothers.
Kariss restrained her compulsion and waited for Tigo to return to his cubicle. What a strange man, so opposite any man she’d ever met. His attention to detail drove her nuts, but she knew he stayed alive because of his desire to constantly fine-tune his methods. That much she’d learned in observing him — all for research, of course. Her respect for him increased, and she longed to call him “friend” if only he’d let her.
Over two hours later, Tigo and Ryan walked to her work area with two Hispanic men. The younger man must be Xavier Olvera. His reddened eyes and splotchy face indicated the emotional turmoil of the morning. Kariss stood and met Tigo’s gaze. No glaring, back-away signs met hers.
He smiled and turned to the two men. “I’d like for you to meet Kariss Walker, the woman who originally reported the TV news about Benita. Like many of us he
re at the FBI, she never forgot the crime,” Tigo said in Spanish.
The younger man reached out his hand, and she grasped it.
“Muchas gracias. My name is Xavier Olvera. Thank you for making sure no one forgot my Benita.”
When her heart felt like it was ready to explode, what could she say other than she was sorry for his loss? “Lo siento por su pérdida.”
The other man extended his hand. “I’m Gilberto Olvera, Benita’s uncle. It’s a pleasure to meet you. This is a sad day for me and my brother.”
She inhaled to maintain her composure and looked to Tigo for direction. She certainly wouldn’t mention that she was writing a book about Benita. At that moment, her story seemed to taint the child’s memory.
“Would you like to join us for a cup of coffee?” Tigo said. “When I told Xavier about your role, he wanted to tell you his story.”
“I’d be honored.” She couldn’t imagine the man’s emotions nor fathom how she’d feel in his situation, but she’d offer her support.
Tigo led the way to a small lounge area where the four gathered around a table. While he poured coffee, Kariss spoke to Xavier about his journey to the United States, including Gilberto in the conversation. The brothers’ rigid bodies indicated their distrust and grief. But her ability to speak their language appeared to ease the men’s demeanor.
Tigo encouraged Xavier to tell his story, and Kariss sensed the request was two-fold: a courtesy for her benefit and a chance for the two agents to listen for any discrepancy.
“I was in Houston illegally,” Xavier said. “My wife and I came here to have a better life. Gilberto talked about the many opportunities, and I thought I could find a way to be a citizen. Running from those who’d send us back wasn’t right.” Xavier placed his hands around the coffee cup, as if Styrofoam were his anchor.
“Delores is my wife’s name. She was … very beautiful. Benita had her eyes.” He paused, and Gilberto touched his shoulder.
