Chapter 38

Captain Seth Parker had flown several sorties in an AH-64 Apache helicopter over Iraq and Kuwait during the first Gulf War and since his discharge from the US Army in 1993 had continued as a pilot for different law enforcement agencies. Since September 11, 2001, his beat had been the vast unprotected four-thousand-mile Canadian border for the US Border Patrol. Since Canada had a liberal immigration policy, the Patrol tripled in size to protect American citizens from terrorists who could enter Canada legally and then travel to the United States right under the noses of the poorly staffed Patrol.

Now, he hovered over the scene. Since no one had bolted from the burgundy pickup truck, he scouted the field below him for a clearing in which to land. The whirling blades cratered a circle of sagebrush plants that grew around porous lava rock directly under him on the wet surface. Not more than fifty feet from the stolen truck where several agencies carried on an investigation, he found a dark spot on the ground nestled between two gnarled sagebrush plants. He knew just what it was and landed the chopper in the field, twenty feet from the body.

He switched off the rotors and jumped to the ground. The rain had turned the earth into sludge and it squished around his boots as he trudged across the field toward the asphalt road. As he stepped onto the pavement, he noticed that the agent-in-charge was bent forward with her head and shoulders in the rear-seat compartment of the truck.

He stopped just behind the FBI agent and said, “You need to see this.”

Angela Hawk stood and turned toward his voice. He found himself addressing a woman in her mid-thirties with high cheekbones and a beautiful ruddy complexion. Strands of long black hair, the color of her damp jacket, had become rustled under her baseball hat and lay tossed and twisted on her shoulders.

“See what,” she said with a small black flashlight in her hand.

He pointed toward the field on the opposite side of the road. “Over here. I spotted it from the air.”

“Agent Hawk,” she said as she followed him. “FBI.”

“Captain Parker, ma’am,” he said and flashed a broad grin. “US Border Patrol. I guess we work for the same boss. This way, please.”

*

They arrived at the body and Angela squatted beside the man. “This was an execution,” she said as she rolled the dead man’s head back and forth to examine the bullet’s entry wound. “They’re taunting us.”

When Captain Parker had interrupted her, Angela had been examining what looked like fresh blood on the floor of the truck. Against the dark carpet, it didn’t appear to be in enough quantity to be a gunshot wound but rather more like a cut bled out for a short while. They’d test it against all known donors in this case, yet she was pretty sure they would eventually match the DNA to the comparison toothbrush Detective Caesar Garcia of the LAPD had taken from Natalie’s apartment. It wouldn’t be soon enough to save her, though. However, if these blood drops were her donation, it meant she had been among the living within the last hour. The only reason Angela could see Natalie had been kept alive was because the perps wanted her for their sex toy. Nothing else made sense. Yet, with discoverable bodies in their wake, they were getting careless—or is this a dare? If they chose to get rid of Natalie, they would have no qualms about dumping her where she could be found.

She stared at the crumpled remains of a man in the sagebrush. A deep sadness rose inside her. Too many victims over time had formed a reservoir of unspent tears and now even though they threatened, she reinforced the spillway. He probably had family and friends who won’t understand. She felt his back pockets, found a wallet, and opened it to his driver’s license.

“Jose` Osorio,” she said as she glanced at the picture. “He turned twenty-six last month.”

She flipped through the wallet and found pictures of a baby and a little girl on the lap of a cute young Mexican woman. With a shake of her head, she took one last look at the body, quashed her sorrow, and let anger mount in its place.

*

Rudy didn’t know where Tony had gone, so he decided to build a fire. He knew he couldn’t make it big enough to heat the whole barn as that might cause unwanted attention from a passerby outside but, as it was still daylight, he thought he could get away with one just big enough to give two people reasonable warmth.

He gathered loose combustible material from the barn floor—remnants of the gate and fallen pieces of the decayed roof—and arranged them in a clearing in the corral. Since Tony smoked constantly, he went back to the car to see if there were any matches to be found. There were none. He searched around the inside as best he could in the dark, found the trunk lever, and pulled it. The lid popped open.

He stepped around to the opening and looked inside. In the gloom, his hand bumped something cold and steel. He located the lid, opened a toolbox, and, by feel, found a flashlight. He flipped the switch. A course metal file and a screwdriver lay in the top tray. The jute rope he and Tony had used to open the barn door was still tied to the bumper, so he made quick work; removed it, and dragged it to the side of the car with the gas tank fill pipe. With just enough room to feed the end of the rope down the throat, he pushed it through the opening until he heard the splash of liquid. Then, he forced another three feet into the spout. Satisfied, he pulled the rope out and took his tools to the pile of wood he had assembled.

*

Natalie, by this time, had been able to sit up and clean her nose enough with Rudy’s sweatshirt that she could breathe easier. She found some potato chips, bread, and a jar of peanut butter in the bag Rudy had left her. She rinsed her hands with a water bottle and used her finger to spread the peanut butter on a slice of bread. She licked the peanut butter off her finger. The best thing I’ve had ever tasted, she thought. As soon as it hit her tongue, she realized just how food-deprived she had been and gorged the sandwich into her mouth. She chased it with the bottled water but it wasn’t enough. She grabbed a handful of chips as Rudy returned to the coral and watched him clear a space in front of her.

He took the gasoline-soaked end of the rope, coiled it in the center of the opening, and tossed the remainder off to one side. Natalie caught his eye as he looked toward the pile of loose hay where she sat. He looked away, tossed several handfuls of the hay into the space in front of her, and added some of the roof fragments he had collected. With the file next to the rope, he stroked the screwdriver over the rough surface with a brisk rubbing motion. Only seconds passed before a spark flew out and the rope burst into flames. He laid the hay and kindling against the rope. Once the fire began to consume it, he fed broken planks and framing into the blaze.

Within a couple of minutes, the heat reached Natalie and she rubbed her hands briskly over her legs.

*

Angela Hawk didn’t like this part of the job. She’d rather have left it to another officer but, with the suspect’s trail so warm, she needed to be smart and stop relying on her instincts. They had gotten her this close twice in the last day but she knew at any moment she could lose the scent. She needed some answers.

Even though the clock ticked and the suspects fled, she chose to take the parson’s duty, notifying the next of kin their loved one wouldn’t be home tonight to tuck the kids in, or any other night for that matter. The chore every law enforcement officer hates, no amount of seminars can prepare for the way it rips at the heart every single time. She’d offer the grieving mother the only counsel she could dispense; clinically feeble, nothing more than a shoulder to cry on and an “I’m sorry for your loss.” She was losing ground, though, and she knew, after the tears and the anguish of those first few terrible, truth-sinking-in moments, she had a question for the person who answered the door.

She wasn’t prepared for the person who opened the door. A little girl in a ballerina Halloween costume looked up with big brown eyes at Agent Hawk and Officer Jenkins.

“Hi, sweetie, is your mommy home?” Angela asked.

Angela’s heart caught in her throat when the cute young woman whose photo she had seen fifteen minutes before appeared with an infant in her arms.

“Yes?” she said cheerfully as she opened the door wider. When she saw the two police officers, panic spread across her pretty face and she shouted, “Oh no, what’s happened? Is it Jose`?”

“My name is Special Agent Angela Hawk and this is Patrolman Sam Jenkins. Are you Mrs. Osorio?”

“Yes, Yolanda Osorio,” she said anxiously.

“May we come inside?”

“Of course, yes. What’s happened? Is Jose` okay?” Tears welled in her eyes.

The two officers stepped inside and Angela took a quick look around. A banner hung across the opening between the living and dining rooms with multi-colored letters that declared “Happy Birthday, Rosa.” A partially eaten two-layer cake sat on the dining room table and birthday wrap cluttered the living room floor. On a small lamp table by the couch, Angela saw a photo of Yolanda and Jose`.

“Mommy?” asked the little girl with a frightened tone. She clutched her mother’s leg and looked up at the two officers.

Angela kneeled to eye level with Rosa and asked, “Is today your birthday?”

“Uh-huh. I t’ree.” she said and held up three fingers with her right hand. She continued to cling to her mother’s leg with the left.

“Did you get some new toys today?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You want to show Patrolman Jenkins your new toys?” she asked and shot him a glance over her shoulder.

“Yes, Rosa,” Yolanda said. She kneeled and wiped away the tears coursing her olive cheeks. “Go with the nice policeman and show him some of the new toys you got for your birthday.”

“Hey sweetie,” Samuel said, addressing the girl, “I have a little girl at my home. Why don’t you take my hand and show me your bedroom? I wonder if you have some of the same toys.”

He held out his hand but she hesitated with her arms clutched tightly around her mother’s leg.

“It’s okay,” Yolanda said, “Go with the nice policeman.”

“Will you show me the way?” he asked.

Rosa let go of her mommy and reached her tiny hand into the strong hand of the patrolman. She glanced up to Yolanda for assurance and then turned away. They walked together across the living room and disappeared through a doorway. Angela heard Rosa’s muffled voice from the bedroom as she told the policeman about “ . . . the party . . . the games . . . the presents . . . Daddy put frosting on my nose.”

“Yolanda, won’t you sit?” Angela turned back toward the woman. She wore a painful, anguished look on her face and didn’t move. The tears began to flow again. Angela reached for the picture on the table. “Is this Jose` with you here?”

“Yes, he’s been in an accident, hasn’t he?”

“No, it wasn’t an accident. I’m afraid I do have some very bad news.”

She slipped her arm around Yolanda’s shoulders and continued. “Is Jose` your husband?”

“Yes,” she said,

Angela recognized the pleading in her eyes. They begged that the next words wouldn’t be the ones she feared most.

“I’m sorry to tell you, your husband is dead.”

Angela paused to let Yolanda absorb the news. Reality swept over her with vengeance. The stream of tears turned into a river and she began to heave heavy sobs. The baby also began to cry. Yolanda pulled the infant tight to her chest.

“You have such a beautiful baby, may I?” Angela asked and slipped her arm from the woman’s shoulder. She reached for the child.

Yolanda didn’t respond at first. After a few seconds, she looked up into Angela’s eyes and released the little bundle wrapped in a powder blue blanket. Through her sobs, she asked, “What . . . happened?”

Angela cradled the crying baby in her arms and began to rock him back and forth in front of her.

She looked back to Yolanda. “We believe some men stole your husband’s car and shot him so he couldn’t be a witness.”

“They shot him?” she said, through her tears. “Where is he? I need to see him. Is this really happening?”

“Yes, I’m sorry it happened. Please sit?”

Yolanda made her way to the couch and sat on the edge. Angela sat next to her.

“I can’t believe it,” Yolanda said through sobs. “He was just here. He had to go to work. Someone shot him?”

“Yes, some very bad men,” Angela said. She knew she had to get through this so she could ask the question that might bring Yolanda’s husband’s murderer to justice. “I believe they pretended to have car trouble and Jose` stopped to see if he could help them.”

“He would do that. He is the kindest man I’ve ever known. I’ll never be with him again, will I?”

“No, I’m afraid he’s not coming home. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Yolanda wept deeply. A knot tightened in Angela’s throat and tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Her witness was found dead from a gunshot yesterday and now Jose’ whose life had been taken in just the same way broke her restraint. She could hold the tears back no longer.

After a couple of minutes, when Yolanda’s sobs turned to sniffles, Angela reined her emotions in and brushed her cheeks with the sleeves of her jacket. It was time for the question. She hated to ask it at such a grave moment but time wasn’t in her favor.

“These men who shot your husband have abducted a young woman and killed some other men. Will you help me before they hurt someone else?”

Yolanda could hardly speak as she gasped and gulped for air, but she forced herself to ask, “How can I . . . help?”

“According to the Department of Licensing, your husband has three vehicles registered in his name. We saw one of them in the driveway when we drove up but we need to know what he was driving today.”

“Uh . . . He loaned his brother the truck. The one in the driveway is his and since it needed gas he took mine, the Subaru.”