“Are you sure you want to stay on this? I can put other people on it if it ever becomes…becomes…”
“Becomes what?”
“If it ever becomes too much for you, Jack.”
“I’m in too deep, Melody.”
She let a moment pass before speaking. “We’re praying they find Tilly safe and bring her home.”
“So am I.”
Turning from the window back to his laptop, Gannon called up the story he’d sent earlier to headquarters and reread it, fighting to distance himself from the fact he was writing about his own family. The execution murders of two former U.S. law enforcement officers who were found beheaded in the Mexican desert may be tied to the recent kidnapping of an 11-year-old Phoenix girl, according to police sources.
That was how it began, a tight nuts-and-bolts exclusive that provided few details. It did not report the victims’ names or anything on the assassin. Gannon had filed it from Juarez before returning to El Paso for his flight. By now his story should’ve gone around the world on the WPA wire and been posted online everywhere with Castillo’s crime scene photos, the ones suitable for family viewing-police vehicles near the barn.
Luna was writing a similar piece for El Heraldo.
The story beat the Associated Press, Reuters, all of Gannon’s competition. It was a WPA win that should make New York very happy, especially George Wilson, head of all foreign news. It would satisfy Gannon’s employer, whose resources he needed to find his niece.
His niece.
Suddenly he was jolted by another concern.
Should he have alerted Cora that the story was coming, explained what he knew so that she could brace for it? But it would’ve been a risk to call her. He couldn’t ignore suspicions that the task force had been infiltrated by people working for the cartel.
No, he had no other option but to get the story out.
For the rest of the short flight, Gannon considered how the execution in the Mexican desert of two American ex-cops would bring more to bear on Tilly’s case. Now as the landing gear rumbled down, he searched the blurring ground for answers. There had to be something he was overlooking, something he could dig into. He had to do more to find Tilly, and he had to do it fast.
Time was working against them.
The story was getting bigger.
The first thing Gannon noticed as his cab approached Cora’s house was that there were more news people out front, including a few satellite trucks from Los Angeles, Tucson and Las Vegas.
“Hey, Gannon! What about the executions in Mexico?”
He gave the pack an apologetic wave and went to the back door.
“Come on, Jack, give your pals here a break!”
In the ride from the airport to Mesa Mirage, he’d checked his BlackBerry for developments. His WPA story was the big one. The Los Angeles Times, Yahoo and the New York Times had already put it up on their sites. The Arizona Republic had posted it, too, along with a news features on ever-widening neighborhood searches for Tilly and prayer vigils by church groups.
The moment Gannon stepped inside Cora’s house, she rushed to him.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“You should’ve warned me, Jack! I was going out of my mind! Oh my God, is it true? Are the murders connected to Tilly? Who are the officers?”
Mounting worry had deepened the lines carved into her drawn face. He started to take her aside.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“No.” He felt a hand on his shoulder. “ We need to talk.”
Gannon turned and met Hackett’s scowl as the FBI agent backed him into a corner and dropped his voice to a menacing level.
“How did you learn about the homicides in Mexico, Gannon?”
Hackett’s question went beyond concern over a press leak.
That Gannon knew about a major break at the same time the FBI had been informed underscored Hackett’s worst nightmare as the lead investigator: The sickening possibility that had dogged him with that memo on cartel infiltration of U.S. police ranks.
In the icy silence that passed between them, each man knew. By Hackett’s body language, by the fury behind his eyes, Hackett telegraphed his fear of a potentially compromised investigation. It was there slithering in the air, that someone, anyone, among the half dozen agencies involved in the case, including those in Texas and Mexico, could be on a cartel payroll.
It rattled Hackett that Gannon had gotten so close.
“I don’t expect you’ll give up a source,” Hackett said, “but I’ll warn you, if you jeopardize our case I’ll charge you with obstruction.”
“It would be better if you accepted that you have your sources and I have mine. And we both want the same thing.”
“Just watch yourself.”
“Excuse me, I’d like to talk privately with my sister.”
“Listen up-if you have information relevant to this case, you’d better share it.”
Gannon made a point of lifting his chin to inventory the agents and officers in the house.
“Right, why don’t you tell me about the two dead ‘cops’ in the desert, Agent Hackett? Then we could talk about sharing, about trust.”
Hackett grimaced then left.
Cora was alone in her bedroom, looking at pictures of Tilly. Gannon’s stomach tensed after he’d shut the door. Trust. Did he trust her? Could he trust her? She touched her tears that fell on the photos in the laminated album.
“Cora, I need you to help me find her.”
She nodded.
“We have no time. I need you to tell me the truth about everything.”
“I’ve told you everything.”
“I think you’re holding back.”
“I told you I made a lot of mistakes in my life.”
“Stop the bullshit! I have seen what they do and what they are going to do to Tilly. You have to tell me everything so I can help.”
“Oh, God!”
“Why did you call me?”
“Because you’re a good reporter and I thought you could help me find the people who took Tilly, so we could bring her home.”
“Are you part of this?”
“No!”
“Cora, what did you mean when you said you’re being punished for past sins, that it’s karma? What the hell do you mean?”
“Jack, I-I don’t know-”
“Stop this! They’re going to kill Tilly!”
“I know. I have to protect her. We have to find her.”
“Then tell me something that could help, damn it, Cora!”
“Maybe Tilly’s father knows something.”
“I thought you said he was out of the picture?”
“He is. I haven’t seen him since I was pregnant.”
“Why do you think he could help?”
“He’s a police officer with the LAPD.”
20
Mesa Mirage, Phoenix, Arizona
T hey’d met when she was working as a waitress at a North Hollywood bar and still messed up on drugs. Ivan would talk to her. He was a tough patrol cop, divorced because of the job. Cora dated him. Then she got pregnant. It took a long time before she could bring herself to tell Ivan.
His reaction was seared into her memory.
He drove her to a clinic somewhere around Wilshire Boulevard, slapped five hundred dollars in her hand and told her to “take care of it.” She got out and he drove away.
The clinic was a decaying building that smelled like a veterinarian’s office where they put down dogs and cats.
Cora was so afraid.
“You’re too far along,” the nurse said.
Cora took it as a sign. Overwhelmed, she went to a church and prayed until she’d reached the decision to keep her baby. This was her one chance to save herself. She took a city bus to a community support agency. They counseled her, helped her get clean for her baby. It was hard, very hard, but she had Tilly alone.
And she raised her alone.
Cora never saw Ivan Peck again.
Later, she’d bumped into one of the girls from the bar who told her that Ivan was a cheating asshole who was married when he was dating Cora. Everyone knew. Didn’t she know? And this girl had also heard that Ivan got caught up in some kind of cop scandal.