In Desperation (4 page)

Phoenix, Arizona

S
omething's not right here.

“Play the mother's call again.”

Special Agent Earl Hackett concentrated as his partner, Bonnie Larson, turned on her pocket-sized recorder and replayed the 911 call Cora Martin had made twenty minutes ago.

As Hackett wheeled their unmarked sedan from the FBI's Phoenix headquarters he got a bad vibe about this case. After he and Larson had listened to the call several more times Hackett reviewed the key facts.

The mother says two men in police uniforms kidnapped her daughter. These “cops” said her employer, Lyle Galviera “distributed their product” and stole five million dollars. She says it happened at 12:30 a.m., but calls it in now, more than twelve hours later.

“This is a cartel operation,” Hackett said as Larson activated the dash-mounted cherry.

The engine hummed and they cut through traffic to the expressway. While Larson worked on her cell phone gathering background from analysts at the field office, Hackett assessed matters. Cora Martin's call first went to the County Sheriff's deputies. They responded, took Cora's initial statement and were backed up by Phoenix PD, which had the Home Invasion and Kidnapping
Enforcement Task Force. The so-called HIKE unit was created when Phoenix became America's kidnapping capital, averaging a kidnapping a day, usually arising from drug and human smuggling wars. But lately, HIKE was stretched. And because this new case involved a child and potential interstate flight, it fell to the FBI. Hackett and Larson had the lead, with support from other agencies.

As they drove across Phoenix, Hackett boiled things down.

Most of these cases involved criminal-on-criminal acts. Many times people never reported them to police. They paid the ransom, cleared the drug debt and the hostage was released.

Or things ended with a corpse.

You could argue that there were no true victims in this type of crime, but this one involved an eleven-year-old girl so he kicked his biases aside. As the city blurred by, he undid his collar button and loosened his tie. His gnarled face fixed into his perpetual grimace, the flag of his life as a twice-divorced hard-ass who was raised in Yonkers.

What did he have in this world?

Two ex-wives; four grown children, none of whom would speak to him; a slight limp from a gunshot wound; and a bastard's attitude that hardened as he counted the days to his retirement.

Hackett couldn't remember the last time he smiled. Maybe when the Cardinals won a game? His outlook was shaped by the crap he'd faced from his time as the FBI's legal attaché in Bogotá, Guatemala City and Mexico City. He was intimate with the work of narcoterrorists. His limp was a daily reminder of his role in the botched rescue attempt of an American aid worker, taken hostage by cocaine traffickers in Colombia.

The narcos had been tipped that police were coming and the aid worker, a red-haired medical student from Ohio named Betsy, and three Colombian cops, died in
the firefight. Later, while recovering in hospital, Hackett learned that one of the cops had been on the traffickers' payroll, a betrayal that, like his bullet wound, had scarred him.

That was ten years ago and since then Hackett had watched helplessly as the drug lords, with the increasing power of Mexican cartels, extended their reach deeper into the U.S. Corruption greased the drug trade, a fact evinced by the latest memo concerning cartel infiltration of U.S. police ranks. Intelligence showed that cartels were suspected of having “operatives” applying for and getting jobs within U.S. law enforcement. This threw a cloud of mistrust over joint-forces operations, underscoring that you never knew who was on your side. It was an affront to Hackett, who abided by the Bureau's motto: Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity. These factors weighed on him as they came to Mesa Mirage.

Larson had finished taking notes over the phone.

“No complaint history on the caller's address. The mother has no criminal history, a spotless driving record. No registered firearms. She's unmarried and no custody issues—the same for Lyle Galviera. He resides near Tempe and is president of Quick Draw Courier. No arrests, warrants or convictions. He does not possess any firearms. His company is clean.”

“And we've got people moving on his company and his home?”

“Yes, based on the statements the kidnapped girl's mother gave to the sheriff's deputies we've set things in motion to expedite search warrants on Galviera. And we've got our Evidence Response Team rolling to the mother's house to process it as soon as possible.”

“I'm concerned about the time that's passed since it happened. How many people have walked through that house, contaminating our scene,” Hackett said.

“I figure we'll want to get the place processed quickly and get a task force set up in the house,” Larson said.

“You figured right.”

Hackett considered Larson a solid young agent. Three years out of Quantico, she'd grown up in Pennsylvania, the daughter of a Pittsburgh cop. She was quiet but sharp, and one of the few agents who could stand working with the walking slab of embitterment known as Earl Hackett.

They neared Cora Martin's street and recognized a number of unmarked county and Phoenix PD units. As the FBI had requested, they were keeping a low profile but positioned to immediately choke all traffic in the neighborhood.

Hackett stopped their sedan at Cora Martin's house. A man answered the door. The two agents held up ID.

“Special Agents Earl Hackett and Bonnie Larson. FBI,” Hackett said.

“Jack Gannon.” He swung the door open. “My sister's over here.”

He indicated the woman sitting on the couch, twisting a tissue in her fists. Her hair was messed and her eyes reddened. After the agents introduced themselves, Hackett said: “Cora, a lot of people are going to work full tilt to get Tilly home safely but we're going to need your help.”

“Anything.”

After assessing the house and making calls for support, Hackett and Larson talked further with Cora.

“Will you volunteer your property to be processed by our Evidence Response Team, who will look for anything to aid us?”

“Yes.”

“Good. While they do that, would you and your brother come to the Bureau with us now to help us with a few questions?”

“Leave? No. I don't want to leave—the kidnappers could call.”

“We'll put an agent here and we can arrange to have
any calls that come to your landline go directly to a dedicated line at the Bureau where you can answer. We will not miss a call.”

 

Upon returning to FBI headquarters, a redbrick and glass building at Indianola Avenue and Second, the agents took Cora alone to a separate meeting room, leaving Gannon to wait in a reception area.

“Would you like something to drink?” Larson asked Cora.

She declined.

“All right, tell us what happened,” Hackett said.

Cora recounted everything. Hackett grilled her, often coming back to the same questions several times. What did she remember about the men? Had she ever seen them before? Height, build, scars, tattoos, accents? What did they touch? Did she still have the duct tape they'd used to bind her? Did she get a look at the car, a plate? The model, make? Prior to the kidnapping had there been any strange incidents? Did Tilly report anything odd at school, like strangers watching her, approaching her?

What did she know about Lyle Galviera? Did the five-million-dollar demand mean anything to Cora or the business? Was he a drug dealer, a drug user, a gambler, a big spender? Did he have debts? What kind of businessman was he?

“Let's go over this again.” Hackett read his notes. “The kidnappers told you that Lyle uses his company to distribute their product, launder money and that he's stolen five million dollars from them. Do you know which group or gang this is linked to?”

“No. I wish I did but I don't.”

“More than twelve hours went by before you called police,” Hackett said. “I need you to explain the delay to me again.”

“I told you, they said that if I went to the police they would kill Tilly. I told absolutely no one. I did all I could
to try to find Lyle. I don't know where he is. When nothing worked, the only person I told is my brother, Jack. I begged him to help me and he told me to call the police.”

Hackett let a few moments pass in silence before he and Larson left Cora alone in the room.

 

The agents sent for Gannon, leading him to a separate room where Hackett sipped coffee from an FBI mug and flipped through his notes.

“And what's your line of work, Jack?”

“I'm a correspondent with the World Press Alliance.”

“You're a reporter with the newswire service?”

“Yes.”

“And you were in Mexico when she called you?”

“Yes.”

“Where in Mexico?”

“Juarez.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“And what were you doing there when she contacted you?”

“I was working on the WPA's series on the drug trade.”

Hackett and Larson exchanged a look of unease.

“Is that right?” Hackett asked. “Yes.”

“Who did you talk to down there? What were you doing?”

“I talked to other journalists, morgue officials. It's all in the profile that I wrote. The WPA will put out a day-of-death feature.”

“A ‘day-of-death' feature?”

“Yes, it'll likely run in tomorrow's
Arizona Republic,
and about two thousand other papers around the world.”

“I'll have to read it,” Hackett said. “Is it possible there's a link to your activities in Mexico and what's happened to your niece? Like maybe you pissed somebody off? Cartels have been known to go after journalists.”

“I know, but I doubt it,” Gannon said.

“Why?”

“I've only been there a few days and my sister said that the people who took my niece asked for Lyle Galviera, said he owed them five million dollars. Until today, I'd never heard of the guy.”

“Would you say you and your sister are close? Keep in touch regularly?”

“No. She ran away from home when she was seventeen and I was twelve. I never saw her again, until today.”

“So it's fair to say you don't really know your sister that well?”

“It's been difficult, yes.”

“And here you are, directly from Juarez, Mexico?”

“That's right. Here I am.”

Hackett stared at him for several long seconds before he and Larson met with other people in the Bureau and made a few calls. Then they led Gannon to the room where Cora had been waiting and questioned them together.

“Cora,” Hackett started, “I need to know more about Tilly. Does she have any medical condition we should know about?”

“No.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“God no, she's eleven.”

“Does she use drugs? Is she flirtatious? Does she spend a lot of time chatting on the internet?”

“No.”

“Is she a good student?”

“Yes. She has above-average grades. She likes school.”

“Describe her relationship with you.”

“She's a good girl. We have a strong relationship. There's just the two of us in our family. We're as close as any mother and daughter can be.”

“Where's Tilly's father?”

“I don't know. He's been out of the picture from the start. I raised her alone.”

“Again, characterize your relationship with Lyle Galviera. You indicated it's more than boss-employee.”

“I started working there five years ago and last year we started dating.”

“Are you engaged?”

“No. A few months ago we talked about marriage but we decided to keep dating, see where things go.”

“Describe Lyle's relationship with Tilly.”

“He adores her and she likes him.”

“Can you think of anyone who would have reason to take this kind of action against you?”

Cora was stabbed by the memory of California.

No one must know what happened. It
can't
be connected to Tilly's abduction. She can't be the one to pay for my mistake. I have to keep that night in California secret. No one must know. Not Jack, not the police, no one. I have to protect Tilly. This is the one thing I have to keep secret until I know who took Tilly.

The one thing.

The kidnappers said this was about Lyle, not me. Please let that be true.

“No.”

“What about Lyle and his company—any enemies?”

“I can't think of one. Everyone likes Lyle.”

“Is the company involved in the trafficking of narcotics?”

“I told you, no, not to my knowledge. I know we were facing some hard financial times. Lyle had to lay off a couple of people and told me to watch office costs, but drugs? No, this is all wrong.”

“You said that this morning the kidnappers called you at your office?”

“Yes. When I got loose, I went there immediately to try to find some clue as to where Lyle was. They called me on my cell phone and put Tilly on.”

“Did she give you any idea where she was?”

“No, it was only for a second and she sounded so scared.”

“How did they get your number?”

“Tilly would have given them my cell phone number.”

“Have you ever been involved with illicit drugs, Cora?”

She was struggling to hold herself together and covered her mouth with her cupped hands, feeling her brother's eyes upon her. “Yes.”

“Elaborate.”

“For about ten years, starting when I was seventeen, I was addicted to drugs—pot, coke and crack. I was messed up. I drifted across the country. I hit bottom. I cut myself off from my family. Then I got pregnant with Tilly. I got clean for her, started over with her. I changed my name from Cora Gannon to Cora Martin.”