The Body Market: A Leine Basso Thriller (5 page)

“Like I said, she hasn’t texted me so I know something happened. And Josh never came back either, which worries me even more.”

“He wouldn’t help make her parents believe she wasn’t lying this time?”

“No. I don’t think so. Josh wasn’t—isn’t that into her. I doubt he’d want to lie about something that serious. Besides, he’s graduating this year. If he screws up he won’t get to keep the new car his dad gave him.”

“Thanks for the information, Brittany.” Leine made a mental note to contact the officer who took the missing persons report.

“Thank you for taking this seriously. Please find her.” Brittany looked close to tears. “I know she’s still alive. She has to be.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Leine threw her cup into the garbage as she walked out the door, and wondered whether she was chasing a ghost, or a lying, spoiled brat.

A
s Leine pulled
into the parking lot at SHEN her phone beeped, alerting her to a text message. She grabbed her cell out of her purse and squinted at the screen. The text from Santa read,
Putz @ ER. Talk later.

That can’t be good, Leine thought. A trip to the emergency room could be either work- or lifestyle-related. In addition to being a detective who sat behind a desk for hours at a time, Santa’s erstwhile partner eschewed anything resembling exercise and had a weakness for all things fried.

Keep me posted
, Leine texted back. She hoped it was a false alarm or at least nothing major. Santa and Putz had been partners for a long time and worked well together. Leine trusted him to always have Santa’s back.

As she got out of her car, the theme from
The Godfather
erupted from her phone. It was Lou.

“Hey, Lou. I’m in the parking lot. I’ll be inside in a minute,” she said.

“Good. You’re going to want to hear this.” Lou’s voice had weary written all over it.

She locked her car and made her way up the sidewalk, wondering what could make her old friend sound so drained. Leine marveled at his capacity to ignore the seeming insurmountable hopelessness of their mission while staying upbeat and positive. Whatever happened must have something to do with one of the cases she’d been working. Leine braced herself for a setback.

Lou was leaning against his desk when she walked into his office. The lines on his face seemed deeper than usual, giving him the appearance of a man much older than his sixty-odd years. He was joined by two men, both cradling a paper cup of office coffee. Leine recognized them from Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE, having worked on several trafficking cases with them before. Wondering whether they were there with good news or bad, she greeted them and sat on the edge of Lou’s desk.

“Leine, Nabokov and Gunderson here have some news about Josh and Elise.” He turned to the ICE agents, giving them the floor.

Nabokov shifted forward and set his coffee cup on the desk in front of him.

“Naturally, what I’m about to tell you isn’t general knowledge and goes nowhere,” he said.

“Naturally,” Lou answered.

Nabokov nodded. “We traced Josh Rider’s iPhone to a place a few miles outside of Tijuana. Mexican authorities found it in the weeds alongside the road in an unfinished housing development.”

“Did they find the car?”

Gunderson shook his head. “No. And there was no sign of either Miss Bennett or Josh Rider. There was, however, a large amount of dried blood on the ground along with several sets of footprints and broken glass. We sent samples to the lab.”

“So, either it’s a carjacking gone bad, or somebody wanted to make it look like one,” Leine said.

“Looks like it. We’ve asked our Mexican counterparts to distribute photos of the two of them throughout their networks and keep us apprised of any related information, but—” Nabokov raised his hands, palms up. “The car’s gone, there aren’t any bodies, and no one’s made contact with either set of parents. Not a lot to go on.”

“That’s where you come in,” Lou said to Leine. “Obviously, evidence is pointing to the probability that something happened beyond them running away together, but Nabokov and Gunderson here have hit a wall with the local police. They’re resisting the idea that two kids from wealthy families were abducted in their fair city. Someone higher up is afraid if the information gets out it might curtail the influx of spring breakers.” Lou crossed his arms. “I need you to go down to Tijuana and check things out.”

Leine nodded. “And stay under the radar.”

“You got it.”

“I’d send my own people, except they’re known commodities in TJ. The authorities down there tend to get a little peevish when we come around sticking our noses into things. You know, not having jurisdiction and all,” Nabokov added. “Not to mention the agency’s stretched so thin you can hear the screams.”

“No problem. I can leave tonight.”

“The sooner the better.” Gunderson handed Leine a thin manila envelope. “This is what we’ve got so far. I’ll call Lou as soon as the lab report comes back.”

Leine took the envelope and looked inside. Along with a copy of the police reports of the two teenagers’ disappearance, there were recent photos of Elise and Josh, a picture of the Porsche, and a satellite map marking where Josh’s phone had been found.

“Thanks. This is helpful.” Leine turned to Lou. “Can you make a reservation for a car and a hotel?”

Lou nodded.

Gunderson reached for his briefcase. “We’ve got footage of them crossing the border into Mexico, but nothing coming back.” He pulled out a tablet, powered it on, and turned the screen toward Leine. The surveillance video showed a late-model Porsche with two occupants entering Mexico at 7:30 p.m. the previous Saturday evening. The passenger had long, blonde hair and resembled the photograph of Elise Mrs. Bennett had given to Lou the day before. The driver easily fit Josh’s description.

“Border agents didn’t record their passports, but we’re sure it’s them. The plates match the car in question. I doubt the kid would let anyone else drive that car.”

“Unbelievable that he even drove it across,” Nabokov added, shaking his head. “He was asking for trouble.”

“So what’s your gut tell you?” Leine asked, looking at the two agents.

Nabokov spoke first. “Pretty sure there’s been at least one murder. Depending on whose blood was at the scene, I’d say the two were targeted straight off the bat because of either the car or the girl or both. If we go with a crime of opportunity and it really was a vanilla-type carjacking, it’s possible they realized she would net them a bigger payoff than the car when they saw her.”

“I lean toward the latter explanation, myself,” Gunderson said.

Leine tucked the envelope with the report into her bag and stood to leave.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said. “I appreciate your help.”

“No problem, Leine. I hope you find something,” Gunderson said. “We’ll continue to follow any leads we come across. We’d appreciate it if you’d keep us informed.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll follow you out.” Lou accompanied Leine from the office, leaving Nabokov and Gunderson to finish their coffee.

“What’s your feeling on this, Lou?” Leine asked as they walked through the door to the parking lot. Lou had a sixth sense when it came to the criminal mind.

“I think the first scenario makes the most sense. Why were they in an abandoned development in the first place?” Lou shook his head. “And, according to the housekeeper, Elise was wearing an expensive dress with a lot of bling. They would have gotten more than their share of attention no matter what because of the car he was driving, but adding it all together makes it an even more attractive proposition.”

Leine unlocked her car and put her bag on the passenger seat. “I’ll keep in touch. Let me know if anything comes up. Depending on what I find, I may need a gun.” Leine refused to take a chance crossing the border with a firearm. Mexican authorities tended to frown on tourists with weapons. Jail time wasn’t pleasant anywhere, but especially not in Mexico.

“No problem. I’ve got just the guy. Be safe.” Lou walked back into the building. Leine climbed inside her car and checked her phone. Santa had sent another text:
Putz ok. c u @ home.

Relieved, she put her cell back into her purse and started the car.

Home
. He meant his apartment, of course. Leine waited for the familiar claustrophobic feeling to make its presence known, but it didn’t even rear its head. She looked at her watch. There was just enough time to grab some takeout and have dinner with Santa before she left for Tijuana.

The thought gave her pause. She marveled at how easily she had slipped into relationship mode. A smile playing at the edges of her lips, she shifted the car into gear and drove out of the parking lot, headed for home.

L
eine had just
lit two tapered candles on the dining room table when Santa walked in the door.

“How’s Don?” she called out.

She heard him drop his keys on the table in the entryway and move into the living room.

“He’s stable. The hospital’s going to monitor him overnight. He’s scheduled for more tests in the morning.” Santa walked over and planted a kiss on her neck. “You should have heard the words that came out of his mouth when he found out he had to stay.”

“What happened?”

“Chest pains, shortness of breath,” Santa said, heading for the couch. “The guy’s been in denial too long. He’s gonna have to wake up. Change some things.”

“You look beat,” Leine said as she came around behind him and gave his shoulders a squeeze. “He’s a fighter. He’ll be fine.”

Santa gave her a tired smile and reached for her hand. “Yeah. I know. He’ll be out on a medical for a few weeks.”

“Which means you get a new partner.”

“Yep.”

“Well, maybe this one will be a quick study. It’s only temporary, right? Until Putz is allowed to resume his duties?”

“He’ll probably have to pull light duty for a while when he comes back.” He sighed. “When you’ve been partners as long as we have you develop a kind of shorthand when you work together. Makes things easier. It’s always a crap shoot whether a replacement is workable.”

“You’ll still be able to talk to Putz about your cases. It’s not like he’ll be completely out of commission. You know he’s gonna call you all day long while he’s recuperating. He won’t be able to stand it.”

Santa smiled, brightening. “You’re right.” He took her hand and guided her to sit next to him on the couch. “I noticed your bag next to the door. Are you going somewhere?”

Leine allowed herself to be led and sat down. “I’m leaving tonight. Josh’s phone was traced to an abandoned housing project outside of Tijuana.”

“Any leads on the car?”

“No. Some safety glass, but that’s it. There was blood on the ground, but results from the lab aren’t back yet so there’s not much to go on at the moment. The ICE agents who told us what happened said some higher-up in the local police department wasn’t too interested in pursuing the idea that a couple of rich kids from LA had been kidnapped and possibly murdered. They’re afraid it’ll slow the tsunami of partiers into the city.”

“So you get to go to TJ during spring break. Lucky you.”

“Yeah. Not so much. I figure I’ll check out the area where they found the kid’s phone, talk to the bartenders that were on staff that night, see if anyone recognizes them.”

“I know a DEA field agent who works out of there, if you want his information. He’ll be able to give you some tips or maybe a contact or two.”

“Sure. The more the merrier.” Leine stroked his cheek and leaned in for a kiss. “You hungry?” she asked. “I picked up some Pad Thai from the Green Onion.”

“Perfect.” With a smile, Santa slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her to him. The scent of his citrus and cedar aftershave enveloped Leine. She closed her eyes and inhaled, giving herself over to the sensory overload that always accompanied a kiss from the smoldering detective. After a few moments, she put her hand on his chest and drew back with an apologetic smile.

“Much as I’d love to stay and play, I need to eat dinner and get on the road.” She took both of his hands in hers and stood up, pulling him to his feet. “The faster I go, the faster I can come back.”

Brief disappointment skated across his features but was soon replaced by a wicked smile. He leaned in close and whispered, “Fast is good, but only when it’s you coming back.”

***

The border crossing was busy but not as crowded as during daylight hours. To make things easier, Leine walked across and picked up her nondescript SUV from the rental agency, drove downtown, and parked at a secure parking lot near the Blue Manatee. It was still early by Tijuana standards—only eight thirty—and the party atmosphere hadn’t yet kicked into high gear. Bouncers stood outside of bar entrances shilling for early arrivals, hoping to entice them with promises of scantily clad women, cheap booze, and pulsing laser light shows.

Leine knew if she walked into any one of the “Gentlemen’s” clubs in the border town she’d have a good chance of finding several women who had been trafficked in some form or another. Security was tight in these places, and unless she wanted to stir up a hornet’s nest of pissed-off cartel members and protection racketeers, Leine would have to avoid them. The women themselves were often drugged or beaten or both, with their identification confiscated by their handlers to ensure compliance. Many refused to accept offers of help for fear their families would be targeted, or they’d be hunted down and dragged back to work, or even killed for their trouble. Others believed their lifestyle was the best they could hope for, or were too addicted to see beyond the syringe or pipe in their hand.

The problem didn’t have an easy, one-size-fits-all solution.

Leine admired the agencies that worked tirelessly to win over the women, to convince them they were worth more than what they’d been brainwashed to believe by the ruthless men and women who controlled their destinies. Diplomacy and patience were not words Leine would use for her approach to the scum-sucking parasites who ruled the sex trafficking underworld. Hand grenades and a flamethrower made more sense.

The sights and smells of downtown Tijuana brought back deeply buried memories: the seared meat juices soaking the drip pan at the ever-present food stands accompanied by the familiar smell of refried beans and handmade tortillas; overripe melons and strawberries and pineapples piled high on top of fruit carts; spilled
cerveza
and tequila mixed with the faint (and not-so-faint) odor of exhaust and urine.

The garishness of the city at night with its blatant neon and blaring music blended seamlessly with the hive-like drone of hundreds of hustlers and entrepreneurs, all working the system and tourists to make a buck. This was not the place to come for a quiet siesta or to find quality time alone with your sweetheart. Tijuana after dark existed for the fast and reckless, for the alcohol-fueled folly of thousands of daily visitors hell-bent on experiencing something different from their privileged American lives—addictive entertainment that smacked of the vaguely dangerous.

Elise and Josh found dangerous all right
, Leine thought.

She located the Blue Manatee down a side street, the door unmanned and wide open to the balmy night. She walked into the cool, dark club, empty of customers except for a man sitting at the far end of the Lucite-and-chrome bar nursing a beer. Disheveled and probably hung over, he acted as though it was too much effort to acknowledge anything other than the cigarette in his hand. He had the look of someone who had become disillusioned with life, moved to Mexico, and now found himself drinking alone in Tijuana. He could have been thirty. Or sixty.

A large screen at the other end played a music video of the pop star du jour. Blue laser lights flickered at random intervals, attempting to give the impression of an electrified, high energy interior. The club’s namesake—an enormous, plush blue manatee—hung above the bar.

A dark-haired man who Leine estimated to be in his early twenties was stocking bottles on the shelves behind the bar. She approached him and sat on one of the padded Lucite stools. He turned to her with a smile and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. A tattoo of a rattlesnake devouring a scorpion was visible on his neck.

“What can I get for you, señora?” he asked. His name tag read Jorge.

“I’m looking for some information, Jorge,” Leine said in Spanish. “By any chance did you work the bar last Saturday night?”

“Sí—I always work,” Jorge answered with a practiced grin.

Leine reached into her pocket and pulled out the photographs of Elise and Josh that Gunderson had included in the report. “These two were in here last Saturday evening. Do you remember them?”

Jorge leaned over the bar and squinted at the pictures. He cocked his head to one side and frowned.

“She looks familiar to me, but I can’t be sure,” he said. He stepped back and shook his head. “He does not. I see so many people each night. They all begin to look alike after a few hours.”

Leine contemplated offering him money to jog his memory but rejected the thought. The possibility was too great that he would just tell her what she wanted to hear. “Did anyone else work the bar that night?”

Jorge nodded. “Guillermo is here every Saturday.” He glanced at his watch. “Tonight he is at another club one street over. The Gypsy.”

“Thank you, Jorge.” Leine slid a business card with the name Lana Turner and her cell phone number across the bar. “If you remember anything, would you give me a call?”

“Of course. May I ask why you are looking for them?”

“They never came home.” She rose to leave and held out her hand. Jorge shook it.

“I appreciate your time,” she said.

“No problems. I hope that you find them.”

Leine left the Blue Manatee and headed for the Gypsy. Tucked in the back of a small outdoor mall with several shops surrounding it, the place appeared to be less nightclub than restaurant, serving food at low prices to the locals. There was a bigger crowd than the Blue Manatee, with several tables full of diners.

She walked over to a man standing behind the counter wearing a white linen guayabera and a pair of khakis. Tortoise-shell glasses perched on top of his head.

“Is Guillermo working tonight?”

“Who wants to know?” the man asked with a disarming smile. He reminded Leine of a younger version of an actor she’d seen in movies from the 80s named Raul Julia.

“My name is Lana Turner. Jorge at the Blue Manatee told me that I would be able to find him here.”

The man’s smile widened into a grin, revealing even white teeth. “I am Guillermo. What can I do for you, Lana Turner?”

Leine returned the smile and pulled out the photos.

“I’m looking for someone who remembers either of these two people. They were at the Blue Manatee last Saturday night.”

Guillermo slid his glasses down and leaned in to take a closer look at the photographs. His cologne had a deep, exotic scent.

After a minute he nodded, tapping the picture of Elise with a well-manicured fingernail. “Yes, I remember her.” He leaned back and smiled. “She was a vision in a white beaded dress and fabulous shoes. Christian Louboutin, if I’m not mistaken. He wasn’t so bad, either,” he added with a wicked grin.

Bingo. “Do you remember if they were with anyone?”

Guillermo nodded. “I do, because he was so striking. A big man with an accent—maybe Russian? Tall and muscular with white hair and light blue eyes. He looked kind of like an actor I’ve seen before.” He paused for a moment, frowning in concentration. Frustrated, he shook his head. “I can’t remember who, now. He and the boyfriend took off and left her alone at the bar.” He made a
tsking
sound with his tongue. “Poor thing. She waited a long time. When he didn’t come back, she became angry and walked out.”

“So she didn’t leave with him?” That complicated things.

Guillermo shrugged. “I don’t know. The boyfriend returned to the bar not long after she left and asked me if I knew where she’d gone. I told him no, but that she looked angry and had only left a few minutes before. After that he disappeared into the crowd.”

“Was the Russian man still with him?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t see him.” Guillermo watched Leine for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. “They are missing, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then I hope you find them.”

Leine reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded fifty-dollar bill and a business card. She placed them on the counter, covering the money with the card. “Thank you, Guillermo. If you see them or hear anything, would you give me a call?”

Guillermo smiled and nodded as he pocketed the cash. “My pleasure, Lana Turner.”

Leine walked out of the Gypsy and into the warm evening air, thinking about what Guillermo had said. Obviously, Josh had caught up with Elise and talked her into going with him to the party. What Leine didn’t know was the part the Russian played in their disappearances. It was possible he had nothing to do with it. It could have been a cartel kidnapping.

The noise on the street had increased and the growing energy was palpable. Leine stood on the busy sidewalk watching the human carnival drift by, absorbing the place. Normally, she would have changed her appearance in order to blend with her surroundings, but the trip had been unexpected and she hadn’t felt the need. She would have liked to have been a bit more anonymous. As it was, people glanced at her as they passed but didn’t engage.

Worked for her.

Not wanting to attract attention, she headed back to the secure parking lot and her rental. Lou had made hotel reservations a few miles out of town at a place called the Vista Inn, which wasn’t far from the abandoned housing development where they’d found Josh’s phone. An early night followed by an early start meant better odds of being home in time for dinner.