The Body Market: A Leine Basso Thriller (7 page)

Leine crossed her arms and waited.

“If I tell you where the car is and the wrong people find out, my friend could get into a lot of trouble. The circle is small, if you get my drift.”

She watched him in silence, her arms still crossed.

A fine sheen of sweat appeared above Willy’s upper lip. He puffed out his cheeks and sucked them back in again as his gaze darted from Leine to the alley entrance and back again.

Leine took a step toward him. “If you’re waiting for someone, you’d better tell me now, or you’re going to be in a world of hurt. And so will they.”

Willy shook his head. “No, no. There’s nobody else.”

“Then why do you keep looking at the street?”

“Like I said, if anyone sees me talking to you, my friend could get hurt.
I
could get hurt.”

Leine rolled her eyes. “Listen, Willy. It’s dark. No one’s going to recognize you. Or me. Okay?”

“Not until I get the money.”

She ripped the fifty in half and handed him a piece. Willy gave her a look. She smiled. “You get the other half when I find the car.”

“That plus at least another hundred,” he said, and pressed his lips together.

“We’ll see.”

“Okay.” He pulled a small, wire-bound notebook and pen out of his back pocket and flipped to a clean page. He glanced at the street lamp at the other end of the alley. “I need light.”

Leine reached into the side pocket of her pants and produced a small flashlight, which she turned on, shining the beam on his notebook.

“It’s off the Rosarito Highway, just past the goat farm,” he said, drawing a crude map. “Look for a white house on your left with a fenced yard. Go six kilometers past the house and the drop point will be on your right. My friend said it was a pretty steep ravine, so no guarantees you can see the car from the road.” He added a phone number, ripped the sheet out, and handed it to Leine.

“I wrote my cell on there so you can call when you find it.” He pointed at the number as though she might miss it. “It’s worth a hell of a lot more than whatever that bartender told you.”

“Who asked him to get rid of the car and why didn’t they just dispose of the body? That Porsche was worth over a hundred K.”

“My friend didn’t say, exactly.” He shrugged. “My guess is it was cartel business.”

Willy’s story sounded more and more like a load of bullshit. Leine hadn’t had many dealings with Mexican drug cartels, but she suspected they wouldn’t let a dead body in the trunk slow them down when it came to money. And Willy hadn’t offered to go with her to make sure he got paid if she found the car.

“What color is the Porsche?” she asked.

“Red.”

She nodded. The fact that he got the color right was something, although red would have been a safe guess. Her enthusiasm had cooled when he mentioned that the car might not be visible from the road. Leine folded the paper and slid it into her pocket. She checked her watch again, giving Willy a pointed look.

“Oh. Right,” he said. He shifted his weight from one foot to another but made no attempt to leave. Leine folded her arms and glared at him.

Shift, pause. Shift, pause
.

“What?” Leine didn’t try to conceal the exasperation in her voice.
I should have dropped his ass when I first saw him,
she thought in irritation.

“How much do you think the information is worth?” Willy’s facial expression would have put a newborn puppy to shame.

Leine emitted a disgusted sigh as she brushed past him. “You’re pushing it, Willy. How about nothing?
Nada
. Got it?”

“Whoa. Take it easy. I’m sorry.” He grabbed for her arm but pulled back when he saw the look on her face. “How about I just wait for your call?” He cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll just wait.”

“Leave now, Willy,” Leine said, her voice weary. “I’ll call you when and if I find the Porsche.”

He gave her a wan smile before he took off at a brisk pace toward the alley entrance. Halfway to the street Willy stopped and turned back. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“The ice is getting pretty thin, Willy.”

“Okay. Got it. Don’t forget,” he stage whispered as he walked away, hand to his ear like a telephone. Leine exhaled with relief when he finally turned the corner and disappeared.

Glad to have Willy Flint gone, Leine thought about what he’d said. Why would someone damage a car worth that much, essentially leaving money on the table? It couldn’t have been a carjacking gone wrong. It didn’t make sense. The possibility that Elise might have been the intended target was beginning to sound a lot more plausible. Even though she figured Willy was full of shit, she’d still check his story. He’d known too many details—the phone, the Porsche, Vista del Mar—for her to completely discount him. If his story checked out, she was pretty sure she knew who the guy doing the driving had been.

At least now she had something to work with. Herrera’s input regarding the local police would help her to determine whether there might be a larger cover-up to consider.

Leine retracted the blade and slipped the knife into her pocket. She made a mental note to call Lou and see if he’d found her a semiautomatic.

She had the feeling she was going to need it.

L
eine waited a
few moments before exiting the alley. Once she’d made sure no one else was following her, she returned to her rental. She paid the attendant, who had reappeared and was eating his dinner out of a tinfoil wrapper, and drove out of the parking lot, through town to the free road.

The sign with the happy cow was lit from below and easy to see. Leine pulled into the outdoor restaurant’s dirt lot and parked. Besides the man behind the grill and an older woman making tortillas, there were three other customers. A young couple sat at one of the tables eating tacos and drinking beer. A man with a cowboy hat resting on the table in front of him occupied another. Leine walked over to the man with the hat.

“Bob Herrera?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Herrera said, standing. “You must be Leine.”

Leine shook his hand and had a seat. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“A pleasure. Thirsty?” he asked.

“I’d take a beer.”

Herrera signaled the woman behind the counter preparing tortillas. She nodded and a few minutes later came by their table with two ice-cold
Dos Equis
.

Bob Herrera had the look of a man comfortable in his own skin, although his relaxed expression had a wariness that matched the sardonic tilt of his mouth. Dark hair shot with gray and cut short framed the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow. Along with the cowboy hat, he wore a faded yellow golf shirt, black jeans, and scuffed cowboy boots. A slight paunch had made itself at home around his midsection, but he otherwise appeared fit.

“How is ol’ Santa, anyway?” He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the soft glow of the string lights hanging across the seating area. The smell of fresh lime and seared beef drifted over from the cooking area.

“He’s doing well. Says to tell you it’s your turn to pay.”

He chuckled. “Last time I saw him we closed down a little cantina just this side of the border. As I recall he ended up footing the bill.”

“Good as it was of you to meet with me, Agent Herrera, I assume there’s another reason you wanted to talk. Am I right?”

“Call me Bob, and yes, there is.” He shifted in his seat and took a drink of his beer. “Santa explained that you’re working for SHEN but that the missing girl’s parents believe she may have been targeted because they’re wealthy.”

“That’s it in a nutshell.”

“And they came to SHEN on the advice of their attorney?”

Leine nodded. “There’s been no ransom demand, which leaves the possibility she may have been targeted by traffickers.”

“We’ve been seeing an increase in criminal activity around TJ—carjackings, kidnappings, extortion. According to my sources, it doesn’t have anything to do with the local criminal element.”

“Outside talent?”

Bob nodded. “I’ve heard rumors the Eastern Europeans are in town.”

“The bartender I talked to said he saw the missing owner of the Porsche with a guy who sounded Russian.”

“That jibes with the rumors.” Herrera let out a long sigh. “That won’t sit well with the local boys.”

“Earlier on the phone you said the owner of the Blue Manatee might have me followed. Why would he care about me being here? I’m no threat.”

“Otero’s good friends with the mayor, who is particular about controlling information regarding his town. The disappearance of two wealthy kids, an expensive car, and a possible murder could derail his marketing efforts.” Agent Herrera’s gaze met hers. “I would tell you not to worry about it except Otero is known to be connected to organized crime. Even though he considers himself a religious man, he operates a whorehouse outside the city that caters to his ‘messengers of Christ,’ that’s what he calls his employees. Hell, a lot of people in town think he’s a great man, do side jobs for him for extra cash. Some of the local police are on his payroll, although that’s slowly changing. The police force has gone through a cleansing in the last few years. That being said, I’d recommend you tread lightly. That is one pot you don’t want to stir.”

“Sounds like the mayor’s going to have a marketing nightmare on his hands whether he wants one or not.” Leine watched the cars passing by on the highway. “A lot of innocent people could get caught in the crossfire.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you know about a guy by the name of Willy Flint?” Leine asked.

Herrera snorted. “Flint’s Stones? Jesus, talk about a royal pain in my ass. What did he want?”

“Nothing, really. He was having a beer at the Blue Manatee.”

“Willy’s been hanging around TJ for a long time. Your typical shyster, always on the lookout for easy money. He popped up on my radar a year after I was transferred, sure he had inside information I could use.” Herrera shook his head with a wry smile. “Ninety-eight percent of the time he makes shit up, hoping to get a payout before I check his stories.”

“What about the other two percent?”

“Problem with Willy is, every once in a while he’ll have something worthwhile. But the bogus information outweighs the truth, by far.”

“Thanks for confirming my impression.” Leine rested her beer on the table. “If your mayor is so sensitive about his town, why did the police tell ICE about the phone? Seems to me if he’d wanted to keep things quiet, he would have tried to bury the evidence.”

“The mayor didn’t know about the phone until it was too late. The Chief of Police was on vacation in Cabo and found out when he got back two days ago. At that point, the department had shared their findings and the guys from ICE had already taken samples of the blood.”

“Where’s the phone now?”

“I assume the police have it.”

“We still don’t know for sure if Elise was in the car with Josh. If not, then we’ve got a couple of different possibilities. Tell me what your gut says.” Leine proceeded to give him the information she had on the disappearances, avoiding any mention of what Willy Flint told her about the car. If things shook out the way Willy had intimated, and that was a big if, she’d let him know.

“Would you say it sounds like the work of local organized crime or outsiders?”

Herrera shrugged. “Hard to say. Both kids were a prime target. Could’ve been either.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “You say the girl told her friend they were headed for a party at some actor’s house on the beach. The housing project where they found the phone may have a water view, but it’s a far cry from an oceanfront mansion.”

“So Josh was tricked into driving to the abandoned development where no one would see him.”

“Sounds like it. I’ll lay five to one it’s the boy’s blood, not hers.”

“Does that fit the MO of your locals?”

“Possibly. One thing bugs me, though. The kidnappers could have found a way to force Josh out of the car without damaging the vehicle. That was one valuable Porsche. That they didn’t tells me whoever did this cared more about the occupant or occupants than the car.”

“Replacing a windshield isn’t hard, especially with all the body shops in town.”

“Yeah, but they found part of a side mirror and headlight glass. I know the local guys. They’re lazy as hell. Most of them are interested in easy pickings. No muss, no fuss.” Herrera glanced at his watch. “I assume you’re going up to the housing project tomorrow?”

“I’m sure it’s been gone over with a fine-tooth comb, but I still want to get a feel for the place.”

“I’m happy to drive you there, if you want.”

Leine nodded. “I figured I’d get an early start. Meet me here around sunrise?”

“See you then.”

E
arly the next
morning, Leine took a quick shower and then checked her phone. Lou had sent her a text with a name, telephone number, and the word
baitbox
. Baitbox referred to a job she’d done in Italy with Lou acting as logistical support. Whenever he’d set something up that she needed to physically retrieve, he would give both Leine and the supplier a specific pass phrase to act as an identifier. He knew she’d remember which one they’d used in Italy because their weapons contact worked a fish market in Naples as a front and, inexplicably, had offered Leine a box of free fish bait with the merchandise. She texted Lou to thank him and called the number.

“
¿Bueno?
” the voice on the other end said.

“I’d like to order some bait,” she said in Spanish.

“Of course, señora. What kind would you like?”

“Minnows, please,” she said, indicating a semiautomatic handgun.

“What size container do you need?” the voice asked.

“A number nine should do it,” Leine replied, denoting a nine millimeter. “And could I also get a box of night crawlers?” One box of ammunition would be more than enough.

“No problem. Your order will be ready for you to pick up within the hour. Do you need this bait on ice?” On ice meant a suppressor.

“No, thank you. However it comes will be fine.”

The man on the phone gave her directions to the pickup location and ended the call. He didn’t ask for payment. Lou would have already taken care of that. Leine left immediately to make it to the drop before the delivery happened.

It was still dark, which suited Leine. She preferred darkness when dealing with activities the local authorities tended to frown upon. After a quick reconnaissance of the abandoned gas station parking lot, she continued behind the building and up a rise with a good visual of the drop site, and cut the lights.

Fifteen minutes went by before a late-model pickup pulled into the gas station and continued around to the back. Leine reached into her bag for a pair of night vision binoculars and trained them on the new arrival. A man carrying a package exited the truck and walked to a large metal barrel next to a tree. He looked behind him before placing the package inside and returning to the truck. A few minutes later, the pickup’s taillights blinked on, and the man drove out of the parking lot and back onto the highway, heading south.

Leine remained where she was another ten minutes, waiting to see if anyone else showed up. Once she was satisfied no one lurked in the shadows, she drove around and pulled into the gas station, continuing behind the hollowed-out structure to the rusty blue barrel. She parked and got out, scanning the area as she walked over to the drop.

The package was sitting on top of a cardboard box, a foot below the rim of the barrel. Leine picked it up and returned to her vehicle. The gun and a full magazine wrapped in dirty flannel had been stuffed inside a plastic grocery bag, along with a box of ammunition. Leine worked the slide and snapped the magazine into the grip. Everything worked the way it should. She looked at her watch. There was time before her meeting with Herrera to head out into the desert for target practice. She hated not having firsthand experience with a firearm that she might need to use.

After an hour of shooting an old beer can and satisfied with the accuracy of the gun, Leine pulled up next to Agent Herrera’s pickup in the parking lot of the Happy Cow restaurant. The place was closed up tight. She rolled her window down and he did the same.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Morning,” Leine replied. “Yours or mine?”

“I know the roads. How about you ride with me?”

Fifteen minutes later, they drove through the white arch and proceeded into the abandoned Vista del Mar housing project. The absence of streetlights and sidewalks and the crumbling shells of houses with weed-filled front yards should have been enough of a deterrent to anyone looking for a party.

They continued to the location shown on the map given to her by the ICE agents. Herrera shifted into park and killed the engine. They both got out and scanned the area. There was no indication that the police had even been there.

“This doesn’t look like a crime scene,” Leine said.

“No body, no car, no crime,” Herrera replied. “The guys from ICE already took photos and went over the area.” He looked around and shook his head. “Man, I got two teenagers at home in San Diego. I hope they’d know enough to turn around and get their asses back to a well-lit, populated place if they saw this instead of what they were expecting.”

“Promises of going to a party hosted by a celebrity tend to trump a lot of people’s common sense,” Leine said. “And it’s not just teenagers. I’ve seen adults go off the charts when it came to associating with the rich and famous.” Leine thought back to when she worked security for an A-list movie star in LA the previous summer. She’d balked at the sycophantic hangers-on surrounding him like so much confetti after a parade. She didn’t understand the allure.

“They found the phone over there, in the weeds.” Herrera pointed to the right side of the road.

“Then that’s where I’ll start.” Following a grid pattern, she methodically walked back and forth across the area, scanning the ground for anything the local police or ICE agents might have missed. Herrera did the same on the opposite side.

“The blood’s over here,” he called. Leine made a mental note of the section where she’d stopped and walked over to join Herrera. The dark patch was about two feet in diameter with a distinct footprint to the right of center. Herrera squatted to take a closer look.

“Whose footprint do you think that is?” Leine asked.

“My guess would be police.”

Leine gave him a sharp look. He glanced up at her, squinting against the sun. “Evidence gathering is kind of hit or miss in these parts.”

It didn’t matter. They’d have the results back from the lab soon, telling them whose blood it was. The suspects had likely covered their tracks by now. Leine hadn’t expected to find much.

They resumed searching on opposite sides of the road. They’d been at it for the better part of an hour when the sound of a car approaching brought them up short. They both turned as a dark blue Suburban with tinted windows and a shiny gold grill appeared, heading toward them.

“Who is it?” Leine asked, her voice low.

“Locals,” came Herrera’s clipped reply.

Leine wondered if the DEA agent was armed. By the way he was acting, this wasn’t a social visit. The semiautomatic resting at the small of her back eased her mind slightly.

The SUV slowed to a stop but continued to idle. Both the driver and passenger wore dark sunglasses. Leine couldn’t make out more than that through the windshield. Herrera stood next to his pickup, waiting for whoever was inside to make their presence known.

The driver cut the engine and the front doors slowly opened.