Total Victim Theory (30 page)

Now I drop the next bombshell—that the girl in question, whose name happens to be Danielle, also happens to be my daughter. This unleashes another round of explicatives from Silva.

“I’ll be damned if I’ve ever heard of a case like this one,” he says. “It’s got more twists than a corkscrew.” He heaves a heavy sigh. “I'm just glad everyone's safe.”

I lower my voice to a whisper. “Look Silva, this situation—it's pretty messed up. And, well . . . I would understand if you wanted to stay clear of me right now. You know for legal rea—”

“Just save it, Jake,” he says, cutting me short. “No way and no how am I gonna cut and run on you or this case. I’m the one who got you fucking involved in the first place. And you're my friend and it's our fucking case. Till the bitter end. You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“So stop with the sniveling,” he says, “and tell me what we need to do.”

“Here's the thing, Silva,” I say after a moment's pause. “At this point, I don't know that I can keep the girl safe.” My voice is full of emotion. “I don't want to admit that, but it's true. This guy's gotten close to me several times. There's no reason it couldn't happen again. My gut tells me not to let her out of my sight, but I know keeping her with me isn't a smart thing to do.”

“I follow what you're saying. But I'm not sure where that leaves us. . . .”

I hesitate. “Are there any options on your end?”

“To keep her out of harm's way?”

“Yeah. Just for a few days,” I say. “If our guy is taking these kinds of chances, we could be real close to cracking it.”

“That's no problem,” Silva says. “We've got safe houses all over the city. Witness protection is a huge concern with all our cartel cases.”

“And are they good? . . . I mean, are they one-hundred percent?”

“I think they’re pretty damn safe. Never heard of one being infiltrated yet. But, if we're worried, I can have a couple of patrolmen stationed there around the clock.”

“Yeah.” A huge sigh of relief. “I'd like that.”

“Actually,” Silva says, “I’ll do better than that. I could see how my wife and daughter feel about keeping Danielle company. I bet I could even pass it off as a vacation. How would that strike you?”

“That would be fucking amazing.”

“Starting tonight?” he asks.

“If you can swing it.”

“I’ll get on the horn and set it up.”

With that issue out of the way, we discuss a few other minor developments on his end, most of which deal with the candidates on his new suspect roster and some new information on the six Hispanic victims. I tell Silva about the message from Bloom on the possible tie-in with a serial killer in the Western US. He seems interested and I wish I had more to tell him.

“All I know is that the other killer is called the Handyman and that he’s active in the Western United States.”

“And what was the name of that profiler?”

“Bloom. Quentin Bloom. I'll get in contact with him, as soon as I can safely do so.”

*

Driving into Juárez, I tell Danielle about the safe house. She cries a bit and says she doesn’t want me to leave her.

“If you go to the trouble of kidnapping me, you shouldn’t just give me away the next day,” she says.

I tell her how important it is that we keep her safe and that it will probably just be for a couple of days. It won't be so bad, she says. She'll have Silva’s daughter to play with. She says she'll miss me.

Silva and I are supposed to meet at Diego's Taqueria on Lagartos Street. Danielle and I arrive a few minutes early and take a seat in a booth in the back. I study the other patrons, making sure no one I know from the department is present. Danielle eats some chips and sips a strawberry soda in a glass bottle.

A few minutes later, Silva arrives. I introduce him to Danielle.

Silva tells me the safe house is all set up. His wife and daughter are waiting over at the station, along with the two officers he's assigned to security detail. In a few minutes, he'll personally escort Danielle and her entourage over to the new place to ensure that
they haven't been followed. We both agree it's better for me to remain unaware of the location—thus, precluding a worst-case scenario wherein I would be forced by the killer to reveal it. Finally, Silva reviews some of the safety measures he's put in place, including video surveillance and silent alarms, also noting the location's close proximity to a police substation, all of which make inroads in my qualms over the necessity of leaving her.

As we talk, I notice Silva seems jittery and distracted, which is at odds with his usually unflappable, if gruff, exterior. “What is it?” I ask. “Is all this finally wearing on your nerves, or is there something else on your mind?”

He glances at Danielle, as if hesitant to talk in front of her.

“
En Espanol
,” I say.

Silva nods and addresses me in Spanish. “We got a big break about a half-hour ago.”

“Out with it.”

“The dust is still settling, but it looks like we've found a secondary crime scene. No sign of our guy yet, but we think it's the place he used
before
and
after
.”

“What did it turn up?”

“Just heard about it. Don't know the details. Montalvo and Luna are having a look as we speak.”

“We should get over there as soon as we can.”

“Let me run them over to the safe house and once everybody’s under lock and key, we'll meet up and check it out ourselves.”

Outside the restaurant, I hug Danielle and tell her everything's going to be okay. She must be terrified, but she's being so brave. She makes me promise that nothing's going to happen to me. Even the smallest scratch and I won't be holding up my end of the bargain. I give my word, sincerely hoping that I'm able to keep it.

This is where we part ways.

She and Silva walk off toward the station and I stand for a moment watching them go. Danielle looks over her shoulder and waves to me. I hold her in my sight, following her with my eyes till the very last second. Then they round the corner and, all at once, she’s gone.

38

El Paso, 1992

From where he crouched beside the house, Arturo could hear voices. They were coming through the open kitchen window. But there was no woman's voice. Not a peep from Emilia at all.

Gary was the one talking. Speaking to one of his sons. With his poor English, Arturo couldn't make out much, but he caught a single important phrase.

“She's dead,” he heard Gary say.

The words struck Arturo like a blow to the stomach. He'd gotten there too late. In a way he'd known—known from the scream—that she wouldn't make it. It had been the sound of life ebbing away. But he'd pretended there was still a chance that something could be done. He'd barely known her, but those words, in their sudden and dismal finality, hit Arturo like a blow to the skull. For a moment, he just stood there, stunned and utterly disheartened. Who was this monster who could do these things? And in his own home with his children watching? It was almost too much to believe.

Emilia was gone, but Raul and the other workers in the bunkhouse were depending on him. He had to pull himself together and put a stop to this. He was trying his best to stay calm. To keep his hands steady and his head cool. So he could stay clear and do the smartest thing. But for the moment he was stuck there beside the house. He couldn't risk running back over to the shed in plain sight of the kitchen window. He'd have to wait until he was sure they weren't watching. And there was no telling how long that would be. Maybe he'd wait until they were all asleep again and
creep inside the house and plant the ax in the middle of Gary's heart.

On second thought, his head was probably the more vulnerable target.

The question was whether that bastard was so remorseless that he could sleep after what he’d done. Arturo hoped so, as that would make the revenge both easier and more deserved. He'd never hurt another person in his life—but Arturo knew he could do away with Gary without the slightest hesitation.

Several minutes passed. There were still voices but they were fainter now. From other parts of the house.

Then suddenly, he heard the front door being flung open.

Squatting even lower down, Arturo peered around the corner and saw Gary descending the front steps. Draped over his shoulder was Emilia's limp, nightgown-clad body—her legs sticking out in front of him, while her head dangled lifelessly down his back. Arturo could only stare in bewildered horror when he saw that one of the woman's hands had been cut off at the wrist.

Gary lugged the body around to the rear of the Ford, brought the tailgate down, and with some effort, stepped up into the back of the vehicle. Metal creaked beneath the heavy load. Still supporting the body, Gary used his free hand to pry up a panel on the left side of the flatbed. This revealed one of the truck's hidden compartments—with which Arturo was well acquainted, having been smuggled across the border two months before while concealed in one.

With the panel drawn back, Gary slid Emilia off his shoulder and lowered her into the coffin-sized recess. He then replaced the panel and battened it down with a latch along the side. Arturo felt his stomach turn, seeing how matter-of-factly Gary went about what was apparently for him a routine task. The next instant, Gary hopped gingerly down from the flatbed, raised the tailgate, and got behind the wheel. The engine turned over and started up.

Mierda
. Arturo realized he should have attacked Gary from behind when he was loading the body in. But it happened so fast and Arturo was so shocked by what he was seeing, the thought only now crossed his mind.

This wasn't good at all. Gary was going to get rid of her body, which he'd probably accomplish with the aid of those creatures at
the bottom of the well. If so, within minutes he'd see the broken lock on the barn and he'd know that the ranch's secret was out. Once that happened, he'd come after all of them. Everyone who could have witnessed anything. There was no doubt, given what he now knew about Gary. And the alligators would eat well tomorrow.

Arturo tried to think it all through. With Gary in the truck, attacking him with the ax was hopeless. What's more, Gary would catch wind of everything and commence the massacre before Arturo could even make it to the bunkhouse and alert the others. The outlook was grim indeed.

Arturo was fully expecting Gary to drive off any instant, potentially sealing the fate of every last man on the ranch. Instead, however, something truly remarkable happened. Arturo almost released a cry of joy when he saw it. Rather than departing, Gary opened the driver's side door and abruptly got out. What he intended was unclear to Arturo, until he began patting down his pockets, evidently searching for something. Then it dawned on Arturo—he was looking for the key to the barn. Apparently not finding it, Gary turned and headed back into the house.

Arturo grasped that this would be his only chance, and instantly upon seeing the storm door close, he sprang out from behind the house and raced toward the idling Ford.

His heart pounded. So much was hanging in the balance. As for his son, he’d be safe, as long as he stayed put. But the men in the bunkhouse might still be in grave danger. It all depended on how Gary reacted. He might flee or chase after Arturo in the household's other vehicle. Or he might just decide to kill all the other workers out of spite or just because he could.

As Arturo slid behind the wheel, thoughts like that last one were making him second-guess himself. Maybe the other workers would have had a better chance if he'd raced to awaken them, instead of going to the police. But no—it had to be this way. If he didn't go, it could mean that no one would escape. Gary could cover it up and do it all over again. That was the one thing Arturo couldn't let happen.

The truck was in drive and he was turning it around. Seconds later, he was gunning it toward the main gate. In the rearview mirror, a confounded Gary rushed out onto the porch. His lips were mouthing curses in the air. In the last instant before Gary
vanished from sight, Arturo could have sworn the two of them locked eyes.

*

The shed where his father had left him was dark and smelled like mold. Raul kept bumping into things, gardening tools, maybe, that slid over and clattered on the ground. His face got tangled in a big cobweb, and he frantically brushed off the clingy strands, hoping the owner wasn’t around.

He found himself saying little prayers. For his father and for the others in the bunkhouse and for Emilia—though the way her scream sounded, his prayers for her may have come too late.

If anyone could stop Gary, it was his father. He was the toughest and bravest person Raul had ever met.

But what if Gary just couldn't be stopped? After all, who knew how many Fernandos and Estebans had come before? And apparently none of them had ever escaped or else Gary would be locked away by now.

Raul pictured bodies disappearing in pieces down the well. If his father wasn't able to stop Gary, wasn't that where they'd all end up?

He needed to know what was happening out there—if his father was okay or if he needed help. Of course, Raul had promised him he'd stay in the shed. And he trusted his father that staying put was the best thing to do. Of course, Raul had to keep his word . . . but he could still do so, even if he snuck a little peek.

Thus resolved, Raul very slowly opened the door and set a trembling foot on the ground outside. Instantly, he heard something. Was it the rumbling of an engine?

He stuck his nose around the corner of the shed. The house came into view. To his astonishment, he heard the engine rev and saw the red Ford peel out, turn around, and accelerate toward the main gate. As the truck sped by, lamplights briefly revealed the driver's silhouette. Raul gave a gasp when he saw it was his father.

*

Gary slammed his fist into the storm door so hard, the Plexiglas cracked. He didn't know how the fuck this had happened, but someone had found out. Emilia must have been
part of it, which was why she'd been sneaking around earlier. The particulars didn't matter much. The bottom line was that someone—probably the same someone who just stole the truck—found out about his little operation.