Troy looked skeptical. ‘The attorney Mrs Church’s grandson brought here agreed to take the Bautistas’ case pro bono. I don’t think you can expect him to take on the entire population we extracted yesterday.’
‘I’ll make sure they get representation if I have to pay for it myself,’ Marcus said. ‘But I don’t think I’ll have to. When this story gets out, we’ll have a lot of people volunteering to help them. They’ve been victimized once. I damn well won’t see them victimized again.’
He drew a breath when he felt Scarlett’s hand on his knee, lightly squeezing. He’d grown angry, he realized, and these two agents didn’t deserve that. ‘I apologize,’ he said. ‘I’ll get off my soap box now.’
Agent Coppola’s smile was sympathetic. ‘I don’t want to send them all packing, Marcus. My job is to put away the bastards who tricked them into coming into this country under false pretenses. I have to use whatever means necessary in order to do that, but I can be more effective if they’re not afraid of me. I don’t think I can get clearance to take a reporter in just yet, but when I can, I’ll let you talk to them to coax out whatever information you can. If you can get them representation, all the better. As far as I know, these people haven’t committed any crimes, or if they have, it was under duress and coercion. I’ll propose it to the SAC, see what he says.’
He wanted to scream at the government bureaucracy, but kept his temper checked. ‘Thank you.’
A light knock had them all turning toward the door. Scarlett’s uncle poked his head in, his expression drawn. ‘I think the Bautistas are ready to answer your questions now. But first . . .’ He hesitated. ‘First they want Marcus to tell them about Tala’s last moments. Think of it as closure, son,’ he added kindly.
Marcus had told his story to the cops, to his own brother, but telling it to the victim’s parents . . . He suddenly felt uncomfortable. But then Scarlett squeezed his knee again, her nod encouraging. He pushed away from the table, gathering his nerve. ‘All right,’ he said.
Thirty
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday 5 August, 12.25 P.M.
‘We have a problem,’ Sean said when Ken answered his cell phone while toweling his hair, still wet from the shower he’d taken to wash off Demetrius’s blood. As much as he’d talked up being the monster in the closet to Burton, and as good as he was at it, Ken didn’t like doing it. It was draining.
The screams grated on his ears. Harder still was maintaining the balance. Not enough and they hold back, too much and they die. He’d left Demetrius alive, but barely. His old friend had more stamina than he’d thought possible. Or maybe his ability to withstand pain was fueled by hatred and a desire for revenge. Or cocaine. Or steroids. Whatever fueled it, Demetrius had held out for so long that Ken had nearly given up.
Now, the words ‘We have a problem’ were enough to make him twitch.
Ken seriously considered hanging up, driving to the airport and catching the first international flight to anywhere that didn’t have an extradition treaty. ‘Only one?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘Today must be Christmas.’
‘You know the tracker manufacturer you convinced Demetrius to tell you about?’ Sean said, ignoring his sarcasm.
Yeah, Ken knew. He’d had to cut off two of Demetrius’s fingers to extract that piece of information. ‘Constant Global Surveillance. What about it?’
‘The Feds did a raid yesterday, took all the factory’s production records. This morning they showed up and took Demetrius’s contact and one other individual into custody. Our contact is en route to Cincinnati as we speak.’
‘Motherfucking sonofabitch,’ Ken growled. ‘The cops have traced the trackers back to the source. They have to have more than the first one to be able to identify D’s contact.’
‘So it would seem,’ Sean said calmly. ‘What are we going to do?’
Ken rubbed his temples. Breaking Demetrius had tired him out, both physically and mentally. ‘I’m assuming the Constant Global Surveillance contact can identify Demetrius, or at least provide the cops with enough information so that they can get a little closer to us. That’s what we have to prevent. I’ll send Alice to wait outside CPD headquarters. She’s no sniper, but she’s a decent long-distance shot. Send a photo of the tracker supplier to her phone.’
‘She’s gonna be mad that you pulled her off O’Bannion. She’s been stalking his office all morning, waiting for him to show up.’
‘She’s going to have to be mad. Just send her the photo. I’ll deal with Alice.’
There was a tapping of a keyboard on Sean’s end as Ken texted Alice to meet him in his home office. ‘Done,’ Sean said.
‘Good.’ Ken quickly dressed and, cell phone in hand, started downstairs to his office, even though he really needed to sleep. ‘What I now want to know is how the cops got their hands on those two trackers that were supposedly in the van with the Anders family.’
Sean was quiet for a moment. ‘If both Decker and Burton saw them in the van but the cops somehow got them, then somebody either took them back into the Anders house or smuggled them to the cops at some point. I am positive that those ankle trackers never entered my office.’
Goddamn you, Demetrius. This whole thing had unraveled because Demetrius hadn’t killed that sonofabitch Marcus O’Bannion nine fucking months ago.
He went into his office, closed the door and sank into his chair. ‘Either Burton and/or Decker is lying,’ he said to Sean, ‘or one of the other two guys that Burton sent to retrieve the Anderses turned the trackers over to the cops. The four of them were the only people who had access to the house. One of the guards was bleeding too badly to do any kind of a double-cross. I don’t know much about the other except that Reuben hired him. Burton said he was green.’
‘His name is Trevino. He was a former cop, just like Burton and Reuben,’ Sean said. ‘I looked him up. Trevino was fired from the force and prosecuted for helping himself to the cocaine he took from dealers. Did three years in prison. He hasn’t been a problem so far.’
Ken digested that as best his tired mind would allow. ‘Well, considering that Burton lied about Reuben’s wife being dead, he’d be my first guess, but I’ll call Trevino in for a chat.’
‘Don’t forget that Decker went back to the Anders house to search for the aunt,’ Sean pointed out. ‘He could have taken them back then.’
Ken shook his head. ‘But the cops were already at the house by then. Decker left before they could see him.’
‘Yeah,’ Sean said glumly. ‘Has Burton admitted to saving Reuben’s wife after you dosed her up and told him to leave her to . . . you know?’
‘You know?’ Ken asked scornfully.
‘Watch what you say on the phone. Just in case we’re being recorded. Something is going on here. One of Reuben’s people is dicking around with you. Either he’s a mole or out for a coup. Maybe it’s even Reuben pulling the strings, sitting someplace tropical drinking piña coladas and waiting for you and your team to turn on each other. He strolls back unharmed when the dust settles and takes over.’
Ken blinked, horrified that he hadn’t considered that himself already. He really was going soft. Shit. And he’d all but said out loud that he was sending Alice to commit a murder. He forced his panicking mind to still, to let him think. ‘Burton was steadfast in his denials.’ Translated: Ken had tortured the hell out of him and he hadn’t admitted a thing. ‘I’ll need to be more persuasive. Or maybe I’ll let Decker do it. Then I’ll know if he’s as calm and cool as he wants me to believe.’ His phone beeped with an incoming call. ‘It’s Alice,’ he said to Sean. ‘I’ll call you later.’ He disconnected and went immediately to the second call.