“What’s wrong with my map?” he asked.
“Nothing’s wrong with the map exactly. It’s just that when I went through the evidence box, I sorted everything by type. All interview notes are here.” She put her hand on a stack of papers. “But when I matched up the interviews to the neighbor’s residence and this map, that was when I noticed one interview was missing. Can you help me locate it?”
“What? No, that can’t be.” He stepped toward the table and looked down at the map where she pointed. “Which one is missing?”
“There’s a note here. See it? The Tanner place. Sophia Tanner.” Jessie stepped toward the table and pointed to the interview-report pile. “But I can’t find an interview with her, just references that one of your guys missed her, a couple of times. Do you know if anyone actually conducted that interview? Maybe it was misfiled.”
One missing interview wasn’t exactly a home run, out of the park, but Jessie had scored a solid base hit. A murder investigation had a lot of moving parts, especially one as shocking as the DeSalvo killing would have been in a small town. The chief would have had a lot on his mind. And with the evidence spread out in the conference room, the magnitude of his job was very clear.
Jessie wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt that he might have missed something minor, but the neighbor living closest to the DeSalvo house was a key interview to miss. She hoped he’d tell her the paperwork had been misplaced and that he’d remembered it; but after seeing his reaction as he looked through the files on the table, Jessie had a bad feeling that a critical interview had never happened.
“Are you sure it’s not here?” The police chief helped her look through the paperwork, but they came up empty.
“I’ve searched through all this, too. Were there any other evidence boxes?”
After the chief shook his head, he slumped into a conference-room chair and stared at the papers stacked on the table in front of him.
“Well, I remember seeing it. It must have gotten misfiled . . . or something.”
“If you saw it, what did she say?”
“Nothing. She didn’t hear anything. And she hadn’t seen any kids.” Chief Cook shook his head. “I forgot about that map.”
“What?”
“That was good detective work . . . you comparing that map to the interviews, I mean. I should have . . .”
He never finished. He only stared across the room, avoiding her eyes.
“Is Sophia Tanner still living in town?” she asked.
“Yeah, she is.” Chief Cook looked dazed. “She used to work part-time at the police station a few years ago, after she retired from teaching. I can speak to her tomorrow . . . for all the good it’ll do now.”
Jessie knew what he was thinking. The chief claimed to have seen that interview, but he might have been covering up the truth. If that interview had never been completed, that was a pretty big hole in the investigation. And if Sophia Tanner was still in La Pointe, how much would she remember from so long ago?
Someone had screwed up, big-time.
Most people would have the urge to comfort him, but not Jessie. If he was anything like her, nothing would make him feel better. Chief Cook had owned responsibility for this case. Even if one of his men had dropped the ball, he knew it was all on him.
And she respected him for taking the responsibility.
“Who knows? Maybe something will come up,” she said in commiseration. “You mind if I tag along when you talk to her?”
“No, I mean, yeah I mind. This is an official police investigation. I can’t have civilians looking over my shoulder.”
Jessie was dumbfounded by the chief’s sudden about-face. She was getting the worst of his cold shoulder, and that was getting her hackles up.
“But I was the one who uncovered this missing interview. Some people might say you owe me one.”
“Well, some people might be wrong. This is my case. And I’ll handle it.”
When Chief Cook stood, he grabbed the stacks she had so carefully put in order and stuffed them back into the evidence box, piling them up helter-skelter. If she’d been lucky, he would’ve been done talking, but that didn’t happen. Cook opened the door to the conference room and waited for her to leave, but not before he said what was on his mind. And the attitude he’d shown her when they first met was back in full force.
“I’m sure you’ll be heading out of town now since there’s nothing more you can offer. Leave a number where I can reach you. And I’ll call.”
“Be still my heart.”
Jessie glared back, but the man wasn’t intimidated. She walked out the door with her mind in overdrive. What the hell had just happened? She’d been kicked out of town twice in one day. A lesser person would have taken it real personal.
But unfortunately for Chief Tobias Cook, that wasn’t Jessie.
Chapter 7
Guadalajara, Mexico
Forty minutes later
Alexa had parked down the street from a seedy-looking bar on the outskirts of Guadalajara, called La Cucaracha. A row of motorcycles was parked in front, with more parking in the rear of the stucco building that had been marred with black and red graffiti.
“Nice ambience.” Alexa sighed. “Guess I can forget the umbrella drinks.”
Tanya had told her about the bar. An arms dealer operated out of La Cucaracha, a man known by the street name, El Puma. In English, his name translated to Cougar. Clearly the man wasn’t concerned with the negative image of his branding efforts, especially if he hung out at a bar named for the cockroach.
While she sat in her SUV, watching who came and went from the local watering hole, she pulled back her hair and tucked it into a ball cap that she’d brought in the canvas bag. Pulling the hat down over her eyes, she wanted to minimize the fact that she was a woman. In a dump like La Cucaracha, her precautions might not make a difference. Once she got inside, Tanya had given her specific instructions. If she did as she was told, El Puma would make contact with her.
“This better work.”
After Alexa entered the murky bar, every head in the place turned toward her. At least, that was how it felt. She avoided eye contact and found an empty table to the left of the smoke-filled bar. The place smelled of cigarettes, sweat, and booze. Eventually, a waitress came over and dropped a napkin on the table and asked to take her order in Spanish.
“Sorry, I don’t speak the language.” Alexa kept her voice low, only loud enough for the young woman to hear. “Just give me a beer. Dos Equis with a lime, thanks.”
After the waitress left, Alexa took out a pen and wrote on the napkin. When the girl came back with her order, Alexa handed her the note she’d written. The young woman looked at it, then locked eyes with her before she went back to the bar. Her exchange with the bartender left Alexa with little doubt that she’d gotten her message across. She wanted to meet with El Puma to talk a little business.
Alexa took a sip of her beer and kept her eyes alert for any sign of trouble. The place gave her the creeps. The only women in the bar waited on tables or looked like hookers working the room. La Cucaracha didn’t exactly cater to the tourist trade. And with the abundance of ink in the bar, she was feeling left out, not having enough tattoos to fit in.
It took nearly twenty minutes before the bartender caught her eye and nudged his head toward the back. His gesture had been so subtle, she almost missed it in the dimly lit bar. Alexa noticed a doorway to the right.