Fatal Secrets (24 page)

“This sounds like mob activity,” Sam said.

“Similar,” Vigo concurred, “but different in one key area.”

“What’s that?”

“Your killer has every reason to think he’s untouchable. He’s not an American citizen.”

After the verbal shock and comments subsided, Dean asked, “How can you be so sure about that, Hans?”

“Because he is unconcerned about evidence.”

“No prints were found on the knife or anywhere in the Vega house,” Montgomery interjected.

“He wore gloves, but he left the knife. He didn’t weight the bodies he dumped in the river because he didn’t care if they’d be discovered sooner rather than later. He left the Vegas in their house without disturbing the scene—no arson fire, no body removal, he didn’t care if or when they were found. The dead are in the past, unimportant, problems that have been dealt with. This is, ultimately, what’s going to trip him up.”

“What?” Sonia asked. “That he didn’t destroy the bodies?”

“That he considers them the past. Dealt with. He’s not concerned about evidence because even if we got his prints, they wouldn’t be in our database. He doesn’t believe he’s been photographed by American law enforcement; he is most likely in this country under an assumed name. This is why I’ve made initial contacts with Interpol and our attachés in Central and South America—they may have information on him or his M.O.”

Sonia said, “My boss, Toni Warner, can help with those contacts as well as finding out what, if anything, Homeland Security has on a similar M.O. Though without a name, description, or even a home country, it’ll be impossible to narrow suspects down. There will be far too many possibles.”

“You’re right,” Vigo concurred, “but we can assume he’s here right now, and that he’s likely to be present Saturday night.”

“Would a man in his position normally come in for what appears to be a routine exchange?” Dean asked. “That would increase his risk and the chance that someone could I.D. him.”

“I honestly can’t say why this man chose to come here now.”

“Maybe it’s not the leader,” Sam said. “Maybe he hired someone to kill Jones and Vega.”

Vigo said, “I suppose it’s possible, but if that’s the case, would a man who is operating for power relinquish control to an underling? One of this case’s fundamental problems is that we don’t know exactly why
this
shipment is so important. Not to diminish the humanity of the victims, but Chinese girls are trafficked in the tens of thousands every year. Why are these three or so dozen girls so important? Agent Knight? Do you have an insight here?”

“I hadn’t thought of the situation in that light,” Sonia admitted. “But you’re right—there is no lack of Asian girls.”

“What about smuggling?” Trace spoke up for the first time.

“Like what?” Dean asked. “Drugs?”

“Not from China,” Trace said. “It wouldn’t be typical, at any rate. But there are other commodities. Pirated software, fake brand-name pharmaceuticals, weapons. I could go on.”

“Trace is right,” Sonia said. “China has a huge black market export business. The women trafficked within their borders are predominantly used as slave labor. What the media likes to call ‘sweatshops.’ But why would they mingle the two illegal trades?”

No one had an answer. Vigo said, “If it was a hired hit, I don’t think that the Vega murders would have been that brutal. That
personal
. But I may be wrong. It is interesting, however, that Jones was killed twenty-four hours after the FBI raid. That’s enough time for the
leader to travel from virtually anywhere in the world. Maybe he wasn’t planning to come until Jones was seen as a risk. He felt he needed to be onsite to ensure everything went smoothly.”

There was silence for a good minute as they considered the various theories.

Vigo continued. “Our target is unassuming, of average build and appearance, well-groomed. He does not draw undue attention. He could walk right past any of you, and you wouldn’t look twice. He’s not on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted; he’s not even on our radar. If he’s wanted by anyone, it’s as a name that means nothing, because as soon as the name goes on a list, he changes it. And I guarantee you that this is no young turk jockeying for territory; it’s someone with decades in the business, with extreme confidence and a strong organizational structure. No one within his inner circle is going to turn on him because they have seen the results of disloyalty many, many times.

“But make no mistake: there is one leader. He is indisputably in charge of his territory, which is far larger than northern California, which Jones commanded. He is feared by his equals because he seems to have no weak points. He’s not married, he has no children, he is likely an only child or oldest child. He also lives well, enjoys the good things in life. But not physical collections. He won’t be collecting art or other treasures that some cultured criminals judge their worth by; he lives simply, with fine meals, expensive wine, premium liquor, expensive suits. Disposable or consumable wealth. He is well-educated, but easily angered. If a waiter gives him poor service, he might wait all night to snap his neck in the dark.”

“Sounds like a peach of a guy,” Montgomery mumbled.

“Thanks, Hans. That’s terrific insight we need.” Dean turned the meeting back to their current situation. He appreciated Vigo’s assessment—it had proven invaluable when he’d planned the raid on Jones in the first place—but right now they had a tight time frame.

“The sheriff’s department has provided assistance with stakeouts on several key Jones people that Agent Knight has identified as part of Jones’s inner circle,” Dean said. “By that I mean individuals involved in Jones’s criminal enterprises. They may be in danger from whoever killed Jones, or are already part of the UNSUB’s group. We don’t know who is working for this guy locally, or if everyone he brought in are foreign nationals.”

Sonia added, “One thing you need to understand about human trafficking is that it’s solely about the money. Twenty minor girls here for this brothel, forty teenage boys for this war. They also deal with special orders, so if a wealthy ‘client’ wants a virgin, the sellers will find one to desired specifications.” Sonia drained her water and looked uneasy. Dean wished that for just a minute, he could get Sonia alone and … just let her know that he was there to listen. Her past as a victim of these crimes was no secret. She had testified in court against those who had held her captive, and had provided key information that had helped law enforcement in figuring out some of the tricks and lures criminals employed. At this moment, however, she seemed so forlorn and lost, though by the looks on the faces of the other cops in the room, Dean was the only one who had noticed.

“We’re pulling out all the stops for the next forty-eight hours. In addition to monitoring Jones’s security, we are closely tracking his head lobbyist.”

“Lobbyist?” Azevedo questioned.

“Craig Gleason is under suspicion as an accessory, but we’re keeping that under wraps. Agent Knight and I interviewed him earlier about Jones’s clientele and both of us got bad vibes from the guy. It could be that he knows about the money laundering, but not the human trafficking. He’s hiding something. Agent Callahan is digging into Gleason’s background and monitoring his whereabouts. So far, after our meeting this afternoon, he let the XCJ staff go home early, but he’s still in the office.”

“Maybe he’s dead,” Montgomery quipped. “There seem to be a lot of bodies popping up today.”

“We actually considered that,” Sonia said, “and put an undercover agent in the building. So far, Gleason is still alive.”

Dean added, “He has clients and the legislature is in session tonight. It’s entirely possible that Gleason is working. With Jones dead, he’s also probably getting a lot of calls.”

“When was that released?” Trace asked. “We only confirmed it late this afternoon.”

“We released the information about Jones’s death in time for the five o’clock news,” Dean said. “After consulting with Dr. Vigo, Richardson and Warner agreed that holding the information would empower the killer. Giving it to the media puts more pressure on him, which increases the chance he’ll make a major mistake.”

Dr. Vigo’s voice came from the speakerphone. “That’s important,” he said. “This isn’t a guy you can easily rattle.
Any move we make, he’s already thought about and has planned a half dozen possible responses. But the more pressure on him, the fewer options he has. Only when he feels trapped will he do something reckless, which increases our chances of catching him. Every time we take away a choice, we ratchet up his stress level. There is, however, a problem with this approach.”

“What?” Sonia asked.

“He’ll kill without thought if it gets him out of immediate danger or perceived danger. The more stress he’s under, the more paranoid he’ll get. This means he may go after more of Jones’s people or anyone blocking his end goal. While the benefit to us is that he’s more apt to make a major mistake, we should not underestimate him.”

“Great. Don’t underestimate someone we don’t know,” Sonia said.

“Exactly. I didn’t say it would be easy.”

After Dr. Vigo hung up, the rest of the team laid out their plans for the next day. Sonia finally looked at her phone—someone had been trying to call her for the last ten minutes, but it was an unfamiliar number. She dialed her voice mail.

“Dammit, Sonia, I need to talk to you right now. Call me back. It’s Simone Charles.”

Sonia’s stomach did a little flip as she thought that something had happened to Riley or their unconscious “Ann.” She excused herself and called Simone.

“It’s about friggin’ time,” Simone snapped.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Me, too. You’ll never believe it.”

“What?”

“I was going to make you guess, but that was fifteen minutes ago so I’ll just lay it out. I’m at the Sacramento County Coroner’s Office and am looking at two bullets that match perfectly. Okay, I’m not a ballistics expert but I can see the similarities under the microscope.”

“What bullets?”

“The unknown vic pulled from the river and Kendra Vega. And—”

“Anticlimactic, Simone,” Sonia cut her off, wanting to get back to the meeting. “We already suspected that the two double homicides were connected.”

“You interrupted the best part.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled and rubbed her head. She sat down at the nearest cubicle. She needed to find some Tylenol or something. She glanced at the desktop. The tidy employee had classic cartoon strips pinned precisely on the thick, rough fabric walls, humorous quips and scenes from “The Far Side,” “Blondie,” and “Peanuts,” some yellowed with age. A corkboard held a collage of pictures, most of them three happy blond girls of varying ages. Laughing. At the zoo. Eating ice cream. Being hugged. Being loved.

Sonia’s chest heaved and she bit back the self-pity that threatened her calm professionalism. It wasn’t these kids’ fault that she hadn’t had a normal childhood. It wasn’t their fault they had a loving mother and father who wanted to spend time with them. She was blessed with an adoptive family who loved her, and she was grateful for them, but sometimes when she thought of all the children who never had that support, never had the hugs, the unconditional love … She thought of Ann lying in the hospital after being raped and strangled and
left for dead. She might be all of sixteen. Who were her parents? Had they sold her or had she been kidnapped like Charlie’s Ashley Fox? Where was she from? Was she going to make it? Could she have a normal life? Would she find a family like the Knights or be sent back to where she came from?

“Hey, I can’t believe you’re that speechless.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Damn, you didn’t even hear the news. I can’t believe it!”

“I’m distracted. I’m sorry, Simone, it’s been a tough day.”

“Okay, I’ll cut you some slack. The head forensic pathologist performed the autopsy after hours on Jones instead of waiting until the morning, knowing that this case is red-hot. So get this: his bullets don’t match. Not one of the five match the unknown vic or Mrs. Vega.”

Sonia straightened. “You’re positive?”

“Of course I’m positive. They’re not even the same caliber. Jones was shot with nine-millimeter slugs; the other two vics with forty-five caliber hollow-points. And based on the angle of the entry wounds and knowing that Jones was shot in the parking lot, I assumed that both men were standing face-to-face. I did some preliminary calculations using the county lab, and I’m pretty confident that the killer is between five foot nine and five foot eleven.”

“You’re incredible.”

“So I’ve been told. I have more.”

“Give it to me.” Sonia grabbed a notepad from a neat
stack in the corner and opened the top drawer for a pen as she listened to Simone.

But as the criminalist spoke, Sonia froze. She was speechless.

“Did you hear me?” Simone asked.

“Are you one hundred percent positive the knives match?”

“Well, technically, ninety-nine point three percent positive. But I’m looking at both of them now.”

“I’ll call you back. Thank you.”

Two minutes later, Sonia stepped back into the war room as Dean was finishing up his explanation of how he suspected Jones was laundering money. He glanced at her as he said, “We need to tread carefully with regards to Rio Diablo. We have no jurisdiction on their land and will have to work with the multitribe council to gain even minimal access.”

Trace Anderson looked at Sonia and said, “Something happened.”

“I just spoke to Simone Charles from Sac P.D. She confirmed that Mrs. Vega and the first victim found in the river were killed with the same gun; however, Jones was killed with a different gun. Time of death is the same. The blood evidence collected at the scene indicates that Jones was killed in the parking lot and carried to the edge of the dock where he was dropped into the river. The second victim was shot on the dock and fell into the water. There wasn’t much blood, so he must have been near the edge.”

“Like walking the plank,” Trace said.

“Simone also said, based on the angle of the wounds, whoever killed Jones was between five foot nine and five foot eleven. They shot him three times point-blank in
the chest. When Jones fell, he was shot two more times, once in the chest—it went through at a completely different angle—and once in the head.