In Desperation (5 page)

“Why did you change your name?”

“To put my past behind me and start over. I moved to Phoenix, put myself through college and started a new life. I got clerical jobs. I've been clean since.”

“So it's been about twelve years since you've used?” Hackett asked.

“Yes, about that.”

“Did you deal?”

“I didn't deal. But I knew dealers.”

“Do you associate with them now?”

“No.”

“Do you think anyone from your past could be involved in this?”

“I knew bad dealers, but that was a long time ago, another life. Anything is possible, but no, I hope not.”

“Can you provide us with names of those old dealers?” Hackett asked.

“I never knew their real names—they were street names. There was Deke, a white guy in Boston about fifteen years ago. Before that, Rasheed, a Middle Eastern guy in Toronto.”

Larson made notes.

“When did you last have contact with people in the drug trade?”

“About twelve years ago. My old life is dead, behind me.”

Hackett stared at Cora. Fine threads of doubt and apprehension webbed across his face before he said, “Are you telling us everything we need to know?”

Several moments passed before she answered.

“Agent Hackett, I've made mistakes. I have not lived a perfect life but I am a good mother and I swear to you I am not involved.”

“All right.”

Larson's cell phone rang. After listening for about ten seconds, she said: “They're almost finished processing the kitchen and the living room.”

Hackett adjusted his sleeves.

“We'll take both of you back to the house in Mesa Mirage. The task force will set up. We'll have people from VAP, our victim specialist unit there too, to help you with anything you may need. You're going to have a lot of police keeping you company.”

“Whatever it takes,” Cora said. “But there's something I need from you.”

“What's that?”

“Your word that you will do all you can to bring Tilly home.”

Cora's request gave him pause. It was identical to the plea he'd heard from the mother of the aid worker from
Toledo, Ohio, who'd been taken hostage by Colombian drug traffickers.

“Give me your word you will bring my daughter back.”

He did.

But he brought her home in a coffin.

Now, looking into Cora's face, Hackett told her the truth.

“I give you my word I will do all I can to find your daughter.”

“Thank you.”

He stared at Cora. “And to arrest the people responsible.”

Phoenix, Arizona

A
few miles north of Mesa Mirage, at the South Desert Bank & Trust, Bill Grover, the assistant manager, realigned the stapler and pen holder on his desk.

The two FBI agents sitting across from him were studying the files Grover's branch had assembled with some urgency. The action was in response to a warrant to provide the FBI with records on all of Lyle Galviera's financial dealings and those of his courier company.

The agents, Ross Sarreno and Winston Reeve, were the Phoenix Division's white-collar crime experts. They wore dark suits and somber expressions. Whatever they were chasing, it was serious, Grover thought.

First, they confirmed that there'd been no activity on any credit or bank cards held by Galviera since the day before he was to depart for his California business trip. However, on that day, there was a cash withdrawal from one of his accounts for nine thousand dollars.

This guy was planning something,
Reeve thought after he and Sarreno studied the company's banking files.

“These records show the company is in trouble,” Reeve said.

“Yes.” Grover cleared his throat. “The big boys were securing their hold on Quick Draw's regional market. About two years ago, Lyle's outstanding debts climbed to
about four million dollars. A few times he came close to not making payroll. We could no longer extend his line of credit. Things were getting dire. We were talking about Chapter Eleven.”

“Then he turns things around, appears to have found a source of business and funds,” Reeve said. “Ten months ago he begins knocking down his debt with significant weekly payments, fifty-, seventy-, ninety-five-thousand-dollar range.”

“He said it was the result of a new business model.”

“But all of the transactions were in cash,” Reeve said.

“That's correct.”

“This is a courier business. It does not deal primarily in cash. The transactions could be indicative of money laundering. Under the law there's an obligation to report this activity,” Reeve said.

Grover reached for the file, tapped at specific pages.

“You'll see here that Currency Transaction Reports were filed with the IRS for all of his cash transactions over ten thousand dollars.”

“What about SARs?”

“This bank filed three Suspicious Activity Reports with the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network at Treasury.”

“What was their response?”

“Nothing to us. We did our part.”

“The bottom line here, plain and simple?”

“He owes $1,950,000 by end of next month and if he does not pay that amount in full he will lose his company. Now I know Lyle built that company practically from the time he was a college kid and I don't think that he was going to let that happen under any circumstances.”

The agents closed the files, thanked Grover and left. Next stop: Cora Martin's bank in Mesa Mirage to scrutinize her records. Heading to their car in the lot, Reeve turned to Sarreno.

“Our guy was in a dire financial situation, then found a sudden and significant source of cash. Someone dropped the ball. This should've raised flags,” Reeve said.

“Sure raises some big ones now.” Sarreno was reaching for his cell phone. “I'll alert Hackett and Larson.”

 

At that moment, Vivian Brankowski, manager of the Tranquility Palms Condominiums near Tempe, reread the document the two FBI Agents, Douglas and Allard, had presented her.

Shocked, she watched the words leap at her from the pages:
“…United States District Court…Search Warrant…affidavits…electronic data process and storage devices, computers…”
The list went on, but offered no details as to what it concerned, other than the property listed for Lyle Galviera.

Vivian stood there in disbelief. This sort of thing never happened at Tranquility, a sedate community of urban professionals.

“Ma'am?” Agent Allard said. “We don't want to force the door. Do you have a key and a floor plan?”

“Mr. Galviera uses Tranquility's cleaning service. I have a key.”

It was the Segovia model, a two-bedroom multilevel condo with a balcony overlooking the small lake. Several swans were gliding on the surface when the FBI backed a white panel van into the driveway.

Vivian felt like she was trespassing as she opened the door to Mr. Galviera's home for the agents. But the warrant gave them legal access. With mute efficiency, the agents snapped on latex gloves and began seizing and cataloging Galviera's computer, personal files and other belongings.

Vivian stood at the doorway watching in disbelief. Mr. Galviera was a first-rate resident. Always smiled and chatted.
Now the FBI was searching his home, taking
things. Good Lord, what was going on?
She stared at the warrant for the umpteenth time but failed to find an answer.

“Can you gentlemen at least tell me what this is about?”

“Sorry, ma'am,” Agent Douglas said. “We can't discuss it.”

 

Ed Kilpatrick's jaw dropped when the FBI and detectives from the county arrived at the main office of Quick Draw Courier's depot. They gave him a copy of the warrant authorizing them to seize the company's computers, files and phone records, among other items.

“What the hell is this?” Kilpatrick asked.

Heads turned and conversations halted as management and administrative staff watched.

“We're not at liberty to share other information at this time,” Agent Hutton said.

“But you'll shut us down. Our customers are relying on shipments.”

“That's not our concern, sir,” Hutton said. “Have your people step away from their units now.”

Kilpatrick and his staff complied with the order, then scrambled.

“Bobby! Get Lyle on the phone—tell him what's going on. Agnes, call our lawyer, Kendall Fairfield. His number is on the firm's calendar in my office.”

Kilpatrick was stunned as he watched FBI agents and county detectives shut down and disconnect computers. He tried to think.

“Gloria, can you get through to Metrofire Computer Solutions? Tell them we need emergency backup—now. Then start calling our clients. Tell them we're having a major computer issue.”

Bobby Wicks shouted to Kilpatrick that he could not reach Lyle Galviera.

“Damn.” Kilpatrick ran his hand over his face,
remembering Cora Martin's call from earlier. Did she actually come in today? “Has anyone seen Cora today? Maybe she knows what the hell is going on.”

Phoenix, Arizona, Mesa Mirage

C
ora's phone rang.

All activity in her home ceased.

She held her breath and looked at Gannon.

This was the first call on her landline since she and Gannon had returned to the house with Hackett and Larson a few hours earlier. During that time a stream of agents and detectives had flowed through her door. The FBI had put a trace on her home phone to identify incoming calls.

“This call's from the Phoenix area,” said the agent working at a computer laptop equipped to record calls.

As the agent locked on the address, an FBI hostage negotiator put on a headset to listen in. He had a clipboard and pen, ready to give Cora instructions. She looked at the negotiator. He nodded.

Her hand trembling, she answered on the third ring.

“Hello.”

“Cora, Ed at the depot. Are you coming in at all this afternoon?”

“I can't.”

“Have you heard from Lyle yet?”

“No. Have you?”

“No, but—you sound upset, Cora. What's going on?”

“It's just—it's a thing with Tilly. I'm sorry, Ed.”

“Well, we've got trouble. We've got the FBI in here with search warrants and nobody knows what the hell's going on. We can't reach Lyle. Have you had any luck? Do you have any idea what's happening, Cora?”

“No, I wish I could talk but it's a bad time.”

“Man, tell me about it.”

“Ed, I need a favor.”

“What is it?”

“If you hear from Lyle, tell him I need to talk to him now.”

“That makes two of us, kid.”

Cora hung up and thrust her face in her hands. Hackett, Larson and the dozen other law enforcement people from the FBI, the Phoenix PD's HIKE unit, the County, the DEA and U.S. Immigration and Customs who'd joined the case, watched her for several moments before continuing their work.

When Cora regained her composure, she resumed describing the suspects to the FBI's sketch artist, a blonde woman with red fingernails.

“The one who spoke had a Hispanic accent,” Cora said. “He had a scar along his left jawline. He had narrow eyes. He was in his mid-thirties, about five feet ten inches, one hundred and sixty pounds, slim build. The silent one was in his early thirties, about the same height, weight and build. Both had short black hair. The car was a light-colored Ford. I think maybe a Crown Victoria. It looked like the one my friend at church has.”

As the artist worked with her on the faces of the suspects, the magnitude of her daughter's kidnapping began to sink in.

Investigators had moved fast, filling Cora's living room with tables of equipment, including extra phone lines, GPS, radios and encrypted fax machines. She had volunteered her phone, bank and computer records, everything. They examined it all. People worked on laptops, talked softly on cell phones, drank coffee, consulted files and
shared notes, while uniformed officers came and went after updating detectives. Still others continued searching her home.

So far, they'd determined that the call Cora had received at her office from the kidnappers was made on a prepaid cell phone bought with cash at a corner store in Tucson. From there, the trail went cold.

After finishing with the artist, Cora joined Gannon in the hall, watching the FBI's evidence team. They'd finished with the kitchen and living room and were now processing Tilly's bedroom. It was the first time Cora had looked into her room since the abduction.

Since the moment when she'd last checked on her daughter
.

Cora took a deep breath as her eyes went around the room. The room where she'd tucked Tilly in, the room where she'd listened to her dreams, chased away her fears and promised to keep her safe.

Now, seeing the evidence people in there with their protective clothing and latex gloves—people who worked in the aftermath of evil touching Tilly's most private things—felt like a violation. Yet it was eclipsed by the greater desecration committed by the monsters who'd stolen her child.

Where was Tilly? Time was slipping by.

Panic rose in Cora's stomach and was stifled by a dog's yelp.

Through the bedroom window she glimpsed the K-9 unit sniffing in her yard for evidence. Down the street she saw other detectives canvassing the neighborhood, interviewing people. Cora dreaded the fact that soon everyone would know what had happened. Her attention was pulled back to the living room, where Hackett was huddled with agents and detectives. Not far under the surface of the investigation, his suspicions toward her bubbled beneath his cold, insistent frown.

“Are you telling us everything we need to know?”

She had nothing to do with Tilly's abduction and nothing to do with drugs. Cora and Tilly lived a good life. Still, Hackett's mistrust tore at her, made her feel guilty for not knowing Lyle, for every sin of her past.

Like the secret she'd kept buried for so many years.

Did one single act, all those years back, deliver Tilly into the hands of a drug cartel now? No, it can't be. It's just not possible. It was so long ago. That was another life. No one must know about what I did. I have to protect Tilly.

“Excuse me.” One of the agents had follow-up questions. “Could you tell us what she was wearing when she was taken? It's for the alert.”

After Cora described Tilly's pajamas, and the sneakers, shirt and jeans Tilly had been carrying, the agent asked for a recent photo. She found one of Tilly taken at a friend's birthday party.

“This was last weekend.”

There was Tilly with other eleven-and twelve-year-olds at the mall, laughing in the food court, eyes bright with innocence, on the cusp of adolescence, her whole life ahead of her.

Would she ever hold her again?

Cora then saw forensic people bagging Tilly's old toothbrush and comb. “For DNA analysis,” someone said. She watched them process Tilly's computer mouse for fingerprints.

Hackett approached her.

“Cora,” he said. “Were you aware of the seriousness of Quick Draw's financial trouble?”

“Like I said, we had to cut some staff and watch costs. Lyle told me we had faced rough times but that he'd taken care of it.”

“Did you know where his influx of cash came from?”

“No, he did the books. He never showed me the company's finances. I ran the office. He ran the company.”

Hackett took a moment to assess her answer.

“All right, in a few hours we're going to hold a press conference and make a public appeal for Tilly and for Lyle.”

“What?” Cora said. “No! The kidnappers said they would kill her. God knows what they'll do to Tilly when they learn I've gone to the police.”

“Your daughter's life was in danger the second they stole her,” Hackett said. “We can't deal with these people. Right now secrecy is their best weapon.”

“But we can't have a press conference. There has to be another way!”

“There isn't. At this time, we have no leads on your daughter's location or safety. We have no leads on Lyle's whereabouts. We have no leads on the suspects, or the gang involved. We have no choice, none.”

Hackett shot a glance toward Gannon.

“It could be the only way to get Tilly home,” Gannon said.

“Earl,” Larson said from down the hall. “Call from EPIC.”

Gannon's ears pricked up. He knew EPIC was short for the El Paso Intelligence Center, the multi-agency operation at the U.S.-Mexico border that coordinated information on Mexican cartels and human smugglers.

Gannon had an idea and took it to a quiet corner of the house. Up to now, he'd been useless in the search for his niece. Using his cell phone, he called Isabel Luna in Mexico. “Isabel Luna,
El Heraldo
.”

“It's Jack Gannon.” He lowered his voice. “I'm in Arizona and I need your help but this is confidential. You can't report any of this yet.”

“Of course, Jack, we are working together.”

“An eleven-year-old girl has been kidnapped from her home in Phoenix, Arizona, by narcos. They claim a Phoenix businessman who runs a courier company stole five
million dollars from them and vanished. He has five days to surface and return the money.”

“Has any of this been reported?”

“Not a word yet, but you must keep this all confidential.”

“Why the secrecy?”

“The girl is my niece.”

“Your niece? Do you know who took her?”

“No, my sister works for the man the kidnappers are trying to pressure.”

“What can I do to help you, Jack?”

“I need you to find out who might be responsible. Can you check with your sources in Juarez, see what you can dig up confidentially?”

“I will at once.”

Gannon ended the call and exhaled just as his phone rang.

“Jack, Melody in New York. Where are you and what do you have?”

“I'm in Phoenix and we have a story.”

“What is it?”

“An eleven-year-old girl has been kidnapped from her Phoenix home, likely tied to the theft of five million dollars from a cartel.”

“I'll put it on the next news budget. You write us a first hit. We'll need it in about thirty minutes.”

“No. We can't write anything yet.”

“What?”

“Alert our Phoenix bureau to expect a news conference with the FBI late in the day.”

“News conference? Isn't this our exclusive?”

“No, it's complicated.”

“We need exclusives, Jack.”

“I know and this could lead to one. You have to trust me.”

“What's going on?”

Since he'd already told Isabel Luna, Gannon surrendered his information to the editor he trusted most.

“The girl who's been kidnapped is the daughter of my estranged sister, Cora—my niece. I'm sorry, but it's complicated. I'll explain later.”

“Good Lord. Is she okay?”

“No.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Thanks, I'll let you know. Just trust me on this for now, please. I really have to go. I'll call you when I know more.”

Gannon scanned the house and saw Cora on the edge of a chair, being offered water and comfort by paramedics. They'd been monitoring her vital signs from the get-go.

Watching her now, he battled his emotions.

Am I scum?
His sister had called him for help. Was he being a brother and an uncle, or was he being a reporter? Why did he feel a greater obligation to his job than to Cora?
Because it didn't feel like she was his sister.
At times he felt that she was a stranger. Then there were warm flashes, when he'd recognized the same gentle spirit who'd guided him when he was a boy.

His big sister, Cora.

And he wondered what their lives would've been like had she not run off and devastated their family. But dwelling on it made him angry. His thoughts shifted when Cora indicated that she wanted to talk to him alone.

The paramedics gave them privacy.

Cora gripped his arm.

Since this had happened, she hadn't slept or eaten. Her eyes were reddened from tears. She pulled him closer. Her lower lip started trembling.

“Am I being punished, Jack.”

“What do you mean?”

“For my past. In the worst times of my life I had to do things to survive—awful things, Jack.”

“What things? Tell me. Maybe it will help find Tilly.”

“No, it's not like that.”

“If it has something to do with why you cut yourself off from us, then tell me. I need to know. I
deserve
to know.”

“I can't.” Her face contorted with fear. “What if I never see her again?”

“Take it easy.”

“This is not about me, not about my mistakes. It's about my daughter.”

“I know, I know. You're upset. Maybe you should rest.”

“You have to help me find her before it's too late, find out who took her and bring her back!” She collapsed onto his chest.

“It's all right,” he whispered, looking down at her. He held her until she calmed down. When the paramedics returned to check on her, Gannon met Hackett's stare. He'd been watching.

He took Gannon aside.

“Saw you on your phone, Jack. Mind telling me who were you talking to and what you told them?”

Gannon considered his question.

“My boss needs to know where I am.”

“That right? Listen, you'd better give serious thought about your role here. For some reason, your long-lost sister thinks having you here now is important.”

“She was scared and she called me. The situation brought us together.”

“That's fine—you're family. But your actions could be counterproductive to our efforts. Anything you learn here is privileged. Sharing it outside the investigation could undermine our work, force us to look at excluding you
from the house and consider obstruction charges. You got that?”

“Oh, I get it.”

“Good.”

“We have the same goal—the safe return of my niece.”

“As long as we're on the same page, Jack.”

“We are—the one that says you do your job and I'll do mine.”

Hackett glared at Gannon until a heart-stopping shriek cut through the impasse. Paramedics were struggling to stem Cora's rising hysteria as she moaned to everyone.

“Please, bring my daughter back to me! Please!”