Speak of the Devil (16 page)

The next page in the file was the death certificate for Maria-Rosa Gomez, dated September 22, 2009. Her body had been discovered in Rock Creek Park by a jogger on the footpath that followed the creek. Anna herself had jogged that path many times. Crime-scene photos showed Maria-Rosa’s body, curled on its side, on the banks of the river. The bloody body was a jarring juxtaposition to the pretty green of the park in late summertime.

The cause of Maria-Rosa’s death was a single bullet through the head, from behind. But the ME’s report also listed multiple post-death stab wounds, in a grisly pattern along Maria-Rosa’s back. Anna counted: thirteen stab wounds. A sign left by the gang.

Maria-Rosa’s murder was three days before Nina’s.

After the two murders, the investigation ground to a halt. No suspect was ever identified for the pimping or the murders.

The shameful injustice—the colossal failure of a system Anna was devoted to—screamed from the pages.

Anna looked through the rest of the paperwork for some reference to Mercedes, the girl from the other van. There was surprisingly little information about her. No witness statement, no address, not even a last name. But toward the back of the file was a sealed brown envelope labeled
NOT FOR DISCOVERY
—not to be shared with defense counsel, should the case ever be charged. Anna opened it. Inside was a business card of a deputy U.S. Marshal and a typed memo to file: “Julia Hernandez’s contents removed from file. WITSEC case # 09-1523.” A witness had gone into the Witness Protection Program.

The file didn’t give any more information about Julia Hernandez or say what she’d seen. But perhaps Anna could tie Psycho to the prior trafficking case and Maria-Rosa’s murder. If she could identify Psycho and Diablo as the same defendants in her case, Anna might be able to make a much larger federal case out of the combination. Anna needed to talk to Julia Hernandez.

• • •

First, Anna tried Samantha Randazzo again. The FBI agent arrived at Anna’s office late in the afternoon. Sam was in her mid-thirties, with long curly black hair and full lips, shiny with gloss. She always managed to make her dark pantsuits look sexy. Today, Sam carried a plastic bag filled with containers from Sergio’s: fried calamari, eggplant patties, and a tray of lasagna.

“From Tony,” Sam said, setting the bag on Anna’s desk.

“Thanks! Tell him I send my best.”

“Nah, that’ll just encourage him. Fill me in on the case.”

Anna told Sam what she’d found over the last two weeks. Sam listened attentively, leaning forward a little more with each development. By the time Anna finished, Sam had her elbows on her knees.

“So you’ve got interstate trafficking of a minor. The murder of a witness—maybe the murder of a police officer. Then the same two gangbangers raid your brothel when the pimp doesn’t pay his extortion money. They rape the girl, kill the doorman. This sounds like something the FBI should be on.”

Anna restrained the urge to fist pump.

“There’s one more thing.” Anna lowered her voice. “But it’s totally confidential.”

“As opposed to everything else you just told me?” Their entire conversation was subject to the grand jury rules of secrecy.

“Yeah. But the next part is just rumors and speculation, about a decorated member of law enforcement.”

“Bring it.”

“Hector Ramos is turning up in too many places. My Spidey sense tells me something is off.” Anna described everything she’d learned about Hector.

“You do need my help,” Sam said. “Give me a copy of the paperwork, and I’ll run it past my ASAC.”

“Thanks, Sam. I’m doing a reverse proffer with Psycho tomorrow. You want to be there?”

“Absolutely.”

The agent took a pile of papers from Anna and stood to leave her office. On the way out, she almost bumped into McGee coming in.

“Hello, ladies,” McGee said, tipping his fedora in an exaggerated show of chivalry. Then he pointed his hat at Anna. “You’re bringing the FBI in on my biggest case?”

“We might, uh, provide some assistance,” Sam said gingerly. “It sounds like the sort of thing we could work on together.”

“Well thank goodness!” McGee plopped down into one of Anna’s chairs. “I could use the help. This woman’s got me running like a racehorse all up and down D.C. and Maryland. You know how many brothels I had to visit?” He paused as Anna and Sam smirked at him. “I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”

22

Ten days in prison hadn’t erased the stupid grin from Psycho’s face. Anna regarded him across the tiny metal table in the tiny windowless rooms in the USAO basement. McGee sat at Anna’s side, looking uncomfortably squished, his belly pressed against the table because the wall prevented his chair from going back any farther. Sam sat at the head of the table. Steve Schwalm sat next to his client, trying to appear as if he liked him. Psycho wore an orange prison jumpsuit and was handcuffed, with chains shackling him to a big metal bolt in the wall. Sometimes Anna held conferences here with prisoners who were merely handcuffed. Not with Psycho.

Since Psycho’s arraignment, Anna and Schwalm had been discussing the possibility of his cooperation. Schwalm wanted his client to do it, but Psycho hadn’t moved. Schwalm asked Anna to do a reverse proffer, and she agreed. She’d already given Schwalm all of the information she would list now; the disclosure was required by law. Schwalm could give it to his client himself, but sometimes it helped for a defendant to hear it from the prosecutor. She could give a “scared straight” speech, which was more effective from the mean prosecutor than from the defense attorney, who was trying to build trust with his client.

Anna was willing to give Psycho a break—because she wanted Diablo. In four years, the government hadn’t been able to find the man with the horns. Something had to change, and she hoped flipping Psycho was that thing.

“Mr. Garcia,” she said. “My case against you is quite strong. You were caught, literally with your pants down, raping a prostitute. There will not only be the testimony of the victim herself, there are several eyewitnesses who can testify about this sexual assault. That includes one decorated MPD police officer.”

She didn’t mention that she had growing doubts about this police officer.

“We have your semen in the condom. We have your fingerprints on the machete. We have a rape victim with such traumatic injuries she might have died without medical intervention. You’re facing First Degree Sexual Assault While Armed—statutory maximum of thirty years to life. Felony Murder, for the death of your friend Bufón—maximum thirty years. And First Degree Murder While Armed, for the death of the doorman—thirty years to life. You aided and abetted, so you’re legally responsible for that man’s death even if you didn’t swing the machete.”

She didn’t mention the scheme to transport underage girls to construction sites for prostitution, or the death of Maria-Rosa. She didn’t have a single witness supporting those charges—yet.

“I’m not here to gloat, Mr. Garcia, I’m just telling you how this is gonna go. And you can ask your lawyer if you think I’m bluffing. He’ll tell you I’m not. This is an easy case for me. You’re going to be convicted, and you’ll spend the rest of your life in jail. Until you die, in a maximum security prison.”

The smile did not leave Psycho’s face, but he glanced at his lawyer. Schwalm nodded back at him.

“The reason your lawyer suggested we have this talk today is because the law rewards people who begin walking up the path to rehabilitation. In your case, that would mean pleading guilty and cooperating with law enforcement. The judge would take that into account when sentencing you. I’d recommend that you serve thirty years. It’s a long sentence, but it isn’t life. You’d be fifty-two when you came out. If you ever want to see the world outside of prison again, this is your only chance.”

Psycho shifted in his chair, clanking the chains that bound his hands and feet. He shrugged. She couldn’t tell if her talk had any impact. Jack was the master of the reverse proffer. He could do a come-to-Jesus talk like no one else, mixing stern rebuke with logic and a fatherly command. She’d seen him make hardened thugs take a deal that no one else could convince them to take.

But Psycho just narrowed his eyes at her and kept smiling. He still looked like he wanted to rip her throat out.

“You have two weeks to decide, Mr. Garcia.” She stood up. “After that, the deal is off the table.”

When she said goodbye to the defense attorney, Psycho was still grinning at her, but a maniacal sort of fear and hatred had entered his eyes. It wasn’t where he needed to be, emotionally. But it was different from where he’d been earlier this morning. She supposed it was a start. The start of what, she couldn’t quite tell.

23

The mid-October drive through the Shenandoah Valley was spectacular. Gold waves of foliage draped undulating hills, and purple mountains provided a majestic backdrop. Farmers’ stands dotted the country road, their tables heaped with pumpkins, squash, and apples. Olivia’s usual car chatter was on mute. The girl sat in the backseat, headphones clamped to her ears, watching
Tangled
on the portable DVD player. The car was filled with the mellow sound of Miles Davis. Jack smiled at Anna as his Volvo station wagon cruised down I-81. She felt more relaxed than she had in weeks.

It took about two hours to get to Blown Away Farm & Inn. A little after five o’clock, they drove down a long, tree-lined driveway, which opened to a redbrick mansion with a white portico and columns. It was a beautiful hotel, and it would be a great place to bring their friends and family. Jack had planned this weekend in the country to scout out places for the wedding. There were lots of stunning places in the city itself, but Anna wanted to be married outdoors. Jack said this area had some of the most beautiful countryside within driving distance of D.C. He’d set up appointments at a few vineyards and farms.

They checked in and were shown to a lovely two-room suite, decorated with antiques. Olivia jumped on her four-poster bed like it was a trampoline until Jack gave her his “stern dad” look. Then she just bounced on her bottom. She was almost as excited as Anna.

As she settled into the suite, Anna felt a lightness she hadn’t in a while. It was just a weekend getaway—the case would be there waiting for her on Monday—but it felt good to think about something besides murder, rape, and violence for a while.

An hour later, they went to see the inn’s manager. Darlene was a middle-aged white woman who looked surprised when they walked into her office. She might not get many mixed-race couples here in the middle of Virginia. But Darlene quickly recovered her gracious smile and showed them around. The main part of the tour was a wide stone patio at the back of the inn. The day was clear and warm, summer was still fending off autumn.

“This is where most couples choose to have their ceremonies,” Darlene said. “Then the cocktail hour is inside the lobby, while we convert the patio to dinner tables and a dance floor.”

Anna stood on the patio and drank in the beautiful view. Behind the mansion sprawled a green valley dotted with grazing horses. The valley was surrounded by the blazing autumn trees and the Appalachian Mountains, which reflected the pink light of the setting sun. It looked magical. Anna could picture herself and Jack standing here, promising to love, cherish, and honor each other for the rest of their lives. She met Jack’s eyes and saw that he felt the same way. He reached for her hand and they stood gazing out at the view.

“What if it rains?” Olivia asked. She put her hands on her hips and looked up at Darlene.

Darlene answered the six-year-old respectfully. “If there’s a chance of rain, we can put up a large white tent over the patio. We can even hang little white lights inside the tent, if you like.”

“Excellent,” Olivia said. “And we’re thinking about a big band. Where would they go?”

Darlene pointed to a grassy space on the side of the patio. After a few more probing questions, the little girl turned to her father and Anna.

“This would be quite satisfactory.”

Anna laughed and knelt down. “How do you even learn words like that?”

“I’m just smart.”

“That you are.”

The next day, they visited more vineyards and farms. Every place was beautiful, green and gold. Anna sampled Virginia wines and savored the long views of countryside, something she couldn’t get in Washington. Olivia played with every farm dog and cat they encountered. But at the end of the day, they all agreed that they’d fallen in love with the inn. They went back that evening and spoke to Darlene. They reserved the inn for their wedding on July fourteenth. Anna’s heart lurched a little when Darlene blocked out the weekend on her computer. This was really happening.

Later that night, with Olivia sleeping in her adjoining room, Anna and Jack took a bottle of local pinot grigio out to their balcony. The night was warm and soft. They stood watching a huge orange harvest moon rise. Fireflies hovered in the grass below. Anna took a sip of wine and basked in the rare feeling of complete happiness. They talked about whom they would invite to their wedding, and whether they would host a brunch the next morning.

“Next time we’re here,” Jack said quietly, “you’ll be my wife.”

He took her face gently between his hands. He kissed her so softly she could barely feel his lips at first. She leaned into him, deepening the kiss, running her hand up the solid wall of his chest. Her breathing quickened, her face flushed with warmth. They left their wine on the balcony and went into the bedroom. The inn had set up their room as if they were already on their honeymoon. Red rose petals were scattered on the bedcovers, infusing the air with sweet perfume. As Jack lit some candles, Anna made sure the door was locked. Then they took off each other’s clothes, kissing in between the pieces they shed.

She stepped back so she could look at him, naked in the candlelight. He was beautiful. Without warning, he scooped her up and carried her like a bride over a threshold. She squealed and laughed. “Shh,” he said. He kissed her, then laid her down on the rose petals. She was wet and aching for him already. She tried to pull him onto her, but he shook his head.