Traitor, The (20 page)
Very early the next morning the second meet with Santos took
place in Bella's office at the courthouse. She hadn't seen Rafe since
yesterday, but he'd left a cryptic voice message. She'd deal with that after
she solidified the negotiation with Santos.
John Sanderson, who normally filled the desk clerk duties,
had taken temporary command of the sheriff's office since neither Slater nor
Harris had recovered sufficiently to resume his duties. Sanderson arranged for
extra guards to be assigned at all the courthouse entrances.
After Santos had been patted down, carefully searched for
weapons, and secretly admitted through a side entrance, he was led past the
metal detectors to the stairs leading to Bella's office on the second floor. She
was determined no one would know about the clandestine meeting with Diego
Vargas' second in command.
Two armed guards stood at attention outside her office along
with Sanderson. His bald head gleamed wetly in the overhead lights while his ebony
face reflected his disapproval of Santos' presence in his precinct.
After the formalities, the two attorneys measured one
another across the expanse of Bella's desk. She retrieved a sheet of paper from
a military green file folder and slid it carefully across the desk. Santos
relaxed in the comfortable arm chair as if he hadn't a care in the world.
He narrowed his eyes and reached for the paper, never
looking down, but piercing her with a sharp, cunning appraisal. "What is
this?" he asked.
"The terms of your plea bargain agreement." Bella
leaned back in her desk chair, her elbows on the arm rests, her fingertips
bouncing lightly against one another. She had taken the death penalty off the
table.
Like yesterday, she was oddly lacking in fear around Santos,
even though a general air of malevolence hung around him like a carnivorous
bird of prey. She'd recovered from the shock of seeing Maria's photo, and today
she felt in control. She recognized the last rolling momentum of the case
against Diego Vargas and knew it would lead to a triumphant end.
Santos would not refuse the deal.
She didn't know why she was so certain of this. Perhaps it
was the pallor that showed beneath his dark skin or the erratic drumming of his
long fingers on the desk that made her sure.
Something had tipped the scales in her favor and Santos was
ready to cut a deal. He had made the first overture. He had shown her the
photo.
When she'd called him this morning, she had detected an
unfamiliar air of resignation in his voice.
"ADA Torres." His gravelly, formal voice had
wafted over the phone line.
"Verdad.
I had just intended to call
you."
"Really?" Bella forced coolness into her voice,
desperately wanting to maintain control. "I'm glad to have saved you the
trouble, Mr. Santos."
His deep rumble over the phone line sent chills down her
spine and reminded her of Rafe's warning that she was dealing with a dangerous
animal. To her surprise Santos had readily acquiesced to joining her here, on
her home ground, instead of his own territory. She wondered briefly what story
he'd spun for Diego Vargas, or if he'd kept the clandestine appointment a
secret from everyone.
"He thinks I am conferring with some of our associates,"
Santos offered as if he had read her mind. "Import associates."
She didn't pretend not to understand the tacit admission of
drug dealing. Or that he kept secrets from Diego Vargas. "That was
judicious of you."
Santos barked out a sound that was a cross between mirth and
menace.
"Ay,
I am a wise man."
She nodded and waited for him to pick up the paper lying on
the desk in front of him. When he did, he read the document with what seemed
deliberate languor.
"And since I am a wise man," he continued,
"not given to foolish bargains, tell me, Ms. Torres, why should I consider
this offer?" He dropped the paper and waved a negligent hand over it,
conveying the paltry insignificance of her carefully-constructed agreement.
So he wanted to play games first?
Bella tightened her
lips. "It's a good deal. You should consider it."
Plea bargaining on felony charges was a tricky negotiation
at best, much like bartering in an Egyptian bazaar. She made an offer, he
countered, and they parried and thrust until they came to mutual agreement.
He surprised her with his next words. "A good deal, but
not an excellent one."
She allowed a modicum of impatience to show in her
expression. "Mr. Santos, if my office brings charges against you, they
will likely be multiple counts of murder, conspiracy, and drug trafficking, not
to mention kidnapping and human trafficking."
"Charges you cannot prove," he countered.
"Maybe, maybe not." She waffled her fingers in a
so-so gesture. "But I think you want something more than exoneration from
the charges."
She leaned forward across the desk and lowered her voice,
navigating solely on instinct. "I think Diego Vargas is out of control and
you'd like to rein him back into the parameters of sanity."
"Bueno,
for one so young, you are very sure of
yourself, but Diego is
El Vaquero.
I am merely his lieutenant."
"I doubt you have ever been
merely
anything."
He nodded in acknowledgement of the veiled compliment.
Bella pushed back from the desk and swung her legs around to
the side before rising. She turned her back to Santos and gazed out the wide
expanse of her office window to the courthouse lawn below. She would not be the
first to mention the picture."What would you consider an
excellent
deal?"
she asked reflectively.
"Complete immunity," Santos replied without
hesitation.
She spun around, ready to show her scorn, and bumped into
the wide, iron behemoth of his body. He'd approached her unawares.
"You're joking," she said breathily as she
retreated a step and crossed her arms in front of her.
His scarred face remained impassive. "I never jest
about money or prison time."
"There's no way I can grant you complete immunity."
"Naturalmente.
But of course you can."
"What are you offering?"
But she already knew. He was offering something so much more
important to her than convicting Vargas. And the thought of it nearly made her
weep.
Santos turned silently to glance at Sanderson still leaning
against the wall, his hand resting on his revolver. He jerked his head toward
the deputy, a clear indication that he wouldn't speak further with someone else
in the room.
Within seconds of Sanderson leaving the office, Bella's desk
phone rang. She stared stupidly at it for several moments, hating to break her
rhythm by answering it.
Santos nodded toward the jarring sound. "You should
answer the telephone, counselor." He rose and patted his jacket pockets.
"I will step outside to have a cigarillo and give you privacy."
Bella grabbed the receiver. "No smoking in public
buildings," she said automatically to his retreating back.
Santos smiled, his large white teeth flashing in his scarred
face. "But of course. I would not want to be charged with so
significant
a misdemeanor." He stepped quietly into the hall and closed the door
softly behind him.
"Hello, hello," Rafe's voice sounded faintly over
the line before Bella lifted the receiver to her ear.
"Hi," she breathed into the phone, happy to hear
his voice, grateful to get a break from the oppressive weight of Santos
standing inches within her personal space.
"You sound flustered. Is everything okay?" Rafe
asked.
"Yeah, well, sort of."
"Is Santos still there?"
"He stepped out for a minute." She hesitated and
then plunged on. "He's going to be a hard nut to crack." She hadn't
told him how Santos had shown her a photo of Maria, and wondered why she'd kept
this from him.
"I'll come right over." His voice was decisive and
she knew he'd rush right in and fracture the fragile progress she was making
with Santos.
"No, no, it'll be fine."
A heavy pause hung weightily, dead space over the line.
Rafe cleared his throat. "Okay, then. Well, I called to
let you know I'm going to stay with Max for a while."
"Max Jensen?"
"Yeah, his grandmother's house has been empty for a
while. He's staying here." He rattled off a quick address in Highland
Heights.
"Oh." She felt an unexplainable chill. "How
convenient."
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Of course. Look, I've got to finish this meeting, seal
the deal."
Bella stared at the phone long moments after she'd hung up. Jensen
had relatives in the area. A house to stay in. Why did that situation seem
strange to her?
Why did she suddenly remember the knowing look on his face
when she'd encountered him in Rafe's L.A. office waiting room? What had sparked
that sense of unease then, so brief she'd nearly forgotten it?
Deputy Sanderson escorted Santos into the room, and when the
lawyer had sat, the deputy took up watch again, this time outside the door.
Santos and Isabella Torres measured each other across the
desk like two warriors lined up for battle. He could tell by the set of her
pretty jaw that she had no intention of letting him win. She believed she had
right and the law on her side.
Santos had long ago put such foolish ideas aside, but the
ADA was young enough to believe in them still. Nevertheless, he regretted being
the one to burst the bubble of her idealism.
Her dark eyes serious, her lips lushly red, she very much
looked like the woman whose picture he kept in his inside jacket pocket. A new
picture today, a more focused image, one that Isabella would have no trouble
identifying.
"Tell me about Diego Vargas." The aura of an
avenging angel blazed about her.
He examined his hands and thought how to measure the impact
of his words. "First, let me tell you a story, Isabella."
"Ms. Torres," she corrected him, narrowing her
eyes.
Ay,
she would do serious battle with him. But he
believed her need for vengeance would win. It was the way of the human
condition.
"I'm not interested in fairy tales, Mr. Santos. I deal
in the truth, nonfiction if you will. What's the truth about Councilman
Vargas?"
"I will give you the complete truth, but only for full
immunity."
"You know I can't do that, even for ... "
Santos laughed softly, enjoying the righteous indignation on
her face. She held so much power in those small hands, that slight body.
"Ah, but of course you can."
She looked at a spot over his left shoulder, her face smooth
and completely devoid of the turmoil that must rage within her. To capture a man
like Diego Vargas was a professional coup and a personal victory. But she would
not want to let Santos himself go without punishment. To free him would rankle
her to no end.
When she remained silent, looking as if the answer to her
dilemma lay on the wall behind him, he decided to make the situation more
complex. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the second
photograph, the vivid colors speaking louder than any of his words. Turning it
face down on the desk, he pushed it carefully across the smooth wood until it
touched her splayed hand.
He noted the tremor in her fingers as she tapped the edge of
the picture. She knew. At some instinctive, primal level, she understood the
significance of the photo.
"I've already seen this," she said, easing one corner
toward her.
"Not this one. It will change your mind," he said
simply, not bothering to keep the sorrow out of his voice. He received no
pleasure from telling her about the picture. From showing it to her.
Slowly she turned over the photo, confusion furrowing her
brows, a look of puzzlement in her dark eyes. He recognized the exact moment
when the truth dawned on her.
Her eyes widened in disbelief and then closed in agony.
"It's Maria." Her fingers covered her mouth as if she'd vomit the
grief out of her body.
"Sí,
your sister."
She swiveled around in her chair, presenting her back to
him. He barely heard the muffled sounds of her grief.
Ay,
a strong woman.
She had immediately recognized the significance of the
bright dress and garish makeup on the face of the young woman in the photo.
Santos waited for the emotion to pass, for Isabella to absorb the pain of
seeing the photograph, to ask for the details of her sister's life.
"Is she alive?" The question came from a stone
voice, as though she had cemented her sorrow behind a wall.
"Do we have an agreement?" he countered.
"Be specific."
Santos' voice was fierce with certainty. "There must be
no misunderstanding in this plea bargain. Full immunity for particulars about
your sister's death."
He knew if she gave her word, she would see that the
agreement held. She would not break her bond. But her pause was longer than he
had anticipated.
Did the little lawyer desire his incarceration so badly that
she would forego information about her beloved sister? Had he misread her?
But finally she nodded, bobbing her head up and down as
though she could not stop the action once it was in motion.
"Is she alive?" she repeated, her voice an
immeasurable sea of torture.
"No."
He thought he heard a small sigh.
"When did she die?"
"Within a year after she disappeared."
Anger whipped her around, and the wet splotches on her face
glinted like sun on steel. "She was taken, kidnapped. She did not
disappear."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment
. "Sí,
she
was kidnapped.
Secuestrado."
