A boulder lodged in the pit of her stomach. His family was never coming home but he didn’t know it yet. The enormity of that settled on her, squeezing out all the air from her lungs. She closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. For a moment she couldn’t speak. It was too real again. A month ago it was her waiting for news. She was the one in denial, hoping against hope that everything was going to be OK. This month it was Raul. Next month or next week it would be another family destroyed. How many more lives would the Treintas ruin?
Beth stared down at the photo. His whole world was represented in this picture. And they were gone. Her eyes began to burn. There were no tears, her body had none left but it hurt just the same.
Beth squeezed her eyes shut and told herself to focus. She wouldn’t be any use to anyone if she carried on like this. Later she could reflect and lament and feel despondent. Right now she had a job to do.
She put the picture in her pocket and pulled out a notepad. “I am from the DEA. The investigation into your family’s disappearance is ongoing.”
Raul visibly relaxed. He was expecting her to tell him they were dead. On some level he knew but he was fighting it with every ounce of reason he had. Guilt pricked at her but she ignored it the same way she ignored the pain in her stomach. “Mr. Garcia, when was the last time you saw your family? Where were you tonight?” She hated asking but she had to. He needed to be ruled out but more importantly, she needed to establish the timeline for the abduction.
“Maybe 6:00, 6:30. It was poker night. Some of the guys at work have a game. Once a month. We take turns hosting. Tonight it was at Sal’s.”
“I need the names of everyone there tonight. Anybody that knew you would be out tonight.”
Raul looked up. His dark brown eyes were rimmed with red circles. “Just my buddies from work.”
Beth waited for Raul to process what he had just said. It was possible that Los Treintas had stalked him, followed him, waited for the perfect moment to strike. But it was far more likely that another Border Control Agent had tipped them off. Thanks to Torres, the DEA had identified a dozen agents on cartel payrolls, but they were only the tip of the iceberg.
When Raul didn’t respond, she asked, “Why would Los Treintas want to send you a message? What contact have you had with them?”
He shook his head and started to cry. “I should have let them through.” Raul hunched over, his body shook as he sobbed.
Beth stiffened. Electricity ran the length of her spine. “Who?” She held her breath as she waited for a response.
“Three weeks ago a truck came through. Driver said it was medical supplies, but it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. I turned it away. The next day a guy comes through. He says that the truck will be coming through again. Offered me $1000 to look the other way. I should have taken the money.” Raul sobbed again.
Knowing everything she did about Los Treintas, she had to agree, he should have taken the money. But her job meant she could never admit that. Even if she could, she would never tell Raul. He didn’t need anything else to feel guilty about. Once the Treintas had clocked him, his family was as good as dead. She had seen it too many times to count. Plata o plomo: silver or lead. Cartels controlled people, either through money or violence. When Raul turned down the money, he had signed his family’s death warrant. But there was no dwelling on that now; it wouldn’t bring them back.
“What happened?” Beth pushed.
“I told my supervisor. But it didn’t matter. The shipment never came. I thought—”
“I need your supervisor’s name,” Beth interrupted. She caught Jamison’s gaze, one ginger brow arched in question.
“Chuck O’Grady. He’s a good guy. He said he would take care of it. But he didn’t need to. They never showed up.”
Bile rose in the back of her throat. That good guy may have gotten Raul’s family killed. Beth looked over again to Jamison. “Pick him up.”
Jamison had already started dialling as he walked into the other room.
“What can you tell me about the shipment? What was the name of the company?”
Raul shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Think, Mr. Garcia. Any detail could help. Take your time. What colour was the truck? Was there any writing on the sides? A picture or something.”
“There weren’t any markings. White, no logo, California plates.”
Beth nodded her encouragement. “Did you get the license plate number?”
“No.” Raul’s voice broke as he started to weep again. “Find them please. Please.”
She was losing him. He needed to focus; she needed to get him back. “It’s OK. What about the driver? What can you tell me about the driver?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.” The words came out in a breathless whisper. He was frantic now. He looked like a rabid dog chained to a fence. He rubbed his hands quickly over the chenille-covered arm of the couch. Over and over he rubbed, vigorously pressing his hand into the material. It was going to rip but he wouldn’t notice. Details like that could not reach him now.
Beth shook her head. “OK what about the man who offered you the money? Would you recognize him if you saw him in a photo line-up?”
Raul shrugged his shoulders.
“Was he Mexican?”
Raul nodded.
“Good. How tall was he?”
“I don’t know.” Raul scrubbed at his face. “Can we talk about this when you find them? I can’t think right now. I need my family. Please just find them.” He said more but the words were lost between gasps and tears.
Beth took a deep breath. She needed a description, a name, something to go on. She wasn’t getting anywhere. And she wouldn’t. She had been in the game long enough to know when she hit a brick wall.
Beth looked up when Jamison came back into the room. His brows were knit together; his mouth was a tight white slit.
“Did you find O’Grady?” Beth asked.
Before Jamison could answer, gun shots rang out on the street. Six shots, fired in quick succession followed by the squeal of tires.
Beth slammed her back against the wall, knocking a picture off the wall. “Get down!” she screamed. She drew her gun. “Call it in. We need back up.”
Jamison nodded.
Beth kept her back firmly against the wall as she made her way to the front door. She took a sharp breath before she opened the front door, scared of what she would find.
The two officers were slumped on the concrete steps, surrounded by pool of blood. At least one was still alive because the blood continued to drain from his body, but she could not immediately tell which one.
“Shit!” Beth dropped to her knees. “Call it in!” she screamed again. Shit! So much blood. She couldn’t even see where they had been shot. She rolled the younger officer onto his back. There were two shots to his chest and one in his neck. God he was so young. She didn’t even know his name. She never asked. She held his head in her lap as she checked for a pulse. “Oh God.” He was dead. She didn’t even know his name.
Jamieson knelt beside her. “Ambulance is on its way.”
“Check his pulse.” Beth pointed to the other officer.
Jamison pressed two fingers to the side of his neck. “It’s faint but there’s a pulse.”
Relief washed over her. Beth looked