Torres said nothing. He didn’t even bother to look at her.
“I’ve already given my statement to the police. I have nothing to add to it.”
She was losing him. She had to get him onside. She needed an emotional response from him, anything she could work with, any button she could push. “I can find him. With your help we can bring him to justice.”
Torres made a sound halfway between a laugh and a grunt.
“Justice, huh? Is that what you are offering?” His tone was mocking.
Beth stood straighter, bringing herself to her full height. It was a futile effort because Torres still towered over her but the small gesture made her feel less small, less vulnerable. “Yes. Together we can find the man that tried to kill you. We can bring him to justice.”
Half of Torres’ mouth curved into a smile. “No thanks.”
Beth’s eyes narrowed. She expected him to at least hear her out before he rejected her. He was supposed to be upset when she mentioned the shooting, get choked up and then she would use that emotion against him to get him onside. But Torres’ response was far from emotional. He rejected her with the same indifference given to a salesman peddling encyclopaedias door to door. “No thanks?” she asked. “Don’t you want to hear me out?”
Torres gave his dark head a single shake.
Beth took a deep breath. She was losing him. With her foot she traced a line in the dusty ground. She didn’t lose. Nothing came easy to her, but she never lost, what she lacked in finesse she made up for in tenacity. “Giving up. I expected more from a soldier.” She held her breath and waited for his response. She expected anger.
But Torres did not respond. Half of her was relieved; physically she was outmatched. He could snap her like a twig, but he did not appear angry. He didn’t even appear interested.
Beth traced the groove her toe had created in the dirt, tracing it over and over. Time to change tactics. “As you know, the man who shot you is a member of Los Treintas. My job is to find their leader – El Escorpion.”
“Good luck with that.”
At least he looked at her, if only for a second. It was a start. “The drug trade is the tip of the iceberg for Los Treintas. They are heavily into arms dealing. They pose a grave danger to national security. As a Marine—”
Torres’ head snapped round. His gaze bore down on her. “As a Marine what?” There was no mistaking the edge to his voice. She had a hit a nerve. She took another breath to try to steady her already frayed nerves. She felt uncomfortable with him, off balance and back-footed. It didn’t make sense; Beth stared down criminals for a living. But this was different, he wasn’t a criminal…yet…but what she was proposing would take him there. Beth licked her dry lips, suddenly forgetting where she was going with this argument.
“Is this the part where you appeal to my patriotism? Maybe bring up the fact that as a son of immigrants I know better than most the importance of preserving the American dream. Trust me darling, I’ve done my bit, got the scars to prove it.”
He also had a Purple Heart, but he didn’t mention that. Beth’s shoulders dropped. She wasn’t getting through to him. Maybe Patterson was right; this was a lost cause. Maybe her time would be better off sweet-talking jailbirds. She sighed. The only thing she had left was honesty. “Yeah it was, but clearly it’s not going to work. So tell me, Torres, what would work? What do I need to say to you to get you onside?”
“You’re wasting your breath, Ms. Thomson. I’m not buying what you’re selling.”
Beth shook her head. “Your best friend was murdered in front of you. I thought you would be more vested in getting justice for him.”
His jaw tightened, tan skin stretched over taut muscles.
The movement was subtle but she saw it. It was something; there was the emotion she was looking for. She remembered what Frazer had told her – use his emotion against him. Beth latched onto it. Moses Archila was the key. “I saw you with his sister this morning at the funeral. I get that you don’t care about getting justice for yourself, but Archila was your best friend. He saved you, don’t you owe it to him to bring his murderer to justice?”
Torres stared at her. The anger in his eyes was palpable. There was no doubt that had she been a man she would no longer be standing.
“What do you know of justice, Gringa?”
“I know that if someone murdered my best friend I would not rest until I saw them behind bars.”
Torres lifted his shoulders. “Moses would still be dead.”
Beth let of a stream of air. She had played her last card. “Yes he would,” she admitted. She followed his gaze out to the great expanse of open land. With Torres, she had not found the man she expected; she had found something scarier and far more complex. She had naively hoped he would be easier to manipulate.
Suddenly she had a thought, a niggling feeling. She turned and studied his hard features. Torres wasn’t unfazed because he was apathetic, he was unfazed because he had a plan of his own. She opened her mouth but stopped before she threw her Hail Mary pass. “We’re both looking for him. We will find him faster together.”
He shrugged but he didn’t refute her statement.
“We both want justice,” she pressed.
Torres shook his head. “We don’t want the same thing. You want information. What I want is a whole lot uglier but we won’t talk about that because you’re a lady and ’cause that shiny badge of yours means our ideas of justice will never be the same.” His dark features were encased with raw unmitigated hatred; there was the emotion she was looking for, but she didn’t know how to act on it. Her body seized up, her thoughts froze. But she was right: he did have a plan.
“Do you know who shot you?” she asked. She took his silence as an answer. “I can find him.”
He turned and looked at her. Half of his mouth curled into a smile. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”
She sighed. “You’re right. I need you. But you need me too, Torres.”
Torres made a sound that could have passed for a laugh. “I don’t need you. Go back to your office, Gringa. Or better yet, go find yourself another Mexican to sweet-talk. That is why you’re here isn’t it? Because I’m Mexican? I already look like a thug, right? I’m already halfway there. Just give me a couple of tats and I will look like you plucked me fresh from the prison yard.”
Beth shifted from one leg to the other. She considered how to answer him, wondered what Frazer would say. She was sure the Department psychologist would be able to phrase things in a way that wouldn’t offend anyone. But Beth wasn’t a psychologist and she wasn’t good at bullshitting. “Yep,” she said simply. When she saw the flash of a smile on Torres’ full lips, she continued. “I would be a pretty crappy agent if a tried to recruit a Gringo to infiltrate a Mexican gang wouldn’t I? But you looking like a thug is an added bonus. It is also a bonus that both your brothers and your best friend were Zetas. It wouldn’t take much work to get you in. So to answer your question, yes I want a Mexican, but not any Mexican. I want a Mexican who has proved himself loyal, who has a vested interest in bringing down Los Treintas, and has a tie to Los Zetas. Unfortunately for me, you are the only Mexican in the free world that meets those criteria.