Peck studied both photos, shot Gannon a look and passed the photos back.
“You know who they are, Ivan?”
“I know who they are. I see the news.”
“Tilly’s your daughter.”
The little muscles in Peck’s jaw started pulsing. He locked Gannon in a gaze for a long, icy moment before he got up, shut the door and inserted himself between the desk and Gannon. Towering over him, invading his space.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I want you to help me find Tilly.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Just over eleven years ago, you fathered a child with my sister, Cora. Just over two days ago, Tilly-your daughter-was kidnapped by a cartel holding her for a five-million-dollar debt they say is owed by Cora’s boss, Lyle Galviera. They say they will kill Tilly if they are not repaid. In connection with this, Octavio Sergio Salazar, an ex- LAPD officer, and John Walker Johnson, ex-Customs, were found murdered in the desert outside Juarez, Mexico.”
Peck stared at Gannon for several moments, then returned to his chair and his cigarette, dragging on it while keeping his eyes on Gannon. He leaned back in his chair, swiveling like a ruler on a throne as Gannon searched for resemblance to Tilly.
“What’s any of this got to do with me?”
“I think you might know something.”
“Why would I know something?”
“You were a cop. You worked in drugs.”
“That’s quite a leap. I still don’t see why I should care.”
“Tilly’s your daughter. Cora says you dated her when she was a waitress at a bar in North Hollywood. You wanted her to have an abortion then walked away.”
Peck studied the tip of his cigarette.
“Okay, the fun’s over. I’m not her father. I’m not anyone’s father. I got a low count, which is partly why I’m divorced.” He took a few last pulls.
“Then why did you give her money and drive her to a clinic?”
“Because she begged me.” Peck stubbed the cigarette in an LAPD ashtray. “Gannon? You’re a reporter, right? I’ve seen your name in the
Gannon didn’t respond.
“Jack, let me tell you something about your sister. She was not a waitress at that bar. She was hooking there. Yeah, I banged her. Despite being a tripped-out whore, she was a fine piece of ass.”
Gannon’s gut spasmed as if he’d been punched.
The insult burned through him but Gannon refused to believe it. A memory pulled him back to his childhood in Buffalo.
Maybe Peck was just trying to knock him off his game.
“That’s right, Jack, your sister was a sweet piece of tail, and that’s the truth about her.”
Peck glared at Gannon. His words were meant to wound him and the detective was assessing their impact.
Gannon struggled to focus.
“You know,” Peck added, “I saw Cora on CNN begging for her kid. Got to admit it’s a heartbreaker and with these cartels, well, there’s not much hope. Tragic for the kid and I’m sorry for that.” Peck reached for his Marlboro cigarettes. “But the whole time, I’m thinking that while Cora’s still looking good after all these years. I admit, I’d still tap that again.” He winked at Gannon. “But I’m thinking, after all these years, that stupid bitch is still messed up with drug shit. I mean, I heard she got into trouble way back. She is one stupid bitch.”
Gannon was a heartbeat away from leaping across the desk.
But he held his ground because this was Peck’s world. Gannon knew enough about hard-asses and assholes, knew that Peck wanted him to take his shot so he could physically destroy him. Gannon had no cards to play except one-which would take him over an ethical line as a reporter, but he had no choice.
“She looks like you,” Gannon said.
“What?”
“Tilly. You can see the resemblance. It’s there.”
“What?”
“I’m with the World Press Alliance. WPA stories go around the world, you know. Now, I’m thinking about a story-just thinking about one-that would suggest that the anguished mother, Cora, has named you as Tilly’s father, an ex-cop with a number of blotches on his record. Use of force and, oh right, some tie to cartels and planting evidence. Right, that would be a good one. I’m just thinking about a story that implicates you in the abduction and likely murder of your eleven-year-old alleged daughter. Should be good for your business, your life, whatever would be left of it after the hellfire that would befall you. Oh, and I kind of let my editor know about you already, in case I end up in hospital, or worse.”
Peck’s jawline pulsed again.
“Now, Ivan, you’re a smart man. You know that old ditty about the pen being mightier than the big, bad asshole with a gun. You can work with me, or you can work against me. I do not give a damn because the only thing that matters is the life of an eleven-year-old child.”
The detective eyed Gannon for several cold moments. While the wheels turned, Gannon asked him, “What about Octavio Salazar or John Walker Johnson? Can you help me out there?”
Peck stared at Gannon.
“Oh, I’m going to help you, Jack.” He reached for a pen and jotted something on the notepad. “I’m going to give you a name.”
Peck tore the page from the pad. Gannon looked at the name.
“Vic Lomax.”
“Back in the day when I worked Vice, we knew Lomax as a piece-of-shit pimp. Your sister’s pimp. I recall hearing that she got into some trouble with him way back. Word is he’s in Las Vegas now. He’s a major casino exec and allegedly a player with one of the big Mexican cartels. Lomax is a powerful guy. You do not want to fuck with him. So you go try your little game with him, sport. See where it gets you.”
22
Hackett eyed the clock, then observed the investigators settling into their seats at the table in the large conference room at the FBI’s Phoenix headquarters.
As he waited to lead the case-status meeting, he was stabbed by his recurring concern.
That question ate at him as he inventoried the walls, covered with photos and plaques from allied police agencies across the country and around the world. None of it meant anything when you were betrayed.
