in her own heart-the righteous fire that raged to cleanse Juarez of the poison that flowed through its streets, carrying the evil that was destroying a generation.
United by death, the two women hugged.
“I give you my word, I will do all I can,” Isabel said.
39
Something was up.
When Jack Gannon called Melody Lyon at WPA headquarters, her voice carried an uneasy undertone. She was cool to his updates on Tilly’s abduction until he abruptly shifted the conversation.
“What’s going on there, Mel?”
As a journalist, Lyon never shied from a tough question.
“All right, here it is. Jack, do you have anything to do with this kidnapping?”
“Me?” Gannon struggled to keep his voice low.
“Even after the fact? Like maybe your sister and her boyfriend got caught up in a bad drug deal or debt, and they asked you to help them before it went wrong with the kidnapping? We need to know.”
“What is this? Are you serious?”
A moment passed.
“Mel, didn’t you hear what I was telling you? The cartel behind Tilly’s kidnapping hired a P.I. firm to get info on Cora in order to pressure Lyle.”
Another moment passed.
“What’s going on, Melody?”
“FBI agents from the New York Division just left our office. They grilled people here individually, Jack-me, George Wilson, Al Delaney, Carter O’Neill, Beland, the people who handle your copy.”
“On what?”
“Your character, your habits. They wanted to know if we thought you could be involved. They’re likely going to talk to the staff at your old paper, the
“I don’t believe this.”
“Jack, tell me the truth. Are you involved?”
“You really have to ask? You of all people know what I’ve been through to get here. Now you think it’s possible that I’ve got the inclination, time and stupidity to be a drug dealer?”
“But your sister…”
“My sister and I have been estranged for over twenty years. I was twelve when I last saw her, Mel. Twelve. She’s a stranger. I am getting to know her and getting used to the fact I have a niece. Hell, a few days ago I believed I had no living relatives. Under the circumstances, this is a bit of a challenge.”
“I understand that, but I need your answer, Jack.”
“Is someone there with you? Are you recording this for the FBI? Well, my answer is no, goddamn it! No, I am not involved. Christ, you’re the one who assigned me to Juarez. Then, out of the freaking blue, my long-lost sister, who apparently had been watching my bylines over these years, calls me for help. I told you all of this.”
A long silence passed before Lyon exhaled slowly.
“I believe you. But listen, if this ever comes back on you, it comes back on the WPA. And the damage to you and to this organization would be monumental.”
“This is not about me or the WPA, Mel. It’s about a kidnapped child and we’re wasting time.”
“Agreed. Let’s go over the status of things again.”
Lyon updated him on how the WPA was continually filing everything it could on the case from its bureaus in Phoenix, California, Texas, Washington, D.C., and Mexico. Gannon went back to telling her about his tip on how the cartel had hired a private detective agency to locate Cora’s home and that he was working to determine the location of a contact number he’d obtained.
Gannon carefully withheld any mention of his own suspicions about Cora or the allegations Peck and Lomax had made about Donnie Cargo and her troubled past. First, he had to keep pushing Cora for answers.
That was his next step.
After he finished his call he went to Cora’s bedroom. A paramedic had just left it, closing the door softly behind him.
“I need to talk to her,” Gannon said.
“Give it time. The sedative is still working on her. She needs to rest.”
Frustrated, Gannon returned to working on his laptop, feeling the eyes of the investigators on him. He didn’t care. He needed to check with Adell and Luna.
Cora was in her bed, floating on a cloud of sedation.
Everything was going away. Everything was going to be all right. Her breathing was calm. She saw her ceiling in the soft light through her eyelids, big black wings scraping her face. She was imagining…
40
Arturo Castillo positioned the last document in the high-speed scanner.
Across the newsroom, Isabel Luna worked at her keyboard while talking on the phone to an important source.
After their clandestine meeting with Rosalina in the market, Castillo and Luna had rushed back to
Now Luna, her handset wedged between her left ear and shoulder as she typed, was stressing the urgency of her information to the only Mexican cop she trusted: her stepbrother, First Sergeant Esteban Cruz.
“I’m sending it now.” Luna signaled Arturo that she’d received his last scan. “Nine attachments, including his photo. I’m certain it’s him. Stay on the line.”
In the time it took for the attachments to transmit, Isabel explained how her source had obtained the documents before Cruz cut her off.
“Got them,” he said.
Luna and Cruz went through each one together. Isabel blinked at the photograph. He was so young, a face to fit any one of the young men she saw in Juarez every day, yet in her heart she knew him.
“It’s him,” she said.
“Are you certain, Isabel?”
“Yes. Based on what I see and based on what I know, this is him. Look at him, posing as a student. He’s killed nearly two hundred people. Think of all the suffering, Esteban. Look at the notes. It’s the
