No One Heard Her Scream

the family resemblance, this man's stern expression hardened the Marquez likeness, gave it an edge.

'Yes, I'm Victor Marquez. Isabel is . . . my sister.'

The priest struggled with whether to use the present tense. She knew the feeling. He didn't open the screen door, only stared out the mesh, using it as a fragile barrier against what would come next.

Becca knew the look, had seen it many times before as a detective delivering bad news. Now after what happened to her own sister, she knew firsthand how dread mixed with the strange sensation of relief for it to be over. A gut-wrenching contradiction. Even though the priest set his jaw and steeled himself for what she would say, his eyes couldn't hide the pain. Becca raised her chin and took a deep breath as she walked up the steps to the front door. She had to be the cop now, not the victim. Don't read too much into this, Beck. He's not your personal mirror. Stay objective. Easier said than done.

'Do you mind if I come in?'

For a moment, she didn't know if he would allow it. Eventually, he did.

Sparse furnishings, but the place looked clean. A faint hint of pine cleaner played second fiddle to the pungent aroma of roasted jalapenos and bell pepper, someone making salsa. Scented candles burned near the entry. Another shrine for Isabel dominated the tiny living room. Keepsakes and photos of the missing Marquez girl were cast in the pale glow of flickering red votive candles. Isabel had been elevated to sainthood by her family. Becca understood the sentiment. In death, the imperfections of the victim were forgotten. The priest noticed her attention to the memorial. 'My mother tells me the constant reminder helps her cope.' His words were punctuated with a sigh. 'But you don't think so.'

He shrugged. 'Why are you here, Detective?' Before Becca answered, an older woman entered the room from the kitchen, wearing a blue house frock and a faded green apron, wiping her hands with a rag. Petite and rail thin, Hortense Marquez looked as if she'd been crying. Her eyes still brimmed with the sheen of tears. She wore a yellow bandanna wrapped around her head, and curly wisps of gray hair poked out from under it. Grief etched her face, making the woman appear older than her years. And despite the memorial of hope she'd set up in her living room, despair had found a home in this woman's eyes. Becca knew the look all too well.

'This is my mother. Please excuse us.' After a quiet exchange in Spanish with the priest, the woman forced a smile and nodded before she left the room. But not before she gave Becca one final look, one she'd seen from her own mother's eyes. Although Becca knew only enough Spanish to be dangerous, no words were necessary. For the things that really mattered in life, there were no language barriers.

Once they were alone, the priest gestured for her to take a seat.

'Was there some reason you didn't tell her I was with the SAPD?' she asked as she sat on a green floral love seat, armrests frayed on the corners.

'Her English is not good. No sense in alarming her until I know . . . something for sure.' Father Victor took a seat across from her, a wooden chair that had seen better days.

'I'm investigating your sister's disappearance.'

Before she went on, the priest interrupted. 'Investigating? It's been almost seven years. Why have the police taken an interest now?'

Suspicion narrowed his eyes. Father Victor had set aside his religious affiliation to become brother to Isabel, the patience and generosity of his profession forgotten.

'I know this must be difficult, but—'

'Know? How could you know?' He lashed out, his face wracked with grief. But when he looked into Becca's eyes, he stopped himself. 'I suppose you see a lot of families like this.'

'Unfortunately, that's true, but it's still not the same as going through it.' Becca met his gaze. She wanted to stop, not go any further. Maybe it was his white collar. Or maybe she saw herself in him, like a mirror. 'My baby sister, Danielle. She was taken . . . and killed. We never found her body.'

The priest stared at her in disbelief. They sat in silence. The quiet gave Becca a strange comfort. She looked away to give him time to recover. Or maybe she needed the time. But when she looked up, the priest's eyes glistened with tears. The sudden display of sympathy caught Becca by surprise.

He reached for her hand, his fingers clutching hers. Becca flinched at his gesture. She hadn't been touched in a very long time.

'But if you never found her body, how could you know for sure?' he asked.

How could you know? His words brought back a flood of doubts. Her acceptance of Dani's death had never felt real. She gave it lip service, but in the end, she didn't believe it herself. Not without a body. Becca felt an old familiar wall erecting. The tiny living room closed in on her. She gritted her teeth and pulled her hand away. Becca couldn't deal with his pity.

'We ... I know, Father.'

She squeezed the casebook in her hand. Although closure for the Marquez family had its inescapable merits, she didn't want to be the one to rob this family of hope. Still, she had a job to do. Her usual mantra.

But as the flickering red votive candles of Isabel's shrine taunted her, a disturbing thought took hold. Had she really given up on Dani so easily? An empty casket. The headstone. Becca believed she'd done the right thing to give her mother closure, but now it all felt like such a betrayal. She avoided the priest's stare and took a deep breath.

'Are you all right, Detective?'

'Yes, I'm fine.' She cleared her throat to shake off the emotion. No sense in prolonging this. 'We've found some remains that may be your sister's. I'll need a sample of the family's DNA to help with the identification.'

Father Victor shut his eyes and lowered his head, a quiet prayer. At least the man had his faith to give him strength. She gave him a moment, gazing around the room. Her eyes found a Marquez family photo hung on a nearby wall. In his priest garb, Victor stood behind his mother with Rudy and Isabel at her side, a picture taken at a happier time. It reminded Becca of another photograph. The one she'd brought with her from evidence.

'I'm so sorry for what your family has gone through,' she added in a quiet tone. 'Father Victor, can you tell me anything about the necklace your sister is wearing here?'

Becca showed him a photograph from her casebook, evidence from the archived box on the Marquez missing person case. Earlier, she had recognized the gold jewelry in the photo as being the same item recovered from the bones at the theater.

'I remember this. The Isabel I knew never could have afforded such a necklace.' He clenched his jaw and held the picture in his hand, his eyes glazed over by the past. 'She told me she bought it for herself, but I never believed that. At the time, I heard she was dating an older man, someone with money. But she would never talk about it. Not with me.'

'If she didn't talk to you about it, Father, who did she talk to? How could you know about the older man if she wasn't the one who told you?'

'It's been so long ago. I forgot.'

By his expression, Becca could tell she'd surprised him by her question. And his answer had been too abrupt. Coupled with the shift in his eyes, he looked like a man concocting a story. After the priest handed back the school photo, he shifted in his chair, a guarded posture. Another sign of his reluctance. Becca tried a different approach.

'The piece looks like a unique design. Can you tell me anything more about the heart charm?'

'I'm afraid I can't help you with that.' With a fingernail, Father Victor picked at a chip in the armrest of his chair, avoiding her eyes. Another stall and another dead end.

'Well, who could help me?' When he didn't answer right away, she tried another avenue. Becca had to get him talking again. 'Did you all grow up in this house, Father?'

'Yes, we did.' A faint smile. 'My mother did the best she could raising us after my father died.'

'Tight quarters. And only one bathroom?' After he nodded, Becca smiled. 'That could test the strength of a family, for sure.'

'It wasn't so bad after I moved out. St. Mary's Seminary in Houston. The archdiocese gave me a scholarship.'

'Good opportunity for you, but I bet Isabel and Rudy still fought over the bathroom even after you left. Typical brother-sister stuff, huh?'

'Oh, no. It wasn't like that. Isabel and Rudy got along great. They were inseparable, really. They shared—' He stopped himself.