didn't feel. Becca still couldn't believe it. Dani was really here.
Bruises mottled her sister's body, and the dark circles beneath her eyes made her pale skin look gray and pasty under the dimmed hospital lights. Yet the most startling change was in her eyes. The natural twinkle of youthful innocence had been stripped away. Haunted eyes stared back, made old before their time. The stark change in Danielle broke her heart.
But Becca had another chance to do something about it and redeem herself with her family. Near the window, Momma lay curled up on a cot, fast asleep, the most content she'd seen her face in a very long time. Seeing her family together again, Becca wanted to pinch herself, to make sure she was really awake.
'Go back to sleep. It's still early.' She smiled and stroked her sister's hair, leaning over to kiss her forehead.
'You've been crying.' Dani reached a hand to her cheek.
Becca hadn't realized her tears showed on the outside. She wiped her face and took a deep breath. The cobwebs of her nightmare had crumbled but lurked under her skin.
'I'm okay, really. Nothing for you to worry about, Dani.' Becca reassured her in a hushed tone, but a rush of emotion brought the tears back with a vengeance. 'I can't believe . . . you're really here.'
Dani's blue eyes pooled and her lips trembled. 'Me too.'
She knew her sister. Dani couldn't talk about it. Not yet.
'Excuse me. Detective Montgomery?'
Becca turned to see a nurse standing at the doorway. 'Yes.'
'I have a call for you at the nurse's station,' she whispered. 'Detective Paul Murphy. He didn't want to disturb your family by ringing the room directly. Would you like the call forwarded here or . . .'
'No, I'll take it out there. I'll be right behind you. Thanks.'
Becca turned back to Dani and shrugged. 'I've got to take this. I may be gone for a while, but I'll be back real soon, honey. You get some sleep, okay?' With drowsy eyes, Dani lifted a corner of her mouth, a fleeting smile. Becca kissed her sister's cheek and walked out the door.
She knew why Murphy had called so early. Last night, she asked for his help to close the Marquez case. Since it had been reassigned to him, Becca proposed they team up. But the paperwork would show it was all Murphy. A fair trade. In her mind, it didn't matter who got credit for the collar. Finding Isabel's killer had always been her greatest priority.
And with the morning papers no doubt carrying the story of the warehouse siege, time would be critical. She didn't want her suspect to
'Murphy? It's Becca.'
'We've got your suspect Mirandized and in custody. Interrogation room number 3. No one in or out, like you said. We'll be ready when you are.'
'No lawyer?'
'Not so far.'
'Okay, I'm on my way.'
A fine line. It would come down to how well she walked one. Becca had nothing more than circumstantial evidence in her bag of tricks for a seven-year-old murder investigation. A necklace of dubious ownership found with the bones, contradictory interviews between potential suspects, and a dead man's version of the truth. She needed an undeniable confession that would hold up in court. Everything by the book. And yet, she'd have to pull out all the stops to manipulate her suspect into admitting to murder. A tough sell.
She opened the door to a room adjacent to interrogation room number 3. In the dark stood Paul Murphy in a rumpled suit that looked like he'd slept in it. He probably had. The pale light coming through the two-way mirror in the next room outlined his silhouette. He glanced over as she entered, then shifted his focus back to the woman sitting at the interrogation table. Sonja Garza.
'Hey, Becca. We took her cigarettes and lighter, told her about the ban on smoking in the building. That pissed her off. She's been stewing for almost an hour. Apparently, she's not a morning person either.'
'An early-morning house call from the SAPD would tend to ruin your day.'
It looked like Sonja had thrown on whatever lay crumpled on her floor. Or maybe she'd slept in her wrinkled white T-shirt and threw on jeans and an unzipped hooded sweat jacket to get out the door with an impatient Murphy. Either way, the dingy T-shirt made her skin appear washed-out under the fluorescent lights. And without her usual dark-eyed makeup, she lost five years. Becca pictured the girl she'd been in high school.
But most of all, Sonja lacked her usual edge. She picked at the chipped nail polish on her hands, looking bored. A complete contradiction to the fidgety nervous behavior she tried to hide. Jaw flinching, anxious eyes unable to stay focused for long. And without her smokes, Becca imagined Sonja's skin crawled with the ants of her nicotine addiction.
'She looks pretty ripe. How do you wanna play this?'
'Sonja and I have a rapport from the times I've interviewed her. But she's lied to me, thinks she can do it again. I'm gonna nail her this time.' Becca shifted her gaze to Murphy. 'I need this interrogation to go off without a hitch, Paul. I've got less than zero on evidence, circumstantial at best. The DA will want more. I need a confession, and it's got to be solid.'
'How are we gonna get it?'
She liked hearing Murphy use the word 'we.' Considering she had wanted to rearrange his face once, and he'd probably had similar sentiments, they had come a long way.
'Matt Brogan is going to help.'
'The dead guy?' Murphy stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. Maybe she had.
'Yeah. I have no intention of resurrecting the bastard, but he's going to make a brief comeback. Brogan'll play his part in nailing Sonja one last time. And I suspect he'd appreciate the irony.'
Becca explained her game plan. Armed with little more than a heaping mound of horse hockey and nerve to match, she walked into the interrogation room with Murphy.
'Well, it's about time. I've been waitin' over an hour.' Sonja's eyes flared, her jaw tight.
'Yeah, sorry about that. But I'm sure we'll be able to wrap this up pretty quick with your cooperation.' Becca sat across from Sonja and pointed a hand toward Murphy. 'I'm sure you've met . . .'
'Yeah, yeah. Detective Muscle for Brains. Cooperation on what?'
Murphy glared at the woman and stood with hands in his pants pockets. He liked to move around the room, forcing her to watch him.
'We have a few questions for you, regarding Isabel Marquez. Detective Murphy has read you your rights. Do you want an attorney present during this interview?'
Sonja sagged into her chair, her eyes looking from Becca to Murphy. 'I got nothin' to hide. No, I don't need no lawyer. Let's get this over with.'
It always amazed Becca how frequently suspects waived their rights to an attorney to appear as if they had nothing to hide. Nothing like cop shows on TV. Becca had counted on Sonja's doing exactly that. And she didn't disappoint. In a show of apathy, the woman pulled at a strand of her hair and inspected it for split ends. No doubt a poor substitute for a cigarette.
All interrogation room interviews were videotaped and recorded to document the process and the treatment of the suspect. Special permission from the detainee was not required. Becca aimed to record irrefutable evidence to be used in court by the district attorney and avoid the pitfalls of making a contribution for the defense.
After she asked Sonja a few questions to establish her relationship with the dead girl for the record, Becca hit her with the first nail in her coffin. She knew Sonja would lie straight up, the start of her slippery slope.
'When was the last time you saw Matt Brogan?'
The shocked and indignant expression on Sonja's face told Becca she had struck a chord. She gave her the opportunity to tell the truth, knowing the woman would choose a different path. Lying had become far too easy for Sonja, a weakness Becca hoped to capitalize on.
'You mean the guy that raped me?' She flung both hands in the air and shook her head, a display of exasperation. 'Do you think I got him on my speed dial? I can't pinpoint the exact date, but the night he raped me
