Fifteen minutes later a secretary dressed in a brilliant red flared pants suit called for Mr. Smith and led them into the bowels of the building. The splash of color was easy to follow in the sea of brown, gray, black, and navy blue.
Two elevator rides and a security checkpoint later they reached a well-appointed office. The Mexican flag hung on a gold stand in the corner behind the beautiful desk and plush leather chair. Matching wine-colored visitor chairs flanked the front of the desk with a couch and a coffee table to the right. Everything blended together into a look that spoke of money and power.
A distinguished man with more salt than pepper in his brush cut hair rounded the desk. His handlebar mustache was well-groomed and accented his pearl white teeth as he grinned. “Mr. Smith, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“You as well, Commissioner Hernandez.” Joseph turned. “This is my daughter Josephine, and the Interpol Agent I told you about, Ian Blair.”
“I can see the resemblance,” Commissioner Hernandez said as he kissed Jo on both cheeks. “It is nice to meet you, Agent Blair. Mr. Smith speaks highly of you.”
Ian smiled. “Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, even under these circumstances.”
“Dreadful. I would never have pictured a woman so young capable of so much death.” He gestured to the small sitting area to the side. “Mr. Smith said you had proof she killed Mexican citizens?”
“We do.” Ian pulled out the file and handed it to the commissioner. “These are all originals I had my agency gather them for each victim since we didn’t know where Lucy Appleton had fled to. I like to have all my bases covered when we finally track a fugitive down.”
Commissioner Hernandez grunted in agreement, but his eyes roved over the documents, pausing on each birth certificate before moving on. “We can include the victim in Canada as well since the father was Mexican, and the mother was from Canada. I have already talked to my contact there.”
Jo nibbled on her thumbnail as she waited to see if the man really would help them keep Lucy here or if she needed to call her captain to begin the paperwork to extradite her to the States.
Commissioner Hernandez set the file on the coffee table with a thump. “It looks like everything is in order. Now let us see this prisoner.”
Relieved, Jo’s tense muscles relaxed. She hoped they had the right person in prison. The motley group left through a door at the back of the office. Joseph in black, Jo in a navy-blue sundress, Ian in his beach look, and the commissioner in an olive-green suit. The elevator they shuffled into required a keycard and a code before it would descend. Then they were in a larger SUV while the commissioner’s driver wove through streets with businesses and restaurants that slowly morphed into squat, dilapidated buildings with tired, angry people. The longer they rode, the more depressed she felt.
On the way, Joseph and the commissioner talked their conversation in rapid-fire Spanish too fast for Jo to follow more than a few words here and there. It was enough to put together the conversation as Joseph explained to the commissioner that if it were up to him, he’d leave the woman here and never have contacted anyone, but his daughter was involved with the investigation. Which made the two men laugh about family complicating an uncomplicated situation. She had no problem leaving Lucy there if it was actually Lucy the Mexican police had caught.
However, Jo wanted answers. Why had Lucy snapped? What had made her leave Mark alone for almost a year before slaughtering him then going on a rampage?
Joseph half-turned to face Jo in the back bench. “You’ll do all the talking. As far as I’m concerned, it’s solved. Ian only needs a positive ID, and he can let the various departments know that she’s here.”
“Which I don’t need to talk to her for,” Ian chimed in.
“You did all this for me?” Jo asked touched her dad knew her so well.
“Unlike us, you need to know why. Me? I don’t give a crap why she killed those people. She did it and should be in the deepest hellhole that can be found. Unfortunately, she didn’t flee to China or Thailand.”
“Is not that the truth, my friend.” The commissioner chortled.
He spoke good English, but as with most foreigners the finer nuances of the wording got mixed up. At least Jo could understand him, but she didn’t get the joke. “China’s prisons are bad?”
Joseph snorted. “They make a used sewer drain look like the Ritz Carlton.”
“Oh.”
“But like I said, she didn’t go there.” He huffed, his brows pulled into a V.
“No worries, my friend. We will put her someplace that she will want to escape in no time.” The commissioner clapped Joseph on the shoulder in sympathy.
Within a half an hour they pulled up to a women’s prison. Instead of bars, the outside of the building had a stone latticework where a child’s hand would have trouble fitting through. The tan building was small, depressing, and stank of sweat and fear.
Rapid-fire Spanish Jo had no hope of following was exchanged with the two armed men at the front before they were led into a cinderblock room with a warped wooden table and two chairs positioned on either side of the table.
Lucy was shoved in, and the door clanged shut behind her. She looked awful, pallid and unkept. Her honey brown hair hung in greasy hanks as if it had not been washed in days. Scrapes and a bruise on her cheek showed she’d already been in an altercation. Expecting to see defeat or some form of begging. Jo was surprised at how calm and composed the murderer was, her demeanor was icy and superior. Until she looked into Lucy’s brown eyes. Deep rage burned in her eyes.
“What can
