She first heard the screams upon entering through the dark tinted glass doors of Nogales' municipal police department. The screams, more of high-pitched wails, reverberated through the open space of the lobby with megaphonic proportions.
Hatch spent time inside a variety of federal, military, and local police department lobbies across the US and overseas while serving as an MP. Combative people in the lobby were nothing out of the ordinary. The mayhem wasn't always caused by a criminal either. She'd seen plaintiffs become convicts when lost in the heat of the moment. The door closed behind her as she surveyed the chaotic events taking place.
A wild-eyed man was wearing nothing but a frayed pair of jeans wrapped around his ankles and exposing his red boxers. Once inside, Hatch waited for her eyes to adjust from the bright light of outside to the incandescent light of the interior of the lobby. In the clarity that followed, she realized he was not wearing red boxers. They were, in fact, white. The blood covering them gave them a red hue. The leakage stemmed from several long gashes on the combatant's head and skull.
He kicked wildly at the two officers restraining him. A handsome officer with an amused look on his face stood nearby, far enough away to not be directly involved in the melee. He gave an authoritative nod of his head to the bigger of the two cops holding the blood covered man. The larger officer drove a wooden straight stick baton across the top of the man's head. In the US, this type of blow would've only been authorized under a deadly force encounter. He delivered an additional blow that caught the shirtless man in the side of his neck before the fighting stopped altogether.
The two officers wearing the unconscious man's blood on their green fatigues dragged him away in cuffs. Something about not wanting to stay a night in a Mexican prison came to Hatch's mind. This experience reminded her of the truth behind its meaning. She hated to think of the conditions Angela Rothman was experiencing at this very moment.
The blood covered man disappeared behind a closed door and the hum of normalcy returned after a brief silence. The handsome officer remained behind. His entertainment gone, he turned his attention to Hatch.
Officer Munoz, identified by his polished brass nameplate, was of equal height to Hatch, if not slightly taller by an inch. His boyish charms were packaged into a man's physique. Munoz had chiseled good looks and a neatly gelled crewcut. His uniform was custom fit with tapered sleeves that rolled past his elbow, cinching tight underneath his biceps and engorging the veins on his clean-shaven forearms. The Nogales lieutenant looked to be no more than thirty. He smiled, broadly displaying his ivory teeth as he approached.
He pulled a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses from atop his head and hung them from the outside of his breast pocket. Hatch met his gaze.
"American? Yes?"
"Yes."
"I'm Officer Eduardo Munoz. How can I help you on this beautiful morning in Nogales?"
"You and I have a totally different idea of beautiful." She gestured to the smeared trail of blood marking the unconscious man's path.
"Oh that?" He laughed. "That's nothing to be concerned with. Just a thief."
"What did he steal that would make him fight like that?"
"Does it matter?"
"I think so."
"He stole some fruit." Munoz's smile disappeared.
"Stolen fruit caught him a beating like that?"
Munoz shrugged. "At least we didn't arrest his mother too."
Hatch thought of the old woman's heated argument and wondered if she was the mother he was referring to when he leaned in close. She choked back a cough. His cologne smelled of vanilla, chestnut, and if she wasn't mistaken, a hint of clove. It gave him a sweet, woody scent as he spoke. "How may I be of service."
Hatch looked over to the main desk sergeant who was fielding a complaint, with a line three deep waiting. Lieutenant Eduardo Munoz was as good as any, and by the frazzled look on the desk sarge's face, might be the best choice. Munoz’s proximity worried Hatch. She was in the lobby of a police department with a loaded pistol pressed against the small of her back. The borrowed clothes fit with just enough excess to hang loose enough to obscure the angular lines of the handgun's butt. She'd seen the beating they delivered the fruit thief and wondered what would be in store for her should they realize she entered a police department armed with a dead man's gun.
"I'm looking for a girl. She went missing a day ago." Hatch took a step back and pulled out her cell phone. She showed him a Facebook image of Angela Rothman. It captured the teen with her head turned. A sunset lit her red hair ablaze. It was a far departure from the last time she’d set eyes on the young girl.
"A missing girl." The lieutenant confirmed.
Hatch heard the sarcasm in his tone but didn't bite. "Her name's Angela Rothman. She's my niece. We got to Nogales two nights ago. We were supposed to head down to a family retreat at Copper Mountain today, but when I woke up, she was gone."
Munoz squinted at the screenshot. "You say this girl is your niece?"
The big officer who'd brutalized the apple thief reappeared from the door he and his partner had dragged the bloodied man through. Officer Rivera stopped beside Munoz and immediately inserted himself into their business. Who's the cutie? That, or something close to that is what Rivera chuckled to his lieutenant.
"This is Miss…" Munoz looked in her direction.
"Nighthawk."
"This is Miss Nighthawk. She's here on a family trip. Her niece Anna was gone when she woke."
"Angela," Hatch interrupted.
"Excuse me?" Munoz snarled.
Hatch saw through Officer Munoz's polished exterior. He was not a man who liked to be challenged, undoubtably worsened by the fact she was a woman. "I said Angela. Her name is Angela Rothman."
"My apologies. Yes, as Miss Nighthawk has just so kindly pointed out, the girl's name is Angela." Munoz put his hand on the bulky Rivera's shoulder. "Luis, I think you're going to need to write this down."