Josie pulled the van into a space and scouted out the parking lot. There were about ten vehicles in various states of disrepair, but all of them appeared empty. She noticed an old minivan parked in the rear of the parking lot and asked if it was the backup undercover vehicle.
Sheila laughed. “That’s our backup. Sad old piece of junk smells like mold and cat pee. The SWAT team is also ready to go on our call. We need to communicate space and size and the number of people for them to expect when they get inside.”
Josie called Townie, the project lead, who was communicating with the backup van, and asked, “Is the backup picking up my mic?”
“You’re good to go.”
“Okay.” Josie turned and faced the women in the back of the van. “Good luck.”
She received a similar chorus of voices telling her to be careful, and she left the van.
SEVENTEEN
Vie Blessings called Otto at noon. “We’re ready to release the women, but I’m not sure what to do with them. Have you heard from victims’ assistance? I’ve called and left two messages but can’t get anyone to respond. We’ve got two rooms tied up, Otto. As much as I want to help, we can’t use the trauma center for long-term care when there’s no medical issue. And, sorry to say it, no money to pay for it.”
The frustration in Vie’s voice was obvious. Aside from Isabella, the other three women weren’t suspects. They were victims. With no money. And no identification. When the van that Josh Mooney was driving was confiscated for evidence, the police found useless fake IDs and passports. Meanwhile, Otto had no idea what to do with the women, and now one of them was a prime murder suspect with no known motivation.
Josie had wanted to wait to interview Isabella Dagati, but Otto was the lead on the case, and he couldn’t afford to sit on his haunches and wait. He drove to the trauma center and convinced Vie Blessings to give up the staff lounge again so that he could speak with Isabella. Next, he called Selena Rocha and asked if she would come to the hospital for an hour to translate if language became a barrier. She had agreed to meet him there in thirty minutes. Police work was about problem-solving and often making split-second decisions that could make or break a case. But when immigration issues and cross-border crimes were at play, it complicated things immensely. There were no rule books, only best guesses.
Otto and Selena sat at the staff lunch table and waited for the nurse to escort Isabella into the lounge. She entered wearing black pants and a woman’s button-down shirt. Obviously someone in the community had provided clothing for the women. He wondered if Caroline Moss’s group was trying to find the women transportation home to Guatemala. He thought how bizarre the entire situation had become.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked.
She nodded and smiled shyly. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid behind her head and she looked rested but nervous, frequently glancing away from Otto as if not wanting to make eye contact.
“It’s time to talk about what happened the night that Renata was shot,” Otto said.
Her face clouded over and she shook her head.
“Not talking about it is no longer an option.” He paused to let his words sink in. “We found a gun in the pasture where Renata’s body was found. Your fingerprints are on that gun.”
She closed her eyes and her body slumped into the chair.
“I need the truth, Isabella.”
Otto’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he saw that it was Ernie Mays. He stood and excused himself into the hallway. What timing, he thought.
Ernie apologized for not getting to him sooner and began explaining another case he’d been working on that took precedence. Otto listened patiently, wanting to hurry him along. Ernie finally said, “I’ve got your information.”
“That’s great news. What did you find?”
“I test-fired the gun and fed it into the ATF’s database. The gun didn’t match with any other crimes. But when I checked the bullet casing against the gun, there was no match there either.”
Otto frowned. “So, you’re telling me that the bullet found inside the victim’s body did not come from the gun we found at the crime scene?”
“That’s what I’m telling you. The bullet and casing associated with the murder are .380-caliber. The gun you gave me is a nine-millimeter Luger. To the naked eye the rounds look almost identical. Under the microscope, the rounds are clearly different.”
“I’ll be damned. Ernie, get your appetite ready. I’ll be up to deliver on that steak dinner soon.”
Ernie laughed. “If everybody had delivered on all their steak dinners through the years, I’d be a well-fed man.”
*
Otto entered the lounge again and found Isabella crying. Investigations with the roller-coaster effect irritated him: up and down; one minute things were coming together, the next falling apart.