“No, ma’am,” Lucy said. “This case is a priority for our office.”
“Hmm.”
Did she not believe it? Lucy was more curious now about what happened to turn Miranda King against the FBI. But she didn’t ask, and Miranda continued.
“First, Rico—my son—found the Escalade registered to Denise Albright in a chop shop in Matamoros. Already dismantled. He bribed the owner to let him confirm the VIN number. We gave that information to the police.”
“They could have sold the car or traded it,” Lucy said. “To avoid being detected.”
Miranda nodded. “Could have, didn’t. With some prompting, the owner admitted to Rico that he found the vehicle by the side of the road. Had some luggage in it, but the suitcases were mostly empty. He gave those to his sister to sell, which Rico confirmed. Though she didn’t have much of anything left—we tracked the car two weeks after their disappearance, which is when we were first hired—he believed her when she gave him a list of the items. A few shirts and toiletries, but no money, no supplies, no food, no water. A brand-new tent that couldn’t have fit five people. If I were going to disappear into Mexico for any length of time, you can be damn sure I’d have a car packed with necessary supplies to trade, sell, or use. And plenty of water.”
“There were indications that they left their house quickly.”
“I’m up-to-date on the case. Denise was suspected of embezzling money. She left because her client was calling in an independent auditor. Makes some sense. I understand insurance fraud, but other white collar crimes, not as much. My question remains: Where’s the money? It wasn’t in her bank accounts. It wasn’t anywhere, as far as I know—and I told the family what to ask for. They didn’t get any confirmation that any of the money was transferred into any account that Denise Albright controlled. The money disappeared down layers of shell corporations that they either didn’t or couldn’t trace, into a black hole.”
Nate asked, “Who did you work with at the Kerr County Sheriff’s Office?”
“A prick named Garrett Douglas. Wouldn’t give me the time of day. Kept passing me off to his partner Chavez, who didn’t know diddly-squat and said he’d have Douglas call me back, which never happened.”
“Sounds familiar,” Nate grumbled.
Miranda smiled, then said, “I told him I didn’t think the family left the country, I thought something happened to them here, and he showed me piss-poor photos from Brownsville Border Control. Could have been anybody in their car.
“I followed up with their friends and neighbors,” Miranda continued, “but no one saw anything. No one had heard from them. The only thing I could get was one neighbor thought she saw Ricky Albright—he was nine back then—on his bike late one night. She couldn’t remember which night—she thought it was Friday or Saturday night the weekend they disappeared. But she couldn’t swear to it.”
“By late, how late?”
“Dark—sunset was around eight thirty that week. She didn’t see his face but recognized the bike and his profile. He wore a backpack and hoodie and was riding his bike fast—she was walking her dog. She walks her dog every night sometime between nine and eleven, depending on what’s on television. She waved and said hello, but he didn’t answer or wave back, which was unlike him according to her. She thought it was rude.”
“But it wasn’t a night before the family disappeared? How can she be sure?”
“She sounded pretty certain, but you’re right—it could have been Thursday. Though the kid was nine, and everyone I talked to said he wouldn’t be allowed to ride his bike after dark, and he was a good kid, not prone to sneaking out or causing trouble.”
“If she’s right,” Lucy said, “then this was after the Escalade crossed the border.”
“Where’s the kid been for three years?” Miranda asked. “Someone would notice a homeless kid as clean-cut as Ricky, and we’ve been going through missing persons databases regularly for the last three years. Though I know that doesn’t mean squat half the time. Kids, sadly, disappear.”
Miranda glanced at her notes. “No one in the family has heard from any of the Albrights, though on Christmas Day for the last three years the Grahams have received a hang-up call.”
“Why is that suspicious?”
“The first time, they were positive the caller was Denise. The caller didn’t say anything but didn’t hang up right away, and Betty said all the right things—that no matter what happened, they could come home and she’d help them. Then there was a sob and the caller hung up. The next two years, same thing, just silence. She gave the information to the sheriff’s department, but they either didn’t do anything with it or didn’t tell her. She gave me access to her phone records. The number was partly blocked, but it was an international number—Mexico. Rico and Sam—my daughter-in-law—traced it to Tamaulipas, but that’s a big state. We sent photos to the authorities down there but haven’t heard anything.” Miranda looked from Nate to Lucy. “It was Ricky, wasn’t it? He made the call.”
“We don’t know,” Lucy said, “but his remains weren’t found with his family. And if he did witness his family’s murder, why didn’t he come forward?”
“In my experience, fear is the most powerful emotion. And if he was scared enough, he might have had it in him to disappear. But I agree—it’s highly unusual. I’m just telling you what I know to be facts. I don’t have the answers.”
“If you would please contact the Grahams and tell them to give the Christmas Day caller my name and cell phone number and tell him that I want to solve his family’s murder and help him to come home.” Christmas was still six weeks away, but if they didn’t solve this crime—and right now they had so little to go on—she wanted Ricky to come home. And if he knew anything about his parents’ murders, he was safer if he shared with them rather than being on the run.
“I’ll let them decide,” Miranda said. “But what if he did witness the murders? What if he was threatened? A kid living with that fear for three years might not be willing to come forward.”
“We’ll do everything in our power to protect him,” Lucy said.
“Even if we have to go down to Mexico and pick him up ourselves,” Nate added.
* * *
Nate was quiet driving to Kerr County, and finally Lucy called him on it.
“Don’t tell Douglas and Chavez about our suspicion that Ricky is in hiding.”
“You’re going to have to elaborate, Nate. I trust your instincts, but there must be a reason.”
“I can’t shake the feeling that the kid is in danger. Or he was, which is why he left. And someone had to have helped him, because I don’t see how a middle-class white kid who doesn’t speak Spanish can disappear in Mexico.”
“If he’s the one calling the Grahams.” Except as she said it she realized that Ricky was the most logical caller. “I see what you mean.”
“This whole thing feels bigger than we prepared for, and until we know more about the initial investigation, we have to keep this internal. Those cops weren’t forthcoming yesterday, and neither the Young family nor Miranda King had a kind word about Detective Douglas.”