A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys :) Inspires me to keep writing ;)
Chapter 4
"Gun running."
Trivette frowned, glancing away from his computer monitor toward his partner. "Uh, drug smuggling."
Walker blinked. "What?"
"I thought we were just naming off random major crimes," he muttered sarcastically. "I thought that was a pretty good one. I mean, yeah, it's not gun running, but…" he trailed off. The older man was looking at him as if he'd grown another head. "What are you talking about?"
"That's what they were investigating. Gun running."
"Oh, that's rich."
"Yeah." Walker rested a hand on the phone. "Doesn't make much sense, does it?"
"Why would ATF bring in a guy to investigate gun runners – who won't carry a gun?"
"Maybe they figured he was a safe bet, someone who wouldn't turn, and who'd want to see the organization brought down?" his partner suggested, but the expression on his face made it clear he didn't believe it, so Jimmy had no qualms about calling him on it.
"Yeah, sure." He shook his head. "I don't think so. Something smells rotten about this whole thing."
Walker nodded. "What bothers me the most is that Carlos wrote in his report that Trent said there were two deaths already connected to this, not counting Deville. ATF has no record of any agents killed in or around the Metroplex within the last two years – not even during the episode with the Chairman."
"Maybe it's a bigger network?"
"If that was it, I doubt he'd think that his cover being blown and us finding out what was going on would end up getting other agents killed. Most of these cells operate independently, for their own safety – one gets taken down, the others are left untouched, so business keeps running smoothly."
"You think Trent lied?"
"I think he was lied to."
"By who? Deville? The Feds?"
"Both?" Walker suggested.
It was all starting to piece together. "You think something went down, and Trent's the fall guy."
"Yeah, I do."
"You think was the plan from the beginning?"
"Maybe."
"And the Feds are on their way out here to put the nail in the coffin."
"Yeah." Walker shook his head. "You come up with anything?"
"Two guys who fit the physical description and have a martial arts background. And one of them always likes to get up close and personal with his victims – blow to the head, throat, or nose, usually."
"Got a name?"
He handed a printout to his partner. "Take your pick."
Scanning it, he asked, "Affiliation?"
"Melendez, in San Antonio."
"What was his last known location?"
Glancing back over his notes even though he really didn't need to he answered, "Nothing known for sure, but he's wanted in connection with a murder in Fort Worth – among other things." Trivette shook his head. "Walker, I don't see the government hiring this guy to come after anybody. I mean, even as pros go, he's bad."
"You'd be surprised."
Frowning, he pointed out, "Hey, I've tangled with these guys too, remember?"
His partner didn't respond directly, saying instead, "Call Sydney and Gage. See if they've found out anything, and tell them to head to my place and we'll meet them there. I'm going to call Carlos, and then Trent."
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Sydney walked into the bar, coughing before the door had even closed behind her at the thick veil of smoke filling the entrance way. Holding her breath until they made it past the chain-smoking bikers sitting at the table by the door, she walked up to the bar, unfolding the picture of Kristin Deville. "Mind if I ask you a couple questions?" she said to the bartender.
The man didn't look up, instead continuing to dry glasses. "Yes."
"Look," she said, "we're not looking to get anyone in any trouble. A woman was murdered the other night, and no one around knows anything about her. We're just trying to find out a few things; we want to notify her family, but to do that, we need to find her family." It wasn't entirely the truth, nor was it the approach she was accustomed to taking in this sort of situation, but sometimes a lie and charm worked better than brute force.
Sometimes.
"Sorry, haven't seen her." It would have been a polite response – had the man actually looked at the photo.
Gage leaned across the bar and Sydney stepped back to allow him space. "We didn't come here looking to arrest anyone, but it can be arranged." She watched her partner falter, though, when a chair pushed back behind them.
"Cool down, cowboy," a woman's voice said suddenly, and Syd turned to face the newcomer, watching out of the corner of her eye as the biker who'd stood slowly sat back down. "Garrett here just likes to see how long it takes for cops to get all up in his face. I think you broke the record." Sydney hid a smile as Gage looked between them, open-mouthed. "Cara Sanson."
Sanson took the picture from her and studied it for a moment. "I've seen her before. Couple nights ago, came in here about… twenty after ten."
"A couple nights ago," Gage repeated. "So… Monday? Or Tuesday?"
"Hmm. Well, I guess… it'd have to be Tuesday, because I remember thinkin' she was a darin' little thing, walkin' alone into a bar full up o' drunk bikers." One of the men they'd passed coming in growled something, and Cara glanced past Sydney. "Sit on it, Pete." It was Gage's turn to stifle a laugh.
She shifted her attention back to them. "Anyway, she wasn't alone very long. She comes in, sits down, and starts playin' with the coaster and lookin' around. Then this guy comes in, goes straight over to her, takes her by her arm, and pulls her up an' outta the bar. Neither of 'em looked too happy."
"What did this guy look like?"
"Well, I couldn't see his face, but… blond hair, about your height," she said, turning to Gage. "Sorta small guy."
"Small… like, thin?" Sydney asked.
"Yeah."
Gage moved next to her, producing the picture of Trent Malloy from the file Sandoval had given them. "He look like this?"
Cara shrugged. "Could've. Like I said, I couldn't see his face. But that could be him."
"Thanks."
As they left the bar, Sydney turned to her partner. "What do you think?"
"I think we should find out what time Malloy left the dojo, and where he went."
"And where Deville and her escort went after they left this place. There's still a good forty minutes or so unaccounted for." Sydney frowned, Cara's words playing through her mind as they headed for her car. "Y'know, I wouldn't go into that place alone at night, even armed. It's just asking for trouble."
"And you never do that," Gage jibed at her.
Rolling her eyes, she put the key into the ignition. "I wonder if she was meeting someone."
"Other than the mystery blond?"
"Yeah." Before she could say anymore, her partner's cell phone rang.
"Gage." He was quiet for a second. "Yeah, we got something; don't know how much good it'll do… Walker's? About… half an hour… meet you there." Pocketing the phone, he turned to her. "That was Trivette. Walker wants everyone – Sandoval and Malloy too – at his place."
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Trent looked up as Alex returned, the two Rangers he'd met that morning in tow. They'd seemed nice enough, but just the same he wasn't thrilled to see them again so soon. But, from the expressions on their faces, the feeling was mutual. Manners won out, and he nodded, forcing a smile as they sat down.
"I assume you've all met?" The look on Walker's face suggests clearly that he fully intended them to have. Trent only nodded, feeling more uncomfortable in his mentor's presence than he ever had before.
"I'm going to guess you've got something, Walker?" Unwilling though he was to meet his friend's eyes, Trent couldn't miss the exhaustion in Carlos's tone. He wondered if he'd slept at all the night before; he himself certainly hadn't. Tommy had come upstairs to scold him for keeping him awake with his pacing.
"Yeah, we got something; a lot of questions, mostly," Trivette muttered.
"Well, we came up with a possible lead," Cooke said. "But I don't know how helpful it's going to be." Trent didn't flinch under her direct gaze.
Trivette sat down backward on one of the kitchen chairs Walker had brought into the living room. "What did you two find out?"
"The night she died, Deville went into Tulio's – it's a bar around the corner from where she was killed, a pretty rough place if the patrons are anything to go by."
"Bunch of pussycats," Gage muttered, and Cooke scoffed at her partner.
"For a 'bunch of pussycats,' they sure scared you."
The man rolled his eyes. "I wasn't scared."
She matched his expression. "Sure. Anyway, she was in the bar for about five minutes when a man who fits the killer's description came in, grabbed her, and pulled her out of the bar." She shrugged. "It's not much, but it's strange."
"Yeah, Syd says she'd be afraid to go in there alone that late and night," Gage said, earning him a very dark glare from Cooke.
"You think she was meeting somebody?"
The woman nodded. "Yeah. No real way to find out who though."
"What time did you leave the dojo that night, Trent?"
He blinked, surprised to be addressed, and shrugged. "I don't know; about half an hour, maybe a little more, after Gail… Kristin did." Oddly, at that moment it occurred to him to wonder why it had taken her death for him to learn her real name. He'd never even asked.
"And what did you do then?"
Slowly, he shook his head. "Drove around for a while, and then headed home. I got back… around 11:30, quarter to 12." He forced a smile to his lips and glanced toward Carlos. "You never asked me for my alibi."
His friend looked frazzled. "I…" He raised a hand and waved dismissively. "Whatever." He glanced toward Walker. "Trivette said you guys came up with something?"
Trent raised his head, but his old teacher's eyes were boring into him so hard he had to look away, though Walker's voice forced him to face him again. "You want to tell them or do you want me to?"
He shrugged, then sighed. Why had he even bothered to fight it? "We were investigating a group that's part of a gun running organization that spans the whole country. It's a network, a lot of independent cells. They supply gangs, have affiliations with organized crime, and some are connected with merc outfits in other countries – and here in the US."
"Ironic," Carlos muttered, and Trent glanced his way.
"What?"
"You… investigating gun runners. It's ironic."
Trent shrugged again, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the subject, and more uncomfortable with the memory of carrying a gun for seven months. He'd managed to avoid ever firing it, however, as Kristin had made a big deal out of his martial arts skills. "Or you could say I had a vested interest in what I was doing." The words came out more tersely than he'd intended. Carlos looked a little stung.
Walker, though, turned the subject back to the case. "Trent, you told Carlos that you wouldn't tell him anything about what you were doing because it would endanger people – and that two people had died already."
He nodded slowly. "Yeah."
"Who were they?"
He shook his head. "They were killed before I got into it, even before Kristin did. That was why they needed someone new."
Walker leaned forward. "Trent, I called in a couple favors; ATF records indicate none of their agents were killed in this area in the last two years."
"Sounds like she lied to you, man," Trivette said quietly, clearly trying to avoid the appearance that they were accusing him of anything.
"No." The tenor of his voice caught even him by surprise. "I've worked with her for seven months; I know her… knew her. I would know if she'd lied to me."
It was Carlos who replied first, after a weighty silence. "Trent, no offense, but you're about the most naïve man who ever lived. She's a fed; this is what they do."
Trent stood, angry with his friend not for the first time. "Not her."
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Carlos watched Trent turn away from them, not quite quickly enough to hide the tears that were starting to spill over. "Excuse me," he mumbled, already halfway across the room. Seconds later, he was out the door.
Cordell rose, but Carlos stopped him. "Let me. I… came down kind of hard on him when I dragged him in for questioning. Had someone watching me, and I couldn't afford to come off soft. I should've talked to him after."
It was more information than he really needed to give, but he was too distracted by his friend's distress to care at the moment. Carlos left the others and headed for the door, finding Trent sitting on the steps outside, leaning forward, head in his hands. "You all right?" he asked quietly, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Yeah. Just kinda hit me all at once." Pain was evident in his voice, but even more obvious was how hard he was trying to hide it. That in itself stung; Trent was notoriously closed-mouthed about his emotions, but rarely would he refuse to talk to Carlos.
"Yeah." There wasn't much else he could say.
"I didn't kill her, Carlos. I loved her." His voice pleaded for understanding, or at least something resembling support.
The detective walked down the stairs, then lowered himself to sit beside his friend. "I know; we're gonna find out who did this." He was surprised by the vehemence in his words; he really did believe them.
Trent, however, was apparently not so certain. "For the first time, Carlos, I'm not real sure I believe you."