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Authors: Lisa Unger
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into his office, which was neater and more organized than the office of any cop she had ever met in her life.
“Military?” she asked him.
“Marines,” he answered, not seeming to wonder why she had made the observation. “My father, too. I had to bounce a quarter on my bed from the time I was old enough to make it myself. The guys make fun of me, but people don’t realize how much time it wastes if you’re disorganized. And when you are talking about missing children, there’s no time to waste. Every minute, they’re further away from being found.”
Lydia nodded and seated herself in an orange faux-leather and chrome chair, noting the coordinating gold shag carpet and wood-paneled walls. Very seventies .
“So six, almost seven weeks into the Tatiana Quinn case, and what are you thinking? Are you going to find her?”
“I have to say I honestly don’t know. Usually by now, I would say, No way. But something keeps me going—and not just the fact that Nathan Quinn pulls some big puppet strings in this department. Something else. Keeps me up nights.”
He ran down the details of the case for Lydia and Jeffrey, starting from the first night, the false leads due to the million-dollar reward, and then the mysterious bus driver. He seemed to become more tired as he went on. Lydia and Jeffrey paid close attention, following along on the board the detective had set up to track all the events, leads, and tips his team had explored, hoping their fresh eyes and ears might pick up on something that the team had missed. But Lydia wasn’t optimistic, having already determined that Detective Ignacio wasn’t a man to miss the smallest detail. She sensed his dedication to his work in his welcome. Most cops worried about somebody stealing their thunder, being the one to break the case. They held things back from Lydia, not wanting her to think of something they hadn’t. But Detective Ignacio, she could tell, was hoping she would. He cared about Tatiana more than he did about his own glory, and that was refreshing to see.
“You said you had something for me, Ms. Strong,” he said when he had finished. “Believe me, I could use a break.”
She put the evidence bag on his desk. “Do you have a cassette player?” she asked.
He pulled a beat-up old RadioShack tape player out of his desk. Lydia hesitated.
“It’s not fancy, but it works.”
“I’m sure. But this is the only copy I have of the tape I’m about to give to you, and if the machine shreds it, we’ve lost the only lead you might have.”
“Good point. Come with me.”
He led them down a gray-carpeted hallway, past glass-walled offices, through some cubes, and into an impressive audiovisual room. They walked past rows of top-of-the-line computers, carrels holding television monitors with video and DVD players, and finally reached a glass-enclosed room that held a number of cassette and CD players. Headphones hung from hooks along the wall. The detective closed the door behind them, and they each pulled up a chair.
“Well, you can’t say that the Miami Police Department isn’t in step with the times,” commented Jeffrey.
“We have our problems, but that’s not one of them,” answered the detective. He looked at Jeffrey a second and then said, “Were you at one time an FBI agent, Mr. Mark?”
“I was. I left the Bureau to start my own private investigation firm, Mark, Hanley and Striker, Inc.”
“I’ve heard of it, of course. You know, they still teach that case of yours at Quantico. I had the privilege to attend the class they give for interested local detectives. That’s quite a thing to have your first case be one of the highest-profile serial-murder cases of the century.”
“Well, I can’t take credit for solving the case. It was really Lydia,” Jeffrey said, glancing at her uneasily. He was relieved to see that she didn’t have that glazed-over look in her eyes that she usually got when this conversation came up, that look
“Military?” she asked him.
“Marines,” he answered, not seeming to wonder why she had made the observation. “My father, too. I had to bounce a quarter on my bed from the time I was old enough to make it myself. The guys make fun of me, but people don’t realize how much time it wastes if you’re disorganized. And when you are talking about missing children, there’s no time to waste. Every minute, they’re further away from being found.”
Lydia nodded and seated herself in an orange faux-leather and chrome chair, noting the coordinating gold shag carpet and wood-paneled walls. Very seventies .
“So six, almost seven weeks into the Tatiana Quinn case, and what are you thinking? Are you going to find her?”
“I have to say I honestly don’t know. Usually by now, I would say, No way. But something keeps me going—and not just the fact that Nathan Quinn pulls some big puppet strings in this department. Something else. Keeps me up nights.”
He ran down the details of the case for Lydia and Jeffrey, starting from the first night, the false leads due to the million-dollar reward, and then the mysterious bus driver. He seemed to become more tired as he went on. Lydia and Jeffrey paid close attention, following along on the board the detective had set up to track all the events, leads, and tips his team had explored, hoping their fresh eyes and ears might pick up on something that the team had missed. But Lydia wasn’t optimistic, having already determined that Detective Ignacio wasn’t a man to miss the smallest detail. She sensed his dedication to his work in his welcome. Most cops worried about somebody stealing their thunder, being the one to break the case. They held things back from Lydia, not wanting her to think of something they hadn’t. But Detective Ignacio, she could tell, was hoping she would. He cared about Tatiana more than he did about his own glory, and that was refreshing to see.
“You said you had something for me, Ms. Strong,” he said when he had finished. “Believe me, I could use a break.”
She put the evidence bag on his desk. “Do you have a cassette player?” she asked.
He pulled a beat-up old RadioShack tape player out of his desk. Lydia hesitated.
“It’s not fancy, but it works.”
“I’m sure. But this is the only copy I have of the tape I’m about to give to you, and if the machine shreds it, we’ve lost the only lead you might have.”
“Good point. Come with me.”
He led them down a gray-carpeted hallway, past glass-walled offices, through some cubes, and into an impressive audiovisual room. They walked past rows of top-of-the-line computers, carrels holding television monitors with video and DVD players, and finally reached a glass-enclosed room that held a number of cassette and CD players. Headphones hung from hooks along the wall. The detective closed the door behind them, and they each pulled up a chair.
“Well, you can’t say that the Miami Police Department isn’t in step with the times,” commented Jeffrey.
“We have our problems, but that’s not one of them,” answered the detective. He looked at Jeffrey a second and then said, “Were you at one time an FBI agent, Mr. Mark?”
“I was. I left the Bureau to start my own private investigation firm, Mark, Hanley and Striker, Inc.”
“I’ve heard of it, of course. You know, they still teach that case of yours at Quantico. I had the privilege to attend the class they give for interested local detectives. That’s quite a thing to have your first case be one of the highest-profile serial-murder cases of the century.”
“Well, I can’t take credit for solving the case. It was really Lydia,” Jeffrey said, glancing at her uneasily. He was relieved to see that she didn’t have that glazed-over look in her eyes that she usually got when this conversation came up, that look
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