Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(34)
She shook her head. “Despite an IRS crackdown on offshore accounts, some banks still evade reporting and keep most of their digital transfers interbank. Even the original deposit slip shows only a transfer by wire paid from ‘cash,’ with no depositor listed. But look at his phone record on the day before Yancy disappeared.” She flipped through the pages and showed him a highlighted telephone log of an outgoing call made from Curt’s phone to what Ross knew was Yancy’s cell phone number. They’d spoken—he counted—three times on the day before she disappeared.
Grimly, he stuck the phone log back and snapped the file shut, putting it in his own secure file drawer and locking it while he contemplated this new evidence. It was hard to believe Curt could be involved in anything so disgusting, but Ross had seen far too many otherwise upstanding citizens fall prey to greed to discount the evidence as coincidence. Like most law enforcement professionals, Texas Rangers didn’t believe in coincidence, anyway. “How far back did you go in your search?”
“The prior twelve months. Six deposits from Belize, totaling over a half million.”
“I authorize you to go back thirty-six months, because that’s about when we think this particular conduit started operating from Baltimore. I’ll call the judge and make the request myself for the rest of the records. If we can find when the deposits started, maybe we’ll be closer to the head of the snake. Did you access his credit card bills?”
“No, I wanted to start with banking and phone records, but it’s a good idea. Please include that in your request of the judge.” She smiled ruefully. “I try to keep a low profile, but females high in law enforcement seem to be particularly rare in West Texas. Much less forensic experts with decidedly marked British accents.”
“Shucks, ma’am, why do you think I worked on losing my Eastern nasal twang?”
They both laughed at that. But Abby’s smile faded soon enough. “This is not my place, but I’m worried about Emm Rothschild.”
Ross’s smile was wiped clean, too. “How so?”
“She’s the one who made the connection with Curt Tupperman, and if we don’t give her, ah, something productive to do in the investigation, I fear she may take matters into her own hands. With both the chain of evidence and her own safety at risk.”
“What the hell do you expect me to do about that? Arrest her?” He was irritated that she’d picked up on his own very strong and very reluctant attraction to Emm. Was he really so transparent?
Abby’s rueful smile returned. “By all accounts, you already tried that.” When Ross wouldn’t meet her eyes, she only added mildly, “I’d suggest you find another way to keep her occupied.”
“We’re having the survey of the Sinclair family buildings in a couple of days, and that should keep her busy for a week or so. After that . . . she may be going back East.” Ross couldn’t disguise his own desolation at that thought, at least not from those uncommonly perceptive gray eyes.
But Abby only nodded and stood, allowing him his privacy. “I’ll be off, then.”
“And the hemophilia drug? Have you had any luck tracking that?”
“I have several sources in Mexico searching for me but nothing conclusive as yet. You do realize all the women in this particular pipeline may have been funneled overseas by now . . .”
Ross sighed heavily. “Of course. The alliances between the cartels and other crime syndicates worldwide are always in flux, but the latest intel suggests the Los Lobos cartel is working closely with Italian Mafia and Chechen rebels. There’s even some talk they may be putting out feelers to ISIS. Any woman who disappears into that network is unlikely ever to be seen again, especially as human trafficking violations aren’t high on the list of priority cases with the intelligence agencies overseas. But they’re making millions every day, and anywhere there’s money like that, Los Lobos will be attracted.”
Abby looked revolted. “Surely even Mr. Tupperman wouldn’t do business with ISIS?”
“Unlikely he’d even know. Arturo Cervantes is by all accounts extremely tight-fisted both with his money and his authority. We think only he and his son, Tomás, know all the particulars of everyone they conspire with, which is one reason why they’ve been so hard to track.”
Abby nodded, understanding completely. “I’ll be back in a few days, after I’ve had time to examine the new evidence.”
Ross nodded and walked her the short distance to his door. “I’ll find a way to keep Emm occupied.” His smile suddenly grew sensual. “Who knows, it could be fun.”
Outside, Abigail Doyle carried the recollection of his sensual smile with her to her car. She’d immediately seen the strong attraction between the two Easterners and thought it would be a shame if Emm returned to Baltimore without admitting her own feelings. For a second, as she drove back to her lonely hotel room, she toyed with the idea of playing matchmaker, but she dismissed the notion equally quickly. She’d done that once before and ended up not only losing a friendship she cherished but spoiling the nascent relationship she’d been forging with the only man she’d ever met who appealed to her on every level.
She unlocked her hotel room door and looked around at the neat, tidy little room that was such a perfect metaphor for her neat, tidy little life. Disarray upset her, and even when she traveled, she unpacked immediately, folding her clothes neatly into bureau drawers and hanging her suits with colors complementing the appropriate adjacent blouse, the sensible shoes matching each outfit centered exactly beneath on the closet floor.