No One Heard Her Scream (34 page)

After she asked Sonja a few questions to establish her relationship with the dead girl for the record, Becca hit her with the first nail in her coffin. She knew Sonja would lie straight up, the start of her slippery slope.

"When was the last time you saw Matt Brogan?"

The shocked and indignant expression on Sonja's face told Becca she had struck a chord. She gave her the opportunity to tell the truth, knowing the woman would choose a different path. Lying had become far too easy for Sonja, a weakness Becca hoped to capitalize on.

"You mean the guy that raped me?" She flung both hands in the air and shook her head, a display of exasperation. "Do you think I got him on my speed dial? I can't pinpoint the exact date, but the night he raped me would be close enough, wouldn't it?"

"So approximately seven years ago. Is that correct?" Becca leaned on the table, forcing Sonja to meet her eyes.

"Yeah."

"And you haven't seen him since that night?"

"No, thank God. Like I told you before, people with money don't exactly travel in my social circle. Why? I thought this was about Isabel."

Murphy walked behind Becca and caught Sonja's attention, a distraction from the woman's question. She returned his glare, her outward hostility toward him showing, the man who stole her smokes and woke her too damned early. Now he slouched against the wall with the two-way mirror, playing his head game . . . and loving it.

"And you also said Isabel Marquez tried to recruit you into prostitution, to work for Matt Brogan. But you turned her down because you couldn't go through with it. Is that an accurate statement?"

"Yeah, sure." She fidgeted in her seat and heaved a dramatic sigh, latching her eyes on to Murphy. "What did you do with my smokes, man? I better get 'em back. They cost money."

"Smoking is banned in the building. We wouldn't want you to break any laws while you're here." He slathered on the sarcasm.

Sonja rolled her eyes and sank into her chair, ignoring him again. Becca knew how tough a job
that
was.

"Look, I already told you all this," the young woman said.

"Yes, you did. And you also told me Isabel arranged for you to attend a party at the Cavanaugh estate around that same time. Can you tell me about it?"

Sonja regurgitated the same story she had told Becca before, nearly verbatim.

"So Matt Brogan insisted Isabel set you up. He raped you and allowed others at the party to do the same. Is that true?"

"Yeah, Isabel set me up all right. And she left me there . . . with them."

"And even though you believed you were drugged, you remember enough of the incident to make this claim."

"You don't forget somethin' like this, lady. I still get nightmares."

"Why do you think she did it?"

"Because of Brogan. He's a mean son of a bitch. When he wants somethin', he gets it."

"And he wanted you." Becca didn't bother to attach a question to her statement, knowing Sonja couldn't resist elaborating.

"Yeah, he wanted me all right. He wanted what he couldn't have otherwise. Guys like that don't take no for an answer. I found out the hard way."

"How did Isabel feel about Brogan's interest in you? Did she ever act jealous?"

Sonja raised her voice and clenched her fists on the table until her knuckles went white.

"She hated it!
The bastard
never
got enough. For him, an innocent young girl had a target on her back. Fair game and open season year-round. Isabel despised him for it, but she was too weak to say no and walk away. For whatever reason, she needed him like an addict needs a fix. Running with a guy like that? She was bound to get into trouble."

A glimpse of personal truth. Becca knew with the right question, centered on Sonja's feelings for Brogan, the woman might project her own emotion onto Isabel, a coy game. She liked to dangle a bit of truth in front of Becca, her pattern of lying.

"And he was the one who bought her the expensive gold necklace, the one with a pendant shaped like a heart with diamonds on it. Isabel told you Brogan bought it for her, right?"

"Yeah, she did. She bragged about it in fact. Tried to tell me if I worked for him, I could have the same things, like it would be enough." Sonja leaned her elbows onto the table, her eyes fixed on Becca. "You know, you should really be talking to Brogan about all this. But you promised to keep my name out of it. He'd kill me if he knew. You won't tell him, will you?"

"No, he won't be hearing it from me." Becca raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. Behind her, Murphy cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.

"'Cause I think the son of a bitch killed Isabel and dumped the body where no one would find it. She knew too much. I don't know how or where he did it, but I got a gut feeling he's behind it." Sonja narrowed her eyes. "Hey, why all the questions about Matt Brogan? Sounds like you believe me. He's a sick, twisted guy."

"No more twisted than a woman who arranges a rendezvous with the bastard who raped her seven years ago. A little mattress mambo at a fleabag motel off Guadalupe Street sounds like more than just talk. It sounds like a history of lies and cover-ups."

Sonja's eyes grew wide, and her mouth opened. Her face twitched with a nervous tic of her lips.

Murphy turned a chair around next to Sonja, and straddled it, his elbows on the backrest. "Maybe you got a different definition of hard feelings. Sounds real cozy to me."

"You see where I'm coming from, Sonja?" Becca gestured with her hands. "Matt Brogan is hard to shut up once he gets going, especially when he's got a different version of the truth. And you lying to Murphy and me is proof enough you're hiding something. You've already lied about how well you knew the man who allegedly raped you. Hell, for all we know you've got him on your Christmas card list. That makes no sense if what you said is true. He didn't rape you."

"He told you that?"

"And a lot more. Care to revise any of your previous statements?" Becca asked.

"Matt's here? God, is he pissed?"

"He's been better." Becca cocked her head to one side.

A panicked look spread across Sonja's face. "If he knows I said anythin', he'll kill me."

"You should have thought about that before you lied to me . . . and implicated him."

Implying a dead guy was alive and kicking wouldn't play too well with the church crowd. But police used all sorts of tactics to get a confession, part of the fine line Becca walked. This session would be recorded and used in court. If the defense screamed foul, they would be opening a nasty can of worms about Son-ja's relationship to Brogan, allowing the prosecution to pick at an old festering wound in front of a jury. It wouldn't be worth the risk.

Sonja raked fingers through her hair, then clasped her hands to the back of her neck. She looked deep in thought, considering her options and taking a stroll through her maze of lies. The woman released her grip and let her arms land on the table with a thump.

"You lied about the necklace, too." Becca rocked forward on the edge of her seat and watched the color drain from Sonja's face. "Brogan said so. And considering he's the one who allegedly bought the thing according to you, that's another strike against your version of reality. The guy's got a pretty healthy ego, but with your track record of lying, I'd say he's the odds-on favorite to pull ahead in the stretch. And as for him raping you? He said he never needed to. You were all over him."

"The rape happened. I swear."

For the first time, a tear rolled down Sonja's cheek. Before yesterday, Becca might have believed she'd been capable of remorse, but not today.

"Oh, Matt had plenty to say about the rape."

"He told you?" Sonja asked, shock on her face. She winced and wrapped her arms over her chest and rocked back and forth. After a long moment, she opened up. "He forced me to get Isabel to the party. You don't know what he's like."

"You knew Isabel would be raped. You could've said no."

"Not to Brogan." Her eyes glazed over. "Isabel
was
the party. Him and his friends were waiting for us to get there . . . Isabel to get there. I slipped something into her drink, thinking it would make it easier for her to take it. And maybe she wouldn't know I had anything to do with what happened. But Brogan screwed that up, too. He kept her after the party . . . for his men. No drugs."

More tears, but Becca got the feeling these tasted bitter with regret, more from getting caught than any real remorse.

"He made me watch, you know." Sonja grimaced, and her lips trembled. "Matt, the guys at the party, and his men after . . . the bastard made me watch it all. I thought I loved him once, but you don't love a guy like him. He's a user."

Becca had a sudden appreciation for Sonja and Brogan's mutual attraction. But her heart ached for Isabel Marquez, the innocent girl caught in the middle. Her only fault was being a poor judge of character. And despite Rudy and Victor's efforts to protect their sister, the brothers couldn't be everywhere at once. At some point, they had to let go and hope Isabel would be safe and make the right choices. But that didn't happen. And Becca had a taste of how they must have felt after their worst imaginings had been trumped by the reality of her murder.

"What did she do? Threaten to go to the cops?"

"Not at first. I almost convinced her to forget it. I told her no one would believe her against rich guys like that. And she had no real proof it even happened. So much time had passed, but I guess it ate away at her. 'Cause after the argument she had with her brother Rudy, things changed."

"So you killed her."

Sonja shut her eyes tight and drew a frazzled breath. "It's just that . . . Isabel was gonna ruin everything. I couldn't let that happen." Silence. She clenched her teeth and stared off into space.

"Isabel was going to tell the police about her rape. Tell me what happened?"

"After her brother left the theater, she started talking about what happened at that fuckin' party. Right in the open. The workers took off after all the shouting, but anyone coulda heard her if they walked back in. She didn't care. Her brother Rudy got her all upset. Isabel never told him what happened, but she thought if she told the cops, it would be like confession and wipe her slate clean somehow. God would forgive her. She could be so stupid like that."

Becca tightened her jaw after Sonja called Isabel stupid for wanting to do the right thing, trivializing rape as if it were a silly parking ticket. But she needed to keep her talking and resisted the urge to let her own emotions show.

"She was going to blow the whistle, and you couldn't let her do that."

"Exactly. I had no choice. I kept thinkin' about how I'd be arrested and do jail time. Even if I could live with that, Matt would've been arrested, with his party guests dragged into it. A big mess. He had a lot more at stake. Just like now, I'd be better off in jail, away from him. And it sounds like he's headin' the same direction. Good for me."

So she was protecting Brogan?
Yeah, right,
Becca thought. And oh what a difference seven years makes. Now she couldn't care less if he's put in jail. Sonja's smoke and mirrors were completely transparent now. How could she have been so blind to her lies? Becca resisted the urge to glance at Murphy. If Sonja had found out about Brogan being dead, this interrogation would have been over before it began.

"Tell me what happened," Becca prompted.

Sonja heaved a sigh, her eyes engrossed in her memory. "I stood in her way, shoving her. But she wouldn't back down. When Isabel slapped me, I lost it. The bitch! She didn't care what would happen to me. I grabbed the first thing I found. Some kind of hammer. And I hit her over the head with it. There was so much blood."

She cried. Her sobs echoed in the room until a lumbering silence took over. Becca narrowed her eyes and caught Murphy's eye. He gave a slight nod, letting her know he thought the same as she did. Becca had gotten what she wanted—a solid confession— but it left her empty knowing Isabel's life had meant so little to Sonja Garza. A pawn in her sex play with Matt Brogan.

Becca kept her composure and moved on. "What did you do then?"

Sonja wiped her cheeks with a sleeve of her sweat jacket, choking on her words. "I panicked. Didn't know what to do. I shut all the doors and locked them, so no one would come in. The blood ... I couldn't. . . I called Matt using my cell . . . and waited."

Just when Becca thought there would be no more twists to Sonja's story, the woman zinged a curve-ball over home plate. But Becca couldn't afford to react. If Brogan were alive and partial to talking, he would've mentioned something as trivial as disposing of a corpse.

Only Isabel hadn't been dead after Sonja struck her. She had been alive. Unconscious, but alive. Sonja waited for Brogan while Isabel's heart beat in her chest, a faint pulse. The outcome would have been the same, but the callousness of the crime made her sick. Becca fought the knot wedged in her throat.

"Tell me
your
version of the story."

Sonja shrugged with depraved indifference. "I can't believe I had to convince that son of a bitch to help me. I would have done much more for him."

More than murder? Becca shook with anger, but held it in. Finally, Sonja looked up and raised her chin.

"You'll find Isabel buried in the old theater, to the right of the stage behind a brick wall. She's been there all along. Brogan bricked the body in the wall with the cement and equipment left behind. And he had Cavanaugh suspend the renovation for a while, to make sure no one would notice the smell and the finished wall. From what Matt said, he never told Cavanaugh what happened, but the old man did him a favor, no questions asked."

Out of the blue, Sonja laughed, a coldhearted hollow sound. "Matt dumped me after that. Threatened me with a knife to stay away. But knowin' what I did and where the body was buried had been his insurance I'd do what he said. Since he helped me, guess the insurance worked both ways."

Becca couldn't hide her reaction this time. Sonja confessed to killing a friend and reduced the murder to nothing more than a catalyst to a breakup with her boyfriend. Unbelievable!