The Border Town Murders

By Melissa Renee St. Angel

Kayleigh Reilly, a young, feisty social worker, lives with her dignified cat Niles and investigates child welfare cases in Dom Sangre, New Mexico, an area rife with poverty, oppression, drug trafficking and illegal immigration. Among Kay’s colleagues is a community patriarch, Manuel Ortega. An affable man with a colorful past, Manuel has assisted Kay’s department in providing a loving home for foster children. But soon Manuel’s character is called into question. A teenage girl, Anna Salvadore, a former child of the foster system, turns up brutally murdered. Preliminary evidence collected by the local police department implicates Manuel who is also the young woman’s uncle. Kay doesn’t believe Manuel is guilty for a minute, but despite attempts to persuade homicide detectives Flores and Hardigan, her friend ends up in jail, awaiting arraignment for murder.

Believing in Manuel’s innocence, Kay beings to look into Anna’s murder, and the people who knew her. She enlists the aide of Marc Fierro, a young border patrol agent and friend. Also assisting Kay’s efforts is the gruff and reluctantly helpful Detective Flores, as well as P.J., a young mystery woman and friend of Anna’s. The more Kay investigates Anna’s murder, the more the circumstantial evidence mounts against Manuel. To make matters worse, P.J. proves an elusive informant and goes on the run. All the while, a sadistic killer seems to be stalking the silent streets of Dom Sangre, searching for more prey. Aware that time is running out for both P.J. and Manuel, Kay doubles her efforts to locate P.J., putting herself in more danger. Can Kay catch up with P.J. before the killer catches up with her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Renee St. Angel
• Release date: Mar 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9780615995588

Melissa Renee St. Angel

Melissa Renee St. Angel is a former Social Worker and freelance Author. Melissa enjoys reading, mostly mysteries, and writing on a variety of topics. Melissa also enjoys travel, has lived in many states within the US and has also lived abroad.

Book preview

Chapter One: Beginning

Saturday

In a small New Mexico town with nothing but the sound of Cicadas drifting in from an open window to keep her company, Kayleigh Riley sat in her office wiping sleep from her eyes. Despite being late in September, the desert night was unseasonably warm. It was nearly one am and she had just been summoned from her worm, cozy bed to take custody of two young children from a young couple strung out on Meth and taking potshots at each other. Kayleigh, or Kay as she preferred to be called, was attempting to complete the requisite paperwork and locate emergency foster placements for two children. The children were sitting opposite Kay on the worn sofa, drawn, pinched faces framing downcast eyes. The two girls had given up on communicating, as they spoke only Spanish and had quickly realized that Kay could only fumble through rudimentary phrases. Kay had placed a call to a bilingual coworker, hoping to negotiate some charitable assistance, but no one else was on-call or answering. Unable to elicit aid, Kay struggled to complete the forms required for temporary foster placement. Abruptly, a sharp trill sounded from the oldest child's denim jacket pocket. The child, Lupe, furtively reached into her pocket and liberated a small, shiny cell phone. The child's velvet brown eyes, red-rimmed from crying, locked with Kay's, forming a silent question May I answer? Kay eagerly nodded her assent and, forgotten paperwork askew on her desk, perched on the edge of her seat to listen to Lupe's side of a conversation Kay hoped included a biological relative. Kay listened with burgeoning hope as Lupe's melodic Spanish became laden with emotion and pleading. "Por Favor Tio? The older child cried. Kay reached her hand out toward the phone as the child's conversation dissolved into a torrent of sobs. Kay put a comforting arm around the girl and spoke into the phone. Hola, habla Ingles? A heavily accented male voice replied with the most welcome words Kay had heard in a long while. Yes, yes, this Manuel Ortega, Lupe's grandfather, to whom am I speaking?"

Kay's face, pale and tired only moments before, lit up with a beatific smile. Several months ago, Kay had placed a young boy whose mother was arrested crossing the border illegally and temporarily placed him with an uncle, Manuel Ortega. In a town as small as Dom Sangre, purportedly named for the blood-red color of the sun when the town was founded, it was not such an unusual coincidence. Nor was it unusual for one individual to serve as a relative placement for more than one child in a separate child welfare investigation. Dom Sangre was nestled in a geographical area comprised of large, culturally-enriched families and linked, overlapping community networks. Over the course of working together, Kay had gotten to know Manuel well and held immense affection and respect for the man. Kay recalled that Manuel, at only 57 years old was the patriarch of a large family with 5 sons, 3 daughters, more than a dozen grandchildren, and one or two great-grandchildren. Although he had been a solid community citizen for many years, attended church, and looked after his large brood, he was occasionally followed by the shadow of his multiple drug convictions in his 20s and 30s. Kay had had to advocate for Manuel as a suitable relative placement for his young nephew.

Manuel, this is Kayleigh Riley, I'm the worker on-call this evening.

"Kay, I am so happy it is you. Lupe and Perla have had such a difficult time since their tia passed last month. The good lord knows their mother is no good at taking care of the little ones. Bitterness toward his wayward daughter tinged his voice. With you, I know they are in the best hands possible until you can get them to me."

Well, that won't be very long at all. Kay grabbed her paperwork, stuffed it in her brief case, and slung a sweater over her shoulders to combat the chilly desert night. I’m on my way to you now. Lupe and her younger sister Perla, both with the shine of intelligence in their eyes, seemed to understand that they were about to be delivered to their grandfather. For the first time since Kay arrived on the scene, the girls resembled the children they were, as they jumped from their seats and ran toward Kay.

Kay moved toward the door while Manuel continued to talk in her ear "Wonderful, wonderful, you can try some of the menudo I made earlier for dinner. I make it so wonderful, when I left home to go working, I spent nights at a small restaurante where they had the best cook in all of Chihuahua. I stay there and help for free and he show me how to make a very spicy menudo, with jalapeno. I stay there for many years, working two, three jobs, but always working nights in that restaurante. I became cook’s protegido he start letting me serve the guests and eventually he allowed me to wine and dine his prettiest hija", Manuel chuckled, causing Kay to remember fondly how, at the Border Patrol station, while Kay and Manuel’s nephew, Alonzo, waited for a particularly gorgeous Border Patrol agent to finish processing paperwork, Manuel regaled the three of them with fantastical stories from his youth, as if he had known Kay and the agent for years. Kay had thought that handsome agent Fierro was going to volunteer to accompany them back into town, as enamored as he appeared to be of Manuel's engaging narratives.

Kay laughed into the phone "I look forward to trying your medudo. I'm sure it outdoes anything The Cactus serves. I’ll see you in about thirty." Sleep forgotten with warm memories and laughter coloring her fair cheeks, Kay ushered the children out of her office, down the hallway corridors and out of the heavily alarmed door. After loading the children into the back seat and propping her briefcase beside her on the passenger seat, Kay turned on the vehicle. A crooked smile crept onto her full mouth as she continued to recall the afternoon spent at the Border Patrol station, listening to Manuel's stories. A picture of the dark-haired, dark-eyed Border Patrol agent formed in her mind and the crooked smile turned sly. Too bad he hadn't come back to town, she thought. From her recollection, Marc Fierro lived in Columbus, on the border of the United States and Mexico, and rarely made it as far north as Dom Sangre.

Kay navigated her trusty 2006 silver Toyota Corolla through a labyrinth of unmarked, dirt roads, her hi-beams sweeping, with ghostly light, across tumble weed and cacti, the excited whispers of the children in the back seat the only sound in the still night. After close to 25 minutes of labored night driving, Kay emerged from the surreal tableau and entered a cluster of five mobile homes haphazardly scattered across a stretch of property. Here, the stillness ended. Light and sound spilled out of the windows of each of the mobile homes and there were throngs of people situated around the property. Each mobile home belonged to an Ortega, as the family was as close as they were large. Men, women, teenagers, elders, and even several dogs turned to acknowledge Kay's approach with curious faces. Apparently, Manuel had woken the entire family up.

Separating from shadow, amongst the throng, a huge bear of a man with a broad smiling face and perpetually smiling eyes strode toward Kay's vehicle. Kay recognized Manuel instantly and she broke out in a matching smile as her two young charges unhooked their seatbelts and made their escape from the car. Kay, rather than halting the eager children, hurried her own movements and, ever-present paperwork in hand, rushed out to greet Manuel. Manuel threw his large arms around his grandchildren and swept them up into a bear's embrace. Nearly two hours later, Kay was back again in her bed, glad that it was Saturday and, assuming she did not receive any other emergency calls, able to catch up on her sleep and her housework before returning to work. Kay fell into a deep, peaceful slumber, unaware of the turmoil the following weeks would bring into her life.

Only a few miles from Manuel Ortega’s peaceful dwelling, a scene of horror was being cataloged in stark detail. Click. A pale thigh, made paler by the incandescent light given off by the camera’s flash, peeked out from the frayed hem of a girlish pink robe. Both the well-worn robe and the pale, vulnerable thigh were smeared with several thick slashes of red. Above the robe's sash, the pink fabric gaped open to reveal a slim column of torso rising slightly with small breasts, marred with a collection of vulgar wounds. Many of the wounds were deep frenzied slashes, mirroring the work done on the young girl's right hip and thigh. Several of the wounds, clustered near the heart, were deep wide punctures, the ragged flesh on the edges of each depression puckered and stained with blood.

Blood. There was so much blood. A sharp noise signaled another crime scene photograph being captured and the body was again starkly illuminated, the blood making a crimson contrast to the unnatural pale of dead flesh. Detective Flores let a nearly inaudible sigh escape as his partner, Detective Hardigan, a handful of Dom Sangre PD officers, and several crime scene techs, on loan from Albuquerque, nervously circled the body lying prone on the floor of the small apartment, unused to such brutality.

Detectives Flores and Hardigan had both been pulled from serene slumber after an anonymous tip of a domestic row had led officers on duty to a murder scene. Homicide happened occasionally in Dom Sangre, usually gang related, but most of the local PD had never seen such a gruesome display. Flores’ trained eyes slowly swept back and forth across the studio apartment, with its worn Grey carpet and shabby, second-hand furniture. There were unwashed dishes on the small, squat coffee table and the tiny television set across from the table was broadcasting a psychic hotline infomercial. Other than the thread-bare sofa set, coffee table, and t.v., there was little else in the central room. Not even a framed photo. A denim purse was slung over the doorknob of a tiny coat closet.

Flores' eyes reluctantly returned to the slender form at his feet. With a heavy heart he took in the smoothness of her skin and the delicacy of her young features. He noted that, had her face not been wearing a frozen grimace of pain, she would have been a lovely teenage girl. Who would want to destroy such innocence? Hand clad in latex, he gingerly lifted the robe away from the girl's torso. Only then was the full extent of crime's brutality realized and Detective Flores, after over two decades on the force, and 11 years working homicides, found his stomach heaving.

Chapter Two

Sunday

The man crouched in the inky darkness, enclosed by silence. The only sounds offending his ears were the intermittent rustling of the wind and the occasional chirp of crickets. In his space, the quiet and the dark reigned, like a void empty of all life and light. Only the man was present in his space, crouched, an expression of rapture on his face, as his calloused finger pushed against the serrated knife edge. A trembling gasp broke from lips that stretched into a smile as he broke the skin on his finger, allowing his blood to mix with the dried blood on the knife. With this act, the man unified his life force with that of the soul for which the knife had been painstakingly chosen from a collection of deadly metal. The knife, bearing silent witness to the merging of two life forces, two powers, two energies, would rest in its secret place, never to be cleansed and never to be discovered.

Detective Flores examined the piece of paper in his hand, an eyebrow arched quizzically. No matter how many times he stared at the evidence, he could not get his mind wrapped around the fact that a man he had known most of his years could be capable of the carnage Flores and his partner had discovered in the small apartment nestled within Dom Sangre’s quaint downtown. But Flores had served in Vietnam and had seen good men, innocent boys, really, be driven to brutality. A frown tugging down the corners of his mustachioed mouth, Flores recalled the things he had done in the line of duty, and how the average person might be repulsed. Still, this was different. This was not wartime in a distant land. It had been a weeknight in a small town, and a young girl had lost her life in the most heinous of manners. This killing was a whole different box of frogs. Flores' fatigued eyes returned to the scrap of paper in his hand.

You ready to pick him up?

Startled, Flores turned to find his partner looking over his shoulder. Hardigan slouched in his plainclothes, his attitude one of careless indifference. Hardigan was fairly new to the community and had no reason to be shocked by the identity of the prime suspect in Anna Salvador’s murder. All he saw was the man's rap sheet, lengthened considerably by the numerous indiscretions of his early adulthood that he could not quite escape. Flores felt a flash of irritation at his partner, and sympathy for his former school-mate. The sympathy swiftly turned to resignation as he remembered above all he a member of law enforcement and his victim deserved justice. Yeah, let's go.

Chapter Three

Monday

After a restful Sunday, Kay was, once again, crammed into her small, utilitarian office, second-hand furniture littered with papers. Although she had rested for the better part of the weekend, her face was pinched with stress. Kay considered closing her office door as the sounds of her co-workers sniping wafted down the hallway. Kay rose half-way out of her seat to do just that when her boss Jeanine, a sprightly older woman with a steel-gray bob, stuck her head in Kay's doorway and issued a terse command. Kayleigh, I need you in my office please. Kay, puzzled, moved around her desk to follow her supervisor to a more spacious and well decorated office, with combinations of South Western and Asian pieces of art and furniture. Jeanine's taste was one of the things Kay admired most about her.

What's up? Kay queried, taking a seat on Jeanine's plush love seat.

I need you to find alternate placement for the Gomez girls.

"Why?" Not giving Jeanine a chance to finish her request, Kay jumped from her seat, color blooming on her cheeks, ready to battle for the foster parent she had staunchly defended in the past.

Normally Jeanine overlooked Kay's feisty, bordering on insubordinate attitude, but this time, Jeanine held up a hand and spoke slowly, firmly. Sit down Kay.

Kay regarded her boss with wariness. At that moment, Jeanine resembled a coiled snake ready to strike, her muscles contracted by a tension that seemed to vibrate throughout the room.

What happened, Jeanine?

Manuel Ortega was arrested for murder early this morning. Jeanine continued, ignoring Kay's open mouthed shock. The Gomez children were being watched by one of his sisters and law enforcement didn't see the need to remove immediately. However, considering the nature of the crime, I think it’s best to remove the children from the family's care, until this is sorted out. If you find other relatives to place them with, be sure they are not closely involved with Manuel. I need you to work your way down the list of foster families and see who can take them as soon as possible.

Jeanine, please… Kay leaned forward in her seat, unfazed by her boss's cool demeanor What exactly happened?

Well… The word escaped Jeanine's mouth in a sigh. The tension seemed to leave her body along with her words as leaned back into her chair. You remember Anna Salvador? If you remember, you placed her with her aunt, Manuel Ortega's wife, a couple years ago. Anna’s mother never completed her treatment plan and Anna stayed with the Ortegas until about three months ago, when she was emancipated and moved into her own apartment. She was found in her apartment sometime over the weekend, murdered. Stabbed to death. Jeanine paused, and Kay felt the room spin. Although Kay had not known Anna very well, she had run into the teen on several occasions when Eli, Anna's social worker, had brought her to the office. Kay could recall her painfully-thin frame and haunted, topaz eyes, overly made up with eyeliner and shadow. Anna had always appeared to be hunched over, as if she were trying to disappear inside of herself, her mask of make-up aging her well beyond her years.

Kay looked at her hands, clutched in her lap, and tried to control the thoughts cart-wheeling through her mind. Not Manuel, she finally said. Jeanine reached over and, in a stiff gesture, placed a hand over Kay's clenched fists.

They had enough evidence to make an arrest Kay.

Don't patronize me, Jeanine. Kay bit her sentence off, realizing she may have crossed a line, but Jeanine's unlined face remained impassive.

I am truly sorry that a man you went to bat for in the past has done this to one of our children. Jeanine withdrew her hand from Kay's and paused dramatically. "But this was done to one of our children and they have arrested Manuel Ortega for the crime. We need to do our part to hold things together now, which includes you finding an alternate placement for the girls you placed in his home."

Kay bristled at the accusation couched in Jeanine's words. I will do my job, but I know that Manuel did not do this.

Jeanine shook her head and sighed.

Stomach ill, emotions reeling, Kay chose to ignore her boss's patronizing attitude and left the office, before she did something she might truly regret. Kay returned her office with a purposeful stride. Her first call, of course, would be to a foster home to locate somewhere for the Gomez children to go. Her next call would be to Dom Sangre PD to find out exactly what in Hell was going on.

●

Three hours later, Kay sat opposite Detectives Flores and Hardigan at the Dom Sangre Police Station. It was the end of Kay's shift and she had spirited the Gomez girls to an alternate foster home, indefinitely. Now, she was determined to get to the bottom of the accusations against Manuel. After all, the life of a good man, and Kay’s own reputation were on the line. Regarding Flores’ cool sympathetic mask, Kay sensed the older detective was convinced that Manuel Ortega was a guilty man. The younger Detective Hardigan appeared even less sympathetic to Kay's feelings. His cold blue eyes drilled into Kay’s and an insolent smirk twisting his beefy lips.

So, Hardigan drawled, a bright college grad like yourself should be able to figure out that, if Ortega's family members haven't been able to change our minds about the situation, then you aren't going to accomplish much down here, considering you've only met the man once.

Kay bristled and, through clenched teeth, ground out, "Several times, I’ve worked with him several times. Sometimes for months on end!"

Flores expelled a sigh, the air disturbing the stray hairs of his black mustache. He appeared embarrassed at his partner's lack of social grace and avoided making eye-contact with Kay.

Oh, so sorry. Sarcasm dripped from Hardigan's words. "Several times. I guess that makes you an expert, then."

Kay glared at Hardigan, wanting to smite him with her furious, green gaze.

Ms. Riley, thank you for coming down, Flores interjected quickly, as if he were trying to prevent a second murder being committed in the sleepy little town of Dom Sangre. He continued with, in Kay’s opinion, genuine sincerity in his voice. "It's obvious that you care about Manuel Ortega and that you care justice is served. But the evidence isn't going to change and the evidence is what we have to operate from. I'm sure you understand. If anything does change, I will personally notify you. And, of course, if you happen to come by additional information, don't hesitate to call us."

Kaye stood while Hardigan let out a juvenile grunt and rolled his eyes.

Flores ignored him and reached across his desk for a business card. Please don’t hesitate to call if anything comes up, he said, handing the card to Kay. Kay took the card, smiled politely at Flores, shot a couple of extra daggers at Hardigan, turned on her heel, and strode out of the office. As Kay exited the police department, she glanced down at the card in her hand and recalled Flores' parting words. If anything comes up… she murmured to herself.

Approaching her Toyota, she noticed one of the windshield wipers was lifted up and away from the windshield, drawing attention. She warily circled to the front of her car and noticed the opposite wiper was pinning down a small scrap of paper. Intrigued, she slid the folded note paper from under the wiper and opened it. Two simple sentences.

Don’t talk to the cops about Anna. They can’t be trusted.

Kay's brows rose into her hairline as she gripped the paper and scanned it again. Who was this? An associate of Anna’s? She scanned the parking lot. Aside from about 30 vehicles, the lot was empty. There didn’t appear to be anyone hunkered down in any of the vehicles either, from Kay’s vantage point. A chill crawled up her arms and danced across the back of her neck as she considered the content of the note. Sure, it could’ve been written by a prankster or a crackpot, but what if it wasn’t? Kay decided she would work this without the assistance of Dom Sangre’s finest for now.

Kay felt a pang of guilt as she climbed into her Toyota, remembering her promise to Flores that she would pass along any information. Like this note. She mumbled to herself, tucking the lined paper into her briefcase. Flores seemed like an alright guy, but one could never tell. She bit her lip and eased the car into drive. Better safe than sorry. Pulling out of the parking lot, Kay swerved sharply onto the road that would take her back toward the office, leaving a peaceful evening at home in the dust.

Monday Evening

The chubby girl with unwashed, dirty-blond hair collapsed exhausted on the threadbare couch. She had practically traversed the small town on foot, stopping by the PD parking lot and then to the other side of town to her friend’s house. She was covered with sweat and grime and cradled a half Bologna sandwich in grubby hands, straining to wrap her mouth around the entire thing.

"Damn, girl! laughed a lanky, olive-skinned man with missing teeth and jaundiced eyes. How long it been since you ate?"

I been runnin' Joe, the girl said through her mouth of food, her red-rimmed eyes filling with tears. She's dead and I know why. If they know I know, I'm dead too.

"Who's she? And who's they? the girl's strung-out companion demanded. And do I need to be worried 'bout myself?"

She is…was my best friend. The girl turned her head from him, hiding her tears, and took a long swig from a piss-warm bottle of Coke. I think we're safe. They'd never think to look for me here. They don't even know about you.

"Shorty, everybody knows everybody in this place, so chances are someone knows you and I go way back. An you still ain't tole me who they are."

"Not really they… She paused, her posture and expression transforming from hardened street urchin to scared little girl. Him. And if he finds me here, I guess we're both dead."

Kayleigh sat hunched over her keyboard, half-eaten breakfast burrito forgotten on her desk. By 7:30pm, she had still not made much progress in her grand plan to single-handedly prove Manuel Ortega's innocence. Kay's coworkers were notoriously remiss in taking detailed notes and, as a result, there was very little information contained in either the hard file or the computer database, regarding Anna Salvador's background. Anna's case worker, Eli, was exceptionally poor at maintaining current documentation and had not left Kay much to work with. Furthermore, his penmanship was terrible, and Kay was developing a migraine trying to decipher it. She would talk to the man in person, but she didn’t particularly like him and doubted that he would welcome her intrusion into his files. He had always struck her as being somewhat territorial. The last time she had asked to look in the case file of a shared client, he had demanded to know why and then continued to gaze on her with paranoid suspicion for a whole week following.

She sighed in frustration and pushed the papers on her desk aside with her elbows, placing her head in her hands. I need help. The task was too daunting for one person, even one of Kay's determined will. But whom could she trust to help her? Mentally scanning through the short list of coworkers, Kay realized the list of those she trusted was even shorter. Making a leap of faith, she picked up the phone to call her favorite CYFD investigator, Yvette Murphy, located on the other side of the complex. After several minutes of conversation, Yvette expressed sympathy and understanding in her clipped New England accent but also expressed hesitance.

"Kay, I think

Reviews for The Border Town Murders

[d_borahb · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Not really able to care about the characters in this book...mystery is why I read the entire book. This author should continue to improve with every book reading this 1 gave that impression.