Page 29 of 25 Alive

The house was in darkness, but he’d been here before. He knew where the chairs, end tables, and entertainment unit were, and how to avoid them. He also knew where the mainstaircase was. He headed for it and started to climb, then crossed the landing and took the remaining stairs to the second floor. He paused at the half open bedroom door and listened for movement or any sound—but heard nothing.

Garza slipped into the bedroom and stood with his back to the wall. He could see by the light of the clock on the nightstand that two forms were lying on the bed. Taking two steps toward the bed, he pulled out his stolen gun and aimed it at the man gently snoring beside his wife. He fired into the center left of the man’s chest, killing him instantly.

Sandy stirred and rolled toward her husband, giving Garza a clear shot of the back of her skull. He fired and her body bucked. She turned over again, this time toward Garza. His shot had landed but hadn’t killed her.

She sputtered, “Who are you? What did you do?” Her eyes opened and her left hand flew to the side of her head.

“Sandy. Do what I say,” Garza instructed. “Turn over. Put your arms around your husband.”

Garza shot her again, this time in the forehead, and gave the husband another shot to the heart for good measure.

Neither of his targets moved. But Garza wasn’t finished yet. He rearranged the bodies so that they were lying face down and administered the coups de grâce.

Based on the bedside clock, less than twenty minutes had passed since Garza first stepped into the room. He left the bedroom and walked down the hallway to the bathroom, where he placed his bounty in the bathtub, along with the machete. He removed his hoodie, turned it inside out, and tied it around his waist. Then he washed his face and hands, ran water over the machete, and dried off with a bath towel.He took the towel, the gun, and his machete with him, and returned to the ground level.

He collected his bag of tools. Then Tiago Garza left the same way he came in.

It was just before noon when, nine and a half hours after leaving number 1848 and crossing the border between San Diego and Tijuana, Garza drove his truck to a prearranged spot outside a junkyard in La Joya, where his friend Juan Carlos Allende greeted him. They exchanged a few words as Juan Carlos opened the gates. Garza drove the truck into the asymmetrical mess of a junkyard, then took out the bag of tools and handed the truck’s keys to his friend, along with a folded inch of cash. He tossed the hoodie into the fire that burned in a fifty-five-gallon drum.

Juan Carlos in turn handed Garza the keys to a late-model Honda as well as a cage holding two chickens. Garza got into the car, pulling his wallet with Mexican ID from between the front seats. Twenty minutes later, he was at his house near Tijuana. As he carried the chickens into the backyard, he said to them, “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”

He killed, gutted, and plucked the birds in the yard, then brought the carcasses inside to be thoroughly cleaned.

His wife, Luisa, hugged and kissed him in greeting.

“Sweetheart, please put the birds in the sink,” she said in Spanish. She poured two glasses of wine and asked, “How did it go?”

“I don’t think there will be a trial anytime soon,” Garza told his wife. “It was a good day.”

CHAPTER47

JULIE AND I visited Martha on Sunday morning.

Dr. Clayton’s waiting room was full of adorable pets and their owners. Julie was ecstatic. She talked to everyone and everything. Finally, the door to the examination room opened and Dr. Barbara Clayton called us in. Julie and I saw our favorite border collie lying on the table.

“Gentle, okay?” Dr. Clayton cautioned my little girl. “We don’t want her to rip her stitches out, right?”

Martha and Julie were so very excited to see each other, and I was part of all that love and reconciliation. Julie and I put our arms around her, ruffled her fur, and cooed at her. And Martha lapped it up. She whined, barked, and wagged her tail, but she couldn’t stand up on her hind legs. I saw that her back was shaved and bandaged. My old doggie turned her big brown eyes on me and yipped and kissed me. I interpreted her high-pitched yipping asPlease break me out of here.

After another minute of hugs and sloppy kisses, Dr. Claytongently maneuvered our furry kid back into her cage. Martha became distressed when the cage door was closed, which almost wrecked me and Julie both. Jules was saying, “If Martha stays here, so do I.”

I picked up my squirming and tearful daughter and thanked Dr. Clayton, who said, “I should have the labs back tomorrow. I’ll call you.” It was painful, but we had to leave Martha with our vet for a still unknown number of days.

I was heading out to run some errands and had just dropped Julie off at home with Mrs. Rose when I heard police sirens screaming. They got louder, closing in on me from behind.

I pulled over to the curb so the cruisers could pass—and one of them pulled up in front of the Explorer and stopped, blocking me in.

What was this? I hadn’t been speeding. I hadn’t gone through a red light. I saw in my rearview mirror that the cop driving the police car had leaped out of it and was coming toward me. I knew that cop very well, but seeing him on the street, striding toward me, froze my brain. Had something happened to Joe? To Yuki?

I got out of my car and met him halfway between our vehicles while trying to read his grim expression.

“Brady. What’s wrong?”

“Double homicide,” he said. “Boxer, I need you to follow me in your vehicle, okay?”

“Where are we going?” I asked, but Brady was already back in his car and buckled up. He hit the lights and sirens, full bore as I followed him to Divisadero Street, then south.

I stared holes through the windshield and kept tight on Brady’s tail. Traffic ahead pulled over to let us pass. The car radio crackled, but I couldn’t make out what dispatch was saying over the racket of the sirens.

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