Gas Station Owner’s Daughter Disappeared at a Quinceañera — Six Years Later, This Happened

Roberto Alejandro Vázquez Hernández closed the cash register at his gas station on López Mateos Avenue. Six years had passed since his daughter Valentina disappeared during a quinceañera party, and every night when he closed the business, he remembered she had never come home on the night of April 15, 2017.

The janitor, Rodrigo Pérez Villanueva, had been working at the gas station for two years. That afternoon, while cleaning the service area, he noticed that one of the floor tiles near the back storage room had come loose. When he lifted it to repair it, he found a plastic bag buried just beneath the surface.

“Mr. Vázquez, you need to see this!” shouted Esteban from the back lot.

Roberto walked over to where his employee stood. Esteban held a transparent bag containing a pink cell phone with butterfly stickers, several documents, and a silver bracelet engraved in cursive with the name Valentina.

“Where did this come from?” asked Roberto, feeling his legs shake.

“It was buried here under this tile. Looks like someone hid it years ago,” replied Esteban, handing him the bag.

Roberto instantly recognized the phone. It was the same one he had given Valentina for her 15th birthday, just two months before she disappeared. The bracelet was also hers; she had worn it the day of her friend Sofía Beatriz Mendoza Jiménez’s quinceañera. Inside the bag there was also Valentina’s school ID, a pharmacy receipt dated April 14, 2017, and a handwritten note that read: “Everything is planned for tomorrow, nobody will suspect a thing. DCR.”

Roberto immediately called Inspector Joaquín Gabriel Torres Santa María, who had led the original investigation into Valentina’s disappearance. Torres arrived at the gas station 30 minutes later with a team of forensic technicians.

“Don Roberto, in six years this is the first real lead we’ve had,” said Torres, examining the evidence.

“Do you have any idea who could have buried this here?”

“My business is open day and night. Many people have access to the back lot—employees, suppliers, even customers who use the restroom,” Roberto explained. “But no one but us knew that Valentina had lost her phone the night she disappeared.”

Inspector Torres photographed each item. The pharmacy receipt showed the purchase of sleeping pills and medical bandages. The buyer had paid in cash at 6:00 p.m. on April 14, 2017—the day before Valentina vanished.

“The initials ‘DCR’ on the note—do they mean anything to you?” asked Torres.

Roberto shook his head, but Esteban interrupted:

“I remember on the night of the party, when people were still looking for the girl, a young man came here asking if anything had been found. He was tall, dark-skinned, maybe 18. Said he was Valentina’s friend.”

“Do you recall his name?”

“No. But Mrs. Carmen talked to him—she thought it was strange that he came by so often,” Esteban replied.

At that moment, Carmen Esperanza Morales de Vázquez, Valentina’s mother, arrived after Roberto called her. When she saw the evidence, she broke down.

“That phone—I gave it to her for her birthday. She treated it like gold,” Carmen cried. “How did it end up here? We searched everywhere that night.”

Torres ordered immediate forensic analysis. The phone was sent to a lab to recover digital data, fingerprints were lifted from every object, and the note was photographed for handwriting analysis.

“Don Roberto, I’ll need a full list of everyone who has worked here since 2017. And I’ll need the names of all Valentina’s friends, especially those who were at the party that night,” Torres instructed.

Roberto complied. The list included 12 former employees, six regular suppliers, and about 20 of Valentina’s friends and classmates who attended Sofía’s quinceañera. Carmen recalled details of that night:

“Valentina went to the party with Sofía. They were so happy. Sofía’s mother told me that Valentina left the hall around 11:00 p.m., but Sofía thought she had just gone to the bathroom.”

“Did Valentina have a boyfriend at the time?” Torres asked.

“No. She was very studious. Her friends had boyfriends, but she always said she wanted to finish school first,” Carmen answered.

Torres revisited the original case file. In 2017, authorities had interrogated all party attendees, reviewed surveillance cameras, and conducted extensive searches within 50 km of Guadalajara. They had never found a trace of Valentina.

“The problem is, in 2017 we didn’t have this evidence. Now we can start a completely new investigation,” Torres explained.

He personally went to the pharmacy mentioned on the receipt. It was still operating. Though there were no surveillance tapes from 2017, the pharmacist confirmed that a cash purchase of sleeping pills and bandages had been made at 6:30 p.m. on April 14. Likely, he said, by “a young man.”

Back at the prosecutor’s office, Torres cross-checked names. “DCR” matched one person exactly: Diego Armando Castillo Ruiz—Sofía’s boyfriend in 2017.

Step by step, contradictions emerged. Witnesses had seen Valentina speaking with Diego at the party, though he claimed not to know her well. Phone records recovered from Valentina’s device revealed her final message at 10:43 p.m.: “I’m leaving now, where do we meet?”—sent to Diego’s number.

The new evidence dismantled Diego’s 2017 testimony. Forensics from the bag, the recovered phone, and later searches at Diego’s apartment revealed photographs of Valentina taken without her knowledge, notes tracking her movements, and communication with accomplices—including Mauricio Guzmán and Fernando Moreno, known petty criminals.

The investigation snowballed.

Forensic teams located a hidden SUV in Mauricio’s property, containing fabric fibers matching Valentina’s dress from that night, and blood traces in the trunk. Under questioning, Mauricio cracked:

“Inspector, I only helped transport her. I didn’t kill anyone,” he admitted.

Soon after, Sofía too confessed:

“Diego told me he liked Valentina. He asked me to share her schedules. He said he just wanted to meet her. I didn’t know he was going to hurt her… He threatened me after she disappeared.”

The circle tightened. Finally, when confronted with evidence—including Valentina’s last text—Diego confessed.

“I never wanted her to die. I just wanted her to be with me,” he told Torres.

But Diego described how Fernando Moreno strangled Valentina in June 2017, after keeping her captive in a hidden house in Tlajomulco for 45 days. Moreno later forced Diego and Mauricio to bury her body and scatter her belongings—including the phone and bracelet—beneath tiles at her father’s gas station, “as a cruel joke.”

Six years later, forensic teams exhumed remains from a shallow grave at that Tlajomulco house. DNA confirmed it was Valentina. The autopsy revealed prolonged captivity, abuse, and torture.

The case cracked wide open.

Through confessions, phone records, and financial trails, Inspector Torres uncovered a full human-trafficking network operating in Guadalajara between 2015 and 2020. At its head was businessman Javier Mendoza Salinas—ironically the uncle of Sofía. Former police commander Ricardo Emilio Salinas Medina had protected the ring, sabotaging investigations. At least 32 young women had been abducted, eight murdered, the rest sold into trafficking networks across Mexico.

Valentina was their youngest victim.

The arrests shook Jalisco: businessmen, politicians, judges, and police officers were implicated. Dozens were charged. Torres’ team dismantled the network completely, exposing systemic corruption.

For Roberto and Carmen Vázquez, the truth was devastating but finally gave closure.

“My daughter cannot return, but her case will help other families find their daughters,” Roberto said at the public memorial.

By 2023, reforms were in place: a specialized anti-trafficking unit, cross-checking protocols to prevent sabotage, compensation funds for victims’ families, and stronger witness protection.

On April 15, 2024—seven years after Valentina’s disappearance—Inspector Torres visited the memorial Roberto had built at the gas station. It now bore photographs of all the victims.

“Inspector, have they found the girls sold to other states?” Roberto asked.

Torres nodded. “Twelve have been located and rescued. Eight returned home. Four chose to start new lives elsewhere. And for those still missing—we keep searching.”

Valentina’s case had become a national reference point. New investigative methodologies developed from it were adopted across Mexico.

Her name, once whispered in grief, now stood as a symbol of justice, reform, and the fight against human trafficking.