Evan’s phone rang before Mitch could accuse him of encouraging the dog. It was Guillory calling back. He went back into the kitchen and out into the garage to get some privacy and get out of Mitch’s way.
‘This better be good, Evan.’
In the background he heard glasses clinking, men talking in both Spanish and English, a jukebox playing.
‘Sorry to spoil your date.’
‘I’m not on a date.’
‘Whatever you want to call it.’
‘Five ... four ... three ...’
‘Okay, okay. I got another message from Hendricks. Delivered in person by Floyd Gray and his Doberman, Marlene.’
‘Marlene?’
‘Yeah, nice name, except when it’s trying to bite your head off.’
‘Where was this?’
‘At my sister’s. Let me read it to you.’
He recited it to her, didn’t need to read it, then explained his problem.
‘The problem is, Mitch—’
‘Mitch is there too? You two didn’t have a punch up, did you?’
He laughed, more like a release of nervous energy.
‘No, we’re good, apart from the fact I let the dog sit on the couch. The problem is, he thinks I’m paranoid, won’t even consider the possibility that his family might be at risk.’
‘What’s your sister think?’
‘She’s out with a friend. Mitch doesn’t even want me to say anything about it to her.’
A long yawn came from her end of the line. He imagined her stretching like she always did when she was trying to think.
‘I still don’t think there’s anything we can do. I can just imagine trying to tell the captain I want to put a car outside the house around the clock because you got an ambiguous note and the house owner doesn’t want us involved.’
‘So we wait for him to abduct one of the kids?’
‘Uh-uh, don’t try to put any of that shit on me. This guy hasn’t actually done anything yet, apart from smash your windshield. He’s sent a few messages.’
‘And set his attack dog on me.’
‘Attack dog?’
‘Yes, attack dog. That’s what it did, attacked me.’
‘So every mutt that bites the mailman is an attack dog, is it?’
‘Thanks for taking it so seriously, Kate. I’ll let you get back to your date.’
Even down the phone line he heard the breath exiting her nostrils.
‘Okay, leave it with me. And it’s not a date.’
‘Of course it isn’t.’
‘You should have been quicker off the mark.’
The phone went dead in his ear.
Chapter 23
FIRST THING NEXT MORNING Evan went to see Anthony and Helen Fox, the couple he was certain had adopted Margarita’s baby. They were both still alive and active, a fact that was immediately evident when they both arrived at the front door at the same time and appeared to have a squabble over who was going to open it.
They were in their seventies, putting them in their mid-twenties when they adopted Franciso Javier Narvaez as he was at the time.
‘Mr and Mrs Fox?’
They both said yes at the same time. Evan introduced himself. They shook hands, Anthony Fox’s grip firm, his hand rough and callused, his wife’s not much different. As always, the best approach was to jump straight in.
‘I was hoping to talk to you about something that happened fifty years ago.’
A look passed between them, which he would have missed if he hadn’t been paying attention. They invited him in, led him through to a bright sitting room overlooking the back yard. A white cat was curled up asleep in the sun in front of the window. He admired the view. From the look of things, they spent most of their time working in the yard—which explained the feel of their hands.
He turned away from the window and glanced around the room, saw framed portraits of a couple of children, one boy, one girl, dotted around the room. All the usual suspects were there covering the different stages and milestones of their lives, grandchildren in the more recent ones.
It was exactly what you’d expect to see in the home of any elderly couple. The only unusual thing was, even from a distance, he could see that every photograph in the room was of a child or an adult with blond hair. And he’d bet, even without picking any of them up, every eye was blue—as were Anthony and Helen’s.
It wasn’t remotely possible the boy in the photographs was Margarita’s son, Francisco Javier. It was possible the Foxes adopted Francisco as well as having their own children. Surely there would be photographs of him as well. A framed photo montage had pride of place on the wall, no black hair standing out amongst all the blond.
The Foxes were looking at him strangely. Then Anthony Fox laughed.
‘Anyone would think we were the ones said we wanted to talk to you about something that happened fifty years ago, not the other way around.’
‘Sorry. I was distracted. I wanted to ask you about a complaint you made to the police—’
‘About Jesús—’
‘—Narvaez.’
He looked from one to the other. Anthony Fox had started talking and then his wife talked over the top of him. And it was like being back with Narvaez himself. Everybody on this case remembered everybody else. What did they need him for?
‘How did you know that?’
‘Because he’s the only person—’
‘—we ever made a complaint about to the police.’
Once again, his wife took the words out of his mouth. It was unnerving, as if they’d been practicing for this exact occasion. Or had been expecting it for fifty years.
‘Can you tell me what the complaint was about?’
‘He was—’
‘—stalking us.’
Anthony Fox gave his wife a dirty look.
‘Can Helen get you something to drink, Mr Buckley?’
‘No, you get it, Anthony, I’ll talk to Mr Buckley.’
They stared at each other, a stalemate, each as stubborn as the other. On the window ledge the cat stretched luxuriously and then jumped down. It crossed the room and rubbed itself against Evan’s legs. He reckoned there was more chance of the cat making him a cup of coffee than either of the Foxes.
‘It’s okay, I don’t want anything, thank you. When you say stalking, what exactly did he do?’
Neither of them said anything, looked at each other as if to say you talk then.
‘We saw him loitering. Watching the house.’
‘On three separate occasions.’
‘Four.’
‘It was very unsettling.’
‘Creepy.’
Anthony Fox gave Evan a small smile.
‘What my wife is alluding to is that—’
‘He looked like a freak!’
He put his hand on her knee, got it batted away for his trouble.
‘Don’t say that, it’s so unfair. He was horribly disfigured. His eye. I don’t know what had happened. And it was still fresh, the scars I mean. You don’t want anybody lurking in the shadows, watching you, and you certainly don’t want anybody looking like he did.’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Helen said. ‘He gave me nightmares.’
Evan gave it a couple of seconds, not wanting to belittle the trauma she had suffered.
‘Did he do anything else?’
‘We found the back door open one time.’
‘Twice. He’d been in the house.’
‘You don’t know that, dear.’
For a split second his hand hovered as if he was about to try another pat on the knee before he remembered what happened the last time.
‘Don’t dear me. He was in our house.’
‘Was anything taken?’
It was Helen Fox’s turn to laugh, a hollow noise that left Evan with an aftertaste of bitterness.
‘Not like you think.’
‘He didn’t steal anything,’ Anthony Fox said quickly, before Evan had a chance t
o ask her what she meant.
‘He followed us too,’ Helen said. ‘Followed me, I mean, when—’
‘So we reported it to the police before things got out of hand.’
They stared at each other, fifty years of something passing between them, although Evan had no idea what.
‘What did the police do?’
‘Sent somebody to wait in the house. Next time we saw him, we pointed him out.’
‘The policeman in the house called somebody on his radio.’
‘A police cruiser came and picked him up. He tried to run but they caught him.’
Evan was exhausted trying to follow the two of them back and forth, talking over each other.
‘Did anything happen after that?’
Once again, they stared at each other. Anthony Fox cleared his throat and swallowed, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. His wife produced a kleenex from the folds of her skirt. She started to pull it apart.
‘We never saw him again,’ Anthony said.
Evan was suddenly alert.
That wasn’t what I asked.
‘Do you know if anything happened to him?’
‘No.’
It was said with a finality that suggested the interview was at an end. There was nothing else they had, or wanted, to say. Evan stood up and admired the photo montage on the wall.
‘Good-looking kids.’
‘Thank you. Do you have any?’
‘No.’
He hoped he put a similar degree of finality into the word, stop dead any further questions, polite or otherwise.
‘There was something else I hoped to talk to you about.’
Anthony Fox nodded.
‘I know.’
‘I recently came across a birth certificate that listed the parents’ names as Anthony and Helen Fox. When I heard about the complaint you filed, I jumped to the conclusion that it was you.’
Anthony Fox’s head was bowed. Evan had the impression his eyes were closed. It was as if his wife wasn’t in the room, the depth of stillness that surrounded her. He plowed on regardless, couldn’t stop now, despite the effect his words were having.
‘It was an amended birth certificate, issued when the child was adopted. The child’s first names were Francisco Javier. The reason I thought it was you was because his surname was Narvaez.’
Neither Fox said a word. A stifled sob came from Helen’s direction.
‘Then I came here.’
He waved his arm, took in all the framed photographs, then walked over to the montage on the wall. He studied it closely, saw his first impressions had been correct, an unbroken sea of blond heads.
‘I saw the pictures of your children and grandchildren, saw that you hadn’t raised a dark-haired Latino boy.’
‘You’re right,’ Anthony Fox said, looking up at last, his eyes red-rimmed, ‘we didn’t raise Francisco Javier Narvaez. But we did adopt him.’
‘And that freak stole him from us,’ Helen screamed.
***
THE ECHOES OF HELEN Fox’s scream faded away leaving an empty silence, her whole body collapsed in on itself, head bowed.
‘You don’t know that, dear,’ her husband said quietly to the top of her head.
You’re a braver man than me, Evan thought, using the word dear again.
‘I know it’s true, even if you refuse to believe it.’
The words were barely more than a whisper, directed into her lap.
How many times had this argument been played out over the course of fifty years? Hundreds, maybe thousands.
Then Helen raised her head slowly and looked at her husband, a very different look in her eyes.
‘And don’t you dare’—the word froze Evan’s insides, even though it wasn’t directed at him—‘say it wasn’t my fault.’
Anthony Fox held his hands up, palms towards her. Evan reckoned that was a lesson he’d learned a long time ago. And learned well.
Neither man said anything, giving her time. It was her story, if it was going to be told at all. She dabbed at her eyes with what remained of the kleenex.
‘We couldn’t have children, not to begin with, so we decided to adopt. As you can no doubt see, we both come from a long line of anaemic, bloodless, blond-haired ...’
The words were harsh, her tone bitter, as if she was punishing herself. She shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut.
‘So, when we saw Francisco, we fell in love with him. He was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen—have ever seen. We didn’t care if he was Latino. He disappeared on January 12, 1966. We’d had him for exactly five days.’
The date hit Evan like a punch in the face. Francisco disappeared on the day Margarita took her own life. And whether or not Anthony Fox believed his wife, he sure as hell did.
The silence stretched out. Anthony Fox cleared his throat.
‘Shall I continue?’
‘Do what you like. You always have.’
Evan wanted to dissolve into the rug under his feet. He’d come here uninvited and dug all this up, releasing fifty years of pent-up, or maybe not so pent-up, pain. The means doesn’t always justify the end, he prayed it did this time.
‘There isn’t a lot to tell,’ Anthony said. ‘I was at work ...’
Something passed behind his eyes as he recognized the implied criticism in those few words, but he carried on.
‘Helen was at home with the baby—’
‘Francisco, not the baby.’
‘Helen was at home with Francisco. They were in the yard. The telephone rang—’
‘It was my mother.’
Evan saw what was coming, tried to guess how much of the blame the mother had to shoulder.
‘This was before cell phones, of course,’ Anthony continued. ‘Helen went inside to take the call, and ...’
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
‘Two minutes,’ Helen said, her voice flat, dead. ‘Not even that. Two minutes for that freak to—’
‘We called the police, of course.’
A short bark of a laugh came from Helen. Evan knew exactly what was behind it. The same sound had come out of his mouth bearing the same toxic emotions more times than he wanted to remember.
‘We told them again about Narvaez hanging around—’
‘The idiots would never have worked it out if we didn’t.’
If you could bottle bitterness and sell it the Foxes would be rich beyond their dreams, Evan thought to himself.
‘They went to his home. He wasn’t there. Francisco wasn’t there either—’
‘And you expect me to believe those two disappearances are a coincidence?’
Anthony Fox didn’t answer her, he’d no doubt tried before. His wife shook her head in despair or frustration.
‘Jesus wept.’
Evan let the silence hang for as long as seemed appropriate. Even the cat had stopped moving and was watching intently.
‘Did they find Narvaez?’
‘No.’
‘The police’s attitude—’
‘Helen, please.’
‘The police’s attitude was that he’d disappeared back to Mexico, maybe taking Francisco with him. And two illegals going back to where they belong, while not being as good as two hundred or two thousand, was a start, a move in the right direction.’
Her shoulders slumped, the outburst draining her. Despite that, the well of bitterness just kept on flowing.
‘After it was all over, I immediately fell pregnant. Apparently, it happens all the time. So everything ended happily after all.’
Not one of the three people in the room believed that for a second. Two of them knew better than to contradict her, though.
‘I’m going upstairs to lie down now. Anthony, you see Mr Buckley out.’
The two men watched her as she moved towards the door. Then she stopped and turned, faced Evan directly. He swallowed and braced himself. His turn now.
‘I know you’re only doing your job, Mr Buckley, but
please don’t call again.’
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Anthony said once she’d left the room.
‘No, it’s me who should be apologizing, causing you all this pain after all these years.’
Anthony shook his head.
‘Don’t worry, we do this January 12, every year, without fail. Sometimes I think it’s all that keeps her going.’
‘Did you ever find anything else out?’
Anthony shrugged.
‘We hired a private investigator after the police lost interest.’
Evan was struck by the uncanny similarity to his own situation, apart from the fact that he’d become one instead of hiring one. He was never going to be allowed to move on.
‘Are you okay?’ Anthony said.
‘I’m fine.’
‘The investigator found out about Francisco’s mother’—Evan nodded in response to his inquiring gaze—‘how she killed herself. And what had happened to her brother, to his face.’
Evan nodded again.
‘I know all about it.’
‘Helen always calls him a freak. I don’t think he had an easy time either.’
‘Do you think he abducted Francisco?’
Anthony was quiet a long time, fifty years of arguments going back and forth in his mind.
‘I don’t know. Probably. We paid the investigator to go down to Mexico, see if he could track down Narvaez.’
The rest of the sentence hung in the air between them.
And Francisco.
‘Did he find him?’
‘He found Narvaez. He didn’t find Francisco. Even if Francisco was there, they’d have kept him hidden. It’s all too late now anyway. We had our own family, we’ve moved on—most of the time.’
‘Apart from when somebody knocks on your door out of the blue, ey?’
Anthony smiled.
‘Don’t worry about it.’
Did he know Narvaez had come back? What he wanted to know himself was, did Narvaez bring Francisco back with him?
Anthony was ahead of him.
‘If you’re wondering if we knew Narvaez came back, the answer is, I know—Helen doesn’t.’
Evan’s surprise must have shown on his face.
‘Are you surprised that I know or that I haven’t told my wife?’
‘Both, I suppose.’
‘I kept in touch with the investigator. He told me—and no, he didn’t say if Francisco came back. As far as telling Helen goes, well ...’ He shrugged, gave Evan a sad smile. ‘I don’t know for sure if he abducted Francisco or not. He doesn’t deserve to have his other eye poked out on the off chance that he did—which is what would happen if Helen ever saw him again.’
The Evan Buckley Thrillers: Books 1 - 4 (Evan Buckley Thrillers Boxsets) Page 68