Disappeared

by Francisco X. Stork

  Thursday 2:00 a.m. Linda sends e-mail with picture.

  Thursday 10:00 p.m. Luis finds envelope in downstairs mailbox.

  Friday 5:00 a.m. hotline e-mails deleted.

  Friday 6:00 a.m. threatening e-mail sent to Felipe.

  Friday between 6:30 a.m. and 7:00 a.m. envelope with cell phone taken from my chair.

  Sara stands up and heads to Juana’s office. She’s working on her computer, her glass door closed. Sara barges in.

  “What is it?” Juana sounds as if talking to anyone is the last thing she wants to do.

  “Did you take an envelope from my chair?” Sara blurts. Maybe Juana wanted to protect her, didn’t want her to get killed like those two reporters.

  Juana grimaces. “Lower your voice, please. What envelope?”

  “Luis put an envelope on my chair yesterday morning. It had something to do with Linda. I just know it did.”

  “Slow down, slow down.” She turns to face Sara. “So you got an envelope in the mail. You don’t know it was related to Linda Fuentes.”

  “It was a white, square envelope with something heavy inside—like a cell phone, according to Luis. Someone dropped it through the slot downstairs Thursday evening and Luis picked it up on his way home. It had my name on it. Luis put it on my chair when he came in yesterday. And then it disappeared.”

  “You searched …”

  “Everywhere. Someone took it—there’s no other explanation. That’s why we got the threatening e-mail. Whoever sent the e-mail was worried about us getting the cell phone. It must have information about Linda.”

  “Let’s think through this. One step at a time. Sit.” Juana gets up, walks very slowly to the door, and closes it. Sara sits on the edge of the chair, hands clasped. Juana goes back to her chair. “What else have you found out about the threatening e-mail?”

  Sara remembers Ernesto’s warning, and for the first time since she started working at El Sol, she lies to Juana. “Only that Ernesto thinks it was sent by someone with a lot of sophisticated technical knowledge.”

  “That’s all you know? I want you to tell me everything.”

  “Ernesto thinks the e-mail could have been sent by someone in law enforcement.”

  Juana stares at her with the same cold stare that makes people spill their secrets to her in interviews. But Sara holds off. She’s afraid to get Juana involved and bring the same danger upon her that Sara’s bringing upon herself.

  “I see,” Juana finally says.

  “That cell phone had to be related to Linda. It’s the only explanation.”

  “Who could have taken it? Yesterday morning, you say?”

  “Luis dropped it on my chair at six thirty and the envelope was gone when I got here at seven.”

  “I was here at seven yesterday working on the budget. I didn’t see anybody except you, Luis, and Guillermo.” Juana pauses, glances at Sara. “Maybe it was Guillermo. He sits across from you and can see when a package is delivered to you.”

  “No, I know Guillermo. He’s trustworthy. Besides, if he was working with bad people, he wouldn’t have had to borrow money from Ernesto for the quinceañera.” Sara thinks for a moment, then decides to take the risk. “Elias was here early as well.”

  “Elias?”

  “Have you ever known him to get here before ten? And it’s not just that. He said some things at the quinceañera …”

  “What kind of things?”

  “That I shouldn’t write about the Desaparecidas, that it was too dangerous for me and my family. The e-mail also mentioned my family, and he never read that e-mail. How did he know to use that word? It’s too much of a coincidence. And the way he said what he said at the party—it was creepy.”

  Juana huffs out a breath. “Hell, I also told you that what you were doing was dangerous for you and your family. Not that you listen.” She pauses. Then, “There’s one quick way of finding out if he’s a rat.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll call him in here and talk to him for ten minutes while you search his desk. If he took the envelope, he might still have it. He didn’t go out yesterday. He was with me until late, working on an article, and I know he went straight to the quinceañera with only a quick stop at his gym to change.” She rushes through her words, as if she’s embarrassed to know so much about Elias. “You want to check his desk or not?”

  “I don’t know. Are you sure?”

  “We might as well find out if he’s bad.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait until he’s in your office. We should do it before everyone starts coming in.”

  “We’ll do it now. And Sara—” Juana waits until Sara’s eyes are on hers, then says sternly, “You are not to keep anything from me, do you understand? If you find something, you come straight to me. I’m not talking only about the cell phone. I’m talking about anything whatsoever related to the e-mail. You come tell me immediately. And no one must find out about this. Is that understood? Who else knows about the missing cell phone? Ernesto?”

  It is the second time in two days that Juana has surprised Sara. Last night, maybe it was the alcohol speaking, but here it is again—something different about Juana, harder somehow. Sara waits a few moments to respond. “No. No one else knows about the cell phone. I told Luis I didn’t get the envelope. But I could tell him I found it under my desk.”

  “Yes. Do that.”

  Sara goes back to her desk and waits for Elias to walk past on the way to Juana’s office, his black silk jacket still on. Then, after he shuts the door, she walks to his cubicle and pretends to write him a note. Fortunately, Elias’s cubicle is in the farthest corner of the room and none of the reporters who work nearby have come in yet. She bends down and rifles through his gym bag. Nothing.

  The desks at El Sol have a middle drawer and four side drawers, the bottom one large enough to hang files. When she pulls open the first drawer, she almost laughs out loud. Elias’s drawers are full of personal grooming items: a nail clipper, tweezers, scissors, combs, brushes, a nose-hair puller, razors, talcum powder, ChapSticks of assorted flavors, hand lotion, teeth whitening strips, mouthwash, a pumice stone, and, surprisingly, one of those little gadgets that curls a person’s eyelashes. She also finds camera parts and batteries and invoices and more information about Elias’s private life than she ever wants to know, but no envelope. Before leaving, she looks in the plastic garbage can beneath his desk, but it too does not contain any traces of a white envelope. Due to budget cuts, the offices are cleaned and garbage receptacles emptied only on Wednesdays and Sundays, so the envelope would be in the garbage can if Elias put it there yesterday.

  She goes to the coffee pot for another cup. This is not a morning to be a stickler on caffeine limits. On the way back to her desk, she passes by Juana’s office and shakes her head. Elias is a rat in many ways, but he does not appear to be the rodent who stole her envelope.

  There is nothing else she can do about the cell phone at the moment, so she decides to resume her search for anything that could lead her to Erica Rentería’s family. Any hint of Erica’s whereabouts could be helpful in finding Linda.

  She studies the picture of Erica that she found in the file room the day before. Erica stands in front of some kind of monument made of white marble, wearing a white blouse, pleated black skirt, white socks, and old-looking but clean shoes. Sara remembers thinking that she was dressed as if she were going to a conservative church. What if she was going to church? What church has that kind of wall? White marble. Sara does an Internet search for Juárez churches and looks at the pictures. There must be a hundred churches, but not many are made of white marble.

  And then she sees a picture of a beautiful, gleaming white building: the Templo Mormón on Calle Paraguay. Sara’s heart races. This is the building where the picture was taken. Erica Rentería, with her white blouse and pleated black skirt and demure white socks, was going in or coming out of the temple when she posed for the photograph. Sara feels sure of it.

  On the
website for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Ciudad Juárez, she finds the name and number for a mission president and his wife.

  “Hello,” a woman’s voice answers.

  “Yes. Hello. Is this Mrs. Mirabiles?”

  “Yes,” the woman replies tentatively.

  “My name is Sara Zapata. I’m a reporter for El Sol. I’m trying to reach the family of Erica Rentería. I believe her family attends your temple.”

  Silence.

  “Hello. Hello?”

  “Are you calling about Joselito?”

  “Who?”

  “Joselito Rentería. Manuel and Rosa’s son.”

  “Erica’s brother?” Sara says, guessing.

  “Are you a friend of Erica’s?” The woman’s voice brightens.

  “Yes.” She is a friend of Erica’s, in a way. “Who am I speaking with?”

  “This is Hortencia Mirabiles, President Mirabiles’s wife. My husband is at the hospital with Manuel and Rosa. People have been calling us to see how Joselito is doing since Rosa and Manuel don’t have a telephone.”

  “Did something happen to Joselito?”

  Mrs. Mirabiles pauses. “You better talk to my husband. Do you have a pen? I will give you his cell phone number. He’s at General Hospital with Mr. and Mrs. Rentería.”

  Sara writes down the number. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  No answer. The woman is gone.

  Sara has the horrible feeling that whatever happened to Joselito is connected to Linda. She starts to call Mr. Mirabiles, then stops. She grabs her cell phone, sticks it in the small backpack she uses as a purse, and heads to the coffee shop down the street. After her sleepless night, she needs something more powerful than El Sol’s cheap coffee.

  Thinking about last night reminds her of Emiliano. He was already gone when she got up this morning. Something heavy must have been on his mind to make him read Papá’s letters. Sara decides that tonight, she will tell Emiliano everything that’s happening with her. Maybe he will tell her what’s happening with him in return.

  She orders a café con leche and sits down with it at an empty table close to the bathroom. She dials the number that Mrs. Mirabiles gave her on the phone.

  “Hello, this is Alberto Mirabiles. Who is this?” The man’s voice is barely audible, as if he is whispering.

  “It’s Sara Zapata from El Sol. Your wife gave me your number. I called her about Erica Rentería, but then she said that something happened to Erica’s brother.”

  “Yes.” He says it as if he already knows the reason for her call.

  “Is Joselito all right? Your wife told me you were at the hospital because of him.”

  “No. He’s not all right. Did you get the cell phone?”

  “What cell phone?” But she doesn’t really have to ask. Her beating heart tells her exactly what cell phone he is referring to.

  Silence.

  “Mr. Mirabiles, are you still there?”

  “Is this your own private phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t talk to you here. I will call you back at this number in ten minutes.”

  Sara sits there for a few moments trying to make sense of it all. There is no question now that the threatening e-mail, the missing envelope, and the picture of Erica and the bald man are all related. For the first time, she feels scared, truly scared. More than anything, it’s the fear she heard in Mr. Mirabiles’s voice that frightens her. He wasn’t whispering because he was in the hospital. He was speaking softly because he did not want to be heard. He hung up so he could find a place to talk without being watched, and he thinks watchers are everywhere.

  When the phone rings and she picks it up, she notices sweat on the palm of her hand.

  Mr. Mirabiles speaks in a low, clear tone. “Listen carefully. This will be the only time that I will talk to you. Don’t call me at home or on my cell anymore and don’t try to see or get in touch with any member of the Rentería family. I am telling you this not only because I’m afraid for my family but also for Manuel and Rosa and their other son and … for you and your family. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Sara clears her throat. “I’m listening.”

  “I’m going to tell you all I know and then I’m going to hang up. No questions or interruptions, please. I am calling you from a phone in someone’s office here at the hospital. I only have two or three minutes. If the owner of the office comes in, I’ll hang up.”

  “Okay.”

  “After I hang up, please erase the call you made to my cell a few minutes ago.”

  “Okay.”

  Mr. Mirabiles inhales deeply and exhales. Then he begins slowly, as if he expects her to write down his words. Sara searches in her backpack and finds a small notebook and a pen.

  “Last Thursday, early in the morning, Joselito happened to be coming home from work when he saw a young man put a package in front of the Renterías’ front door. Then the young man walked to the corner, where he got on a scooter and rode away. Joselito recognized the young man because he used to go to our temple. The package was a box of the kind laundries use for clean shirts. Hidden among many pages of newspaper there was a cell phone and a napkin. The napkin had a message that says, more or less—I’m trying to remember the exact words—‘I’m alive. Don’t know where. Like a ranch. Airplanes fly real close. My friend says to give the phone to Sara Zapata at El Sol. Don’t tell anyone else. Not even the police. I love you.’ I might have mixed up the order or left out a few words, but that was generally what was written on the napkin. Manuel recognized Erica’s handwriting. You can see the place in the napkin where his tears fell. Erica had been gone for two months.

  “That day, around noon, Manuel and Rosa came to my house. We talked about it and decided not to involve the police, as Erica had requested. There must be a reason she said that, right? All we could do is what she asked and send the package to you. Around eight p.m., Joselito took an envelope with the cell phone and napkin to El Sol. We waited until after the newspaper was closed because we were afraid. The owner of the cell phone might be watching Erica’s family or watching El Sol. We thought dropping it in the mail slot was best. You’d get it first thing on Friday.”

  “Just the cell phone and the napkin? That’s all that was in the envelope?” Sara asks.

  “Why are you asking? Didn’t you get it?”

  “I never got the envelope. It was taken from my desk Friday morning before I could open it. Someone at El Sol wanted to make sure I didn’t get it. Please tell me everything you know. It’s our only chance of finding Erica.”

  There is a long pause. Mr. Mirabiles begins to speak again, slowly and with difficulty, like someone whose mouth has gone dry. “The only thing in the envelope besides the cell phone and Erica’s note was a letter to you from Mr. and Mrs. Rentería, explaining how they got the package and pleading with you to find Erica.”

  “What about the young man who delivered the package? Maybe …”

  “I’m not going to tell you his name. That young man risked his life. He’s in enough danger already.”

  “Please. We may still be able to help Erica and other girls.”

  Another long pause, then Mr. Mirabiles says again, “I’m not going to tell you his name. All I can tell you is that he works for a commercial laundry place. You know, the kind that picks up and delivers linens to hotels. The business is called La Vaquita.”

  Sara writes the name down. “Thank you, Mr. Mirabiles.” She is afraid to ask the next question, but then, she already knows the answer. “And Joselito?”

  “Thursday, only a few minutes after Joselito got back from dropping off the envelope, three men showed up at the Renterías’ house in a brown car. Manuel, Rosa, and their two sons were home. They asked Manuel about the cell phone. At first he denied receiving anything, and then one of the men began to hit Manuel with his fists. When he still refused to talk, they tied Joselito’s hands behind his back and beat him on the legs and arms with
a rubber tube, the kind that policemen carry. When they started to strike Joselito on the head, Manuel had no choice but to tell them that they had dropped the cell phone in El Sol’s mail slot earlier that evening … with your name on it.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “They asked Manuel if he knew the identity of the man who owned the cell phone. Manuel told them that he didn’t know. That was the truth. No one in the family has any idea who the phone belongs to.” Mr. Mirabiles can barely speak. “They told him that if he said anything else, they would come back and kill his wife, his other son, and him, in that order.”

  Sara presses her thumb and index finger hard against her eyes.

  Mr. Mirabiles continues, “Joselito is in a coma. We don’t think he’ll make it. The doctors say there’s bleeding in the brain. You say the envelope was taken deliberately from you?”

  “Yes, it was taken deliberately.”

  “If you didn’t get anything, how did you know to call me?

  Sara explains how she found his name. “Mr. Mirabiles …”

  “Listen, if you didn’t get the envelope, everyone thinks you don’t know anything. It would be better if you let this be. Stay out of this, for your own sake.”

  “And Erica? And the other girls? There are good people who can help us. There are honest people in the police department and in the military.”

  “Do you know the kind of people we’re dealing with?” His voice is sharp. “They beat a young man nearly to death and hit an old man. Doesn’t that tell you what kind of people they are? You and your family are in danger. So am I and my family, just by talking to you. I urge you to stop whatever you’re doing. Please.”

  She can’t answer.

  “Good-bye. God bless you.” Mr. Mirabiles hangs up.

  Sara puts the phone down and holds her coffee mug in both hands, thinking, thinking. What is her best chance for saving Linda and keeping everyone safe? Everyone, including her mother and Emiliano. The owner of the cell phone and his people know that the envelope was addressed to her, but they also know it never reached her. They think the e-mail with Erica’s picture was deleted. If she doesn’t do anything more, there’s a possibility that the bad people will leave her and those she loves most in the world alone.