“Both sides of the fence?” Justin asked.
“He patrolled the border and arrested the immigrants crossing illegally, but he also sometimes let them cross, for a fee.”
“How did you get involved?” Mary asked. “The border patrol’s not under police jurisdiction.”
“The border patrol was stretched to its limit. The U.S. attorney general’s office in Washington started making a few calls.”
“What does this have to do with Alma?” Justin asked.
“We were asked to start surveillance on the suspected border patrol officer. Sure enough, late one night, he assisted a group of about ten men across. We went in to make an arrest, and in the scuffle, the border patrol officer shot and killed one of the coyotes—”
“The one who had the most to tell,” Mary said matter-of-factly.
“Exactly. And one of the coyotes shot and killed an immigrant.”
“Leandro?” Mary guessed.
“He carried no identification, just a picture of Alma. When we find her, we’ll know for sure.”
“Why was a coyote shot? Did it get in the way?” Justin asked.
“In this case, the coyote was a human, not an animal,” Mitch said. “It’s what we call the men who take money to lead border crossings.”
“Who shot the immigrant?” Mary asked.
“Never determined.” The report Mitch filed concerning the young man’s death stated only facts. Still, to Mitch’s trained eye, it appeared that the coyote who’d shot the young man had been aiming for the young man.
Strange since Mitch had been an open target.
The young man’s body, labeled John Doe No. 104, was released to the custody of the Mexican consulate. They’d passed out flyers at migrant camps, jails, and state agencies. Fingerprints were recorded and passed around. Nothing came of it. They were hoping somebody would report him missing but no one did.
“And it’s always bothered you that this unidentified young man took a bullet for no good reason?” Mary guessed.
“It bothered me then that he took the bullet. It bothers me even more now. There’s not a law enforcement officer alive who believes anyone should go their grave in a cardboard box with the name John Doe No. 104.”
Mitch felt relieved to see the Gila City Police Department just a block away. In his eight years of duty, only four bodies he’d come in contact with had remained nameless. He’d personally arranged burial for three when they’d remained unclaimed for longer than the coroner’s office would allow.
Looked like the search for John Doe No. 104’s identity could be over.
When they got to the station, Ruth informed them that one of Mitch’s border patrol buddies needed them to look at the photos again. Mary and Justin agreed that the photos found on John Doe No. 104 were indeed Alma.
The identification took maybe five minutes. Then, Mary and Justin were allowed to leave.
“Mom, are we going to eat?”
“I’m getting hungry, too,” Mitch said. But before he could say anything else, his cell rang.
Mary heard Mitch’s one-sided responses, “Yes, Mrs. Santos. No. But—Yes, Mrs. Santos.”
Mitch finally hung up and looked at Mary. “Mrs. Santos, little José’s grandmother, wants to meet you.”
“Mom, we gotta eat and—”
“We’ll eat at their house,” Mitch said. “Her orders.”
Justin shrugged. “Right now I’m so hungry I could eat a house.”
“I imagine Mrs. Santos is a better cook than that,” Mitch said wryly.
The Santos house resided on a street in Gila City where sprawling yards merged into other sprawling yards without the barrier of fences.
Gracia Santos stood at the end of her driveway, waiting.
“So this is Mama Santos?” Mary said softly.
“That’s Gracia. I don’t know her well. I only met her at her husband’s funeral.”
“She has your phone number,” Mary reminded him.
Mitch parked behind a police cruiser that was blocking another police cruiser. “She also has a house full of cops to tap for my number.”
Gracia approached, her hands moving a mile a minute as she gestured with each word. “I went down to the station yesterday. I don’t know how to feel—relieved or even more terrified. The blanket was not José’s.”
“I had hoped it was,” Mitch commiserated.
“It was not,” Gracia shook her head sadly, “So I wanted you to bring Mary here to tell me directly about this Alma. Maybe we will learn something, something that will bring José home.”
Gracia turned to look at Mary and Justin.
Mary held out her hand. Obviously cops’ wives and mothers didn’t set her teeth on edge like cops themselves did. “I’m Mary Graham.”
Gracia ignored the hand and pulled Mary into her arms.
She’d done the same to Mitch the first time she’d met him and, just like Mary, he’d stiffened. Unlike Mary, he’d stayed stiff. Mary relaxed and for a moment Mitch thought she would put her head on the older woman’s shoulder and have a good cry.
When Gracia let go of Mary, she looked at Justin. He took a step back.
“Come in,” Gracia invited. “And tell me about this Alma. I know one or two. I’ve already called their mamas and they’re both accounted for. My Angelina’s out of bed. She wants to know what’s going on. It will do her good to meet you. She’s already fixing you lunch.”
“Hamburgers?” Justin said hopefully.
“No, something even better.” Gracia held Mary’s hand all the way to the house. The door was opened by none other than Rico, and he didn’t look too happy at welcoming Mary into his home.
Gracia issued an order, and her son moved away.
Looking at the dark-haired Santellis daughter who smiled easily and accepted hugs when she wasn’t trying to avoid cops, Mitch could only wonder what she’d been like when she was married to Eddie. She’d kept her nose clean, but she had to have known what her husband was involved in. Hadn’t she?
Angelina waited at the kitchen table. The table was set, and Mitch felt his mouth water. There was soup, rice, tortillas, beans and fajitas. Angelina drank a soda and ignored the food.
“Eat!” Gracia ordered. “You’ll need your strength for taking care of José after Mitch finds him.”
Mitch stared at Gracia. What had she just said?
Justin looked at his mother with concern. “Do they have ketchup?”
“No, we have salsa.” Rico almost smiled as he went to fetch a jar.
It was Angelina who bowed her head before eating. Amid tears she thanked God for the food and petitioned Him to help Mitch find José. The whole Santos family followed her prayer with multiple amens. Mitch was too shocked to do much more than obediently take a spoonful of soup.
It was one thing to receive orders from the attorney general’s office to stay away from the case and quite another to have people make you feel like you were sent from God the Father to stay on it.
Rico set down his half-eaten tortilla and frowned at Mitch. “Tell us what you can.”
Mitch spoke of the immigrant who’d been fatally shot just six months ago. He spoke of the photos of Alma and the connection between the two.
“You think this Alma took the baby?” Gracia said.
“No, but…”
A sob stopped him. Angelina held her tortilla so tightly that it lost its shape. A bite was in her mouth, but she wasn’t chewing. Tears rained down her face.
Gracia reached over and patted her daughter’s knee. “All this talk, Niña, simply means we’re getting closer to the truth.”
She returned the conversation to Alma. “So, you don’t think she took the baby, but you do think she’s recently crossed the border, looking for her husband. You also think that for some reason, six months ago, a coyote thought it necessary to kill her husband. That, along with being illegal, would explain why she’s desperately afraid of the cops.”
Mitch watched as Mary
stared at the two women. She seemed fascinated by the way they interacted with each other. Gracia was still patting Angelina’s knee gently, a mother’s caress. Angelina was leaning into her mother, drawing strength.
“We’re not sure if she’s hiding from cops or the coyotes,” Mitch said.
“Why would she be hiding from the coyotes?” Mary asked, finally averting her eyes. “She’s here now.”
Mitch started to say something, but his cell phone rang. He stood and took two steps toward the living room for privacy.
Rico stood and headed for the living room, too.
Gracia smiled and said, “Cops need to know everything. My Rico is a good cop. Between him and Mitch, they will find my grandson.” She stretched. Her chair screeched as her movement urged it toward the living room door. She needn’t have bothered. Mitch came in the room and motioned for Mary.
“We need to get going. They’ve found Alma and it doesn’t look good.”
SEVEN
The news about Alma sent the Santos house into overdrive. Rico got on the landline, called one of his brothers and demanded an update that apparently the brother didn’t have. Mitch stayed glued to his cell phone. He didn’t sound any happier than Rico at what must have been a lot of noninformation. After Rico hung up, he looked at Gracia and said, “She was found about twenty minutes ago near one of the gold camps. The Air Evac medical helicopter is on its way. She’ll be taken to Wickenburg Community Hospital. We’re not invited, but we’ll be kept informed.”
Gracia immediately bowed her head in quiet prayer, a simple yet humbling move that had even Mitch silencing his cell phone. Angelina and Rico soon bowed their heads, leaving Mary feeling like an outsider looking in.
Mitch must have felt the same way because after a few seconds, he ushered them out to his car. Mary had only been in Mitch William’s company a little over twenty-four hours, but already she knew he was a man who divided his world into two parts, black and white, evil and good.
She wondered which side he had put her on. Mary knew he felt something between them. But she wasn’t at all sure how he felt about it. For that matter, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.
She should have stayed in Florida.
An hour later, he dropped Mary and Justin off at the cabin and left them alone.
Well, they weren’t totally alone. She could see Mitch’s cabin from the front porch.
She tried not to admit to herself how much better the sight made her feel.
For the next two days, Mitch kept her updated on Alma’s condition. She was seriously dehydrated and suffering from heatstroke, but she was going to make it. It might be some time before she could be questioned, though. Mary spent the two days settling into a routine. Every morning, she jogged. Every afternoon, she emptied boxes—more than she remembered packing. She also scrubbed floors, washed windows and cleaned the deep crevices in long-unused cabinets. Soon the cabin started to look like it had ten years ago when she’d been happiest there. The only things missing were the antiques.
It surprised Mary how much she missed them. They represented longevity, stability.
Justin didn’t make any effort to organize his room. Mary bit her tongue and didn’t scold. She figured he’d soon get tired of using the boxes as drawers, especially with a perfectly good dresser just a few inches from his bed. And he was happy. He spent his time exploring the area. His clothes became a magnet for dust. His jeans collected brambles and sticky things.
Quite frankly, he smelled.
Like an adventurous boy.
When he wasn’t roaming the land, he headed for Mitch’s. He was helping Mitch work on an old all-terrain vehicle.
Then, if his friend Carl wasn’t doing chores, Justin headed over there. Carl seemed like a nice kid. He’d showed up this morning at seven on horseback and leading a second horse. Justin, who had always loved riding, had been expecting him and was already in the saddle when Mary came out with her Where are you going? How long will you be gone? and Don’t you think you need to run your plans by me?
When they’d been in hiding, she’d fought to keep him by her side. Now he was getting a taste of the freedom so necessary to be a kid. Mary fought the urge to rein him in. Being here with no one chasing her was the answer to a prayer.
Answer to a prayer?
Watching the Santos women pray must have made Mary loopy. She no longer believed in prayer. She had at one time, way back when her mother was alive and they went to church. Prayer hadn’t helped her mother.
But, a tiny voice argued, it did seem to be helping Eric.
Well, Eric deserved help after all he’d been through. He was the only Santellis to turn his back on his family and do what was right. And when working with the police turned into a situation as bad as working with the family, he still did what was right. Mary hadn’t. She’d run. She didn’t deserve help from God.
She sat down at the kitchen table and started a new shopping list.
“Mom!” Justin stomped in—loud, dirty, sweaty, smelling like horse—slammed the door and found her in the kitchen. He plopped onto one of the chairs.
“Mom!”
“I’m right here. You don’t need to yell.”
“What are you doing?”
“Making a list. I’m thinking that later today we’ll head into Wickenburg and stock up on bulk groceries.”
Justin perked up. “Do they have camping stores?”
“Camping stores? Why?”
He whipped a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here’s what I need—a broad-brimmed hat, whistle, pocketknife, compass, first aid kit and a book of maps.”
“Where did you get this list?”
Justin hesitated before handing her the list. “I made it with some guy. He was at that little creek that’s behind our fence. He was panning for gold. He let me help.”
Mary forced a smile. That creek was more than a mile away. Her baby was in the middle of nowhere and willing to hike more than a mile away from his mama. Worse, he’d forgotten every stranger-danger lesson she’d shoved down his throat. Mary didn’t know whether to cry or shout for joy. Justin deserved a childhood without a bogeyman behind every door and maybe it wasn’t too late.
“Was Carl with you?”
“No, he had to get home. He let me off the horse by the creek. That’s when I found the man panning for gold. He had this neat pump that was doing something to the water, but he said I just needed to buy a few things if I was a beginner.”
“We’ll make a day of it,” she promised. “Let me finish my list, you go take a shower and we’ll head to Wickenburg and a sporting goods store. We’ll get your supplies.”
“Even the pocketknife?”
“Even the pocketknife. But next time you go to the creek, I want to come with you and meet this man.”
Justin grew fidgety and rolled his eyes. “I’ll probably never see him again.”
Her son didn’t want her to meet the gold panner? Why? Now, more than ever, Mary intended to meet the man. “Maybe we’ll go visit the gold camp. Surely, he’ll be there.”
“There’s a gold camp?”
Mary got the map and showed him that it was less than a mile away.
“Cool,” he said before heading to the shower.
Mary stared after him. She knew her son. He was keeping something from her. The shower started and the phone rang, distracting her. It was Ruth. Alma was awake, absolutely refusing to talk and Ruth was grasping at straws. Would Mary bring Justin to the Wickenburg Community Hospital to see if Alma would talk to him?
Fear knotted Mary’s stomach. “Ruth, are you sure this is safe? We don’t know what all Alma’s involved in. Justin’s only eleven.”
Ruth was silent for a moment before she responded, “I held little José on his first day of life. I intend to hold him on his first birthday. You’re right, we don’t know what Alma is involved in and I don’t want Justin to take any unnecessary risks. But so far, no one’s come forward to claim her or even to say
the drawing we’ve been circulating jogged a memory. If not Justin, then will you come? She might talk to you. After all, you tried to help her escape. We’re getting nothing from her.”
Mary hung up the phone and closed her eyes, picturing Angelina. So young and already facing such huge losses.
Mary understood loss; she also understood a mother’s love for her son. The moment Justin was placed in her arms and he screwed up his face to cry, she’d been totally in love. If things were different, she’d want four more boys to raise.
Angelina no doubt felt the same way about José. “Hurry up,” Mary called to Justin, tucking the grocery list in her purse. “Alma’s awake. Ruth wants us to stop by.”
Five minutes later, with wet hair and freshly brushed teeth, Justin sat in the passenger seat of the car and studied the map. “You sure you know where to go?” he asked as they started out.
“Yup, been there before, even the hospital. You were born there.”
“Really? Cool.” His earbuds went back in and conversation ended.
Ruth met them at the hospital entrance. “Alma woke up about ten last night, but she refuses to talk or even open her eyes.”
“Are you sure she’s awake?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s just not talking. I’m not even going to describe what bad shape Alma was in when she finally got here. We were all afraid we’d lose her.”
Mary closed her eyes. Alma was yet another mistake on a long list of mistakes.
“Hey,” Ruth said. “That girl would have taken off across the desert with or without your help. It’s the water you told her to take that kept her alive.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Justin said.
Ruth led them to a waiting room. Mitch stood in the center of the room with his cell phone to his ear. Much to her chagrin, Mary couldn’t help but notice how good he looked.
“What are you doing here?” The words popped out before Mary could stop them.
“Good to see you, too,” Mitch said, covering the receiver with one hand.
Broken Lullaby Page 6