by Cliff Black
“I do not know this . . .” He stopped, looked at me, and then said, “Ah, yes. About myself. I am much older.” He smiled. “I am forty-one years old, but I have five children. I am sorry to hear of the loss of your Camille. I know how it feels to lose a loved one. My little Juan Carlos drowned in an irrigation ditch a little over a year ago. It is very sad. My Margarita still cries. My business is as you saw next door. Now, I don’t know this Cherish Mc . . . What is her name?”
“Cherish McLaughlin.” I said and at the same time thought I’d made a long trip for nothing. Alfred’s wife was not named Maria or Virginia or Teresa, and he had no reason to buy a child. Still, something whispered, “Continue as planned.”
“Why have you come to see me about this one?” Alfredo asked.
“Have you lived in Juarez all your life?”
“All but six years. I served a two-year church mission in Chile. Then I went to the States and got a degree in business from Brigham Young University.”
So far I'd seen no reaction other than curiosity. I asked, “How do you spell your last name?” I asked. “Is it G-I-L or H-I-L-L?”
“When my great-great-grandfather came to Mexico, he spelled it H-I-L-L. He was English. People here, if they could read, pronounced it ‘ill. We didn't like being sick, we mostly use G-I-L now. In Spanish the pronunciation is nearly the same as Hill in English. It is less confusing. For gringos I still spell it with an H. Now, Mister Corbin, you did not ask these questions out of curiosity.”
My milkshake and Alfredo’s root beer float came at this juncture. Mine was chocolate and as smooth and rich as when I was sixteen. For a few seconds I was on my first date with Camille. I almost choked.
I looked out the window, forced myself back to the present, and said, “As I told you, I was hired to find Cherish McLaughlin. When Cherish was about a year old, her mother was killed in an automobile accident. The mother’s parents took the baby and began to raise her as their own. Then, sixteen years ago, Cherish was taken from her grandparents by a man who claimed to be the child’s father. We think he only took her, so he could sell her. Perhaps to a childless couple who wanted a baby girl.”
Alfredo had been slowly sipping his float as I explained. When I didn’t go on, he stopped and said, “I do not yet understand why you have come here, Mister Corbin.”
I turned my attention to my truly exceptional shake for a minute and then watched very closely as I said, “We found a picture of the girl. A woman was holding the child in her arms. Along with the photograph was a Mexican birth certificate for Maria Dolores Gil. The parents are listed as Jose Alfredo Gil and Maria Virginia Teresa Castillo Gil.”
I saw no reaction. No change of expression, but when he repeated, “Jose Alfredo Gil? Was that with a G or with an H?” His voice had changed. Was it a tremor? Was it thicker? Maybe it was only the root beer float.
“The name on the certificate is spelled with a G.”
“Where did this birth take place?”
“Nogales.”
“Nogales is in Sonora, not Chihuahua. It is a long way from here. Did you really think I was this Jose Alfredo Gil of the birth certificate? When was Maria Dolores Gil born?”
“January of 1980.”
“I was not even in Mexico at the time. I enrolled at Brigham Young University in the fall of 1978. I graduated in 1983.”
“When one is asked to follow a trail that is sixteen years old . . .”I spread my hands in a helpless gesture.
Alfredo looked down at the table between us, one hand around his float glass, the fingers of the other hand drawing swirls on the table in the condensed moisture left by the cold container. Finally he said, “I do not know these people. I am afraid you have come a long way for nothing.”
“Not quite for nothing,” I said with a laugh. “I’ve at least found a very good milkshake.”
He laughed at that too and took a spoonful of ice cream from his float.
We had finished our ice cream treats before I said, “It’s not unusual in this line of work to find we’ve walked down a blind alley, Alfredo. Still, I think I’ll stay here overnight. Perhaps I can find someone in the town who’s heard of Jose Alfredo and Virginia Teresa.” I opened my briefcase as I talked. I laid the picture of Cherish being held by the woman in western dress on the table in front of him.
In spite of enlarging the picture to eight by ten from a sixteen-millimeter negative, the photo was clear and sharp. Alfredo’s complexion went two shades lighter. His hand shook as he tried to pick up the photo. He stopped trying, turned to look at the woman behind the counter, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, blew his nose, and then said, “Is this the little girl you’re looking for?”
“Yes. Her grandfather identified her.”
“Who is the woman holding her?” There was a definite change to the timbre of his voice.
“I don’t know. I assume it is Virginia Teresa.”
“I’m sorry I can be of no help. I hope you enjoy your stay in our historic little town. I can recommend the Siesta Motel. You will have passed it as you drove in. Now, I need to get back to my store.”
I thanked Alfredo for his time. We shook hands and parted.
I drove to the motel he’d recommended and registered for a room. There was no air conditioning, and the room was hot. I took my briefcase and my laptop computer outside, and found a shady place to sit while I entered notes on my conversation with Alfredo. I wondered how long it would take before he came to see me.
Chapter Sixteen
I was thinking of finding a place to eat when Alfredo rode up on a bicycle. He saw where I was sitting, parked his bike, picked up another chair, and brought it into the shade.
“Mister Corbin,” he said. “May I join you?”
“Certainly,” I said. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“I do not lie well, do I?”
“It takes years of practice to be a good liar, Alfredo. I’m sorry to upset you, but I must find this girl.”
“Mister Corbin, please do not begin asking around town for Virginia Teresa. If you show to people your picture, some of them will know who is the woman holding the little girl and tongues will begin to wag. There was quite enough of that twenty-two years ago. Now, people would jump to the conclusion that the child is Virginia’s–and mine. It would be embarrassing. My wife doesn’t need that added to the loss of our baby.”
“Tell me about Virginia.”
“Virginia Teresa’s father was Don Hernando de la Cruz de Castillo. His was an aristocratic Mexican family. He owned two big ranches. One was here in Chihuahua, the other in New Mexico. They were Spanish land grants that had been in his family for hundreds of years. Virginia Teresa was the Don’s only child and also a child of his old age by his third wife. Virginia’s mother died in childbirth. Virginia was mostly raised by nurses, governesses, and private tutors. She was a headstrong princess. When she was fourteen, Virginia decided she was missing out on romance. She convinced the Don she should go to an integrated school. She wanted to attend one in the United States where the teaching was in English, but her father would not allow it.
“The Juarez Academy here is one of the best secondary schools in Mexico, and much of the instruction is in English. She was enrolled here. That’s when I came to know her. We became very good friends. Perhaps more than friends. Our poorly concealed romance became the talk of the town. We couldn’t date openly, except for the big school dances, and then we were chaperoned. Virginia Teresa was a sly one though. We found ways to meet. No matter, our romance was doomed from the beginning.”
When Alfredo didn't go on I asked, “I presume her father did not approve?”
“I was not a Spanish aristocrat. I did not come from a wealthy family. My father was not even a professional man. He was a small contractor. Worse yet, Virginia was Catholic. I was a Mormon. I was expected to go on a two-year mission and then marry in the temple. That’s what my family wanted, and it was what I desired for myself. Virginia and I br
oke up soon after I graduated from the Academy. She wasn’t what I looked for in a wife. She wanted things I didn’t approve of.”
“Like what?”
“She wanted to be a liberated woman, like she saw in movies and on television. Virginia was determined not to submit to an arranged marriage with one of the high-born Mexicans her father paraded before her.”
“So, what happened?”
“I turned nineteen, made peace with God and my bishop and went on my mission. When I came back, Virginia’s father had passed away, and she was attending college in the United States. I never saw or heard from her again. Are you sure her married name is Gil? It seems too much coincidence that she married a Jose Alfredo Gil.”
I thought it seemed too much of a coincidence too, but what did it mean? “Did she inherit the land grants?” I asked.
“I presume so, although the one here in Chihuahua is now owned by someone else. I think the ranch was sold while I was away at college. Virginia loved the ranchos, but she also wanted things money would buy. It is a shame her father didn’t have a son to carry on the family name and traditions.”
“Do you know where her other property was?”
“I only know it was near Tularosa, New Mexico. The rancho there was her favorite. That’s where she lived most of her growing up years. She wanted to go to a public school in Alamogordo. Her father was concerned about all the handsome and dashing military pilots stationed there. He thought she would be safer at the Juarez Academy, and perhaps she was. Still, if he had known about us he’d have cut my heart out.” He paused for a minute and gazed out across the highway. Finally he said, “Is her name really Gil now? That seems so ironic.”
“I thought so, but since talking to you I begin to wonder.” Cherish was taken from her grandparents in Louisville, Kentucky. I have no idea how Virginia Teresa wound up with her. Why the coincidence of names? You tell me.”
We both sat in silence for a few minutes, each absorbed in our own thoughts. Then Alfredo broke the silence. “It is not unusual for a childless aristocrat to buy a baby. Indian children can be obtained easily. It’s harder to find a child for sale that looks more Spanish. Babies with light colored hair and skin are very desirable.”
After another pause, I asked, “I’m sorry if this is too personal, Alfredo, but is there any reason to think Virginia was unable to have children?”
“Nothing I know of. She was very anxious to try.”
After a long pause I said, “I think Virginia obtained the little girl from a man named James W. Smith. How they came in contact with each other, I have no idea, but this much I do know. Cherish came from the United States. Now, I’m wondering if Virginia went to Nogales only to obtain a fake birth certificate–a way to give the child an identity. Could it be that Virginia was remembering an old flame when she came up with a name for her husband?”
“Can I tell you something in confidence, Mister Corbin?”
“Certainly.”
“Always there will be a place in my heart for Virginia Teresa. I love my wife dearly, and I would never do anything to harm our marriage, but Virginia was my first love. It broke my heart when we had to part. Perhaps she remembers me also. I hope this problem can be resolved without hurting her. What is the penalty for buying a child in the United States?”
“I don’t think that’s a concern. There is no criminal investigation ongoing and there never was one. The girl will be eighteen years old now. Her grandparents have become very wealthy. They only want to find her. They would probably honor the woman who raised their granddaughter. They might not, however, be as understanding with the man who claimed the little girl and then sold her. If Virginia has anyone to worry about, it’s that man, James W. Smith. He knows the grandfather is looking for Cherish, and that he now has a lot of money. Virginia could be in danger, if this James or Jimmy Smith finds her before I do.”
Alfredo thought about what I’d said, and I could see the wheels turning. Finally he said, “How do I know you are not this Jimmy Smith–the man who sold the little girl to Virginia?”
“The short answer is, you don’t. I’ve never even been to Indiana, Ohio, or Kentucky, but I can’t prove that to you here and now.”
“Ohio!” Alfredo exclaimed. “I think that’s where Virginia went to college.”
Chapter Seventeen
I called Nat after Alfredo left. When she answered, I told her I’d be driving to Alamagordo, New Mexico the following morning, and that I might not be home until Saturday.
She asked, “Then it was the right Alfredo?”
“Yeah, smarty pants, it was, but then again it wasn’t. Alfred Hill and Maria Virginia Teresa Castillo were involved in an impossible romance when they were in high school. I think now that there never was a Jose Alfredo Gil, and as I suspected, the birth certificate for Maria Dolores Gil is a phony. I think somehow Jimmy Smith knew Virginia Teresa wanted a baby, and was able to pay a high price. The Mexican birth certificate is camouflage to hide an illegal adoption.”
“What are you going to do in Alamogordo?”
“Alfred Hill has no idea where Virginia is now, but he said she owned a big ranch near Tularosa. Alamogordo is the county seat. I should be able to get some information at the court house. At least it’s a lead and sort of on the way home.”
It was nearly three o’clock on a Friday when I drove into Alamogordo. I was tired, sleepy, and stiff from sitting in the car all day. I don’t know what I expected to accomplish, but I drove up and down the streets of the town until I found the charming, old, pueblo-style court house. I went inside and looked around. Most of the offices were already closed, but I found one man working in a clerk's office. He said I needed to talk to the County Recorder.
“If I know him, he’ll be working in his rose garden. It’s what he does to de-stress.”
The clerk made a phone call then gave me directions to the man’s home. Harold Osterbein, the Otero County recorder, was deadheading rose bushes out by the sidewalk where a big tree provided shade. I was reminded of Shelly and her roses.
“You must be the private eye Jerry called about,” he said.
“I’m Daniel Corbin.” I shook his hand then fished a business card from my wallet and handed it to him. “Your roses are wonderful,” I said as he studied my card. “I have a friend who has roses. I wish she could see your garden.”
“People tried to tell me it was too hot and dry here for roses. It just takes perseverance,” Osterbein said.
We chatted for a few minutes about roses, the town, the weather, but then I asked about the land grant ranch owned by the Castillo family, and he ruined my day.
“Virginia Teresa came back here fifteen or sixteen years ago with a pretty-boy husband she’d found at some eastern college. Depending on whom you ask, folks say her husband was a gold digger, an idiot, or that he meant well. Whatever the case, they mortgaged the land to get money for modernization and improvements. They overextended themselves. The bank foreclosed about ten or twelve years ago.”
“Is Virginia still around?”
“She wasn’t around much then. They had a big house and a string of quarter horses near Santa Fe. That’s where a lot of their money went. I heard she lost that place too. The marriage broke up not long before everything came apart. Virginia Teresa got all the property, but she also got all the bills.”
“What was Virginia’s married name?”
“Kennedy. Not related to the Massachusetts Kennedys, but Paul Kennedy had the same roving eye and the same taste for the good life.”
I thought about what he'd told me and then commented, “You seem to know a lot about Virginia right off the top of your head.”
“Oh, man. What can I say? Virginia Teresa was rich, and she was gorgeous. I grew up in Tularosa. I was a year older, and I didn’t see a lot of her. We both went to parochial schools. Sometimes there were combined activities. All of us boys near her age were in love with her. I used to dream of marrying her and the two of us riding
off into the sunset. I could have taken a lot better care of her property than that dunderhead Kennedy did.”
“Do you know where Virginia is now?”
“Not a clue. She doesn’t show up in the society pages anymore.”
“Do you know of someone–anyone–that might know where she is?”
“Not really.” Osterbein took off a glove, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped his face. I could tell he was deciding something. Finally, when he had his glove back on, he said, “You might try Ricardo Valenzuela. He lived and worked at the Tularosa ranch until they went belly up.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He has a small spread near La Luz. I’ll draw you a map. Don’t tell him I sent you, okay? He’s still bitter about Virginia losing the ranch–about the whole thing, really.”
“Mum’s the word. One other thing, do you know if anyone else has been looking for Virginia?”
“Not that I know of, why?”
“I’m not sure I can even answer that, but there is some indication that I’m not the only one on her trail. Would you do me a favor?”
“Tell me. Then I’ll decide.”
I pointed to the card he still held in his hand. “Call me collect if anyone else comes looking.”
“I can do that,” Osterbein said.
The Valenzuela place was isolated down a long dirt lane. I drove my rented car in and parked near a small adobe house with long strings of red peppers hanging under the porch roof. When I knocked on the door, a pretty, brown-skinned woman came and looked shyly at me through the screen. When I asked for Ricardo, she pointed to a hay stack in a nearby field. I saw a man there stacking hay bales. I expressed my thanks and began to walk out to him. He saw me, got on a three-wheeled ATV, and came to me. He was a medium sized, wiry man with a dark complexion and a pockmarked face.
“What do you want here?” he said with no sign of friendliness.