by Helga Zeiner
“It’s a good start.”
“It’s more than a start. I told you Josh has run Graciella Rodriguez’ name through the system, and guess what, she was under suspicion for drug trafficking in 2002. Wasn’t convicted though, not enough evidence. Nothing after 2002. She must have been especially careful, or exceptionally lucky, unless she stopped altogether. And you know as well as I do that this is rarely the case.”
Macintosh nodded. “Hang on a second.”
The two detectives had worked many cases and had solved more than a fair share. While Harding sniffed out the details, Macintosh took a more panoptic approach. All his senses had been sharpened by hunting game in the wild since he’d been old enough to hold a rifle. He could connect the noises and smells and know where a deer broke through the bushes before it became visible. He and Harding had different ways of drawing their conclusions, yet they always reached the same. So Harding waited.
After a full minute, Macintosh’s face opened up. “The victim. In St Paul’s. She’s Hispanic, right?”
“Right.”
“So,” Macintosh grinned. “Could be our victim is Graciella Rodriguez.”
Several hours later they were waiting at the reception of busy St Paul’s Hospital. Alien metallic equipment sounds and hectic caregiver activities circumfluent them as if they were in the vortex of a hurricane. All this clanking and cluttering, chatting and yelling and rushing seemed like a mad army’s futile defense, while in fact it was a well-orchestrated survival symphony.
The station’s head nurse marched toward them to defend her castle. Up in invisible arms, protected by an armor of discretional powers she, and she alone, was to decide who would be permitted to speak to the patient in her care.
“The doc told us you’d wake her up soon,” Macintosh said.
“So?”
“So, did you?”
Her nodding was a rebuttal.
“We only have a few questions,” Macintosh insisted.
“Being out of a coma doesn’t mean she can be put under stress. She’s lost a lot of blood, has suffered a cardiac arrest, and has had major surgery. Her vital functions don’t need to be supported any longer, but we don’t know the extent of possible brain damage. CT is scheduled later on this week.”
“Has she said anything at all?” Macintosh asked.
“Of course not. I told you, she’s not coherent yet. And even if she would be, she can’t speak. She’s got an endotracheal tube inserted.”
“How much longer?”
“You’ll need to consult the physician on duty.”
“Can we at least take her fingerprints?”
The armored guard of hospital patients frowned. “Is that normal procedure? Her file doesn’t classify her as a suspect.”
“Can we ask her permission?”
“Out of the question!”
Macintosh gave up. It had been a long shot, and it wasn’t really important. If Graciella Rodriguez hadn’t been arrested, her prints wouldn’t be on file anywhere.
“The doctor on duty, where do we find him?”
“Down the hall, third door on the right. But he is doing his round just now. You’ll have to wait. It could be a few hours.”
Macintosh took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “Would you be so kind and give this to him? I’d appreciate if he calls my mobile when he’s free.”
She accepted the card and pocketed it. Sure she would give it to him, she promised, and for sure he would call, today or tomorrow, as soon as he found a minute.
They left the hospital, crossed the street and walked into the Throw & Catch Sports Bar. It was high time for an off-duty beer.
“We’re going in circles here,” Macintosh said. “There is no saying when the woman will be stable enough to be interviewed—even after they removed the endotracheal tube. Never in all my years on the force has a victim stayed unidentified for so long. For what it’s worth, I bet she’s Graciella Rodriguez.”
Harding took a sip and wiped his mouth. “Wouldn’t Tiara then know whom she’s stabbed? I mean, her own aunt?”
“That could be the reason why she doesn’t remember.”
“But why would she attack her like that?”
“She held a grudge against her because of all those weirdo modeling jobs she had to do. Most likely it was the aunt who ran the show.”
“You think Tiara is just one hell of a pissed off teenager? Payback time for having to work as a child model?”
“You’ve seen the pictures. Who could blame her?”
Harding smiled. “Taking her side now, are we?”
“I’d talk to her again, if there was the slightest chance that she’d give me anything useful.” Macintosh paused to get his thoughts in line. Too much didn’t fit. “There’s more to this story. Graciella must have entered Canada illegally, using another name. We have no record of her coming in. We should interview the mother again, confront her with what we know. Ask her why the fuck she didn’t tell us about this precious aunt.”
“How are we going to justify the amount of time we spend on it? So far, it’s not even a homicide yet, and if she pulls through, the charge will be downgraded to aggravated assault and we’ll be out of the picture altogether.”
“How about child exploitation?”
“Those beauty pageants are freaky but they’re not illegal, and as far as those pictures on the internet go, that’s Sexual Offense Squad. Who, by the way, are overloaded with stuff that’s way more serious.”
“It seems pretty goddamn serious to me,” Macintosh said. “I’d be willing to put in some extra time.”
“Anything to save the damsel in distress?”
“You got something better to do with our evenings?”
They chuckled, drank their beers and watched the pretty waitress behind the counter polish glasses and wipe the counter tops when she wasn’t smiling and serving. It was still early; she did a lot of cleaning.
Harding’s mobile announced an incoming text message. He took it out of his pocket, clicked on it and read it.
“I’ll be damned.” He lowered the mobile. “You are not going to believe this.”
Macintosh cocked his head, listening.
“It’s from Josh. I asked him to check if Graciella Rodriguez still lives at the La Marque address. You’re never, not in a million years, going to believe what he found out!”
“Well, what?”
“Not in a million years!”
“Oh Christ Almighty, spit it out.” Macintosh was really curious now. He knew his partner, when he looked that seriously surprised, something big was coming.
“It’s worth another beer. You paying?”
Macintosh waved at the waitress and showed her two fingers. She nodded.
“I’ll read it to you: Graciella Rodriguez last known address is 4341 Azalea Lane. The building located there burnt to the ground three years ago. Fire of unknown origin, but suspected arson. No leads. One body recovered. Call me.”
Macintosh stared at his partner with big eyes. That was some text. The music blared in the background, the waitress placed their new beers in front of them, a group of happy-hour customers came through the revolving door—the detectives didn’t notice any of this.
“Guess we owe Josh a six-pack,” Harding finally broke the silence between them.
“Call him!” Macintosh urged.
Harding was already dialing the Texan’s number. He got connected very quickly, said his hurried ‘hi’ and then listened.
“Got it,” he finally said, “Great work, Josh. We got to meet some day. … Yes, of course… No, I’ll keep you in the loop… Yes, thanks. Whenever. Anytime.” He hung up and filled Macintosh in.
“The body they recovered was burnt beyond recognition, but was female and matched in height and approximate age that of the woman living there. Neighbors confirmed that they had seen her at the house on that day. They have listed the deceased as Graciella Rodriguez.”
Macintosh took a
large sip of his fresh beer.
“Then who the hell is our victim?”
Chapter 40
When Dr. Eaton called Melissa and said he’d like to pay her a visit on his way home, she got excited. The psychiatrist evaluating her daughter wouldn’t call on her if there was no reason for it. Maybe Tiara was willing to see her at last.
She called Louise right away.
“I bet it’s bad news,” Louise said. “I bet Tiara has already been saying bad stuff about you.”
“Like what?” Melissa asked.
“Oh you know, like you dragging her to all those pageants.”
“That’s not bad! She loved doing them. Every little girl loves the attention they’re getting. Tiara was very competitive, she liked being on stage.”
“Until she started losing.”
Melissa regretted having told her mother about the unfortunate phase when Gracie had to stop Tiara’s pageants. “Well, at least she had a great time with it until she was about ten. Which other girl gets to live the life of a princess, I ask you?”
“Maybe they found out about the money you stole from Gracie.”
“Oh, stop it. Tiara never knew about that, so how could she tell?”
“In my opinion—”
“Sorry, but I got to go now. Dr. Eaton will be here any minute.” She promised Louise to call her back as soon as possible.
Now she waited. Lately she seemed to sit and wait for something all the time. Maybe this time, things would move in the right direction again. Since she had decided not to care anymore, she spent most of her free time thinking about the past in an effort to avoid the horribly confusing present. The good times with Tony, when he made her feel so special—as rare as those moments had been—were viscidly covering the years before her departure from Texas. Tiara, the epitome of her being for so long, had lost some of its relevance in those years. Until Tony, Melissa’s whole focus had been on Tiara’s career. Tony had managed to widen her tunnel vision. She had still been there for her daughter, but only as much as Tiara would let her. The thing was, Tiara was mostly distant, remote, liked to be solitary. Especially after Ike had devastated Galveston.
As if that had been easy for her—stuck in the house all by herself after Gracie and Tiara had left for their inopportune photo session—until finally Tony had shown up, explaining that he had tried to call her but had been unable to get through to her in this crazy storm. He’d been worried about her, had braved the rapidly deteriorating weather conditions and had rushed to her side. The moment she saw Tony, she was so relieved, so happy, she forgot about the gale force winds chasing the rain heavy clouds inland, lifting everything in its path that was not solidly anchored.
She was so happy, she even forgot all about Tiara and Gracie. Tony dampened her euphoria somewhat when she tried to drag him to her room.
“It’s too risky, way too risky,” he said in a hushed voice, as if he could be heard by anybody but her. “You want to make love at a time like this in Gracie’s house? What’s the matter with you? Are you out of your mind?”
“Touch me, please,” she said, “down there, just for a few minutes.”
But he withdrew from her.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Even now, with the raging storm outside, he was more scared of Gracie than of the force of nature. Of course, he didn’t have to persuade her for long. If Tony wanted her somewhere else, she would go wherever he wanted.
“I’d love to take you up north”, he whispered, “out of danger, if I could only afford it.”
The money stash under Gracie’s mattress had never been very far from her mind. It still bugged her that Gracie would hide it from her, and the devil must have whispered into her ear then. Go and get some for Tony—and for yourself. Go get it, it’s yours as much as hers, you earned it. Tony is your future, not Gracie.
He was reluctant first, but she insisted, and when they found the money bag and saw that it contained about twenty thousand dollars, he quickly caved.
“Okay, let’s make this look like a break-and-entry.”
He started to knock over the lamp and bedside table. He smashed the window in Gracie’s room and a few more things on the way out and made her come with him.
“Write a note explaining that I’ve come to pick you up to take you north,” he said. “You got no transport.”
She did. She wrote the note, stuck it on the fridge with duct tape to make sure it wouldn’t blow away from the gusts that were already rushing through the rooms, searching for loose objects. She packed a small bag, terrified that Gracie would suddenly stand in the door, asking what she was up to. When they finally hurried outside, Tony left the house door open.
“The more damage there is, the more realistic it looks. That crap in there is worth nothing anyway.”
Melissa was not scared of the storm anymore, she loved it. Tony drove to the 45. When they reached the turnpike, it took them over half an hour before they even got on the freeway, and after that it was stop and go. But go they did, all the way past Houston, in pouring rain, with the wind so strong he had to grip the steering wheel and use all his strength to hold the car against the side drifts. It was wonderful.
They kept driving and driving. Soon after Houston, Tony left the 45 and took the Northwest Freeway to Austin. Traffic was no better there, and when he saw the sign to Somerville Lake he turned off and drove along a few side roads in the pounding rain, barely able to see. The windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the squally onslaught.
Finally he found what he was looking for, a narrow driveway with a beat-up sign, pointing into the property. The cabin looked as rundown as the sign. Tony knocked a few times before he broke the lock open. He couldn’t have chosen any better. There was even food in the pantry, lots of tins and packets of dried stuff, and the tap water ran clear and clean.
They stayed put in the holiday cabin for the whole duration of the storm, enjoying its privacy and security as if it was a luxury hotel. Melissa had the best days of her life. Every now and then, a tiny thought crept virus-like into her bliss. Had she paid for this, for him, with the stolen twenty thousand dollars?
A ringing sound stopped her from wondering again. Dr. Eaton! She opened the door, taken aback by her visitor’s unexpected appearance. She had thought he must be well over fifty to have reached the position he held in the medical field, but he couldn’t be a day over forty. His voice however sounded a lot more respectable and dignified than what his lean frame and casual clothes mirrored. Or that hair. Either it was high time for a haircut or he was still stuck in his student days. Snow-white curls hanging over his ears, really!
She felt caught when he moved one back behind his ear.
“So good of you to see me on such short notice. May I come in?”
“Of course, of course. I hope you have good news for me. Has Tiara sent you? Should I go see her now? Is she getting any better?”
He sat down. “I’ve been appointed by Crown Counsel to do a full assessment of her mental health. Any discussion I have with your daughter is privileged, so I won’t be able to answer any of your questions regarding her. I can tell you that she still doesn’t want to see you, but nothing else.”
“Then why did you come here at all?” Melissa asked bewildered.
“A comprehensive assessment includes interviewing essentially everyone who dealt with her, anybody I think might be helpful.”
“You took your sweet time to contact me!”
“We are in no hurry to finalize the assessment. I have a better understanding of your daughter now. An interview at this point in time will most likely give me more insight than if I would have conducted one a few weeks ago.”
Melissa became wary. This guy was slithery. He moved with too much ease and elegance, had a huff of arrogance on him. He could probably talk himself out of a snake pit with a smile on his face. His beady eyes behind those frameless glasses alone gave her the creeps. Green like those of a reptile. Did crocodiles have
green eyes? Creepy-Eaton. She decided to say only what was absolutely necessary.
“So what do you want to know?”
“You homeschooled Tiara, so obviously we can’t contact any of her teachers—or her peers, for that matter—and you’ve never given the police a list of her friends.”
“It’s because I can’t remember any.”
“Right. You don’t remember a single friend of hers. There’s also no medical record. She’s never seen a doctor here in Vancouver? Not even a dentist?”
“She’s a healthy girl.”
“Right. So it all falls back on your shoulders, and of course her grandmother’s. I’ll contact her in due course to give me some insight into Tiara’s character.”
Melissa bit her lip and sat up straight.
“You want to call Louise? She won’t be able to tell you anything.”
“Well, every little bit helps. If you can provide me with enough answers, we may not need to trouble your mother.” He took out a notebook and a pen. “Shall we start?”
She nodded, still biting her lip.
“Good, then. Do you remember Hurricane Ike?”
She stopped chewing on her lip, nearly laughed out loud, already relieved. “Now, that’s funny. I’ve been thinking back to that dreadful time just before you arrived. Why do you want to know anything about that?”
“Do tell me what you remember. How did you and Tiara experience this time?”
She was right, he was a snake. But he’d be disappointed.
“I often think back to the time when Ike hit our region. Unfortunately, I wasn’t with my daughter then. We got separated in the days leading up to Ike’s landfall, and I was taking shelter in a small village up north. Sorry, Dr. Eaton, I won’t be able to tell you anything useful, I’m afraid.”
“How come you got separated from her? She was only ten years old then.”