Uriel shook his head. “You hope. But there’s no guarantee.”
“True. But in a country where you can have someone offed for pocket change, it sounds like there’s no guarantee of anything. Unless you have some information that you haven’t shared about where this file is, it’s the best we’ve got.” Her voice softened as she considered the obvious pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry about all of this, Uriel. It completely sucks.”
Uriel tossed a couple of bills on the table and stood. “Yes, it does. Good luck with the mayor. I’ll call you if anything turns up on my end.”
“I’ll do the same,” she promised, and turned to Pedro. “Now, where’s this country club?”
Chapter 16
The golf course was on the eastern side of Ciudad Juárez, encircled by the most expensive homes in the city. Traffic on the way there was heavy; the main artery was clogged with a late lunchtime rush, Mexicans preferring to eat closer to two than to noon. On the way, Pedro probed Leah about her work at the Examiner, seemingly genuinely interested.
“Down here the reporters don’t last long if they turn over too many stones. The cartels have the papers under their thumbs,” he explained.
“I’ve heard.” She winced as a motorcycle raced by, missing her side mirror by an eighth of an inch. “How do you know the mayor?”
“He used to be one of the lead prosecutors here. Worked his way up to bigger and better things. Funny, considering he’s been in public service his entire life, that he is now a wealthy man.”
“We have the same thing in the U.S. Politicians go to Washington broke and return millionaires.”
Pedro laughed. “Then our countries are not so different after all.”
Leah shrugged. “Human nature doesn’t change that much because of a border. Although back home, you’re innocent until proven guilty.”
“I’ve read with interest stories of prisoners who were arrested for small traffic tickets dying while in custody, so perhaps no system is perfect, no? Your country has many more of its people in prison than Mexico.”
“Most of them are there on nonviolent drug charges.”
“I have seen programs on YouTube. They are unlikely to remain nonviolent for long in that environment if they are to survive, is it not so?”
“I’m not defending the way things work. I don’t agree with it, but there’s not a lot I can do. Papers don’t have much interest in stories about abuse, and I don’t write editorials.”
“But you write about miscarriages of justice in Mexico? Does it not strike you as odd when you have so many at home?”
Leah dodged the question. “You said the mayor used to be a prosecutor. Was that around the time of the disappearances?”
“Oh, yes. He made a name for himself during that period. That was the start of his career in politics – he ran on a law and order platform, after the convictions.”
“Which raised as many questions as they answered, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Of course. Nobody believes that a handful of street thugs were responsible for hundreds of young women vanishing. At the very least, they were working with others. Powerful others.” Pedro went silent for a moment. “In our system, if you are important or connected enough, you are above the law. Nobody will prosecute you, for fear of disappearing themselves or of their family suffering an accident. It has always been like that.”
“It can be like that in the States as well,” she said, and they both remained quiet for the remainder of the trip.
The country club turned out to be a surprisingly posh contemporary building with a parking lot filled with luxury automobiles. A security guard barred their entry from the lot until Pedro flashed a badge at him, at which point he raised the barrier and waved them through.
“Kept that from your retirement party?” Leah asked.
“It comes in handy for cutting through red tape sometimes,” he conceded with a grin.
“Think it’ll work to get us past the security inside?”
“There is only one way to know for sure, is that not the expression?” he asked.
Leah eyed him doubtfully, and he smiled again. “Do not worry. I know the mayor’s people. He and I travel in many of the same circles.”
“Did Sánchez?”
“León was not so interested in being social. He kept to himself much of the time.”
“Did he ever mention why he and Uriel didn’t talk?”
Pedro pulled to a stop next to a new Mercedes sedan. “That is a story for Uriel to tell, not me. I know only the barest of details.”
“It just seems odd that father and son wouldn’t communicate for over a decade.”
“Perhaps you should ask him about it,” Pedro said, making clear he wouldn’t be baited into revealing what he knew.
Leah abandoned the line of questioning and stepped from the vehicle. She waited for Pedro to round the front and lead her toward the entrance, and accompanied him into the club.
A pair of bodyguards in ill-fitting suits, the bulges of their shoulder holsters obvious beneath their jackets, eyed them suspiciously. Pedro nodded to them and flipped out his badge. The nearest one squinted at it and nodded. They walked past the two guards into the dining area, where Pedro indicated four men sitting at a table at the far end of the nearly empty room.
“This is as far as I go. You’re on your own. The mayor’s the bald one in the khaki shirt. Good luck.”
Leah nodded and detached from him, leaving Pedro by the entrance. She made a beeline through the sea of empty tables to where the men were dining. The mayor and his companions looked up as she approached, puzzled expressions in place.
“Mayor Valdez?” she asked, a hesitant smile in place.
He nodded once. “That’s right.”
“I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time.”
“I’m enjoying lunch with my associates. You are…?”
“Leah Mason. From the El Paso Examiner. I called your office, but couldn’t get through to you.”
“Well, Señorita Mason, interrupting my lunch isn’t the appropriate way to schedule an appointment. Contact my office and see what they can do.”
“I just have a couple of quick questions,” she pressed.
“Perhaps I wasn’t clear. I don’t hold impromptu press conferences. Speak to my press secretary, and she will set something up.” Valdez returned his attention to the men, his tone indicating that the exchange was at an end.
“I’m up against a deadline, Mayor Valdez. I’m researching the disappearance of the maquiladora workers, and I wanted to verify some of the facts before I publish. I can just say that you refused to comment, if that’s your position.”
Valdez sighed and gave her an annoyed scowl. “Are you hard of hearing? Talk to my people. Now leave us alone, or I’ll have security escort you out. This is a private club. You’re not a member.”
“One of the men you prosecuted for the murders of some of the girls, Carlos Navarro, escaped from prison under suspicious circumstances only weeks after his conviction and was never caught. It was speculated that he had help from the prison guards. Can you comment on whether you think the new rash of disappearances might be linked to him?”
“Navarro was guilty as hell, but whether he’s behind the latest group is impossible to know. There. I trust you have your sound bite now,” he snapped.
“He testified during his trial that he had the full cooperation of certain unnamed politicians, as well as the police and the military. Yet you didn’t pursue that line of inquiry. Do you regret it now?”
“Miss Mason, I have nothing more to say to you. If you’re not out of my sight in five seconds, my men will carry you from the property physically. Is that clear enough for you?”
Leah made a note in her phone and nodded. “I’ll schedule something with your office. My readership will want to understand why the mayor of Juárez is so disinterested in who is abducting the young women working in the factories. I plan to keep digging, M
ayor Valdez, with or without your cooperation.”
Valdez removed his cell from his pocket and raised it to his ear. Leah beat a hasty retreat to the main doors, where Pedro was waiting.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Not well. He didn’t want to answer any of my questions, and I didn’t have time to ask him much.”
Pedro glanced over to one of the bodyguards who was speaking on the phone. “It’s best we get out of here, Leah. You don’t want trouble with these guys. They’re a law unto themselves.”
“I’m right behind you.”
They hurried to the door and shouldered into the sunlight, the bodyguards now on their feet and walking slowly toward the exit. Pedro picked up his pace, and Leah had to trot to keep up with him. They were at the Pathfinder by the time the guards were outside, and inside the vehicle and pulling toward the lot entrance seconds later, leaving the men standing and staring at them in the heat.
“That generated quite a response. What did you ask him?” Pedro inquired.
“About why he never pursued the idea that high-ranking members of the local administration were involved in the murders.”
Pedro shook his head. “That must have gone over like tossing a grenade onto the table.”
“The reaction wasn’t positive.”
“I wouldn’t have brought you if I’d thought you were going to be that aggressive. You could have asked me and I’d have told you to try the soft approach.”
“I wanted to see his reaction. He was visibly agitated. My gut says he’s involved somehow.”
“I’ll bet. And now you’re on his radar. I’d advise getting out of town immediately. He’s not to be underestimated. You don’t want to be one of the latest disappearances.”
“You think that’s actually possible?”
“If you struck a nerve, anything is. This isn’t El Paso. People vanish all the time. You’d just be another name on a long list.”
Leah swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and nodded. “Let’s head for the border.”
~ ~ ~
Valdez rose and excused himself, and then walked to a corner of the empty dining room and placed another call.
“A reporter was just here at the club. She’s nosing around the recent disappearances,” he said.
He listened intently and nodded.
“I know. My day’s full, but we can meet this evening for a few minutes. In the meantime, you’ll want to pull up everything you can on Leah Mason of the El Paso Examiner.”
Valdez hung up, his face etched with worry. He wasn’t accustomed to being challenged, especially in front of his entourage. And by a woman, no less. These Americans were boors, stomping into his town with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.
He calmed himself, secure that he’d done all he could for the moment, and retraced his steps to the table, a smile locked in place. He sat down and looked at the men, his expression as untroubled as a newborn’s, and flashed a set of yellowed teeth.
“Sorry about that, gentlemen. Now, where were we?”
Chapter 17
Ana Maria lay on a rusting steel bench in a sweltering holding cell, her booking complete, photos and fingerprints taken, the cuffs finally removed, leaving red abrasions ringing her wrists. The dank gray walls were filthy with grime and fungus, the cement floor as rank as any she’d seen, and the stink from the broken steel toilet in the corner overpowering. A faint breeze wafted through a high window, mitigating the odor of human waste and vomit. The astringent note of bleach-based cleaner from the corridor just beyond the barred door barely registered through the nauseating stench.
She knew she was in trouble that her brother wouldn’t be able to get her out of. When she’d been arrested before for cocaine possession, her father had been able to pull strings to get her discharged within hours and her charges dismissed, and the second time, accepted with a guilty plea by the DA for time served while in holding. But murder was a completely different animal, and the inspector obviously was out for blood.
That she was innocent wouldn’t matter. With no credible alibi, no witnesses to establish her whereabouts, and a powerful financial motive, the state would assume her guilt. Barring a long, drawn-out process, she would be kept incarcerated for as long as possible, even through the appeals process sure to follow a guilty verdict.
The danger from rival gang members was the greatest threat to her survival. When she was younger, she’d gotten a few ill-advised tattoos that marked her as affiliated with her boyfriend’s gang, even though she hadn’t been an active member. He’d convinced her while they’d been on a binge that it was a way of ensuring nobody messed with her on the streets, but now those ink stains could mean a shank in the kidneys while the guards stood by and did nothing. She knew how things worked inside the prisons – the cartels ran everything. The jails were a halfway house with a revolving door, the top leaders entering and leaving at will.
Her boyfriend’s gang had been connected to Los Zetas, and the competing Sinaloa and Nuevo Generación cartels were heavily represented in the Juárez inmate population. As in the outside world, each had its own territory within the walls of the prisons, and all were armed. Knives and guns were ubiquitous even behind bars, the guards always alert to additional income possibilities to be had by smuggling in forbidden items.
This was the local jail, where she was probably safe, but she had little doubt that she’d eventually be transferred to the CERESO state prison on the outskirts of town, a facility notorious for its high levels of violence. Only a few years earlier, an orchestrated riot had resulted in several dozen killed as rival cartels had clashed over the drug trade within its walls, and things had hardly improved since. If she landed there, she was as good as dead. The prison had over six hundred female inmates, many of them hard cases convicted of street murders in Juárez, where the women were equally deadly as their male counterparts. Word would spread that the former girlfriend of a Los Zetas-affiliated capo was in the system, and it would be only a matter of time before Ana Maria was knifed in her sleep or on the way to the shower.
Of course, before that happened, the greatest threat was that she would be passed around as a sex slave among the guards or to influential male prisoners who were willing to pay for fresh meat. Prostitutes were regularly smuggled into the facility to service the cartel bosses, but it would be far cheaper to have her for a few hours in exchange for some cigarettes or enough pesos to buy a sandwich.
A door at the end of the corridor slammed, and footsteps approached down the hall. Inspector Montalbán stepped into view along with a pair of guards. He stared at her like he’d wiped her off the bottom of his shoe, and gestured to her.
“Stand,” he ordered. She complied, and one of the guards unlocked the cell door while the other stood with his truncheon in hand.
“What now?” she asked.
“Silence,” Montalbán snapped. He turned to the nearest guard. “Cuff her and let’s get this over with.”
“I want a lawyer,” she said.
“You’ll want more than that before we’re through,” Montalbán said with a sneer. “Now shut up, or it will go badly for you.”
Ana Maria bit her tongue and allowed the guard to shackle her wrists in front of her and manhandle her out of the cell. Montalbán marched down the hall with her in tow and made for an interview room just outside the cell block. The second guard opened the heavy iron door for him, and he stepped inside and sat at a stainless steel table. He pointed to a chair bolted to the cement floor, and the guard led Ana Maria to it and slid a steel cable through the cuffs before securing the ends to an eyelet by her feet.
Throughout the process she didn’t say a word, and then the guards departed, leaving her with Montalbán. She understood that the mirror on the far wall was a two way, and that someone, possibly a whole room of someones, was recording every word and watching her like a science experiment.
“Well, Señorita Sánchez, you’ve reached the end of the road. We hav
e enough to put you under the jail. Murdering your father for his money. As despicable an act as any I’ve encountered, and I’ve seen a lot.”
“I want a lawyer.”
The inspector smiled, the expression ugly. “You will get one when I am done with you, and not before.”
She digested that, and he studied her with flat eyes. “Doesn’t it bother you that you have not a shred of proof, and that I’m innocent?” she asked. “Or do you spend your days trying to put the distraught relatives of murder victims away for crimes they didn’t commit?”
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, don’t you?” He looked her up and down, taking his time. “Let’s start with the basics. You have no alibi. You have the motive to have him killed, and you have the connections. You have no job, and your criminal boyfriend is now dead, so he can’t support you with his ill-gotten gains, so you’re desperate. Tell me again with your smart mouth about how I don’t have anything on you.”
“I told you I sell lingerie and Mary Kay in the barrio. That’s what I’ve been doing for a living.”
“That’s just a cover for your drug dealing, I’ll bet. An excuse for distributing them for the cartel.”
She shook her head. “You’re certifiable. Really. Now I’m a drug dealer, too? No proof for that, either. Who needs evidence when you can spin fairy tales?”
“Is your brother in on it? That’s the only thing I want to know.”
“My brother?” she asked, her mouth open in shock. “This is like a bad movie. I haven’t even talked to him in forever. He makes a good living. The best you can come up with is that we somehow murdered my father together? You know he has nothing to do with it. Neither of us does. How about you go and find who actually killed my father, instead of playing out some twisted game with me?”
“Your sentence will be far lighter if you confess, Señorita. We have everything we need to convict you.”
“Except proof.”
“It’s just a matter of time till we find the trigger man. He’ll roll on you, and then you’ll be looking at the rest of your life behind bars.”
A Girl Apart Page 10