Gabriela shrugged. “As you wish.”
Leah resented Gabriela’s observation about her clothes, but she was right. Leah hadn’t imagined that she would be interviewing anyone while posing as some sort of official, and so had erred on the side of comfort. Yet another failure on her part to foresee anything. At least she was batting a thousand.
The good news was that the first store they stopped at had an acceptable top for half of what it would have cost north of the border, and she had to grudgingly admit she felt more official in the crisp white button-up than in her faded Kings of Leon concert shirt. Gabriela inspected her with a smile and nodded approval as Leah emerged from the dressing room in the blouse.
“Very nice.”
Traffic was surprisingly heavy for a vacation day, but Gabriela seemed unfazed. There were plenty of fiestas to commemorate the holiday, and she opined that half the drivers were probably already drunk, based on their abilities.
“So you used to date Uriel?” Leah asked, unable to resist her compulsion to stick her nose where it didn’t belong.
“Yes. A million years ago.”
“But no more?”
Gabriela laughed. “We haven’t seen each other since he went off to university. So no, no more.”
“That happens. I mean, you outgrow each other, especially at that age.”
Gabriela’s smile vanished. “Maybe. But what is done is in the past. No way to change it,” she said, and Leah noted the regret in her words.
“It’s a shame he didn’t get along with his father better. What a way to return home.”
“Indeed. Nobody should have to go through what he has. And now with his sister…”
“It just keeps piling on,” Leah agreed. “But one thing I don’t understand. Why did his bitterness with his father continue after he left?”
Gabriela didn’t answer for a long time. “They were very similar, León and Uriel. Stubborn. Proud. And they didn’t communicate well, at least about the important things. There are always secrets in any family, things that perhaps one of the parties doesn’t know about. That especially holds true with the Sánchez clan.”
“So there’s something Uriel doesn’t know that might have improved his relationship?”
“I’d say so. Uriel always thought that his father did nothing for him. Which is true in his early years. But his father had a change of heart, and he is the one who pulled the strings to get him the scholarship so Uriel could pursue his passion. He also set aside money that he subsidized the scholarship with – so what Uriel thought was based on merit was in reality his father doing what he could without having to be obvious about it. He knew Uriel would have never accepted any help if he’d known the truth. So he went to his grave with the secret. And now it is too late.”
“You haven’t told him?”
“It’s not for me to decide, Leah. Nor for you. What would it do beside further damage him to know? It’s not like he can make amends now, is it?”
“It might change the way he remembers his father.”
“Or the way he views his own accomplishments. Remember that for every cause, there’s an effect. Would it really be good to introduce regret into his life about what he can never undo?”
Leah studied Gabriela’s profile. “You’re right. It wouldn’t be fair to make that decision for him. It’s just…so sad that they never reconciled.”
“Mexico is built on regrets and missed opportunities. We move on. It’s all we can do.”
Leah didn’t have to ask her to expound on her comment. It was plain that she still wasn’t over Uriel, and Leah felt a twinge of something unpleasant at the realization. It was none of her business, and any jealousy was unwarranted.
Which only made it worse.
Gabriela turned down a darkened street and glanced over at Leah. “Not much farther.”
Leah took in the buildings with obvious trepidation. The gang tags marring most surfaces were so prevalent that it was hard to make out the underlying paint color. The cars were mostly twenty- and thirty-year-old near wrecks, many with plastic taped over windows that had been broken out and fenders that were more rust than metal.
Another turn, and Gabriela nodded. “This is her street.”
The light had gone out of the western sky and night was descending over the high desert as the car rolled down the uneven road. Gabriela pointed at a spot on her right and directed the car toward it. She edged into the gap between a senile Chevrolet pickup and a Toyota Yaris and killed the engine.
“She’s back about twenty meters. Oh, and there’s a big dog in the house next door. Don’t let him scare you.”
They climbed from the car, and Leah straightened her new blouse. Gabriela locked the doors and then guided Leah along the dirt strip of road, picking her way between dark puddles of mystery fluid and discarded food wrappers that had blown up against the tires of the parked vehicles.
Halfway to their destination, a pair of headlights caromed along the way, and Gabriela and Leah pressed against the cars to avoid being hit. A white van skidded to a stop just ahead of them and a pair of men leapt out, waving guns, and sprinted toward them. Gabriela screamed as Leah stood motionless in shock, and then they were on her, hauling her to the back of the van. Leah dropped her purse and tried to fight them off, but they carted her away like a side of squirming beef, dragging her by her arms as she kicked and yelled. Gabriela screamed again and lights went on in several of the houses. Leah cried out as they reached the back of the van, and then she was on the cargo bed and the men were pulling the doors closed as the vehicle sped away, leaving a stunned Gabriela in its wake.
Chapter 34
Ana Maria paced the length of her cell. The inspector had ultimately used the hose in an attempt to scare her rather than beating her with it, so the patchwork of bruises she’d feared hadn’t materialized, which was about the only lucky break she’d gotten.
The district attorney had taken the next turn after Montalbán finished, and had played good cop to his bad, going back and forth, pressuring her for a confession and to implicate her brother. When she didn’t cooperate, they began with sleep deprivation and cutting her calories and water to a bare minimum in the hopes of making her delirious and thus more pliable. Nausea from the stench and waves of weakness from dehydration and inadequate food had become her new norm.
But they’d mistaken her strength of will. Stubbornness ran in the family, and she’d gotten more than her share. Contrary to what they’d hoped, the mistreatment energized her, and each passing hour reinforced her commitment to get through this ordeal and come out of it stronger. That they were trying to pin her father’s murder on her insulted her at a deep level, and between that and the desperation to prevail no matter what, she’d proved as intractable as a boulder – which, to her thinly disguised delight, had further enraged the cop and his pet prosecutor.
She’d gone through the weekend and outlasted them, and tomorrow she would get a bail hearing, which hopefully would result in her release. If not, she had no doubt that Uriel would be working to free her; and now, with their father’s inheritance, she could afford the best defense money could buy. The thought of having to squander the cash on attorneys stuck in her craw, but all it took was a whiff of the overflowing toilet to convince her that freedom would be a bargain at any price.
A woman with arms as big as Ana Maria’s legs approached the cell with a tray containing a square of wax paper piled with beans and tortillas and a small paper cup of tepid water.
“Step back,” she ordered, and Ana Maria complied.
The woman slid the tray beneath a six-inch gap in the center of the door that the top of the cup just cleared and straightened. “Enjoy, sweet cheeks,” she said, and sauntered away, leaving Ana Maria to her meal.
She moved quickly to the tray, racing the ants and cockroaches for the food, but was too late to keep a swarm of flies, drawn from the area by the toilet, from landing on the beans. Ana Maria’s gorge rose in her throat at
the thought of where the vermin had come from, but shrugged off the instinct to eat the tortillas – she needed any strength she could muster, and the protein would sustain her longer than a few stale slices of cornmeal.
Back against the cell wall, she scooped up some beans using the edge of a tortilla and held her breath as she ate, chewing woodenly, trying not to think about anything but tomorrow. She could make it through this, she thought, and they wouldn’t ship her to CERESO until she’d at least been arraigned and formally charged, and hopefully not until she’d been sentenced.
As long as she could stay out of the prison population, she had a chance. Here in the jail, they were keeping her segregated, probably to avoid the embarrassment of her being killed while in custody. Her father’s murder would attract attention, and the additional drama of his daughter being charged with the crime would ensure the story remained in the headlines for a while, so the lurid nature of the charges would ensure her safety, at least for a time.
She finished her meal and washed the last of the cardboard tortilla down with half her water, rolling it around in her mouth to rinse away the noxious taste of rancid beans. The sludge threatened to surge back up her throat, but she swallowed again, the tang of bile souring her breathing the least of her worries.
Whatever happened, she wouldn’t cry. She would save her tears for her father. Her captors wouldn’t get the satisfaction of breaking her. Ana Maria might die at the hand of a gang member in lockup, but she would go out in full possession of a dignity they couldn’t steal from her, no matter how they tried. She understood what Montalbán was hoping to achieve by the harsh conditions over the extended weekend – to break her will and have her begging to sign anything he put in front of her.
It wasn’t going to be.
He’d picked the wrong target for his bullying, and that plus the thought of her father’s killer still out on the street, free as a bird while she endured inhumane conditions at the hands of the police, would sustain her.
Ana Maria took a final look at the toilet and kicked the tray back to the door before closing her eyes and retreating into the quiet place in the recesses of her mind, an oasis of her own making where nobody could reach her and tranquility reigned.
Chapter 35
The interior of the van was so dark Leah could barely make out the features of the two assailants. Her eyes started to adjust, but then the nearest one pulled a burlap sack over her head and shoulders, and she coughed, blinded by the material, which reeked of dust and oil. She tried to squirm away, but one of the men backhanded her across the side of her head.
“Stop that,” he said in heavily accented English.
Leah obeyed, realizing that any resistance was useless. The van swayed and bounced, the engine revving as it picked up speed, and then they were on pavement and the ride evened out. The driver made a left turn, and Leah rolled against the metal side of the van and cried out in pain when her skull thumped against steel.
Strong hands grabbed her and wrestled her onto her stomach, and she felt rope wrap around her wrists and pull so tight she grimaced. The van bounced again and she almost bit her tongue off as her teeth gnashed together. She grunted but resisted the urge to cry. Showing weakness wouldn’t accomplish anything, and she needed to think, not fall apart.
Leah estimated twenty minutes went by before the van coasted to a stop. She’d given up trying to remember how many rights and lefts it had taken. She was alone, abducted in the most dangerous city in Mexico, bound by unknown captors, and totally helpless.
The engine idled for a few moments, and the men had a hushed discussion she couldn’t make out. Then the motor shut off and the van rocked as the driver climbed out. His door slammed shut with a thunk, and then the rear doors opened and cooler air washed over her.
Any relief was short lived. Leah felt the man on her left crawl to the back and exit the van, leaving her with the one who had swatted her earlier. She waited, fearing the worst, a lone woman with three men in the middle of nowhere.
The man beside her spoke, his voice a rasp. “You been snooping around, eh? Think you pretty smart, no?”
Another slap against the head was more humiliating than painful and underscored how completely helpless she was. Leah remained silent, unsure how to respond without making her situation worse. She strained at her bindings with her wrists, but they remained tight. The man chuckled and spoke again.
“You wanna end up like the others? Wanna disappear in the desert like the rest of the girls? That what you want?”
Leah shook her head inside the sack. “No. Please. No.”
“Maybe I cut a finger off, send it to your paper. Think that would be good?”
The man was now so close she could smell onions and alcohol on his breath, even through the filthy burlap. “Or maybe you want to see how a real man do it in Mexico? That right, chica?”
His hands roamed over her body, fondling her breasts, invasive and groping. She forced herself not to cry out, afraid of what was going to happen next. One of the others chuckled from the rear of the van and said something guttural in Spanish, and all three laughed.
Leah’s glasses were pressed so hard against her nose she felt like it was going to break. She snuffled, fighting for breath, the terror taking on a life of its own in her as the man groped her.
And then it was over. He moved away from her and then she felt the van bounce as he stepped from the back. The doors slammed shut, leaving her with sweat coursing down her face, hyperventilating, and the dust from the sack burning her eyes and nostrils.
She lay trembling for a long time while the interior of the van grew hotter as the minutes ticked by. Leah listened, holding perfectly still, but couldn’t make out anything beyond the sound of distant cars. She worked her wrists back and forth, fighting to ease the pressure on her numb hands, and after a seeming eternity, blood flow returned with a painful prickling. She continued until her skin began to abrade, and paused for breath, cursing the sack’s blinding confines.
After pausing to rest, she rolled onto her back and, after a series of tiny shifts, was able to sit up with her back against the hard metal side. The position eased the pain in her arms and shoulders, and she sat like that, taking measured breaths and blinking away perspiration, her thoughts a racing jumble.
She had to get out of the van. Somehow. The men could come back at any moment, and when they did, there would be nothing she could do to stop them.
Leah turned her head so one of the structural ribs of the side of the van pressed against her cheek. Choking slightly, she adjusted the angle so it pressed the burlap sack into her mouth. She began chewing, ignoring the gag reflex the taste of mildew and petroleum triggered.
She was just beginning to make progress, spitting out shreds of the fabric she’d masticated loose, when the unmistakable sound of a vehicle growling to a stop nearby reverberated through the van interior, freezing the blood in her veins.
Chapter 36
Leah’s heart stuttered at the sound of heavy boots crunching on gravel outside, and then the door opened and a flashlight beam played across the bag covering her face. A male voice called out in Spanish, and Leah tried her best to remember enough of the language to cry out for help.
Whatever she managed worked, because after a terse exchange in Spanish between at least two men, Leah was dragged to the rear of the van and hauled out. She was wobbly on her feet, but a pair of hands steadied her as another fumbled with the bag and pulled it from her head.
Leah blinked in the headlights of a pickup truck and exhaled in relief at the sight of two police officers with submachine guns hanging from shoulder slings, who seemed as bewildered by her as she was happy to see them. The one who had removed the sack went to work on her bindings, and after a tense moment with a pocketknife, her hands were free and she could clench and unclench her fingers.
The officers barked questions, but she kept shaking her head and trying to explain that she didn’t understand – they were speaking
too fast. She tried a few no hablas and that seemed to get through, as she thought furiously about how to frame a coherent response. More rapid-fire interrogatives from the police didn’t improve her language skills, and the men were growing annoyed when she remembered that she was wearing the same jeans as on Friday. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt in her back pocket and her fingers found a business card.
Leah handed it to the first officer. He squinted to read it in the gloom, and Leah pantomimed making a phone call and pointed to Montalbán’s name. The two cops exchanged a wary glance, and then the second one walked back to the truck, his bulletproof vest and machine gun lending him the appearance of a combat soldier rather than a keeper of the peace.
A minute later the officer returned and jabbered at her. She got the gist of it: Montalbán was on his way.
She looked around at her surroundings. The van was parked in a deserted arroyo, the lights of Juárez in the distance, an occasional car rolling by on a nearby road. The officer who had removed the bag said something about agua, and she nodded, suddenly parched. It was his turn to walk to the truck as the other’s eyes roved over the terrain, one hand on the stock of his submachine gun. Leah realized by his demeanor that she wasn’t out of danger yet – Juárez was an area where at any moment a gang might open fire at the police with an AK-47, and right now they were completely exposed.
She pushed the thought from her mind when the other man appeared at her side with a liter bottle of water and cracked the cap for her. Leah chugged it half gone and stopped to breathe as the officers continued to scan the dark landscape for threats.
It seemed like forever, but her watch told her it was in reality twenty minutes before Montalbán arrived in an unmarked car and climbed from behind the wheel. He made his way to Leah and looked her over before speaking.
“You are the reporter, no?”
A Girl Apart Page 19