“That’s right,” she said. “I had your card. Thank you for coming. They’re asking all kinds of questions, but I don’t speak Spanish well enough to tell them anything.”
“What happened?”
“I was kidnapped this evening. Two men and a driver. They had guns.”
“Kidnapped? Where did this happen?”
“Somewhere in the barrio east of town.”
He frowned. “What were you doing there? That is a dangerous area at the best of times.”
“I was going to interview someone, and the van roared up and the men jumped out and grabbed me.” She paused. “They warned me to stop asking questions and left me here.”
“Stop asking questions? About what? You said you were covering the Sánchez murder.”
“I am. But I’m also researching the disappearing factory workers. The maquiladora girls.”
His eyes narrowed. “You what?”
“I’m covering the latest disappearances. Interviewing people.”
“You’re a fool, venturing into a strange country and turning over dangerous rocks.” He shook his head. “You’re lucky they didn’t kill you. We find bodies out here nearly every other day.”
“I’m beginning to appreciate that.”
“Can you describe the men?”
Leah did her best, but the look of disgust on Montalbán’s face told her what she already knew: she’d just described a third of the adult male population of Juárez. When the officers who’d rescued her were done asking questions, with Montalbán translating, he ran a hand over his hair and glared at her.
“I’m taking you into the station. You will file a report, and then I want you out of Juárez for good.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she protested.
“You’ve been warned that you will be killed if you persist. Are you stupid? Deaf? Do you think these people are playing? You obviously touched a nerve. Run back home and stay there.”
“Don’t you want to know who I’ve questioned and what I’ve learned?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me, whether I want to know or not. But it’s not my case.”
“That’s right. You have your hands full prosecuting innocent women for murders they didn’t commit.”
Leah instantly regretted the remark. It was getting late, and with the tension, her blood sugar crashing, the dehydration and the fear of the near miss…
“I came here from my home, on my off hours, to help you. I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut or you can walk back to town,” he said, the menace in his voice clear. “Do you understand?”
“I…I’m sorry.”
His eyes flashed anger and he walked toward his vehicle. “Your apology means nothing. Now get into the car, or take your chances that the kidnappers aren’t coming back to finish the job.”
Chapter 37
It was two a.m. by the time the police finished taking Leah’s statement, and she was exhausted, the brush with death and its aftermath having completely sapped her. Montalbán had located a uniformed officer who spoke reasonable enough English to translate, and after delivering a final warning, left her to her fate in favor of getting some sleep.
Leah’s head was pounding, and when she used the restroom, her temple was turning purple from being smacked by her captors. She surveyed her red eyes, split lip, and limp, scraggly hair, and shook her head. If they’d dragged her for a mile behind the van, she couldn’t have looked much worse.
When the officer was done and she’d signed the report, he allowed her to use his phone to call Uriel’s hotel. The desk clerk was reluctant to put her through given the late hour, but she insisted, and Uriel answered on the second ring.
“Uriel,” she began.
“Leah? Thank God. Where are you?”
“At the police station. Someone kidnapped me.”
“Gabby told me. She just left a little while ago. Are you hurt?”
“Just a little banged up. I’ll live.”
“Which station are you at? I’ll come get you. I have your purse and your phone. Gabriela left them with me.”
“You don’t have to. I can come to the hotel. I can’t cross the border without my stuff.”
“Cross at this hour? You should wait until morning. We can go together. I have to be up early to hit the bank anyway, remember?”
She groaned inwardly and glanced at the time. If she was lucky, she might get four hours of slumber. For the umpteenth time in the past week.
“That’s right.”
“I’ll prepare the couch. I’m growing to love that thing.”
“I’m sorry, Uriel.”
“No problem. You sure you don’t want me to come get you?”
“I can take a taxi. If you can leave some money with the front desk…”
“Consider it done.” He hesitated. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I get there. It was pretty awful.”
“I have news for you, too. How long do you think you’ll be?”
“Hopefully no more than fifteen minutes.”
The cop took pity on her and called her a cab, and she arrived at the hotel with two minutes to spare. Uriel was waiting for her in the lobby with money and, after a quick look at Leah, went out and paid the driver. When he returned, his expression was as serious as she’d ever seen.
“I look that bad?” she asked.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
She did on the way upstairs and finished as he opened the room door. He locked it and sat on the couch while she used the bathroom, and when she emerged, he shook his head.
“It has to be the mayor,” he said. “Has to.”
“That’s what I figured. But how to prove it?”
“That’s the least of your worries. If it is, he controls the town, which means you aren’t safe in Juárez.”
“I put that together, too. But he doesn’t know where I am right now, so for the time being I’m okay.”
“You have to drop this, Leah.”
Her expression hardened. “That’s not how I roll, Uriel.”
“You could have been killed. These people are dangerous. They won’t stop next time.”
“Which is why I won’t give them another chance. But I’m not dropping it. If the mayor is one of the miscreants behind the latest disappearances, that’s massive news. I prove it, and he goes down for the count.”
“Or wind up in a dumpster somewhere,” he warned, his voice tight.
“You said you had news?” she said, changing the subject from her imminent demise.
He nodded. “Yes. I met with the PI. He managed to track down two of the other girls’ parents and got Emilia’s mother’s phone bill. She only has a cell.”
Leah regarded him. He had a terrible poker face and couldn’t hide his excitement. “And?”
“She’s called a number in Veracruz over a dozen times since Emilia disappeared. Never called it before.”
Leah absorbed the information. “A relative? Maybe for emotional support?”
“Could be. Or it could be…something else.”
Her face lit up. “You don’t think…”
He shrugged. “It just gets stranger and stranger, doesn’t it?”
“We have to know for sure, Uriel.”
He nodded. “But how?”
She thought hard and then snapped her fingers. “How good an actor are you?”
He looked puzzled. “Why?”
Leah told him her idea. When she finished, he was smiling.
“I think I can pull that off. Wait until morning?”
“No. Right now. More alarming.”
Uriel rose and retrieved a printout, walked to the hotel phone, accessed an outside line, and dialed a number from the document. It rang four times, and then a sleepy female voice answered.
“Hello?”
“I’m trying to reach Emilia Gutierrez,” Uriel said.
A pause. “Who?”
�
�This is Sergeant Garcia from the Juárez police department. Señora Gutierrez has been in an accident and is in critical condition. She indicated that her daughter was at this number before she was taken into surgery. We are trying to reach her. Who is speaking?”
“Oh, God. Is she going to live? Where is she? What hospital?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give that information to anyone but next of kin.”
“This is Emilia. What happened? How bad is it?”
Uriel fist-pumped the air. “Please remain at this number, Miss Gutierrez. We’ll call when we know more.”
“How did it happen? What’s wrong with her?”
“I’m afraid she’s been badly injured. The prognosis is guarded, but positive. Stay by the phone. She should be out of surgery by morning.”
“Oh, God, no. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
“We’ll call soon,” Uriel said, and then hung up as Emilia was demanding to know what hospital her mother was at again.
Leah frowned. “She’s alive?”
“Sounded pretty healthy for a dead girl.”
“She could vanish again when she figures out her mother isn’t hurt.”
“True. But if I call her again tomorrow and tell her that her mom’s still in a coma and there’s nothing to be done, it will buy us some more time. I can have the PI contact a counterpart there and have him confront her, photograph her, and print her. Remember he’s a cop, so he probably knows others. He can say she’s wanted in Juárez, have them take her in and hold her until we can get the story out of her or her mother.”
“What the hell is going on here, Uriel? Did she sound like she was under duress?”
“Not really.”
“Then why? Why would they fake her abduction?”
“A good question. A better one is whether the other recent disappearances are also fake.”
“I don’t get it. To what end?”
Uriel shook his head. “I don’t know. But first thing in the morning I’m going to call the investigator and have him pull the numbers of the other relatives to see if there’s a similar pattern. If so, the whole thing’s some kind of act.”
“But…if it is, then why kill your father? I mean, if they aren’t murdering the girls, why gun him down? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know. We must be missing something. Maybe she’s an exception of some kind.”
Leah smoothed her hair and closed her eyes. “I’m so beat I can’t think. My head’s spinning, Uriel.”
He nodded. “Let’s get some rest. There’s no point to trying to figure this out on no sleep. I’m running on empty too, and tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
She pointed at the bedside clock. “Think we can afford till eight?”
He sighed. “No. My sister’s still in jail, and we have to cross the border and get to the bank before her hearing. We don’t have any time to waste.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Sorry.”
Leah kicked off her shoes and fell back against the mattress with a thump.
“Me too.”
Chapter 38
El Paso, Texas
The highway leading to Las Cruces, New Mexico, was relatively empty at eight a.m., just like the border crossing when they had walked over the bridge that spanned the dry Rio Grande riverbed. The Malibu had coughed reluctantly before settling into a bumpy idle, and after gassing up on the way out of town, they’d headed north.
Both Leah and Uriel were dazed from sleep deprivation, and the supersize filling-station coffee had done little to mitigate their fatigue. Leah drove slower than usual, her reaction time impaired – she could tell from the way signs and other vehicles seemed to jump into her awareness, surprising her. She would have done just about anything for another four hours of rest, but the alarm clock had been insistent, and one look at Uriel’s impatient expression had banished the thought.
“So how long did you live in the States?” she asked.
“Only until I was about seven. Then we moved back to Juárez so my mom could take care of her mother, who had gotten sick. We wound up living with her until I left for university, and when she passed away, my mother moved back to the U.S.”
“But you never wanted to?”
“Not really. I love my job, and Guadalajara is an amazing city. I couldn’t imagine a better situation – and it’s not like there’s a ton of professorships available in the States these days.”
“It’s weird, because so many Americans believe that most Mexicans want to live here.”
“Yeah, well, certainly the poorest ones do. They have it pretty rough in Mexico. But the majority like living in their own country. When you hear about people moving, it’s because they can make more money in the States, not because they dislike Mexico. Those who are already doing decently stay. Which is sad, because I know when I lived in Las Cruces, people thought Mexicans were all dirt-poor laborers or something.”
“Still, the crime, the corruption…”
“Oh, I’m not saying it’s heaven. Lots of areas are seriously dangerous. I just avoid them.”
She laughed. “Makes sense. There are some ugly parts of El Paso where you don’t want to turn down the wrong street.”
“I think that’s everywhere. And the drug trade doesn’t make it any better. It used to be only marijuana in Mexico, but nowadays meth is a big problem in the barrio. It’s cheap, so even the poorest can afford it.”
“Same in the U.S. That and heroin. A big problem.”
“I never understood any of that.”
“You never tried drugs?”
“I was more of a…a serious kid.”
She smiled. “You mean a nerd.”
“That’s the word.”
“Don’t feel bad. So was I. Still am, and proud of it.”
“I never saw it as bad. I mean, I played soccer and did sports and all that. But what I really enjoyed was creating designs. Looking at a space and imagining something nobody else had ever thought of filling it – something striking. I guess some people play music or write books. I create buildings that will outlive me. I’ve never wanted to do anything else. And now I get to teach others, to impart my philosophy to a new generation.”
“Same with my job. I mean, there are a lot that pay better, but I love what I do. How many people can say that? Most people I know are slaving away at something they dislike to pay the bills. A lot of them have to work two or three jobs just to get by.”
He nodded. “That’s one of the differences I was trying to describe culturally. We work to live. Americans seem to live to work.”
Leah reflected on her existence in her aunt’s apartment, most of her waking hours spent in front of a computer. “You’re not the first to make that observation. Which is why it’s good to enjoy your job.”
“I tell my friends I have the best job in the world, and I mean it.”
She glanced at him. “I believe you.”
Uriel called the investigator from the road and outlined what he required, and the man agreed to contact his counterparts in Veracruz – for an additional cost. After some good-natured haggling, Uriel agreed and signed off, and then called Ortiz, who didn’t have an arraignment time yet.
“They haven’t scheduled her hearing?” Uriel asked.
“The holiday must have them backed up,” Ortiz said. “I have two calls in to them. You’ll know as soon as I do.”
“Can they legally not have the hearing today?”
“Legally? It could cause a procedural problem, but sure, they could push it to tomorrow if they’re overloaded.”
“Could you get her off based on that?”
“Unlikely. But it could show that she didn’t get timely process, and some judges are pretty strict on that because of past abuses. Depends on who ultimately hears her case.”
The bank branch was on a busy street near a strip mall. Leah parked and accompanied Uriel inside, where he presented his identification to the manag
er, who verified he was on the list as authorized to access the box and then guided them through the vault door into the secure area. Uriel moved along the rows of compartment doors until he found the one he was looking for. He slid his key into the slot, and the manager did the same with hers. Once the door was open, she indicated a small room where they could have privacy and left them to their inspection.
Uriel removed the long drawer, carried it to the room, and set it on a metal table. Leah looked on as he opened the top and removed a red velvet bag. “Heavy,” he commented, and unsnapped the top to peer inside.
He removed a dozen Mexican gold fifty-peso Centenario coins and placed them on the table, and then shook out a heavy gold necklace. After verifying that was everything in the sack, he fished a small black cardboard box from the drawer and opened the lid.
Inside were an envelope and a handful of photographs. Uriel shuffled through the pictures; Leah saw several of a young boy wearing a cowboy hat, another with a football helmet, another dressed as Superman.
“You?” she asked.
He nodded and continued sorting through the snaps until he stopped at one of a smiling couple, their clothes obviously from the eighties, he with a thick head of black hair and a mustache, she with wavy locks that tumbled over her shoulders. He handed the photo to Leah with a stiff smile. “That’s him and my mom. Probably before I was born, by the look of it.”
“You definitely can see the resemblance.”
“Thank God I didn’t get any of his traits.”
The rancor in his voice stopped Leah from responding. She considered how difficult going through his dead father’s things had to be, and thought better of intruding.
Uriel opened the envelope and shook out two yellowed squares of paper. He unfolded the first and shook his head. “The mortgage to his land in Juárez. Paid off to the original seller.” He opened the second. “Another mortgage on a piece of property here in Las Cruces. Also paid off, in cash.” He refolded the mortgages. “That’s it. No file. No secret message. Nothing that could help Ana Maria.”
“I’m sorry, Uriel.”
He gathered the bag and the box and turned to her. “Had to try.”
A Girl Apart Page 20