“So? You have a lead?” he said after they’d exchanged greetings.
“Yes,” Uriel said. “Were you involved with my father and his efforts to rehabilitate the church?”
Pedro looked to their left, where the bell tower was silhouetted against the night sky. “Not really. I’m not very religious. Thirty years as a cop burned any hope for mankind’s redemption out of me.”
“And yet my father was,” Uriel explained. “We think he might have stashed the file in the church.”
“In there?”
“Yes,” Leah said. “We’re going to take a look. You think it will be open now?”
“Maybe. Most churches have a twilight mass.” He checked the time. “Although it would be over by now.” He paused. “Where in the church do you think it is, and why? Seems like it would be risky to hide something valuable in a public place.”
Leah hesitated a beat. “Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight. They tore his house and his cars apart. If León knew it was that dangerous, hiding it might have been his insurance policy if they threatened to kill him for it.”
“The question being, why come for it now and not a month ago, or two years ago, or ten?” Uriel asked, his voice quiet.
Pedro shrugged. “You have any idea?”
“Maybe they knew he was going to go public with it somehow?” Leah said. “Maybe he told someone, and they told someone, and pretty soon the bad guys had to act to keep him from doing it?”
“Anything’s possible,” the older man said. “I suppose it doesn’t much matter now. Won’t bring poor León back.”
Uriel’s jaw clenched. “Let’s go take a look at what my father spent a good part of his life maintaining.”
He set off toward the bell tower, Leah by his side, and Pedro breathing heavily as he worked to keep up with the younger couple’s pace.
Chapter 43
“Did you make any progress on the missing girls?” Pedro asked as they neared the church’s dark façade.
Leah nodded. “Well, at least one of them isn’t so missing. Or rather, she isn’t dead.”
“What does that mean?” Pedro asked.
Uriel told him about the phone call and the revelation that Emilia was alive and well in Veracruz. “And by now she should be in custody. I’m waiting for a call from the investigator.” He stopped for a moment and swore in Spanish. “I was supposed to meet him this evening to give him some cash. I completely forgot, with all that’s happened.”
“I’m sure he’ll wait for the money. And that he’ll call to remind you soon enough,” Pedro said with a chuckle. “What do you make of her being alive?”
“We think it’s some kind of scam. The mayor’s in on it, I know that for sure. He had his goons kidnap me…yesterday.” Leah exhaled slowly and wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. “I can’t believe that was only last night. Seems like a month ago.”
“They kidnapped you?” Pedro blurted. “Seriously? How do you know it was his men?”
She told him about the abduction and spelled out her reasoning, and his frown deepened. “If you’re right, you shouldn’t be in Juárez. And why didn’t you call me instead of Montalbán? The man’s a snake.”
“I didn’t have your number – all I had was his card.”
Pedro noted the discoloration by her temple. “They clocked you a good one.”
“I’ve been told it could have been worse.”
“They could have found your head in the river,” Pedro confirmed. “You’re playing with fire.”
Leah’s stare hardened. “So are they.”
“You can write a nasty story about them and maybe embarrass or expose them. They can chop you into pieces and feed you to their fighting dogs and not lose a minute’s sleep over it. There is, how do you say it, a difference in degree?”
She nodded. “A fair point.”
Uriel elbowed her and pointed to the church door. “The hours are posted there.”
They drew near and saw that mass was indeed finished, having ended an hour earlier, but the church was still open until nine. Uriel was reaching for the oversized bronze door handle when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and frowned as he answered.
“Si?”
Uriel listened for thirty seconds, his expression growing increasingly troubled, and then switched to English. “Slow down. What hospital?”
More silence from Uriel as the caller answered his question.
“How bad is it?” he asked, his voice quiet. Another pause, and then he nodded once as he spoke. “I’ll be on my way within the hour. Thank you for calling. I appreciate it. Please call this number if anything…changes.”
Leah and Pedro looked at him expectantly when he hung up. Leah read his face and she moved closer to him. “What’s wrong, Uriel?”
“It’s my mother. Someone broke into her house and…hurt her. Badly. She’s in the hospital. That was her neighbor, who found her when she smelled smoke and went to see what was wrong. Whoever did it tried to burn her house down, with her in it.”
“Good Lord!” Leah blurted.
“Yes. It’s bad. She’s in a coma. I…we need to get back there immediately.”
Leah nodded. “This can wait.”
Pedro cleared his throat. “Do they have any idea who did it?”
Uriel shook his head. “No. Nobody saw anything.” He squared his shoulders and eyed the church door. “We’re here. We might as well get this over with. Ten minutes isn’t going to make a difference.”
“Are you sure, Uriel?” Leah asked.
“We need to do it for my sister. You can just drive faster on the way to the hospital – assuming you’ll take me.”
“Of course. Poor Carla. That’s horrible. Why would anyone do that?”
“I have no idea. The fire department was able to stop the blaze before it got too bad. But my mother’s a different story.” He shook his head and reached for the door handle. “Let’s make this quick.”
Uriel led them into the interior, which was simple, and moved to where the priest who had officiated Sánchez’s funeral was standing by the altar, cleaning a metal plate with a cloth, watching them. The old clergyman’s face broke into a smile at the sight of Uriel and then grew somber.
“Young Señor Sánchez, isn’t it? Welcome to my humble home – or rather, to God’s house. What brings you by at this hour?” he asked in Spanish.
“I remembered my father was very involved in the church, and wanted to look around to better appreciate his efforts,” Uriel said, a partial truth.
“Certainly, my son. Do you wish me to give you a tour, or would you prefer to reflect in peace?”
“Continue with what you were doing, Father. I don’t mean to trouble you.”
The priest looked at Leah for a moment and then at Pedro. He nodded at the older man, recognizing him from the funeral, and then gestured at the pews with the polishing cloth.
“As you wish,” he said. “I will leave you to appreciate your father’s good work with our sculptures. I must attend to my duties. Call if you need anything.” He gathered the plates and the cloth and walked slowly to a door near the altar.
The inside of the church was larger than it appeared from the street, with numerous alcoves along the walls cloaked in shadows. They walked along, noting the depictions in each, the stern countenances of saints staring down at them from pedestals recessed in the depressions.
“You think he hid the file in one of these?” Pedro asked skeptically.
“That’s our theory,” Uriel said, studying a four-foot-tall statue of John the Baptist, a beatific expression of rapture on his face, the level of detail of the paintwork evidence of countless hours with a fine brush and a steady hand.
“Your father did all of these?” Leah whispered.
“I think so. It was his hobby. Since he retired, he had time on his hands, I guess. And it’s not like he had to walk miles across broken glass to get here.”
“He had a real tal
ent,” she said.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Uriel agreed.
They continued toward the back of the church, past a Mary Magdalene smiling into eternity with half-closed eyes, dressed in a purple robe with fine gold trim, her painted skin lightly blushed and rendered so naturally it seemed lifelike. Uriel stopped to consider the statue while Leah continued along to the final alcove at the rear, where the angel from Carla’s photograph stood, votive candles lined up in a row on a ledge in front of it.
“Uriel,” she whispered, studying the handiwork. The statue was in flawless condition, its eyes a radiant blue that seemed to follow her when she moved to the side. She inspected the base, where the angel’s sandaled feet stood on simulated rock in the shadows, and her gaze rose along its legs until ending at the effigy’s head.
“See anything?” Uriel said from behind her.
“No. But it’s kind of dark.”
“Let me take a look,” he said, and edged beside her, reminding Leah of the moment in the taxi. If he was also thinking about it, he gave no indication and instead leaned forward and felt along where the bottom of the statue rested against the mortared alcove base. His fingers probed the angel’s feet and then back to the base at the rear of the alcove, out of sight.
“I feel something,” he said, his voice hushed.
“What?”
“It’s a…an opening. But my hand’s too big to fit in.”
“I’ll try,” Leah said, and brushed past him, the space so confined they were pressed close together, his breath sweet against her neck. She forced any distracting thoughts from her mind and focused on the base, and then stopped when her fingers felt the gap Uriel had described. Her pulse quickened as she inched her right hand at an odd angle into the opening, and closed her eyes in concentration, fingertips feeling for anything besides stone.
She cried out and withdrew her hand in a flurry, her face white as a sheet and contorted in alarm, and she shook a large black spider from her arm. Uriel stepped back as the arachnid raced off, and Leah shuddered.
“God…” she hissed. “I hate spiders.”
“Did it bite you?” he asked, worried.
She shook her head. “No. It just…freaked me out a little.”
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“I felt something. I think it’s in there,” Leah said, and moved back into the awkward position, extending her arm to the rear of the alcove for another try, her pelvis pushed against the candle ledge, dust and the dank odor of mildew strong around her.
Leah’s fingers found the gap again, and ignoring the possibility that the spider had company over for the evening, she repeated her earlier maneuver and groped in the cramped space until she felt the edge of a plastic sheath. Perspiration coated her forehead as she strained to grip it between her index and middle finger, and then it was sliding out with a soft scrape.
She pulled it free and inspected it in the gloom – it was a scratched-up blue translucent plastic file case with a manila folder inside. Leah squinted at writing on the surface of the folder and shook her head.
“I can’t see,” she said, stepping back with the file in her hand. “Let’s find some light.”
Uriel nodded and they turned, and then stiffened at the sight of Pedro standing in the shadows of the pews, the ugly muzzle of a pistol pointed at them.
Chapter 44
“Pedro? What the hell are you doing?” Uriel blurted.
“Give me the file,” Pedro ordered, motioning with the gun.
“You can’t be serious,” Uriel said.
“You have no idea what you’re mixed up in. Hand it over. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to.”
“What’s in the file, Pedro?” Leah asked, her voice echoing in the empty church.
“Two million dollars with my name on it,” Pedro snarled.
“What are you talking about?” Uriel said.
“Your father held onto some dangerous information. I had no idea he had it until it was too late, but the wrong people learned about it, and that signed his death warrant.”
“The wrong people?” Leah said. “The mayor?”
Pedro laughed, the sound harsh and abrasive. “You’re a fool. The mayor has nothing to do with this. You’ve been chasing your tails with that idiocy. I only encouraged you to buy myself more time to find the file, and to keep you near in case you stumbled across it. Which turned out to be a good idea.”
“What’s inside?” Leah demanded, holding the file aloft. “What’s worth two million dollars…and killing over?”
“Did you murder him?” Uriel interrupted. “Your lifelong friend?”
Pedro shook his head. “No. Your father screwed up. My best guess is that he didn’t realize that the cartel had the ability to listen in on phone calls. His call to Leah sealed his fate as surely as if he’d put a gun in his mouth.”
“Cartel?” Leah repeated. “What cartel?”
Pedro shrugged. “Durango. Biggest in the country now. Its leader was recently caught. El Guapo. He’s in prison in Mexico, awaiting extradition to the States.”
“So?” Uriel said.
“Your father arrested him thirty years ago – the first time he was ever imprisoned, and later escaped. That’s what this is all about. The cartel will pay two million dollars to anyone who brings them the file. No questions. So I just made my retirement something amazing.” Pedro paused. “They put out the word to everyone who had been on the force back when he was originally arrested – they wanted the file on him and were willing to pay huge. When nobody could find it and no one came forward, my hunch is they tapped all our phones and sat back and waited for someone to make a wrong move. That someone was your father, Uriel. A good man, but too honest for his own good.”
“Why do they want a thirty-year-old arrest report?” Leah asked.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Pedro leveled the gun at Leah’s head. “Now give me the file. No more questions.”
“Don’t do it,” Uriel warned. “He’s just going to shoot us once he has it.”
Pedro’s features twisted with anger. “You’re an idiot. Give it to me or I’ll blow your head off.”
“You there. What’s going on?” the priest’s voice called out, startling them. Pedro’s eyes flitted to the side at the sound, and Uriel charged, throwing himself at the ex-cop with all his might. Pedro was caught off guard by the running tackle, and they fell back into the pews and onto the stone floor, Uriel on top of him, grappling for the gun. One of the wooden benches collapsed from the force of their fall, and then the men were rolling among the debris.
Pedro managed to twist himself so he was on top of Uriel, both grimacing from effort. Uriel head butted the older man, and a shot rang out. Uriel screamed in pain and his head fell back against the hard floor. Leah rushed to where Pedro was trying to push himself upright and scooped up one of the broken wooden bench legs, and then slammed him in the back of the skull, putting her full weight into the blow.
The gun clattered away beneath the pews and Pedro collapsed. Leah dropped the bench leg and knelt where Uriel was gasping, a crimson stain blossoming on his shirt from a shoulder wound.
“Oh, God, Uriel,” she cried as blood seeped from the bullet hole. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
He groaned, his face white from shock. “Hurts…”
The priest came at a run. “What happened?” he demanded in Spanish.
“He pulled a gun on us. Uriel’s been shot. Call the police and an ambulance,” Leah said, but the priest looked at her uncomprehendingly. She tried again, but realized the man didn’t speak English. She signed holding a phone to her ear and said, “Policia,” and the priest nodded and darted off.
“Leah…Pedro’s car. Get his…keys. Faster…than…ambulance…” Uriel managed, wincing in pain. “Help me…up.”
“You shouldn’t move,” she said.
“We need to…get out of here…the file.”
&nb
sp; “You think you can make it?”
“Help me.”
Leah slid the file into her waistband at the small of her back and leaned over Pedro. The car keys were in his jacket, and she retrieved them and pulled Uriel to his feet. With her help, he stood unsteadily. She supported his left side, his arm leaning on her shoulder, and he glanced down at Pedro, whose head was trickling blood onto the stone beneath him.
“Where’s…the gun?” he asked.
“Somewhere in the pews. Come on. You’re bleeding a lot, Uriel,” Leah said, her voice tight. Uriel nodded, and they walked to the church’s rear entrance, where Leah pulled one of the doors open and led him into the night, his steps heavy. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down and I’ll get the car?”
“We’re only…a minute away.”
At the Pathfinder, he collapsed in the rear seat with a raspy exhalation. She slammed the door shut, climbed into the driver’s seat, and twisted the ignition key. The engine roared to life and she jammed the transmission into gear. “Where’s the nearest hospital?” she asked.
“Up…at the main street. Left. Maybe…six blocks…” he said, his voice fading at the last words.
“Hang on, Uriel. We’ll get there in no time,” she said from between clenched teeth, and floored the accelerator. The SUV tore from the curb and Leah realized she hadn’t turned the headlights on as another car coming the opposite direction blared its horn at her. She slowed as she switched on the lights and then accelerated again, aware that seconds counted with the amount of blood Uriel was losing. She didn’t know anything about first aid or she would have tried to make a bandage to staunch the flow, but the next best thing was breaking every record for speed and making it to the hospital in record time.
At the boulevard she barely slowed as she cut left between cars, honking to warn them, emergency blinkers flashing, and then she was zigzagging through the sparse evening traffic, praying silently that they would arrive at the hospital before Uriel bled out.
A Girl Apart Page 23