The Long escape

by David Dodge

  "Will your courts not accept a death certificate, if I obtain one for you?"

  "A death certificate for Roberto Ruano, the chileno, is not evidence of the death of Robert Parker, who called himself a United States citizen. Your affidavits that Robert Parker and Roberto Ruano are the same person have already been found inadequate."

  He didn't say anything. I thought of dona Maria sitting in the patio, her hands folded, waiting. It made me mad—partly at myself, and partly because the old man was forcing me into a position where I might have to do something that would wipe that look off her face for good. I said, "If you will not help me, I must do what I can without your help. I would not like to repay your hospitality by bringing trouble to you and your family."

  He lifted his head, looking down his nose at me.

  "You expect to bring trouble to us?"

  "I hope there is no trouble to bring you, don Rodolfo."

  That ended the interview. We knew where we stood. He took me to the door. I asked him to convey my saludes to dona Maria, he said his house was mine, we shook hands. It was like getting ready to come out fight-insT when the bell ransf.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the park, thinking. When I got back to the hotel, there were two messages for me. Miss Farrell had telephoned to say that she would be at the hotel at six o'clock. Senorita Maria Teresa Ruano had telephoned to say that she urgently wished to speak to Mr. Colby and would take the liberty of stopping by the hotel at seven in the hope of finding him there at that time.

  Popular fellow, I thought. Girls, girls, girls.

  Idaho was on time, six o'clock en punto. The rules at the Carrera weren't too strict, from some of the goings-on I had seen around the joint, but I gave the head bellhop a few pesos, to make sure, and asked him to send tl:e first lady up to my room. When she knocked at the door, the elevator boy was still hanging out of his cage down the hall, Qrawkinir at her.

  "You have an admirer," I said to Idaho. "Come in."

  "Who is it?"

  "The elevator boy."

  "Oh, him."

  She turned around and whistled a wolf-call at him. He jerked his head back faster than a rabbit popping into its hole. The elevator gate slammed.

  Idaho came in and looked around. It was just another hotel bedroom. I said, "I thought we could talk better here than downstairs, if we have anything to talk about. If we haven't, we'll go somewhere else and I'll buy you a drink. Sit down and relax."

  "I'll sit down. I don't know whether I can relax or not."

  She sat down. I sat down.

  It took her quite a while to get started. After she had fidgeted for a few minutes, talking about other things, she said, "I don't feel entirely happy about this. I've brought you some information. It isn't much, but I couldn't have got it except for my position at the bank, and I don't like feeling the way I do about it. I wish I felt more certain that I wasn't—betraying somebody."

  "I didn't hold anything out on you when I told you why I was here, Idaho. If Robert Parker is dead and buried, I want to prove it and go home. That's my only interest. If I were the police, I'd requisition all the information the bank has. I'm not the police, and I have to get information other ways. I'm sorry if it makes you feel bad."

  "Oh, I knoiu you're all right. I wouldn't be here it I didn't. It's just . . ."

  She shook her head, hauling a sheaf of papers out of her bag.

  "Here."

  The top papers were transcripts of the bank's accounts with Rodolfo Ruano for five years, and a transcript of an account with Roberto Ruano that ran for less than a year. I studied them separately, then together, until I got a kind of picture out of them.

  Both accounts had been opened at about the time I figaired Parker hit Chile. His account—Roberto's— started off with a lump of two and a half million pesos, aboiU a hundred thousand dollars at the pegged exchange rate. At the same time, Rodolfo opened up with a million odd pesos and some centavos. There were periodic big deposits in Roberto's account, usually flat amounts like a hundred thousand pesos or a hundred and fifty thousand pesos, and smaller deposits in Ro-dolfo's account. The biggest withdrawals in either account were a charge of nearly two million pesos against Roberto, about three months after the account was opened, and an eight-hundred-thousand-peso chunk a few days later that almost cleaned him out. The account had been built back up to about five hundred thousand pesos right away, and stayed more or less at

  that level until it was closed out. The closing charge matched a simultaneous deposit in Rodolfo's account.

  I said, "The two million looks like the purchase price of Roberto's jiindo. What did he get lor the eight hundred thousand?"

  "Their house on the Avenida O'Higgins. The bank handled both transactions."

  "Why would Roberto buy a house for Rodolfo?"

  "He bought it in his own name. Rodolfo inherited it."

  "Where did Rodolfo live before he inherited such a nice shack?"

  "Antofagasta, I think. Most of the family money comes from there, through the Banco Anglo-Sudamer-ica."

  I looked up.

  "They aren't old-time residents here?"

  "Not in Santiago."

  "When did they come here?"

  "About the time the accounts were opened, I think. They were here before I was."

  That was interesting. I had got the idea, somehow, that don Rodolfo was one of the capital's founding fathers. Terry had told me that the family came from Bolivia, originally, but I had imagined the trek as something that had brought them to Santiago a long time back. If don Rodolfo had moved to Santiago from

  another part of Chile just about the time his brother returned from the dead, it migjht be worth while look-ins: into the reason for the move.

  This was just an idea kicking around in my head while I studied the other papers Idaho had brought. Besides the account transcripts, there were scratch-paper summaries of various transactions in which the bank had acted for one or the other of the Ruanos; the purchase of the fundo, the purchase of the house on Avenida O'Higgins, the handling of Roberto's estate after his death. The record was as clear as any record can be that is only a bunch of figures on paper. If figures didn't lie—and I knew they could be made to lie—Roberto had moved into a lot of money on his return to Chile. He had bought a valuable house. He had bought an even more valuable fundo. He had died -with these and at least half a million pesos in hard cash. Rodolfo had inherited the works.

  I said, "Did you ever see a copy of the will, Idaho?"

  "No. But there's a summary of it in the bank's file."

  "Everything went to Rodolfo?"

  "Yes."

  "Rodolfo had plenty of reason to murder him, if he was murdered."

  She looked sick. I said, "I'm just thinking out loud. Forget it."

  I wanted to study tlie notes again when I had more time, so I asked Idaho if I could keep them. She said yes. Then I asked her if she would consider honoring me with her company on a tour of the town hot spots. She had a date that night and the next one, but she would be free after that. I said I would probably be going out of town for a couple of days before then. Could we leave it open until I got back?

  That was all right with her. We went down to the hotel cantina and had a lemonade.

  She was certainly a nice kid. I don't mean only in the way that made waiters and bellhops stare at her, either. As soon as she loosened up and got her mind off what she had done to the dear old bank, she was a lot of fun. She wasn't an intellectual heavyweight—or maybe she was smart enough to act dumber than she had to—but she had read a book now and then and knew what was going on in the world. She was good company. Pretty soon I even found myself telling her about me, which is a sure sign. At seven o'clock, when she had to go, I hated to see her leave. But Terry Ruano would be coming soon.

  As a matter of fact, we bumped smack into Terry when I walked with Idaho out to the lobby. Terry dripped sable instead of mink, this time. She had more money on her back th
an they give away in two drawings

  of the Mexican National Lottery. It wasn't overdone. She just looked natural that way, like a diamond looks more natural set in platinum than in a piece of cheese. When Idaho saw her coming toward us, she said, "I wish I looked like that."

  It was good honest envy, nothing else. I said, "You'll do the way you are," and then, "Hello, Terry. Do you know Miss Farrell? Miss Ruano."

  "I've seen Miss Ruano at the bank, many times," Idaho said. "How do you do?"

  "How do you do?"

  There are ways and ways of saying it. Idaho's was one way. Terry's was the way that means, Who cares? She wasn't nasty about it. She just didn't give a damn one way or the other how Idaho did. Idaho caught it as well as I did.

  She said, "Well, good night. Have a good trip, Mr. Colby."

  "I'd better call you a taxi. Terry, will you mind . . . ?"

  "It's all right," Idaho said. "The doorman will do it."

  She smiled at me, smiled at Terry, and walked away. The elevator starter's head and a couple of others turned as she passed.

  Terry said, "I want to talk with you, Ahl. Where can we go?"

  "Where do you want to go?"

  "Any place. San Cristobal again?" "It got a little chilly there the other night." She knew' what I meant. She said, "I'm sorry. It was— I came tonight to explain—to apologize. Please, can't we go?"

  "Your wish is my command."

  I said it in Spanish, laying it on thick because I didn't like the way she had treated Idaho. She took it seriously. "Gracias, caballero. If it were only true." There was about forty feet of shiny black Packard parked outside the hotel. It pulled up in front of us before I could do anything about a taxi. I opened the door for Terry and climbed in after her. She told the chauffeur where to go.

  The casino at the top of the cerro blared with music, just as it had done before. The lights of the city from the terrace outside the casino looked the same, the garden on top of the hill smelled the same, Terry wore the same perfume, everything was just the same as it had been the first time—with the one difference. That was Terry.

  She gave me the business. It wasn't crude or unladylike, but it was the business just the same. She was good at it. We had a drink before dinner. She looked at me over the top of her glass, said "salud" in a throaty whisper, and dropped her eyelashes. During dinner she

  watched me and sighed—just once. When we danced, she put her head on my chest and dreamed, letting her molasses-taffy hair tickle my nose. She let me hold her hand going back to the table, and smiled at me over her shoulder when I held her chair.

  It sounds bald, the way I am putting it down, but it wasn't bald. And although I knew it was an act, I still couldn't get mad because a girl who looked like a beautiful Russian spy and probably wore real diamond clips on her garters wanted to make me think she was crazy about me.

  Once I found myself wondering how she would react u I said, "What are we waiting for, sugar? Let's go back to the hotel." It made me laugh.

  She said, "What are you laughing about, Ahl?"

  "An old joke I remembered."

  "Tell me."

  "You wouldn't think it was funny,"

  "Tell me anyway. Please."

  The "please" could have been used to candy an apple. I said, "We didn't come here to tell jokes, did we?"

  "No."

  "What did we come here for?"

  She hesitated.

  "I came to ask you a favor."

  "What?"

  "Take the papers which we made for you, and go home."

  "I can't. I'm sorry."

  "Why must you be so stubborn?" There were angry lights in licr eyes. "What more do you want here? We have given you all you need to prove what you came here to prove. My uncle is in his grave. Nothing can be served ..."

  "Nothing can be served by going over the same ground with you and your father and your brother, Terry. You've been talking to your father, so you know what I have to do. The affidavits are not enough, that's all. A hundred affidavits wouldn't convince me until I get the answers to some of the questions I've asked. If your uncle is dead and buried, as you say, the answers should be simple, direct and honest. I haven't got an honest answer from you to any of my questions. Why? What are you hiding?"

  She said in a low voice, "I will try to answer the questions you asked the other night, if you will ask them again,"

  "All right. But I have another to ask, first. Will you try to persuade your father to give me authority to open your uncle's grave?"

  She was a long time answering.

  "You asked Fito that," she said.

  "He said no. Your father told me once that he would consider it as a last resort. When I asked him today, he refused flatly."

  "He would not consent, I am sure. He feels very strongly about such things."

  "What is your answer?"

  She shook her head unhappily.

  "I can not persuade my father to do anything he does not want to do. It is useless to ask me that question, Ahl."

  I stood up.

  "It's useless to ask you anything. Let's go."

  She caught my hand.

  "No! No! I want to help you! I don't want anything bad to happen, Alil! Please believe me! Let me answer your questions as well as I can, so you will be satisfied and go home. Please!"

  She was a damn good actress. The tears were messing up her makeup, and she clung to my hand with both of hers. Other people on the terrace were watching us. I could either stand there like a wife-beater caught in the act, or drag her out of her chair, or sit down. I sat down.

  "All right. Fix your face, will you?"

  She fixed her face. I watched the moving lights of traffic in the city below. When we were back on an

  even keel once more, I said, "Why did your uncle carry the picture of Fito with him?"

  "He had both pictures—one of me and (me of Fito. My mother gave them to him before he went away. He lost the one of Fito. I don't know where you found it. . . ."

  "In an automobile he sold in Mexico City. What about the other one?"

  "It was among his things when he died. It came to my father as part of the estate."

  "Your father was the only heir?"

  "Yes. My uncle had no other relatives."

  "Your uncle must have been very fond of his niece and nephew, to carry their pictures so faithfully."

  "He had no children of his own. Chilenos are very sentimental about their families. Even I carry a picture of my grandmother in a locket."

  It was a possible explanation, although I wasn't sold on it. I tried the next question.

  "Why did you tell me you had never heard of Robert Ruiz Parker, when we first met, and then ask me to your home so your father could tell me all about him?"

  "We had concealed his identity for so long that I— lied—automatically. Later, when I spoke to Fito, he thought it would be wiser to find out why you were

  here, and what you wanted. My father made the decision to tell you what he did."

  "Did you know why your uncle was so anxious to hide?"

  "I knew that he had lived an unhappy life in the States, and wanted to escape it."

  "Did you know that he deserted his wife?"

  She nodded miserably. The questions were hurting her, or her family pride, or something, but she didn't try to duck them. I said, "Do you remember what the last question was that I asked you before?"

  She nodded again, keeping her eyes down.

  "I'm not going to ask it this time. It wasn't fair, and it has nothing to do with the job. But I'd like to ask one other question before I stop."

  I waited so long that she looked up. I said, "What will you do when I tell you that I'm going to Antofagasta tomorrow to look into the history of the Ruano family there?"

  It was a good hit, for a shot in the dark. Her face turned white. I thought she was going to faint. Before I could move, she had snapped out of it.

  I handed her a glass of water, and a nap
kin to wipe her mouth. Her hand was as cold as a dead man's when it touched mine.

  She said, "Why do you want to go to Antofagasta?"

  She was trying hard to make it sound as if she didn't care much what the answer was.

  "Didn't your family live there at one time?"

  "Yes. Rut what do you expect to learn?"

  "I don't know."

  "You will only waste your tii le there, Ahl."

  "I might as well waste it there as here."

  She didn't know what to say. She wanted to try to persuade me not to go, and she was afraid to let me see how important it was to her. I had scared her badly. I didn't enjoy scaring her, and I had learned what I wanted to learn. I made a noise at a mesero who had come out on the terrace.

  He brought me the check. I paid it while Terry was fixiuG: her face for the second time.

  I said, "Do you want to dance again, or shall we go?"

  "I think we had better go."

  We didn't talk any more until we were driving across the bridge that crossed the river below the cerro. I said, "Shall I take you home, or do you want to drop me at the hotel?"

  "I'll let you off at the hotel."

  She leaned over to speak to the driver. There was a curtain that pulled down between his seat and ours.

  After she had told him to stop at the Carrera, she pulled the curtain down.

  "Ahl."

  It was almost a whisper.

  "What?"

  "You didn't ask me that one question, but I'll answer it. I don't want anything bad to happen to my father or my family. I don't want anything bad to happen to you. If you go on with this thing, something bad will happen either to them or to you. I—I couldn't stand it. Please give it up."

  She had a pretty authentic catch in her voice. There was enough light in the car for me to see that her eyes were shiny, too. So were her lips, shiny and red and soft and tasting like raspberry when I put my arms around her warm body inside the sable coat and kissed her. Only a very rude fellow would have failed to cooperate at that point, and I am not a rude fellow. Besides, I had never kissed anybody who owned a sable coat and a mink coat at the same time.