Redemption

by Dufour, Danny

  “I don’t know… I’ll need to check. His name is Armando, I think, and his daughter was Cecilia. She was no more than seventeen. How sad…”

  “I’d like to meet him.”

  “A few conditions.”

  “Like?”

  “First, I have to find him and second, I’m going to give you his information if he wants to talk to you. I’ll call you, understand?”

  “That’s perfectly fine,” he said, winking as the fans stirred the papers around the office.

  CHAPTER 44

  Danny pulled up at the address in question and cut the engine.

  “I think we’re here.”

  “It’s unbelievable people can live in places like this,” muttered Guerra as he stepped from the vehicle.

  The residence of Armando Marquez was in fact a little house of unpainted wood, weathered by the years and the desert winds. An old truck was parked near the door and a little dog, tied up by the house, yapped to warn of the intruders. The landscape was nothing but stretches of sand anywhere they looked. Several meters separated this house from the next. A man of small stature rose from a rocking chair to greet his visitors. The man, who must have been nearing his fifties, was frail-looking. Dressed soberly in a dark-colored shirt and cotton pants, he approached them with a smile.

  “Misters Vandal and McDermott?”

  “Exactly. Mr. Marquez?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hello,” said Namara with a smile. Armando extended his hand and Namara took it, Guerra following.

  “Strong hands. What do you do for a living?” asked Guerra, taking pains to affect an American accent.

  “Oh, I’ve worked in a parts warehouse on boat motors for years. I’m always carrying heavy parts around, you know.”

  “So kind of you to receive us,” said Namara as he inspected the life-worn man. His skin was copper and lined; his back, slightly curved. He was the image of a man who had worked hard his whole life to survive, but there was no bitterness in his voice.

  “Renata told me why you’re here. I appreciate your interest, really. Please come in, I’ll introduce you to my little family.”

  They entered through the front door into the kitchen, where a woman greeted them with a smile. Two young girls, about fifteen years apiece, stood by her side.

  “My wife Manuela, and my daughters, Adriana and Izabelle.”

  “Pleasure! Erick Vandal.”

  “And I’m Arthur McDermott,” said Guerra with a nod.

  From the back of the room, an old lady observed everything. She was frailer, more heavily lined. Her skin was leathery as though the dryness of the desert had already mummified her.

  “This is my mother Lucinda. She lives with us.”

  “Pleasure, Señora,” said Namara.

  “You too, Mr. Vandal. We’re happy you came. Few people come to visit us. Here, sit, take my chair,” she all but ordered as she stood.

  “No, please, Señora, sit. We’re perfectly comfortable like this. We sincerely appreciate you seeing us.”

  The old woman smiled and patted his hand.

  “You are at home here. Where do you come from?”

  “Chicago.”

  “You travelled far. You must be tired. Would you do us the honour of staying for dinner this evening?” said the old woman.

  Namara turned toward Guerra for help.

  “Well, I… I mean,” he stuttered lamely.

  “Please, misters, it would bring me pleasure if you ate at our table. My wife makes the best Mexican food. You see…” said Armando.

  Guerra smiled at Namara, making a slight shrug.

  “Well, in that case, on the condition that we help prepare the meal,” said Namara.

  “Marvelous!”

  * * *

  “Go on, Mr. McDermott, have a little more,” said Manuela, delighted at James’ reaction to her cooking.

  “Yes, gladly!” He held out his plate with a grin.

  Namara couldn’t swallow another bite. His stomach was about to rupture, he was sure of it, and he watched Guerra go for double portions with complete fascination.

  “Just as long as I don’t have to carry you out to the car afterwards,” he told him gravely. Adriana and Izabella laughed.

  “Your cooking is superb,” said Guerra.

  “I’m happy you enjoy it,” said Manuela.

  Namara hadn’t had such a good time in a very long time. They conversed easily, especially since they were all curious about their American visitors. Namara fed them his fabricated history and they hung on his words. It hurt him, to know that he would be dredging up their painful past, but he didn’t have any other choice. Armando talked of Mexican manners, how things happened here. The atmosphere was agreeable and, for the moment, he could forget why he had come. He looked around and realized they could pass for a convincing family, something he’d never had until tonight.

  So the evening was excellent, despite the fact that they hadn’t even expected the invitation. He thought of the misery they must have gone through. They had nothing, not really, and still they welcomed him as one of their own. They were ready to give over anything to these people they’d known for a few hours. Across the room, he spotted a photo of a girl that wasn’t present at the table. He guessed it was Cecilia. A great sadness overcame him, even as he joined in with the joking and laughter around him. Why these people, he thought. They must have suffered for years, and still be suffering, a little niggling thought that someone should be at this table who wasn’t. But I couldn’t really understand unless I’d live through it myself. He shook it off and concentrated on the banter between James and Adriana that was making everyone laugh, but he couldn’t help glancing back at the photo. His gaze struck Lucinda’s quite by accident – she’d seen him look. She smiled sadly, a smile which he wordlessly returned. After the meal, Armando lead the two outside. They trooped out behind him, carrying chairs, and sat themselves on the porch. The horizon was compellingly orange.

  “You have a wonderful family, Armando,” said Guerra sincerely.

  “Thank you.”

  Armando had brought a huge envelope that he laid on the table facing them. He shook out a few family photos, taken back when Cecilia was alive.

  “Three years ago now, she left us. She was seventeen when she was killed. She was my oldest. She worked in a shoe factory in San Matanza three days a week. At night she took the bus home and had to make part of the trip on foot. One evening, she left the factory and never came home.”

  “What happened then?” asked Namara.

  “Three weeks later, they told me they’d found a body by the side of the road in the desert. They thought it might be hers.”

  “You saw her body?”

  “Yes… I went to the crime scene right away. I saw the body, half-rotten. By that point nobody could identify it as her. They did an autopsy to confirm it.”

  “And that’s when you tried to find the murderers?”

  “Yes, I returned to the site after they’d taken her body away to look for clues. I questioned her work colleagues, her friends, and the people who lived around where it must have happened.”

  “Did you trust the police?”

  “My daughter wasn’t the first to be killed and I knew how they treated the other murders. My daughter’s case was no different.”

  “What did you find?”

  “People who knew I was her father told me some things, probably out of compassion. They made me promise to never reveal their names. They were scared for their lives and I’ve never revealed who gave me information.

  “I understand perfectly. What we’re looking for are leads that might lead us to potential suspects. We believe that some details were omitted from the investigations and that people like you were ignored.”

  Armando sighed and stared at the horizon in silence, lost in thought.

  “A suspicious man came up several times – a Mexican, about thirty, with a wolf’s face on one arm and a rose on the other. They
saw him prowling the area a bit before the kidnappings. My daughter’s, and in other girls’ cases as well. At the time, I was obsessed with finding him. I went to the bars and all the places I thought he could be, but I could never find him. I spoke to many men, you know, and all I figured out was that there’s a group called the Desert Devils…”

  “What kind of group is it?” he asked, taking notes.

  “Probably hoodlums, who call themselves something like that. They must be in drugs, all that’s illegal. The person who told me all this insisted they were moral-less. He said if there was a group crazy enough to do something like this, it would be them.”

  “Then what did you find?”

  “Nothing. I have never found proof that they existed. Maybe it was only a rumor, a legend that some Mexican men like to tell over their bottles of tequila. I know nothing, but me… I never succeeded in finding anything. If they exist, they’re very secret, if you can believe it. They must only be recruiting people they know.”

  “Did you find anything else?”

  “It must not have been one person. It must have been a well-structured group.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Listen close. Like I said, I was there when they found my daughter. She was on her stomach, her face in the sand, like everyone else who had been found. The autopsy showed that she’d been tortured and raped. When I saw my daughter’s body on the side of the road, she was dressed. But they weren’t her clothes. She’d never worn clothes like that. The clothes weren’t hers!”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely. I knew my daughter. She’d never had clothes like that!”

  “So…”

  “So, that means that the clothes must have belonged to another victim. They kept their victims together in a secret place. They stripped them, robbed them of their clothes and kept them alive for a while. Then, after they killed my girl, they took random clothes that they all kept together. They dressed her and then, they dumped her body. A man working alone wouldn’t have done it. They have buildings to keep captives together. They’re isolated, if they can keep them alive. They’re not worried that a girl could save herself, or that people could stumble across them.”

  “It’s an interesting point of view.”

  “And something else: according to the autopsy, when her body was found, they put her death to four days before. My daughter had been missing for over three weeks, so, they’d kept her alive in an unknown place. And that’s not all.”

  “I’m listening…”

  “I was able to get several photos of different crime scenes from someone whose name I won’t say. I studied these photos carefully. Then I returned to the place where my daughter was found. The murderers marked them all…”

  “Are you talking about the knife wounds on their body that formed triangles?”

  “Yes, Erick. It’s a sign!”

  “But not all the bodies were marked. All the bodies bore signs of wounds, but some of them had no distinctive sign on their body. It was the same with your daughter, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “That’s what you think, but you’re wrong! Everyone knows those files were incomplete. Some say the bodies had no marks because they missed them.”

  “And Cecilia… what marks did they leave?”

  “About three hundred meters from where her body was found, there was a little wood cabin. It was abandoned, but I went in and found the sign…”

  “The triangle?”

  “No. On a board, there was a drawing of a cross with wood soot, but not a normal cross. The bottom made a half-circle.”

  “Like an upside-down question mark, you mean?”

  “Exactly! The symbol means something to them, I’m convinced.”

  “Couldn’t it have been drawn beforehand?”

  “I don’t think so. I wish I could go back in time and inspect all the crime scenes, Erick. I’m sure we’d find the same symbol. The murders have meaning for them and the marks are their signature. But, you won’t find any of this in the files. Do you have the crime scene photos?”

  “Most of them, yeah.”

  “Try it yourself. You’ll find the same thing as me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They were all found on their stomach, face into the ground. Agreed?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you think of looking at the orientation of the bodies?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not, you weren’t there and you can’t tell from the photos. But I know this land and I’ve seen the places they were found. Their heads all pointed east!”

  “Are you saying that the murderers positioned the bodies specifically so their heads pointed to cardinal East?”

  “Exactly. They were all like that, no exceptions. It could be an accident, but…”

  “What would be the point of that?”

  “That’s the question. That’s exactly what I asked myself. Think of a compass, all right?”

  “Ok.”

  “Then think of a clock… where would East be on a clock face?”

  “Three.”

  “Exactly. And how many sides to a triangle, Erick?” said Armando with a grim smile.

  “Three!”

  “Strange coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “Holy crap,” he responded.

  “What you said.”

  “So, the digit ‘3’ means something to them. Do you think they’re just screwing with you?”

  “They’re not screwing around. They’re not like a serial killer who has fun screwing with the police. I’m sure the murders have a meaning and the symbols are rituals. They’re ritual murders, Erick, I’m sure of it. But other than that, I have nothing. That’s all I got. So now you got it too.”

  “We can’t thank you enough. That gives us a whole new perspective, strengthens a few of our hypotheses.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Find them.”

  “You think you can?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “If you ever do find them, promise me you’ll tell me who they are. I need to know.”

  “We promise.”

  Namara and Guerra said their goodbyes to the Marquez family, who gathered on the porch to see them off. As they climbed into their car, Lucinda approached Namara.

  “You know, I am old, but I have my mind. I saw you looking at my grandbaby’s picture. Whatever you are, mister, promise me you’ll find the ones who did it,” she said, clutching his hand in her own, swollen and gnarled with age.

  Namara looked to Guerra, and then the family. He knew he’d never forget this moment, no matter what happened.

  “I swear.”

  Lucinda smiled and let go of his hand. They climbed into their car in silence and left the house. Namara was lost in thought. He couldn’t fail now – when he made a promise, he meant it.

  CHAPTER 45

  “Yeah, Danny, I’m listening,” said Andy’s voice from the receiver.”

  “Hey Andy. We’ve got an interesting lead, but we need your help to verify some of the details, because we can’t do much here.”

  “All right, what do you need?”

  “I have a description of a potential suspect. The father of a victim did tons of research, and this guy turned up all over the place. There’s nothing on him in any of these files.”

  “Ok. What do you have by way of description?”

  “He’s in his thirties, Mexican. He’s got a wolf face on one arm and a rose on the other.”

  “That’s it!?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. I know it’s not much, but at least we’ve got something, right?”

  “Listen, I’m going to check this out. I’ll have to get into databases of police and correctional facilities to see if there’s a guy like that with a record. How’s that?” “Yeah, thanks, Andy. Maybe it’ll get us something…”

  “I’ll call you back.”
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  “Great, ciao,” he said as he hung up the ancient telephone on the bedside table.

  Namara stretched out on his bed as the others sat and tried to relax.

  “We don’t have much,” said Guerra from the other bed.

  “Thanks, I’m aware. We’ll have to try something else,” he mused.

  “Such as…?” asked Shinsaku, gazing at the television.

  “An experiment, but I won’t mention it right away. Ming Mei, could you look up a couple of symbols? A cross with a semi-circle and a triangle.”

  “I’ll see what I can get.”

  “Thanks!”

  “I wonder how Kamilia’s doing,” said Shinsaku.

  Namara got up suddenly and strode toward the door to get his shoes.

  “Wait, what did I miss? Where the hell are you going at this hour?” asked Ming Mei.

  “An experiment,” he repeated. “I’m going to check something out.” He grabbed the car keys.

  “All right, we’ll come along,” said Shinsaku, getting up from the sofa.

  “No, I have to do it alone, or it won’t work. Don’t worry, I won’t be gone for long.”

  “Watch out,” Guerra cautioned.

  Namara shut the door behind him and took the car. The sound of the motor radiated through the night.

  CHAPTER 46

  South Beach, Miami, Florida, USA.

  “Yes, it needs to be here by Wednesday at the latest,” said Kamilia before tucking her phone away.

  “Miss Stone, where should we put the armchairs?” asked a worker as he moved through the space that would be Club Redemption.

  “Second floor for now.”

  “Will do.”

  “So sorry, I’m ready now,” said Kamilia to a journalist sitting at the bar.

  The place was full of workers rushing to finish the place before the imminent opening. She had found a perfect location – they were on Ocean Drive, right in the heart of South Beach. The building gave directly onto a beach where hundreds of people wandered during the day. Ocean Drive was entirely big hotels, nightclubs and restaurants of all kinds. Luxury cars lined both sides of the road. So many celebrities came for the riches, the fashion, and the lifestyle. The whole world knew of the nocturnal extravaganza that was South Beach. The price was staggering, but when Kamilia had seen the number next to her bank statement, she realized that money was of no consequence from that day forward.