“We still have bars and the jerky I took from the Ferreras. I took a lot of stuff that wasn’t mine. Jopito really liked his new clothes, especially these boots, and these protein bars were his. I’ll bet he’s really mad.” Rosetta didn’t look happy at the prospect.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” said Maria. “Those people who kidnapped me had no right to do that. People have no right to bully you, kill you, take away your freedom, or hurt you in any way. If Jopito Ferrera lost his good clothes, it is a small price to pay. Consider it reparations for his bullying you. We did what we had to, to escape.”
Rosetta nodded and took another bite of her soup. “I can cook better than this,” she said.
“This is great. I’ll bet you’re a real chef in a kitchen with equipment and fresh food.”
“I am. If you can cook, you are useful. Around here you have to be useful,” she said.
“We are going to get out of this,” said Maria. “I have a plan. We are going to get to a place called Benjamin Constant. I’m thinking there will be telephone service and I can call for help. We’ll call your mother. She will be so glad to hear from you. I’m going to call my boyfriend and ask him to contact the embassies . . .”
Rosetta shook her head vigorously. “No, I told you, we can’t. That’s where the bad man is.”
“Rosetta, listen to me. He can’t have that much influence. Do you know which embassy he worked for?”
Rosetta shook her head.
“This is a good plan,” said Maria. “We have money. We’ll find an inn and wait for help. We should be safe.”
Rosetta put her bowl down and started crying. She tried to climb out of the truck, but Maria pulled her back, put her own food down, and held on to her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.
“Tell me what’s wrong, baby girl.” Maria’s voice was very quiet.
Rosetta cried for several minutes. Maria didn’t push her. She stroked her hair and rocked her.
“I don’t have any papers,” said Rosetta into Maria’s shirt. Her voice was muffled and so soft Maria almost didn’t understand her.
“Neither do I. Mine were lost when I tried to get away from my kidnappers. They are down a river somewhere. We can get new papers,” she said.
Rosetta shook her head without looking up. “No. Mama was waiting for papers. They never came before the bad stuff happened. The bad man said she was not really my mama because the papers didn’t come.”
The adoption hadn’t gone through, thought Maria. That added a complication. There was no way she could take a child across all the borders they had to cross with no papers. Perhaps just her word that Rosetta was her child would do. But her original visa didn’t list a child with her. Damn.
Maria held Rosetta so she could see her face. She put a hand under her chin.
“I’ve never liked paperwork. What matters is that in your heart Diane Fallon is your mother, and in her heart you are her daughter. It just means I have to adjust the plan, but I’m going to get you to her, I promise. The United States has a constant problem with illegal aliens crossing the border, so how hard could it be?” She smiled at Rosetta and hugged her. “You are going to get home to your mama. I won’t leave you here.”
Maria took the bandanna from around her neck and wiped Rosetta’s tears. Then she wrapped Rosetta’s head with it like she had her own.
“There, we both look very fashionable,” she said.
“You promise?” said Rosetta.
“I do. If it looks like we will have a hard time crossing the borders, we’ll just call your mama to come down here. No problem.”
“She’ll come, won’t she?”
“She would walk over hot coals to get here. We’ve gotten away from the bad men. We just have to get to a place we can make a call.”
Rosetta hugged Maria hard. She picked up her bowl and the two of them finished eating. Maria helped Rosetta clean the dishes and they packed everything away.
Now, for the moment she had been dreading. Would the truck start? She didn’t really want to walk to Benjamin Constant. She got in the truck, pressed the gas pedal, and turned the key.
Chapter 29
Vanessa answered the phone herself.
She was probably expecting my call, thought Diane.
“Vanessa,” she said, “have you seen Pris Halloran on the news?”
Of course she had. But Diane’s mind was a blank about how to start the conversation. “Hello, how are you?” didn’t seem to fit the situation.
“I have,” said Vanessa. “I suppose this is payback for all those crime scenes you threw her out of.”
“I suppose so,” said Diane, wondering how Vanessa knew about that. It wasn’t anything she ever had occasion to discuss with her.
“I’ve recalled Kendel from Mexico,” continued Diane. “She and Andie will take care of the running of the museum while I find out what is going on.”
“I hate the necessity,” said Vanessa, “but I see your point.”
Vanessa hadn’t tried to talk her out of it. Diane was faintly disappointed.
“This has just been terrible,” said Diane. “I . . .”
“Don’t apologize, girl,” said Vanessa. “Just find out who is behind all this. Do you think it has anything to do with poor Madge?”
Diane hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t really thought that Madge’s death was anything but an accident . . . except for the shoes.
“I don’t know,” said Diane. “We don’t know yet exactly what happened to her. It’s so sad.” Then she added, “Madge was wearing tapestry-covered heels. Weren’t they her favorites?”
“Yes, she loved those shoes,” said Vanessa. “Why?”
“I’ll tell you when I understand it better myself,” said Diane. She paused for several moments. “I think, with all that’s happened, I had better put off . . .”
“No,” said Vanessa. “You are not postponing your wedding. There has to be a limit to how much we allow nefarious strangers to control our lives.”
“Did I tell you that Gregory Lincoln arrived for the wedding?” said Diane.
“No. I received an RSVP from him. Good, I’m glad he’s here. Does he have a place to stay?”
“He’s staying with Frank and me,” said Diane.
“I’ll be delighted to meet him.”
Diane bid Vanessa goodbye and hung up. She didn’t think it was a good idea to continue with the wedding, but she was only the bride. Whatever . . . She didn’t feel like having an argument about it. She and Frank should have just eloped and told everyone the news when they returned.
Diane called Colin Prehoda next. He had also seen the news broadcast. It was sinking in that almost everyone in the viewing area must have seen it. How many people, she wondered, believed that she was a murderer? For most people, an accusation repeated in the news media was enough to make them believe it. Accusations are powerful weapons. That’s probably why whoever was behind this had chosen rumors and character assassination as their weapon—send up smoke signals and hope people would cry fire.
“You want to sue her and the station?” said Prehoda.
“Yes,” she said.
“What would you consider a remedy?” he asked. Prehoda was all business when he was talking about a case. She liked that in him.
“At the moment I can’t think of one strong enough. I would like to strip her and the station of everything. And I want a retraction without weasel words running all through it.” Diane paused. “Make it worth your while at the same time I clear my name.”
“Let me work on it and I’ll get back to you.”
“Thank you,” said Diane.
“I’m puzzled by this,” Prehoda said. “Why would they go with a story with so many holes in it that are easily checked out?”
“I don’t know. Their source must have been convincing. I’ve had several run-ins at crime scenes with Pris Halloran. That may have something to do with her role in it. She had been working f
or that small station. I don’t know how she got in with a big network affiliate.”
“Surely, reporters expect to be run off from crime scenes,” said Prehoda.
“She didn’t take it well,” said Diane.
“If we can show it was payback, that’s even better for us,” he said.
“I’ll be available if you have any questions,” she said.
“I’ll have many. I’m sorry about Ms. Stewart,” he said.
“Thank you. Her death was so unexpected,” said Diane.
Thankfully, he didn’t pursue any questions about it.
“Okay,” said Diane when she was off the phone with Prehoda. “Now to track down Brian Mathews.”
Garnett pulled his chair closer and leaned forward in his seat. Diane turned her monitor so he could see it and Googled Brian Mathews’ travel blog. True to what she had been told, he was traveling in Peru, visiting historical sites and parts of the ancient Inca trail, and posting both a written and video blog.
She looked at his itinerary. Assuming he was on schedule, he was supposed to be staying at the Cuzco Catedral hotel today. Surely she wouldn’t get that lucky. She dialed the hotel number and asked for Brian Mathews. To her surprise they rang the room. She put the phone on speaker so that Garnett could also hear. A male answered. Surprise again.
“This is Dr. Diane Fallon, director of the RiverTrail Museum in Rosewood, Georgia. Is this journalist Brian Mathews?”
“Yes, Dr. Fallon. I believe we met briefly at one of your museum functions.”
“Call me Diane, please,” she said. It sounded good so far. He didn’t sound like someone who was accusing her of drug running.
“If you will call me Brian. What can I do for you?”
Diane had given a lot of thought as to how to approach this. She did not want to sound accusative. She didn’t want him to get defensive. She wanted to keep it conversational. She had been at a loss on how to accomplish that until she heard Garnett’s conversation with the Atlanta Journal-Constitution reporter. Might as well stay consistent.
“After several disturbing incidents, I’ve discovered that I’ve had my identity stolen,” she said.
“My brother had that happen. It took him a couple of years to get the thing straightened out.”
“I hope it won’t take that long. It’s getting more and more serious. Whoever is doing it is someone I’ve apparently offended grievously in some way or other. I won’t go into everything that has happened, but one incident involved someone claiming to be you.”
“Me? Well, damn. How so?” he said. “Just a minute, honey, I’m on the phone. Sorry. We’re going out in a little while. We were supposed to attend a lecture about Paleo-Indian Migration Through the Americas by a professor visiting from the University of Georgia, but she was a no-show. Now the wife and I are going out on the town. So someone was pretending to be me, really?”
“That’s what I assumed and am calling to verify. Someone who identified himself as you called one of our board members—Dr. Martin Thormond from Bartrum University—and asked Dr. Thormond about my involvement in drug smuggling in South America.”
“What? I don’t know a Martin Thormond, and I’m a travel reporter and rather enjoy it. Not interested in crime reporting. I’m more of an explorer. I don’t like someone using my name. What was their purpose—just sticking their finger in your eye?” He chuckled. “That is, if you weren’t drug smuggling.”
“Not even close,” said Diane. “I used to do human rights investigations in Porto Barquis. As I said, there have been incidences. The first instance that I’m aware of was the call, purportedly from you, to a board member.”
“This is malicious, but how is it identity theft?” he asked.
“I’ve had my e-mail account hacked and embarrassing e-mails sent out in my name. Someone is using my name and doing some rather bad things. The call to Thormond was just the first strange thing that happened. It didn’t have the ring of truth to it, so I didn’t believe it was from a real reporter,” she added, hoping to get in really good with him.
“I appreciate your telling me. Let me or my editor know if this kind of thing happens again,” he said.
“I will,” said Diane. “Thank you for speaking with me. Have you been approached by any strange people?”
“Are you kidding?” He chuckled again. “Not by anyone who didn’t want to sell me something, or guide me somewhere.”
Diane eyed Garnett to see if he had a question. He shook his head.
“Thanks again,” said Diane. “Have a good evening on the town. I’ve been to Cuzco and it’s a lot of fun. Around the Plaza de Armas and San Blas are many good places to go—I’m sure you’ve been told.”
“I believe we are starting out at a disco bar just off Plaza de Armas. Thanks.”
“So,” said Garnett when she was off the phone, “he didn’t make the call.”
“No. I’m no closer to understanding what is going on than I was in the beginning.”
She heard a light tap on the door that sounded like Andie’s when Andie was being hesitant.
“Come in,” she said.
Andie poked her head in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Dr. Fallon. Liam is here and he has a little information, he said.”
Diane raised her eyebrows. “Please, send him in.”
Chapter 30
Liam Dugal was older than Andie’s twenty-four years, well into his thirties. Had a handsome face, broad shoulders, soft brown eyes, and brown hair. Diane had only recently met him, but she liked him. He had helped her when she had needed help most. Recently out of the military, he was now a private detective and Diane often tossed work his way when she could.
He smiled and nodded to Diane and Garnett as he walked in. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to Garnett.
“Please say you understand what is going on,” said Diane.
“I wish I could. But I do have some information. You may already have it.”
“I doubt it,” said Diane. “I am in total darkness. If you have even a small candle, I’ll be grateful.”
He pulled out a notebook, opened it, but didn’t look at it.
“The, ah, murders didn’t happen in Río de Sangue. That’s simply the nearest large village with a telephone. The phone’s in a bar on a dock on the river. The river is how they get their supplies and mail.” He leaned forward with his forearms resting on his knees. The dead men listed on the warrant—Aaron Bowhay, Pico Nune, Luis Portman, and Razer Arizmendi—were local thugs in the area. Aaron Bowhay was the only outsider. He was from Indiana, a dropout military guy, soldier-for-hire type.”
Liam stopped a moment and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Diane saw that his eyes were almost twinkling.
“Diane apparently brutalized them,” he said. “Two were shot, one was beaten with a club of some sort, another was crushed to death. Two were mauled after that.” Liam grinned. “And what was it the doctor in the movie Seven said? ‘And they still have hell to look forward to.’ ”
Diane stared openmouthed. “You have to be kidding. And they think I did all that?”
Garnett snorted and shook his head.
“One of the men lingered for a while. As he was dying he named you,” said Liam. “Apparently you wield a mean club.”
Diane was speechless. She felt the absurd need to say out loud that she was innocent, that she was here in Rosewood when the men were murdered.
“I talked to the woman who keeps the bar,” said Liam. “Doroteia Pitta. She said all the men were thugs who ran with minor strong men who are hiding out in various small villages, bullying the locals to take care of them. Two of the dead men, Portman and Bowhay, currently worked for a man named Julio Corday. The other two worked for a man named Marco Calvo, who, I take it, is an enemy or competitor of Corday’s.”
“The woman told you a lot,” commented Garnett. “All this over the phone?”
“My Spanish isn’t too good,” said Liam. “And she spoke mainly Po
rtuguese. She may have misunderstood who I was.”
Garnett and Diane smiled.
“She had no idea how Interpol got involved. She didn’t even know what Interpol is. When I told her, she didn’t understand why the international police would be interested in these guys. She said they were nobodies.”
“Why me?” said Diane. “Why were they focused on me? What is this about?” She turned to Garnett. “Do you think this is related to Simone being here and what happened to her?”
“I don’t know. I would say yes, just because of the South American connection, but I haven’t any idea what this is about.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me either,” said Liam. “If someone were trying to mess you up, why didn’t they pick someone in Atlanta to frame you with? I mean . . . Brazil?”
“How reliable is the story of the deathbed statement?” asked Diane.
Liam shrugged. “I don’t know. The whole story sounds like it’s gone through a couple rounds of exaggeration. But she did know your name. She said it first, not me.”
“This just makes no sense,” said Diane.
Garnett focused his attention on Liam. “My people couldn’t even reach Río de Sangue. I’m impressed with what you’ve done.”
“It helps having recently been in the military and knowing people who know people who know people. The six-degrees thing works pretty well. You can get to just about anyone anyplace in the world. I found a guy who pilots one of the boats that drops off supplies and mail at Río de Sangue. He’s the cousin of a guy who knows a guy I served with. I had to make a few calls in the process, however, before I located him.”
“Six-degree thing?” said Garnett.
“You know, six degrees of Kevin Bacon,” said Liam.
“The actor?” said Garnett. “What does he have to do with this?”
“It’s kind of a game. You don’t have to go more than six degrees away to connect any actor living or dead to Kevin Bacon. Usually it’s less than six.”
“Why Kevin Bacon?” asked Garnett.
Liam shrugged.
Garnett stuck his chin toward Liam as if making a dare. “Rudolph Valentino,” said Garnett. “He died well over eighty years ago. Maybe even ninety.”
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