“So you think Guy would simply kill Woody, a man who has been his friend, or at least someone with whom he’s spent social time, because Woody wouldn’t be worth robbing?” I gave him my sharpest look. “You’ll have to come up with something better than that.”
“I still think he did it.”
“That may well be,” I said, looking at him over the rim of my coffee cup, “but you’ll need to prove it.”
He consulted his notebook. “Well, Sarah Christopher’s a possibility, too.”
“You think she engineered the kidnapping and Woody’s murder?”
“She and Woody were lovers and they broke up. Maybe she found out he was romancing another woman.”
“And killed him out of jealousy?”
“It’s not so far-fetched,” he said, obviously annoyed with me. “You don’t know the competition for dates in this town. There are a lot more women than men, at least in the expat community. The single women here are independent. They can be very aggressive, and they don’t always confine their hunt to the bachelors, if you get my drift. Not that I’d ever tell Dina about it, but I’ve had my share of propositions.”
An image of Sarah Christopher flirting with Vaughan came to mind.
“Maria Elena,” I called.
“Yes, Señora?”
“Did Sarah Christopher ever come back yesterday afternoon?’
“No, Señora.”
The artist had been so insistent that she would return, and when I indicated that it wouldn’t be necessary, she’d chided me not to turn away help. I wondered what had kept her from coming back.
“Sarah’s a good suspect, huh?”
“Hmm?” My mind had wandered and I wasn’t paying attention to him.
“I said, Sarah makes a good suspect.”
“Roberto, why don’t you think about it a little more?” I said, wishing desperately that he’d leave. “We can talk again later.”
“Gave you some good ideas, though, didn’t I?” he said, pocketing his notebook with a smug smile. “I knew I would.” He picked up his mug and slurped more coffee.
“It’s very kind of you to keep me in mind,” I said, folding my napkin. “Now, I have some things I need to do today, and the morning is getting away from me.”
“Sure. Not a problem.” He patted his breast pocket. “I’ll type up my notes. There’s a lot of good meat there.”
The phone rang and I strained to hear Maria Elena’s voice over Roberto’s self-congratulations. She put the phone down and came to the table.
“Señora Buckley is on the phone. She wants to speak with you, Señora.”
“Thank you, Maria Elena,” I said, pushing back my chair.
Roberto put down his mug and politely got to his feet.
“Would you be good enough to escort Señor Fisher to the door?” I said to Maria Elena. “He was just leaving.” I was darned if I was going to let Roberto eavesdrop on my conversation with Olga. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you?” I asked, shaking his hand. “I’m going to take this call upstairs. Please give my regards to your wife.”
I hurried up to the media room and picked up the extension.
“Olga, I’m so glad to hear from you,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Jessica. I know you tried to reach me yesterday,” she said.
“It wasn’t a problem. I know how busy you must be.”
“It’s true. I was. But on top of everything, the battery on my cell phone was dead, and I never realized it. I charged the phone all night and got your messages this morning. Have you heard anything more from the kidnappers?” she asked.
“Nothing so far,” I said. “I checked the computer first thing when I woke up, and I’m signing on right now while we speak to see if there’s any new e-mail. How did your meetings go?”
“The State Department was no help at all. They said they’re cooperating with Mexican authorities but couldn’t give me one concrete thing they’re doing to help find Vaughan.”
“They’re probably relying on other agencies,” I said.
“I had the feeling they were placating me. I don’t know what I expected. They’re certainly not going to send in troops. I understand that. But somehow I’d hoped our government would do more than simply go through the motions of professing sympathy when a U.S. citizen is taken captive in a foreign country. There was one funny thing, though.”
“What was that?”
“I told the guy that Vaughan had been traveling with Woody. He said he knew Manheim from when they worked together in Mexico City. Can you believe it? Isn’t it just like our government to assign someone to Mexico when they don’t speak Spanish? Bureaucracy at work.”
“What about Interpol?”
“They were more attentive. At least they asked for a photograph and wanted to know Vaughan’s height, weight, blood type, and if he’d ever been fingerprinted.”
“And has he?”
“Strangely enough, he has. Before he went into publishing he was teaching at a school in New York, and part of the background check included fingerprinting. Lord knows if they’ll be able to find them, it was so long ago. And I didn’t even like their asking for them. It says to me they want to be sure they can identify the body.”
Olga was likely to be correct in her interpretation, but I said, as much for my comfort as hers, “You mustn’t think that way. The police here are working on the case. We’ve got everyone on the alert. We’re going to find him. And we’re all going to celebrate his return.”
“I’m praying every minute that you’re right,” she said. “Do you see anything on the computer?”
“No. I’m checking it now. There’s nothing here.”
“That’s a bad sign, isn’t it?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “They may be more aware of what’s going on than we realize. They could be waiting for you to return with the money before they make their demands known.”
“If they want that money, they’d better hand him over in good shape,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about that, Jessica. Do you think I should offer a reward? I hate for these evil people to profit from their crime.”
“Two people have already asked me if there’s a reward for information,” I said. “The more I think about it, the more I think it’s not a good idea.”
“Why not? Are you concerned that no one will come forward?”
“Quite the opposite,” I said. “I think a lot of people would try to earn a reward if there was one.”
“Then why not? I’d rather pay for information than give the kidnappers the money.”
“There are two problems that I see,” I said. “First, we might compromise the police investigation.”
“In what way?”
“Many people in Mexico don’t trust their police, sometimes for good reason. I happen to think Chief Rivera is honorable and responsible. I don’t think he would act selfishly. But if people don’t know that, they might hold back information, thinking they don’t want the police to collect the reward instead of themselves.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Another thing to consider is that the officers on the case might not work as hard if they think there’s competition for the same information. That wouldn’t help Vaughan. We want to keep the police on the alert. They’re more likely to break the case than anyone else.”
“I’m disappointed,” she said. “I figured if we had a lot of people working on it, we’d find him sooner.”
“We do have a lot of people working on it,” I said, “but we need to be careful. We don’t want to run the risk of spooking the kidnappers into taking a more drastic action, like abandoning Vaughan where he won’t be found, or worse. No, I think we’re better off leaving things as they are right now and holding off mentioning a reward.”
“Anything you say, Jessica. I rely on your good judgment. All I want is my husband back safe.” She paused a moment, then continued, her voice reflective. “It’s peculiar being in the city without hi
m, Jess. I couldn’t stay in the apartment. It didn’t feel right. I kept turning around to tell him something and realizing with a shock that he wasn’t there. I checked into a hotel. I know it sounds foolish, but I kept thinking if I don’t go places where we’ve been together, then it won’t be as if he’s not here.”
“You’re not being foolish,” I said. “This is a terribly stressful time. You have to do whatever feels right for you. No one will fault you for that.”
“I’ll tell you one thing: I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there, Jessica. I can’t think of a better person to leave in charge. I have confidence that if anyone can find Vaughan, it’ll be you.”
“The police are more likely to be his savior than I,” I replied, “but if I can help them in any way, you know I will.”
“I don’t mean to burden you with my expectations. I’m just trying to say thank you and not doing a very good job of it. It must be nerve-racking to be checking the computer all day, waiting for them to send a message.”
“No thanks are necessary,” I said. “But I must tell you that I’m going to share that responsibility.”
“Of course. Whatever you think best.”
“I need to pay a visit to some people this afternoon. I’m going to have Maria Elena keep watch on the computer. She’ll call me if she sees anything, and I’ll call you if we hear from them.”
“You may not be able to reach me,” she said. “I almost forgot to tell you. I’m coming back today. I expect to finish up my financial affairs shortly, and I’ll be on the next flight out.”
“What time will you be here? Do you want me to call the Fishers or someone else to pick you up?” So many people have said they stood ready to help, I thought. Here’s a real opportunity to prove it.
“No, don’t bother about a ride. I’ll make the arrangements. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get on a direct fight to León, but there are always lots of flights to Mexico City. I can’t wait to get back. ’Bye, Jessica.”
“Be careful, Olga,” I said, but she’d already hung up. The flight from New York to Mexico City would get her there late afternoon at the earliest. Then there would be a flight to León, or if not, a four- or five-hour drive. Either way, there was a good chance she would be returning to San Miguel after dark. I just hoped she’d be safer on the road than I’d been.
Chapter Eighteen
After making sure Maria Elena was comfortable with the computer, I left the house and walked in the direction of El Jardin and police headquarters. As much as I’d been trying to put on a positive face for everyone, especially Olga, my spirits were not as buoyant as my outer appearance. I knew from past experience that the longer kidnappers held their victims, the smaller their chances of survival. Kidnappers are desperate people, and their patience runs out pretty quickly. If Vaughan’s captors didn’t feel they were close to succeeding in their quest for ransom money, they might decide to rid themselves of their victim and wait for a more promising opportunity.
I was consumed with that thought as I climbed the stairs to police headquarters and knocked on Chief Rivera’s door. A gravelly voice shouted, “¡Entre!” I opened the door and stepped inside. Captain Gutierrez sat behind the chief’s desk, his tooled cowboy boots propped up on its edge.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I was hoping Chief Rivera was here,” I answered.
“He is out of town till tomorrow. Police business. Come back then.”
I ignored his brusque manner and sat down in a chair. “Since he’s not here,” I said, “perhaps you’ll give me a few minutes of your time.”
“I am busy.”
“So am I,” I said, not attempting to keep my pique from my voice. “I understand that Señor Manheim came here before he and Señor Buckley left on their trip.”
His face screwed up in a quizzical expression as though not understanding my English. But I was sure he did, and I pressed on.
“I’ve been told that Señor Manheim made it a habit of telling the police whenever he was about to leave for Laredo to pick up mail there.”
“It is not uncommon for the gringos to tell us when they are leaving,” he said. He stretched his arms and yawned loudly.
“Did he speak with you personally?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and sighed.
I sat silently, awaiting his answer. From experience, I’ve learned that people often find silence disturbing and will rush to fill the void. This was a policeman, however, and I had to assume he knew all the tricks of interrogation. Nevertheless, I waited. I had time. He was the one who wanted me gone.
After a while he shrugged. “It is possible,” he said. “I do not remember the conversations of every person who comes to the delegación. There are so many. We are busy all the time.”
“It would seem to me that if people are in the habit of reporting their travels to the police, then they expect that information will be acted upon.”
“I cannot be responsible for what people think.”
“Are you saying that the police don’t do anything? That it’s a waste of time for people to report their travel plans to you? If that’s the case, why don’t you tell them not to bother?”
His nostrils flared at my remarks, and I knew he was annoyed, but he maintained his bored demeanor. “I don’t say it’s useless. Perhaps we will send a car to go down the street. That is all.”
“And did Señor Manheim ask you to do that for him while he was gone?”
“Perhaps.”
“What did he tell you?” I asked.
He gave me an exaggerated shrug. “He say he was going. That is all.”
Pleased to see that he admitted having spoken with Woody, I pressed on. “Did he tell you that Señor Buckley was traveling with him?”
Another shrug.
“It’s not so long ago. You must remember the conversation. Did he tell you Señor Buckley would be with him?” I repeated.
“Maybe, maybe not. I think maybe he did.”
“When someone comes here to inform you that he is taking a trip and will be away for a while, does that information stay here?”
“No comprendo.”
“Who else here, besides you, may have been aware of the trip?” I asked patiently. “Another officer? The chief?”
He dropped his feet from the edge of the desk to the floor. “I do not have to answer your questions, Señora. I am busy. ¿Comprende? Very busy.” He scowled and signaled with the back of his hand, dismissing me. “You may leave now.”
I surmised from his response that he had, indeed, told others that Woody and Vaughan were leaving for Laredo and had undoubtedly included the date of their trip. If that information got into the wrong hands, either inside or outside the police station, it could account for the kidnappers’ knowing where and when to mount their ambush.
I leaned back in the chair, consciously relaxing my shoulders, hoping my body language would convince him I wasn’t leaving until he was more forthcoming. “I’ll be happy to let you get back to your work,” I said, “but before I go, I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to give me your assessment of how your investigation into the kidnapping is going. Mrs. Buckley is returning today and will want to know. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request.”
His eyes turned calculating. “We have some good news,” he said, cocking his head and raising one eyebrow.
I sat up straight. “You do?” Had he been toying with me all this time? Did he know where Vaughan was? Were the investigators close to a rescue?
“Sí.”
“What is it? What have you found?”
“It is what we have not found,” he said. “The dogs, they did not find the body of your friend in the mountains.”
My elation plummeted. He watched my face, and a small smile played on his lips. He was enjoying manipulating my emotions, and I was dismayed that I had allowed him the pleasure. “I didn’t think they would,” I perse
vered. “But what of your investigation? Do you have any leads on who the kidnappers might be?”
“We are working on it,” he said, resuming his mask of indifference.
“And?”
“I do not discuss such things with civilians,” he muttered.
Especially with female gringo civilians, I thought.
It was obvious that I wasn’t about to learn anything else from this officer. I bade him good day and took my time gathering my purse and jacket before leaving. Once outside the office, however, I couldn’t contain my frustration. I strode down the hall and descended the stairs to the street, rounding the corner so quickly I nearly bumped into a man in a blue shirt who was lounging against the building.
It was uncomfortably hot in the sun, and I considered crossing to El Jardin, where the abundant trees provided a cool awning. But I wanted to stop by Sarah Christopher’s studio before finishing my intended rounds that day. Maria Elena had written out instructions on how to get to the artist’s lodgings. I found the street and walked downhill from El Jardin in the direction of the Parque Benito Juárez, where Olga and I had strolled together. Halfway between the two parks I saw Sarah standing outside a huge carved wooden door. Dressed in a loose tan smock with large patch pockets at the hips and streaks of blue paint down the front, she was speaking with a well-dressed Mexican man. They both turned to me as I approached.
“Hello, Jessica,” she said.
“I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “This is Paulo Pedraga. He is an art dealer from Mexico City. Paulo, meet Jessica Fletcher. Jessica is an author.”
“Sí?” he said, smiling broadly at me.
“She writes murder mysteries.”
“It is my pleasure to meet you, Señora,” he said, raising my hand to his lips.
I smiled back. “It’s nice to meet you as well.”
“Paulo is attempting to sell some of my paintings,” she said.
“Yes, but she will not give me the best ones,” he said, frowning at her.
“All my paintings are my best ones,” she said archly.
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