A Corpse for Cuamantla

by Harol Marshall

  She checked her watch. Barely mid-morning and she was starving already. If she helped out maybe he could finish up by lunchtime. An alarm sounding inside her head interrupted her thoughts of lunch. Did she really want to get mixed up in another murder investigation like the one in which she first met Cortez? Images of the dangers she’d faced flashed through her mind. What a weird set of circumstances. The Cinco de Mayo fiesta in Cuamantla, which she’d wanted to capture on film; unfortunately, she also she also filmed a murderer, a video that nearly cost her her life. Not an experience she wished to re-live.

  This case is totally different, nothing at all to do with me she told herself trying to ignore the warning bells in her brain. The victim is a stranger and all I have to do is translate. A calming thought if she could hang onto it. "Of course I'll help, Commander," she heard herself say as she tried to match his imperturbable demeanor, despite her initial moments of anxiety.

  "Bueno. I need to check in with my men before I leave," Cortez said, holding open the door while Anna reached under the table to grab her backpack. Outside the conference room, she leaned against the wall as Cortez hurried down the long corridor adjusting the cuffs on his immaculate white shirt. He could have stepped from the pages of GQ, she thought, thanks to a tidy inheritance that supplemented his modest government salary. Leading cynics in the department carped that he could afford to be an honest cop.

  Cortez ignored the gossip, but when the rumors reached Anna's ears she could barely control her outrage. "An easy excuse for their own misdeeds, if you ask me," she told her friend Miguel Menéndez, Director of Cuamantla's afternoon primary school.

  "More likely, sour grapes," he replied, changing the subject. Cortez was a sore point between them, since Miguel insisted on mistaking the Commander's interest in English lessons for an interest in her. She and Miguel had worked together over the past nine months, some of which included assisting Cortez with the Cuamantla murder investigation. Their relationship had grown a little closer than Anna had intended in the weeks before Miguel left for Spain. The surprise of his summer study fellowship and his quick departure left their relationship in a state of limbo, adding to Anna's mixed feelings about her involvement with him.

  She checked her watch again, noticing the frayed band. Would Cortez ever wear a Timex? And what was keeping him, anyway? As the minutes ticked by, she continued to rationalize her decision to involve herself in another murder investigation. Observing Mexican law enforcement in action no doubt would benefit her research, provide her with a deeper understanding of Mexican culture. Rationalization enough, she decided. Besides, she was accompanying Cortez to a hotel in the middle of the city. What could be safer? she thought, as Cortez appeared around the corner, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his light suit jacket.

  "Are we ready?"

  "Ready," she replied, tossing her backpack over her shoulder and following Cortez as he held the outside door with his foot, his relaxed manner belying the nature of the task ahead. They might have been leaving on a date. A date with murder, Anna mused, as she and Cortez emerged from the dark hallway into Tlaxcala's dazzling sunshine.

  Chapter 2

  Outside police headquarters the bright sunlight nearly blinded them both. Anna dug around in her bag for a pair of sunglasses wishing she'd splurged on a more fashionable pair when Cortez settled his Ray-Bans on the bridge of his nose.

  "You may not realize this," he told her with a grin, "but you're the new heroine around police headquarters. My team was impressed with your contributions to the Cuamantla investigation. No one even thought to question when I said you would help out on this case."

  Unwanted memories of helping Cortez capture a killer and break up an international smuggling ring flooded her brain. "I appreciate the compliment, but we both know it's not deserved. I only happened to be in the wrong place at the right time." She grinned at him. "I'm just lucky things turned out as well as they did."

  "We both were lucky and there's no need for modesty. We solved the case together and you were a large part of that."

  "I only hope today's case will be less harrowing." She sent a glance of uncertainty his way. "The Cuamantla murder was enough excitement to last me a lifetime."

  "Nothing to worry about at all," he said, giving a no sweat shrug of the shoulder.

  The Commander's confidence eased her misgivings and she vowed to rein in her overactive imagination; quit worrying about non-existent dangers. Maybe today signaled the start of another adventure together, which was a better way to think about it.

  The clear sky and warm breezes lifted her spirits as they crossed the narrow courtyard between the gleaming white buildings of the Tlaxcala State Police headquarters. Orange and lemon trees dotted the tapered lawns, the bright morning sun intensifying their already fulgent colors. Breathing in the citrus-scented air, Anna wished she could reach up and pick one of the lush pieces of fruit. Instead, she turned her attention back to the murder, paralleling Cortez's languid strides across the parking lot.

  They arrived at his sleek new black Honda, the one lacking police department markings. As he went around to the passenger side to open her door, she began to relax and asked about the case. "Did the hotel people provide any details?"

  "Only the basics. The manager is excitable and I spent most of my time trying to calm him down. The murder victim is a local woman apparently strangled sometime in the night. The maid found her body this morning when she entered to clean the room."

  Cortez held the door while she settled herself in the front seat. "How is the American involved?"

  "That's as much as I know," he said, climbing into the driver’s side and adjusting the rearview mirror. As they pulled out of the parking lot and turned downhill for the ten-minute ride to Tlaxcala's zócalo, the city’s central square, he added, "I've asked two of my men to join us at the hotel for the preliminary inquiries."

  Anna hoped the American tourist wouldn't turn out to be a murderer. She had no interest in becoming involved in some international narcotics deal gone bad, even though Cortez insisted drug cartels had not yet invaded Tlaxcala. How does he know for sure, she thought? Maybe this murder was the beginning of a cartel takeover. They're bound to infiltrate Tlaxcala some time.

  Reaching the plaza, Cortez slowed the car and searched the area for a vacant space. "Parking seems to be at a premium this morning."

  Anna pointed to a parking spot across from the Palace of Justice. "I see one over there."

  Cortez swung into the empty space sandwiching his car between two pickup trucks loaded with market supplies. "Let's go for a stroll, Maestra," he said, opening her car door. He cocked his head to the west. "The Posada de Tlaxcala is a couple of blocks from here, but with the one-way streets we'll make better time walking."

  "I never mind strolling through the zócalo," she told him, "I think it's the prettiest plaza in all of Mexico." And the walk will calm my nerves.

  "I'm afraid I take the local scenery for granted," he replied with a shrug. "One problem with familiarity, I guess."

  "I can understand since you've grown up here, but it's different for me. Everything is new and exciting, which makes me love Tlaxcala. I'm amazed at all the historical sites that litter this beautiful little city."

  Cortez chuckled. "Tlaxcala, city of historical litter. I've never thought of it that way."

  "Are you making fun of me?"

  "Not at all. I enjoy seeing my country through your eyes. And you're right about our history. I expect you know our Convent is the oldest European building in North America?" Before she could answer, he stopped and pointed to the plaza's stone fountain off to their right. "And that fountain? Nearly three hundred years old and it works better than the plumbing in my bathroom."

  Anna smiled at his good humor, beginning to breathe easier. She wondered if Cortez wanted to distract her from the grisly nature of their mission. If so, she appreciated his concern. She enjoyed spending time with him, but worried about what they'd face when th
ey reached the hotel. "It's really too bad so many American tourists insist on beaches and fancy resorts and miss the essence of your country," she told him, happy to keep a light conversation going.

  He glanced over at her. "I'm glad you're not one of them. Tlaxcala is truly a buried treasure."

  "A secret Tlaxcallans like to keep to themselves?"

  "We don't think of it that way, but I can see how someone might," he said. She detected a hint of melancholy in his voice.

  The plaza's profusion of flowers glowed in the morning light. The scent of lilies and roses suffused the air and Anna inhaled their beauty. What a marvelous day, she thought. Too nice for a murder.

  Chapter 3

  The screech of a siren startled her and she looked around, catching a glimpse of the official Tlaxcala State Police car pulling into a nearby parking place.

  "Here they come," Cortez said, glancing over at the two officers emerging from the car, the older man hurrying to keep up with his agile young companion. "Two of the honest ones," Cortez had told her once, shaking his head in exasperation at the corruption problems plaguing Mexican law enforcement agencies.

  Anna and Cortez crossed the street to the hotel. "After you, Maestra." Cortez held the door and followed her into the Posada, the city's newest hotel recently renovated by a European company betting on Tlaxcala's potential as a tourist attraction.

  A wise investment, Anna thought, in a city quickly catching up to its future.

  Cortez approached the mahogany reception desk and greeted the hotel clerk with his I.D.

  "Buenos días," the young woman replied, quickly buzzing for the manager.

  Anna stood a ways back surveying the lobby's vaulted ceiling, which reminded her of the church on the opposite side of the square. An elderly couple lingered over breakfast in a corner of the half-empty restaurant adjoining the lobby. The hands on the Aztec sundial wall clock read 10:37. Too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, she thought, even though her stomach craved either or maybe both.

  The click of a handle signaled the arrival of the Posada's day manager, Señor Flores, who entered through the door behind the desk. "Thank you for coming so soon, Comandante." The two men shook hands.

  "This is my team," Cortez said, introducing the two detectives along with Anna.

  The manager shook hands all around, reserving a slight bow for Anna. "We have a serious problem here, Comandante, and as you can understand we wish to keep everything as quiet as possible." Flores lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "News of such a terrible happening at our hotel could ruin our business, especially with the competition from the San Francisco. We can't afford to lose more tourists to them. You understand." Sr. Flores struggled to keep from wringing his hands.

  "I do," Cortez told him, resting a reassuring hand on the manager's shoulder. "I'll try to handle matters quietly. I hope no one has disturbed the scene in any way?"

  "Of course not, Comandante. I had to send the maid home she was so frightened, and no one has returned to the room except me. I only stepped in long enough to verify the maid's story."

  "And you did not touch the body, right?"

  "Correct, Comandante. There was no need to touch the body to know the woman was dead." Flores crossed himself.

  "Thank you, Señor. Perhaps you can answer my questions as you direct us to the victim's room." Cortez turned to Anna. "Maestra, you can wait here or join us, whichever you prefer."

  She dreaded viewing the grisly scene, but she wanted to learn more about the crime, and corpses were not unfamiliar to her. "I'll come along." She'd dealt with them in her anatomy class in graduate school even though she knew viewing a recently dead body would be different. Classroom cadavers were injected with so many preservatives they hardly seemed real. She could hear her father's voice in her head as she struggled over her misgivings -- suck it up. She took a deep breath and hurried to keep up with Cortez and the hotel manager.

  In the outside courtyard, they encountered three stucco buildings surrounding a large pool filled with water that reflected the deep azure of the sky. The terra cotta walls of the hotel matched the giant flower-filled urns scattered about the courtyard. Hanging baskets with colorful blends of annuals and perennials hung at various points along the walls.

  The French doors of the second floor rooms led to wrought-iron balconies most of which stood open to let in the morning breezes. Anna could hear the purring of the maids' vacuum cleaners. The sound seemed to blend with the American jazz flowing from camouflaged speakers mounted at the corners of the buildings. If someone dropped me in the middle of this space, she thought, I'd be hard pressed to say whether I was in Mexico or the Mediterranean.

  "Señor Flores," Cortez said, the sound of his voice returning Anna's thoughts to the business at hand, "what is the relationship of the victim to this American?"

  "I don't know precisely except the American came to Tlaxcala to meet with the murdered woman about a business matter of some sort." Flores stopped walking when he talked. "They met for lunch yesterday, but the exact nature of their business? That I don't know, Comandante."

  "I see. On the phone you said the American is staying here alone, correct?" Cortez continued across the patio, looking back at the stalled manager.

  "Sí, Comandante," Flores said as he hurried to catch up.

  "Do you know if he's checked out yet?"

  "As far as I know, he's still here. According to my staff, he and the victim were scheduled for breakfast together at 0800 this morning, but she never arrived." He paused for breath. "Apparently, the American waited for over an hour before inquiring at the desk. When the desk clerk told him no one had seen her since the previous night, he asked the clerk to telephone the woman's room, but she never answered the phone. " The manager shrugged. "Now we know why."

  Impervious to the manager's theatrics, Cortez persevered. "Do you recall the American's room number?"

  "Sí. He is registered in room 201." Flores pointed to one of the second floor balconies.

  "And the murdered woman?"

  "You will find her in room 115. Just over here." The manager swept his hand toward the opposite wing of the hotel. "Though it's not her room."

  "Not her room?"

  "No. She's registered in the room next door."

  Anna expected Cortez to ask about the person registered to the room next door, but his mind seemed elsewhere and Flores didn't volunteer the information. I suppose it will come out at some point, but I'd like to know now."

  She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking as she and the three policemen followed the melodramatic manager out the door.