“That is just the least of it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “There’s more?”
“I don’t have proof, but I think someone at Kraecker is bribing city building inspectors.”
I wasn’t completely surprised at this revelation but was more than taken aback that Hernan had found out about it.
He continued. “It’s just like you thought. To build a . . .” he paused, searching for the right word to describe the monstrosity that Richie was erecting, “building that will pass an eyeball inspection but not be up to city code.” He rubbed his good hand over his eyes. “He makes a lot of money in the process.”
I’ll say. The million-plus price tag on those apartments was pretty staggering. One million or so times thirty or forty apartments? I’m not that good at math but even I could figure that that was a lot of scratch, as Max called it. “Are you sure it’s Richie who’s behind this?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. It could be any one of the foremen working at the job site. I was trying to find out who, but I was exposed.”
“Exposed?”
“Someone found out I was Jose’s uncle and that I used to be an engineer in Ecuador. They knew then that I was trying to find out what I shouldn’t,” he said, haltingly. “I left a few days ago and decided not to come back there. They are threatening my family. I had to disappear. I can’t go home and put them in danger.”
“Who’s threatening your family?”
“One of the foremen. His name is David. He told me to get away from the site or he’d call INS. Or visit my family, he said.” He wrapped his good hand around his finger. “But he is an idiot. I don’t think he comes up with this on his own.”
“What makes you say that?”
Hernan shrugged. “Just a . . . what’s the word?”
“Hunch?”
“That’s it. He takes orders from the big boss. Kraecker’s manager.”
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Not ‘his.’ Hers.”
I raised an eyebrow. I knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.
“The big lady with the blond hair. Kraecker’s girlfriend.”
“Morag?”
He nodded and pointed at me. “That’s her.”
“Interesting.” I tapped my fingers on the table, thinking. “Tell me about Jose, Hernan.”
He looked down at his finger, studying the blood pattern on the towel. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” I took a healthy swig of vodka. “I don’t speak Spanish, but I sensed that there was something between the two of you the day you painted the dining room.”
Hernan thought for a few seconds, probably about how much he was going to tell me.
“Listen, I ate your finger. We’re way beyond being coy.”
“Jose wanted to get rich without the work. I don’t know what he was involved in, but he had something going on at Riviera Pointe,” he said, clearly embarrassed by this revelation about his nephew.
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what I was trying to find out.”
“Any ideas?” I asked.
His black eyes were filled with sorrow. “I don’t know. I promised my sister I would take care of him and I failed her.” He put his head on his arm. “He was ashamed that we went to the Lord’s Bounty every week. He thought it was beneath us . . . beneath me. He knew me when I was doing well in Ecuador. He thought that I had given up.” He lifted his head and looked me in the eye. “I haven’t given up. I just want my daughter to do well. To have everything she needs. To have everything that I can’t give her. A free meal and the groceries we take home every week gives me the opportunity to put money aside for her.” He smiled sadly. “She wants to be a nurse,” he said.
“I know.”
“And I want her to be one, too. Like her mother.”
“She’ll be a very good nurse,” I said. “I’ll make sure that she can do that, Hernan.” I prayed that Amalia had the grades to get her into St. Thomas and to remain there once she was in the program.
He reached down with his good hand and petted Trixie, who stared up at him. It was almost as if she knew how sad he was. She licked his fingers, having forgiven him for locking her up.
“Where was Jose going that day you were painting here?”
“I don’t know.”
Hernan was a bad liar. “Hernan . . .” I cajoled.
I could see the wheels turning in his head. “Down to the job site. To meet someone.” Before I could ask anything else, he held up a hand. “I don’t know anything else. But he was in trouble. He was trouble.”
I looked at Trixie, who looked up at me with a mix of sadness and adoration on her face. “We have to get proof of what’s going on, Hernan.”
He pulled a worn piece of paper out of his pocket, dates, times, and names written in very small script on every line of the page. “This is all I have.” He smoothed it out on the table. “Jose had started this list and I found it after he died.”
I scanned the page. “Can I make a copy of this?” I asked. Nothing on the page made any sense to me, but I thought that it might be of value farther down the road. It was just like the list Amalia had given me—a bunch of meaningless names and figures unless we unlocked the secret of what it all meant.
He considered that for a moment and then realized he had no other recourse than to let me in. “Of course.”
I ran up to the guest room and ran the sheet through my printer. The copy wasn’t great but it was legible. I carefully folded the original and put it into an envelope, giving it back to Hernan when I returned to the kitchen. “I’ll see what I can find out, Hernan.”
We sat in silence, he sipping his vodka, wincing every now and again, obviously not accustomed to drinking hard liquor. He snuck a few glances at me, looking like he wasn’t sure if I was going to bite him again. I poured myself another shot and sipped it slowly this time, knowing that I would have to drive him to get medical attention. The last thing I needed was a DUI to go along with the raft of other problems I had.
I fingered the copy of the paper that Hernan had given me and absentmindedly rubbed my head. “I need to think.” Calling Crawford was out of the question. Although he probably knew more than he was letting on to me, this piece of paper could break things wide open if the names listed on it were those of building inspectors taking kickbacks from Richie. And giving him the paper would be tantamount to telling him that Hernan was alive, a fact that would put Amalia and her mother in jeopardy. But if the building inspector bribery tale was true, that explained what Madeleine was doing there. But what did it mean for Jose? And Hernan?
I looked at Hernan’s injured hand, the blood from the towel dripping onto the table. I got another dish towel and we rewrapped the finger. I didn’t relish the thought of going to the hospital with this man and having to explain to some crusty nurse why I had bitten him. I wracked my brain and suddenly, a light dawned. I reached behind me and grabbed the phone from the counter and dialed a number I knew by heart.
Less than hour later, I pulled up in front of the convent at St. Thomas, angling into a spot that wouldn’t exist during the school day. Now that it was evening, the campus had emptied out and we were alone in the driveway, the lights from the building casting an ethereal glow over everything. I glanced over at one of the statues that flanked the stairs down to the great lawn and said a silent prayer for this proud, lovely man.
Hernan still looked hesitant but I assured him that we were safe. We went into the quiet foyer of the convent and waited at the bottom of the steps that led up to the sisters’ residence. A few minutes later, a serene-looking nun in a bathrobe, a bandanna covering her head, descended the steps.
“Hi, Sister Louise,” I said.
“Oh, hello, Alison dear.” She landed on the bottom step, her slippered feet making no noise on the marble floor. “Is this your friend?”
I turned to Hernan. “Yes. Sis
ter Louise Wisniewski, Hernan Escalante. Hernan, Sister Louise.”
Hernan bowed his head slightly, unable to shake. “Nice to meet you, Sister.”
Sister Louise took Hernan’s right hand in hers and gently unwrapped the dish towel/tourniquet. Fortunately, the finger had stopped bleeding, which I took as a good sign. “Let me have a look at this.” She let out a little air between her teeth. “How did this happen?”
Hernan looked at me. “I bit him,” I said, catching Louise’s startled look. I held up a hand. “It’s a long story.”
“I imagine it is,” she said and rewrapped the hand in the dish towel. “Why don’t we go upstairs to the sisters’ infirmary so I can get a better look and decide what we want to do?” She took Hernan by the elbow and started up the stairs. “Good Lord, dear. Didn’t your parents tell you to never bite anyone?” she muttered as she made her way up the steps. “And don’t you have a boyfriend?” she added.
Whom I should be biting? Was that what she was implying? This incident would go a long way toward cementing my reputation as the campus pariah, that was for sure. They started up the stairs with Louise holding Hernan’s elbow. She stopped midway up the flight.
“Oh, Alison, dear. I have the estimate on the broken headlight. I’ll bring it down when I return.”
Oh, good. I’ve been waiting for that! I thought. Not. I watched them go up the stairs and then settled onto the bottom step, pondering the current state of events. I took out the list and stared at it for a long time; the only thing that was consistent was the list of Hispanic names on it. I made a mental note to ask Jane how many Hispanic building inspectors were on the city’s staff; maybe they had turned a blind eye to Richie’s illegal hiring practices? I hadn’t gotten any closer to figuring out which end was up when Hernan came back down the stairs, his finger wrapped professionally in a thick wad of clean white gauze. Sister Louise was behind him, gliding silently down the stairs. She landed on the second to last step, making us the same height.
“All better?” I asked.
Hernan tried to smile but it was pained. I suspected Louise had a heavy hand with the hypodermic by the way he rubbed his upper arm.
“I cleaned his finger and gave him a tetanus shot, so he should be fine. Fortunately, dear,” she said pointedly, looking at me, “he only needed a few stitches. Had the wound been more extensive, he would have needed a hospital visit and I take it that that’s not an option right now.”
“You are correct, Sister.” I started toward the door, Hernan behind me. “Thank you very much for your help.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” She moved down the last two steps to the foyer. “One thing I need to know, however, is just where Mr. Escalante is sleeping tonight. From the little information he has given me, it’s obvious that he has no home or can’t go to his current residence, or he wouldn’t be with you right now. Am I right?”
She’s no dope, that Louise, despite the fact that she can’t remember where she parks her car from time to time. She had done a stint in the missions in Latin America and she spoke fluent Spanish. She had probably interrogated Hernan—in Spanish—until he gave almost everything up. She was right; Hernan had nowhere to go but I hadn’t gotten that far in my thought process. Getting him medical attention had been job one. I thought about taking him back to my house but staying with me wasn’t an option; I was already knee-deep in this case and couldn’t put myself in any more jeopardy. But I couldn’t think of anywhere else I could stash him.
After a few minutes of looking up at the ceiling of the foyer and trying to think of a solution, one became crystal clear. I gave Louise a steely gaze and she looked like she knew exactly what I was going to say. Before she could protest, I reminded her of one thing: “You owe me, Louise.”
Twenty-Seven
And that’s the story of how one Hernan Escalante came to live in a convent.
Technically, Louise didn’t owe me, she owed Dottie, but it was I who had come up with the brilliant plan to put Dottie and Charlie on the case of the missing Chevrolet. When I laid it out like that, and appealed to her sense of justice, charity, and good old Catholic guilt, she was a goner. Hernan was somewhat reluctant as well, but the promise of a bed and three hot meals a day was too good for him to resist after two days of living God knows where. Louise told me that she would stow him up on the sparsely populated fifth floor.
“The only other sister up there is Sister Catherine and she’s legally blind,” she said. “If you take the elevator and hold the number five, it won’t stop at the other floors and you can sneak up there. Go to room ten.” She thought for a moment. “I’ll take you up the first time to show you how it’s done.”
I thought about the elaborate ruse and how quickly Louise had come up with it. She seemed extremely competent when it came to sneaking men into the convent but I didn’t want to go there mentally. “See? Legally blind, Hernan. If you’re quiet, she’ll never know you’re there,” I said, trying to sell him on the idea that this was the best option for him at the moment. “Nobody will look for you in a convent, Hernan. You’ll be safe.”
He thought about it for a few minutes, looking down at his dirty work clothes. Almost imperceptibly, he finally nodded.
I clapped my hands together, the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged foyer. “Good. I’ll come by tomorrow and bring you some clean clothes.” I gave him a quick hug and then turned to Louise. “Thank you, Sister.”
Hernan grabbed my arm. “Don’t call my family yet.”
That was the first thing I had planned to do when I got home. “Why not?”
“We have to figure this out. Just wait. I don’t want them to be in any danger.”
It went against my nature to hold off on calling them knowing how frantic they were, but I also felt like I had to respect Hernan’s wishes. “OK. A couple of days. But then I’m calling them, Hernan. They’re worried sick.”
He loosened his grip on my arm. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. If you tell them, they’ll want to come to get me or see me, and I can’t risk it.”
Sister Louise started up the stairs, Hernan behind her. She turned and put her finger to her lips. “I’ll take you to the elevator, Mr. Escalante, but you must be quiet.” She pulled up the hem of her robe slightly so she wouldn’t trip on the stairs. “I have some fresh fruit and crackers in my room and I’ll bring them up in a minute.”
As soon as they were out of sight, I went back out to my car and dialed the only lawyer I knew. He just happened to be Crawford’s brother, but I didn’t let that stop me. I needed some information on immigration law and wasn’t sure if he could help me, but I figured it was worth a try. I left him a message instructing him to never mention to Crawford that I had made this call and to get in touch with me at his earliest convenience.
After leaving the message, I headed home. It was close to nine o’clock. I was exhausted and was looking forward to taking a hot shower, vigorously brushing my teeth (I still imagined that I could taste finger), and a long night of slumber.
When I pulled up to the house and saw the green Passat at the curb, I knew that all those things were out of the question. I pulled into the driveway and saw Crawford sitting on the patio on a plastic chair that was way too small for him, obviously enjoying the night air. He stood when he saw me.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
God, you’re handsome, I thought. But I put that aside when I took in his impatient look. “And hello to you, too,” I said, pulling my keys from my pocket. I stepped around the plastic chair on which he had been sitting and made my way to the back door, trying to avoid making eye contact with him.
“The sidelight on your front door is broken.” He leaned in and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek.
I opened the back door.
“And the screen in one of your dining room windows is ripped.”
So that’s how Hernan got in, I thought. We hadn’t covered that in any of our conversations. “I’ll have to get that fixe
d.” I did a quick survey of the kitchen. There was a little streak of blood on one of the kitchen chairs; everything else looked pretty normal.
Except for the two vodka glasses that sat on the table. I kicked the chair under the table and attempted to seduce Crawford with my feminine wiles. I slid my fingers into the top of his pants and gave him a long kiss.
But he wasn’t having any part of it. “Were you entertaining someone?” he asked, motioning to the two glasses, one empty, one with a little vodka in the bottom.
I hastily concocted a lie. “No. Yes. Just Jane.” I laughed to cover my discomfort. “But I can guarantee you that I was not entertaining at all. Maybe slightly humorous, but not . . .”
He put his hand over my mouth. “Got it. Where were you?”
I took his hand off of my mouth and held it in mine. “School,” I said. That wasn’t a lie. “I had to drop something off.” Again, not a lie.
He stared at me for a few minutes, deciding whether or not it was worth the trouble of pursuing the line of questioning.
“Wanna make out?” I asked.
“I thought you were mad at me.”
“OK. Wanna have make-up sex?”
“I’ll think about it.” He pulled out the chair with the bloody streak on it and sat down. I prayed that the blood had dried and that he wouldn’t end up with a blood stain on his ass. “I want to know why you thought it was OK to come down to the Fiftieth and give me and Carmen and Fred a hard time.”
Good question. I didn’t have an answer to that one. “Want a beer?”
“Sure.” He watched me pull a couple of beers out of the refrigerator. “Is that an apology?”
I handed him a beer and sat down on the other chair. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
He took a long drag from the bottle. “I’m sorry, too.” He pushed the two vodka glasses aside and grabbed a napkin from the holder on the table, putting it under his bottle to absorb the moisture. “But you know I couldn’t tell you about Madeleine Cranston, right?”
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