‘And you didn’t think to stop her? To step in and say “no” when she took off at night alone, in your car?’ Williams asked, more accusingly than he’d meant to. It got to him that these people sounded so calm, so nonchalant about a young woman’s possible murder.
‘We employed Charlotte to take care of our children,’ Juan answered defensively. ‘It was not our job to take care of her, to follow her around in her own time.’
‘Also, you know, she was young and blonde and attractive,’ said Angelina, not in the least offended by Williams’ last question but still brooding on the one before. ‘So perhaps, in her case, the motive was a sexual one?’
‘Did she have any boyfriends that you knew of?’
Both Encerritos shook their heads. ‘No.’
‘No one who came to the house?’
‘Not that I saw,’ said Angelina. ‘She was with the kids, mostly. There was a girl she liked in the Colonia Juarez – another au pair, I think. But no boys. She didn’t seem the type, to be honest.’
Williams looked at his notes.
‘The girl – her name wasn’t Frederique, by any chance?’
‘That’s right!’ Angelina smiled. ‘Frederique. That was it.’
‘I don’t suppose you remember her last name.’
Angelina Encerrito shook her head.
‘I do.’
A boy of around ten had wandered on to the terrace to join them. With his olive skin, jet-black hair and long, dark lashes and dressed head to toe in Ralph Lauren tennis whites, he looked like he’d stepped straight off the pages of Town & Country Magazine. ‘It was Zidane,’ he said confidently. ‘Like the soccer player. That’s why I remember.’
‘Thank you.’ Williams smiled at him. ‘What’s your name, kid?’
‘Antonio,’ said the boy. He seemed delighted to be part of the grown-ups’ conversation, but Williams noticed that both his parents looked uneasy, as if they were waiting for an opportunity to shoo him away.
‘So did you ever meet Frederique, Antonio?’ Williams asked. ‘While Charlotte was taking care of you?’
‘Sure. Lots of times.’
‘Do you remember where you met?’
The boy nodded. ‘At the park. And at the house where she was staying. There were only girls there, but they had a water slide and a trampoline and—’
‘All right, Antonio, thank you, darling,’ his mother interrupted, exchanging pained glances with her husband. ‘Off you go to tennis now.’
‘Where was the house?’ Williams grabbed the little boy by the arm.
‘He’s late for his lesson,’ Juan Encerrito said sternly. ‘Please, Mr Williams, do not abuse our goodwill. Your business does not concern my son.’
‘Sure it does.’ Williams matched the older man’s irritated tone. ‘I need that address, Señor Encerrito. Frederique Zidane may be the one person who actually knows what might have happened to Charlotte. Imagine how Charlotte’s poor family feel right now, sir, not knowing anything. How would you feel if it was your child?’ He nodded towards Antonio, who hovered anxiously, not sure whether to stay or go.
The boy’s father relented. ‘Do you remember where this house was, Antonio?’ he asked, gently.
‘Oh yes.’ The boy smiled. ‘I have an excellent memory.’ Turning to Williams he added helpfully, ‘I could take you there right now if you like?’
Frederique Zidane was a plain young woman in her early twenties, short with mousy brown hair and the sort of pale, doughy figure more usually associated with middle age. Her dress sense, however, made no concession to these shortcomings. She answered the door to Williams in a denim skirt so short it barely merited the name, and a tight white T-shirt beneath which a straining red lace bra was plainly visible. She was also obviously a kind person. When Williams explained the nature of his business, she bent over backwards to help.
‘Do you know, you’re the first person who’s bothered to come and talk to me about Charlie?’ she informed him, clearing a space on the messy sofa for him to sit down and pressing a glass of iced water into his hand. ‘Apart from that charity lady.’
‘Charity lady?’
‘From Missing,’ Frederique clarified. ‘They’ve been trying to help, getting Charlie’s name and picture out there. Which is great, ’cause the police here couldn’t care less.’
That’s interesting, Williams thought. He’d understood from Tucker and Mary Clancy that Valentina Baden and her charity had only contacted them recently, in the States, to offer them some free publicity. But now it seemed Valentina had taken an interest in Charlotte’s disappearance from the start. Strange she’d never mentioned that, or her meeting with Frederique, to the Clancys.
‘I was told the American police would be getting involved,’ Frederique went on, ‘but I never heard from them either.’
Born and raised in Rouen, she spoke English with only the slightest of French accents. Williams was impressed.
‘I traveled all over as a kid,’ Frederique told him. ‘I learned English as a baby but I also speak Spanish and Italian. I think that made it easier for me here. Poor Charlie was kind of isolated, because her Spanish wasn’t that great. She relied on me a lot to translate for her. And because I was older, you know? This job was her first time away from home. God, it’s so sad.’
‘I’m trying to build a picture of her life here, in the months she worked for the Encerritos,’ said Williams.
‘OK.’ Frederique leaned forward eagerly, a thick roll of belly fat escaping over the elastic of her skirt as she moved. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘The family she worked for said they never saw a boyfriend. Is that true?’
‘It’s probably true they never saw one,’ said Frederique. ‘But Charlie was seeing somebody, for sure. I already told the police this, and Missing, but they didn’t seem interested.’
‘I’m interested,’ Williams assured her. ‘Did you meet him? Do you know his name?’
Frederique shook her head. ‘No. That’s the whole thing. He was a secret. Charlie was really into him, she talked about him all the time. But he was married, and a lot older than her, and really rich and powerful – that’s what she said anyway. None of us were allowed to meet him or know who he was.’
Williams listened eagerly. This was a break, of sorts.
‘Was he Mexican? American?’
‘I don’t know his nationality, she never said. I assumed he was local, but maybe that was wrong … I do know he traveled a lot. He wasn’t always in town and Charlie would pine for him like a lost kitten whenever he was away.’
Williams made a note. ‘Do you know how they met?’
Frederique thought for a moment. ‘I think she met him at her employers’ house. Maybe he was a business associate of the dad?’
‘Anything else?’ Williams pressed her. ‘Did she tell you what job this man did, or any details about his family, his background? Anything that might help me track him down?’
‘Not really.’ Frederique bit her lower lip. ‘I’m not being much help, am I? I think he might have been in finance. It was some big-money job, anyway. And like I say, he was married but beyond that I don’t know. All she really talked about was how great he was in bed. That, and the presents he bought her.’
‘Presents?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Frederique’s big brown eyes lit up. ‘He bought her diamonds and thousand-dollar shoes. Really fancy, expensive stuff. She adored him, but it looked as if the feeling was mutual.’
‘And were they still together when she went missing?’ Williams asked. ‘Had they had a fight, or broken up?’
Frederique shook her head. ‘No. Definitely not. If anything, I’d say they were closer than ever. She was supposed to meet him that night, and she was so excited. I remember her sitting right where you are now, telling me how she was going to spend her life with this guy.’
‘Is it possible she ran off with him?’ Williams asked. Up till now he’d been totally sure that Charlotte was dead. But th
e picture her friend painted of her romance did open the door to other, less gruesome possibilities. ‘Maybe the two of them are living on a beach somewhere right now.’
‘I wondered about that,’ said Frederique. ‘I mean, I’d love to believe it. But it doesn’t add up, does it? Rich, powerful businessmen with families don’t simply disappear. And Charlie may not have seen eye to eye with her parents, but I don’t believe she would run off into the sunset without saying a word to them. She was a nice girl. She wouldn’t do something that cruel.’
Williams left, thanking Frederique for her help and handing her his business card in case she remembered anything else. ‘I’ll be at the Hilton for the next ten days. But you can reach me on my cell after that if something comes back to you, any time.’
Things moved fast after that. The Encerritos were less than welcoming when Williams returned to try to talk to them a second time about male visitors to their home, specifically married business associates of Juan’s. Luckily, in exchange for a few pesos and some American whiskey, most of their household employees were considerably more forthcoming. More than one of them told Williams about a handsome American who had visited the compound a few times over the course of that summer, and who had often been seen chatting with the young au pair.
‘She liked him. They like each other,’ the Encerritos groundsman informed Williams with a toothless grin. ‘You could tell.’
The general consensus was that ‘the American’ was either a banker or a lawyer and that he’d been introduced to Juan Encerrito by a man named Luis Rodriguez, another wealthy local businessman and philanthropist.
‘Rodriguez is a wonderful man,’ the groundsman told Williams, a sentiment echoed by the housekeeper, the maid and just about everybody else Williams spoke to. ‘He came from nothing, and he still cares about the poor. Not like them.’ A nod towards the house was intended to indicate the groundsman’s employers, Juan and Angelina. ‘But the people around him, like the American banker? I don’ know about those guys.’
A few days after his meeting with Frederique, Williams called home in high excitement.
‘I’m gonna ask the Clancys to pay for another week out here,’ he told Lorraine breathlessly from the balcony of his pool-view suite at the Hilton. Below him, a cluster of lithe, bronze-skinned young women lay sprawled out on sun loungers in tiny bikinis, but Williams barely noticed them. ‘I know this American dude had something to do with Charlie’s disappearance. The family she worked for claim not to know who he is, but they’re obviously lying. You know who else is lying, weirdly? Or at least holding back the truth?’
‘Who?’ Lorraine asked dutifully.
‘Valentina Baden – Willie Baden’s wife. Her charity has been helping the Clancys, but it turns out they’d already been looking for Charlotte for months, asking questions. I mean, why wouldn’t you mention that to the parents?’
‘I don’t know, Derek,’ Lorraine said wearily.
‘Anyway, this American guy Charlotte was seeing worked for some local big shot named Rodriguez, kind of like a Robin Hood figure around here. So I have another lead into him, which is great. Assuming Mrs Baden doesn’t return my call, which so far she hasn’t. All I need is a name, babe. I’m this close, I can feel it.’
‘OK, Derek.’ For some reason, Williams’ young wife didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm. ‘One more week’s OK. But after that you gotta come home. We’re getting calls every day and I’m having to turn business away.’
‘But this is business. The Clancys are paying, honey,’ Williams reminded her.
‘Yeah, they’re paying, but you’re down in Mexico spending literally all your time on one case,’ Lorraine protested. ‘You can’t afford that, Derek. Not with a baby on the way. You got a family to think about now.’
Williams hung up. He was surprised and disappointed that Lorraine couldn’t see what a big deal this was. All he needed to do was speak to this Luis Rodriguez, and he should be able to unearth his precious name, maybe as soon as tomorrow! Finding Charlotte’s married boyfriend would be a huge leap forward in the case. If he could solve the mystery of what happened to her after she left Frederique Zidane that night, not only would he be putting an innocent family out of their misery, but he would have succeeded where the FBI, not to mention the Mexicans, had failed. Thanks to Missing, Tucker and Mary Clancy had been all over the talk-show circuit back home. Millions of Americans knew about the Charlotte Clancy case. Cracking it would make Williams’ name, and seal his reputation as a top-class private investigator. If that wasn’t good business, he didn’t know what was.
But most of all, solving this case would mean justice for Charlotte. Sometimes Williams wondered whether he was the only person on earth, other than her parents and Frederique, who genuinely cared about that.
Just as he had the thought, the phone rang.
Please be Valentina Baden. Please be Valentina Baden …
In fact, it was Frederique, sounding almost as excited as Williams felt.
‘I remembered something!’ she panted breathlessly.
‘Great.’ Williams smiled broadly, reaching for his pen and pad.
‘I remember his car. I saw Charlie once getting into a car and I’m sure it was his. I mean, I didn’t actually see the driver. But she was dressed for a date, and her expression was like—’
‘What sort of car was it?’ Williams couldn’t contain himself. Please let it be something unusual, something he could trace.
‘It was a Jaguar. One of the old ones,’ said Frederique. ‘And it was dark green. I think they call it racing green?’
Williams could have kissed her.
‘That has to be a rare car, right?’ said Frederique. ‘I mean, how many of those can there be driving around Mexico city?’
Not too many, Williams thought triumphantly. Not too many at all.
The next seven days were some of the most frustrating in Derek Williams’ life. Having raised the Clancys’ hopes, not to mention relieved them of another three thousand dollars they could ill afford, he’d hoped to get back to them with an imminent breakthrough. Instead he quickly learned that getting anything done in Mexico City was like trying to run a marathon with your sneakers dipped in treacle. It was a mystery to Williams how anybody did business here, never mind amassed the sort of fortunes that men like Luis Rodriguez seemed to have conjured out of thin air.
Rodriguez was frustration number one. Robin Hood he may be, but he was also literally impossible to get to. Not difficult – Williams was used to difficult. Impossible. A wall of receptionists, secretaries, and secretaries’ secretaries were in place to deny access to the great man, both in person and on the phone. Emails were returned by faceless minions, and phone calls transferred and transferred and transferred again until the would-be caller lost the will to live.
Williams had tried showing up at Rodriguez’s offices, hoping to ‘doorstep’ him there as he came in or out, but a small army of machine-gun-toting goons soon dissuaded him from that approach. As for Rodriguez’s home, that had no doorstep, only a long, winding drive behind reinforced steel gates, another set of goons and the less than reassuring sound of Dobermans barking hungrily somewhere inside the grounds.
Meanwhile, researching car ownership records here was not a simple matter of calling the DMV as it was back home. Williams was sure there must be some old Mexican saying that people were taught at birth, that translated to something like ‘Why keep a record when you can not keep a record?’
Infuriatingly, he assumed that Valentina Baden’s charity must already have at least some of this information. But as they’d chosen not to share it with the Clancys, for reasons best known to themselves, and had steadfastly refused to return a single of Williams’ calls, he was left trying to reinvent the wheel.
He used the wasted hours of waiting for someone to get back to him to do some research into Luis Rodriguez, everybody’s favorite billionaire and a local legend for his generosity, down-to-earth manner, and support for
any and all causes that helped the city’s poor.
‘I came from these streets. I know these streets,’ Rodriguez had told an interviewer from La Jornada last year in a piece Williams had now read at least a dozen times: ‘Some people don’t like that I give money to the police. But we need the police. They are the front line in the war on drugs, and no one should doubt that this is a war.’
Yeah, thought Williams. It’s a war all right. Problem is that half of the local police are really spies for the other side.
‘That’s why I also give to rehabilitation centers,’ Rodriguez went on. ‘I lost my own sister to drugs. So I make a point of employing recovering addicts in my businesses. I am not a political man. I am a compassionate man.’
The interview was a bit too ‘Pharisees in the temple’ for Williams’ taste. A bit too ‘look at me, I’m such a great guy’. A puff piece, basically. But the numbers bore Rodriguez’s boasting out. The man really had given away a boat-load of money to good causes, especially ones related to fighting drugs. He could be something of a player when it came to women, but that only seemed to add luster to his legend. The poor of Mexico City worshipped him and it wasn’t too hard to see why.
It was a Wednesday when Williams finally got his opening, accosting Luis Rodriguez as he emerged from his regular weekly session with a chiropractor.
‘I’m investigating the disappearance of a young American girl,’ Williams gabbled breathlessly as the lone bodyguard Rodriguez had brought with him leapt out of his car and started barreling towards him. ‘I only need a minute of your time, sir. I believe one of your business associates may have known her. Her name was Charlotte Clancy.’
Just as the bodyguard was about to body-slam him to the floor, Williams saw Luis Rodriguez raise his hand, stopping the man dead, like a remote-controlled toy. For the first time, Rodriguez looked at Williams directly.
‘Charlotte? Carlotta,’ he mused. ‘That was my sister’s name. You’re looking for an associate of mine, you say?’
Sidney Sheldon's the Silent Widow Page 18