by Jeff Shelby
“You were going to help him pay what he owed?” I clarified.
“Not just me,” he explained. “Everyone that work in the fields. They all help. We do this before. Because everyone know this is how things work. So when we get paycheck, anyone who can give some money does. This way, Arturo can pay sooner and not have to worry about owing.”
I marveled at how succinctly he was putting it. Their entire community was coming together to pay someone's extortion attempt. It wasn't okay, but it was admirable.
“He was told he would have two months to pay,” Beto said. “But now, I do not know what is happening.”
“Back to the phone call,” I said. “They called and said what?”
“That we must pay balance now,” Beto said. “Or they hurt him.”
“Did they say why?”
“No.”
“And how long did they give you?”
“They say 48 hours.”
Both Henry and Sloan shuffled their feet against the ground, nearly as uncomfortable as Beto.
“We must pay or they will kill him,” Beto said, wincing. “We do not have the money.”
“Right. Okay. Tell me about the person who was on the phone.”
He took a deep breath. “It was a woman. She talk like some of my daughter's friends.”
“What do you mean?”
He thought for a moment. “Her voice is young. And she say the word 'like' many times.”
“Can you give me an example?”
He thought again. “She say, 'If you don't, like, pay us, we will hurt your brother.' That is something she say exactly.”
“Did you recognize the voice?”
He shook his head.
“And she said 48 hours?”
“Yes.”
“And did she say they'd call back or what are you supposed to do?” I asked.
“She tell me they will contact me again,” Beto said. “She did not tell me when.”
“The call was blocked?”
He took his phone from his pocket. It was an iPhone, a newer model if not the newest. He touched the screen, then swiped his finger down on the glass. He nodded. “Yes. Blocked.”
“Okay, the first thing you should do is download an app that will unmask the number when they call back,” I said.
He squinted at me. “Unmask?”
“It will tell you who the caller is,” I said. I reached out for his phone. “May I?”
“That thing actually works?” Sloan asked.
“It can,” I said. Beto handed the phone to me. I closed the call list and tapped the icon for the app store and found the app I wanted. “So when they call again, decline the call. Just hit the red button that declines it.”
Beto looked at me, confused. “But if I no answer, how will I know what they want? Or what if they hurt my brother?”
“If you do it right away, they'll think it was a glitch,” I explained. “They'll call back. And there's a good chance we'll get the number they're calling from.”
I'd learned about the app from a magazine article. I'd tried it and it had worked. It wasn't 100% foolproof, but it was better than nothing. It would also probably give us an indication as to how professional the people were that took Arturo.
I handed Beto back his phone. “Write down as much as you can from the conversation. Not just the words, but anything that you can think of about the caller or anything you hear in the background.”
He took the phone. “Okay.”
“Do you know the name of the coyote who brought your brother over?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. They never tell us names.”
I looked at Sloan and Henry.
Henry shrugged, shaking his head.
“By the time they get here, they've usually been transferred a couple times,” Sloan said. “And they get dropped off and walk in. We never see the drivers.”
Beto nodded in agreement.
“Okay.” I thought for a moment. “Arturo came over with some others?”
“Yes.”
“They are here on the ranch?”
Beto nodded.
“Out on the east side,” Sloan said, nodding. “Way out.”
I looked at Henry. “Let's go talk to them.”
TWENTY THREE
Sloan said he needed to get back to work, but offered to come if necessary. I told him I thought we'd be okay and that I’d call him if needed. Beto climbed in the truck with us and Henry pointed us to the east. We rumbled over rolling hills and into the thick groves and I was once again overwhelmed by the pure size of the ranch. I wondered how they managed to farm and track the entire endeavor. I was sure it was simpler than I realized, but it was interesting to think about the actual inner-workings of such a large production.
Fifteen minutes later, we crested another hill and descended into an open valley, one that had been cleared of trees. Several trailers, older than Beto's, were in the open space, arranged in a way so they formed a cul-de-sac. Several older pickups were parked near the trailers. A couple of wooden picnic tables sat out front.
Henry shut off the engine.
“I will go find them,” Beto said, exiting the truck and heading for one of the trailers.
“There are about a dozen folk living out here right now,” Henry said as we waited. “I'm trying to get another trailer brought in so they've got a little more room. I know we've got some more people coming in soon.”
“And you said they have plumbing? And electricity?”
He nodded. “Yeah. We plumbed it out about two years ago and I had some of my guys—Sloan and a couple others—run the electrical lines. I wasn't comfortable with people living out here without basic necessities. Like I said before, I'd like to do more.”
I'd read horror stories about encampments like this, but based on what I saw, this was near luxury compared to how others treated their undocumented workers. The conditions still weren’t ideal, but at least Henry was attempting to treat them humanely.
Beto stepped out of the trailer on the far left with two men behind him. One was tall and rail-thin, with a black goatee around his mouth. The other man was shorter, wider, built almost like a wrestler, with close-cropped dark hair beneath a beaten cowboy hat. They both had on work shirts, jeans, and work boots, and both eyed me suspiciously as I got out of the truck.
“They do not speak much English,” Beto said, then gestured at the men. “This is Alberto and this is Sam.”
I held out my hand and shook hands with each of the men. Beto chattered at them in Spanish and both men nodded at him. Beto looked at me.
“Can you ask them a little about their trip over the border?” I said. “What it was like? What they recall? Any detail is good.”
Beto nodded and launched into Spanish. I had a decent working knowledge of the language from high school Spanish classes and just being around so many people in San Diego who spoke it, but they were conversing at a pace that was too fast for me to pick anything out. The taller one, Alberto, spoke quietly, stoically, his hands jammed into his pockets. Sam was more animated, using his hands demonstratively and glancing at me as he spoke to Beto.
“They tell me the same things Arturo did,” Beto said. “They arrange with the people for transport. At the border, they were told the fee is going to be higher and they would have to pay more.”
“Do they have contact information for this person or people?” I asked. “How are they supposed to pay?”
Beto fired off a question in Spanish and Sam answered back.
“Sam say they tell them they will be in contact with them.”
“And they haven't heard from them since?”
Beto shook his head. “He say no, they have heard nothing.”
“Ask them about when they saw Arturo last.”
They again exchanged words in Spanish. Alberto remained quiet, almost sullen, while Sam was more emphatic, close to what I thought was angry. I wasn't sure at whom the anger was directed.
“
It is the same,” Beto said. “He stay to finish in the groves. When he did not return, they go look for him with some others. Then they call me.”
“They take him,” Sam said haltingly, looking at me. “They take him. Yo sé.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
He launched into rapid-fire Spanish, looking from me to Beto and back to me.
“He say he know this because it is what they do,” Beto explained. “They try to make their lives hard, they try to scare them, and they try to take all their money. They do not care about the people, they only care about the money.”
Sam had his hands on his hips, almost as if he was challenging me.
“Is that true?” I asked Beto. “In your experience?”
Beto nodded. “Yes. They care about money and nothing else. They do not care about us.”
I looked at Henry. He nodded.
I looked at Sam. “I believe you.”
For the first time, Sam looked like he did not want to punch me. He gave me a short, curt nod.
“Can you ask them about what happened after they came across?” I asked. “Where did they get dropped off? How did they get here?”
Beto asked them. Sam responded. Alberto nodded at Sam's words.
“They come over in a truck,” Beto explained. “Like a moving truck. They go to a house in San Ysidro and stay there one night. Then several cars come and bring them to Poway. We pick them up there in a parking lot.”
“Ask them to describe the drivers.”
There was some back and forth between Beto and Sam. Alberto just nodded.
“Men. Older,” Beto relayed. “They did not talk to them. They stay in the trucks and tell them to get out. Sam say they were normal looking coyotes.”
Sam nodded.
“Did they have any contact with a woman?” I asked.
After a moment of conversation, Beto shook his head. “No. They say no.”
“Yes,” Alberto said. “Wait.”
We all looked at him.
He turned to Sam and mumbled something I couldn't understand. Then Sam nodded and turned to Beto.
It was like waiting on a game of Telephone.
“They remember a woman at the border,” Beto said. “At the house where they stay the night. She was there for only a few minutes. She did not talk to them or anything like that. They saw her through a window talking to one of the drivers. Alberto did not know if that is who you mean or if she is important. That is why he say no at first.”
I nodded. “That's okay. Can they tell you what she looked like?”
Both men shrugged when Beto asked them and they gave him short answers.
“Nothing special,” Beto said. “Younger. Blonde hair. They could not hear her voice.”
I reached into my back pocket, pulled out my wallet, and fished for one of the black and white photos from the ranch security cam that I'd folded into it. I found it, pulled it out, and held it out to Beto.
“This is the one you show me before,” Beto said, confused.
“I know,” I said. “Ask them if that's the same woman.”
Beto looked confused, but did as I asked. He held the photo out and asked them a question. Sam took the photo and held it so both he and Alberto could see it.
Then Sam looked at me, confused and angry again.
“Ese es su,” Alberto said, glancing at me, then Beto. “Ese es su.”
Beto looked at me. “He say that is her.”
TWENTY FOUR
“How do you know?” Beto asked.
Henry and I were in the truck with him, headed back toward Beto's home.
“I didn't,” I said. “It was a guess.”
“How do you guess?”
“I got lucky,” I said.
“But how?” Henry asked, steering us up over a hill.
The photos had bothered me from the moment I'd first seen them. Then, after looking at the location where they had been taken, it just didn’t make sense. I couldn't see a way that someone had wandered onto the property and reached that point, even if they were trying to evade someone or something. The geography simply didn't lend itself to that happening. I didn't think it was impossible, but I didn't think it was logical, either.
I explained that to both of them.
“So you didn't believe me?” Henry asked. “That she was in danger?”
“I was just trying to look at it from all angles and the one that made the least amount of sense was that she was in danger,” I said. “It didn't fit, and Carter agreed with me when he took a look.”
Henry nodded, thinking.
“I didn't think that she was there doing something bad,” I said. “I just couldn't figure out why she was there.” I looked at Beto. “You said it was a woman that called you. I found that odd. So I just started thinking, was the woman in the photos here for another reason? When your friends said they saw a woman in San Ysidro, we had a small connection. The photo confirmed it.”
“You think this is the same woman who call me about Arturo?” Beto asked.
“I think it's very possible,” I said, nodding. “It would be a very weird coincidence if she isn't the same person.”
Beto sat back in the seat, thinking.
“So now what?” Henry asked.
“First and foremost, we need that phone call to come through,” I said, glancing at Beto. “If we can capture that number, that might give us a very good starting point. I can see what I can learn about smuggling operations in the area, see if the woman's photo rings any bells.”
“But you will not go to the police, yes?” Beto said.
“I will not tell them about Arturo if you don't want me to,” I said. “I still think involving them is a good idea, but I won't do it if you don't want me to.”
Beto shook his head. “No. I do not trust them.” He frowned. “They will care more about how we get here and if we have papers than helping my brother.”
It wasn't my place to disagree with that.
“So you think the woman was out here doing what?” Henry asked, his eyes still focused on the road.
“I can't say for sure. I'd assume trying to find Arturo, but we don't know that for certain. She could've been looking for Alberto or Sam. I don't know.” I paused. “But I don't think she was here by mistake, and I don't think she was trying to hide. I think she had a purpose in being here.”
Henry shifted in his seat. “I feel like I need more cameras.”
“Do you have any out near the encampment?”
He shook his head. “No. We set that area up after I had them installed. At the time, I didn't think we needed cameras out there. It's remote, hard to access, and a lot of those groves weren't in use.” He shook his head. “I didn't think the additional cost was necessary.”
That made sense. Why cover an area that you didn't think needed covering? His reasons were pragmatic. Don't incur an unnecessary expense. And we weren't even sure that cameras out there would've told us anything.
We pulled up in front of Beto's home.
“Please wait one minute,” Beto said, exiting the rear of the cab.
“You think Arturo is in danger?” Henry asked after Beto shut the door.
“I'd say anyone capable of kidnapping and asking for ransom is capable of causing harm,” I answered. “Will they follow through on their threat? I don't know for sure, but we should probably act like they will.”
“Shit,” Henry muttered.
“You spend much time with him?” I asked. “Arturo?”
He shook his head. “Not a ton. Beto brought him to me to introduce him. Went out to the groves one day just to check on him, make sure he was doing okay. Friendly enough. Was grateful to work.”
“Nothing weird?”
“No, not a thing. Nice man, hardworking. And Beto vouched for him.” A thin smile spread across his lips. “Beto told me he had brothers he wouldn't have vouched for.”
I smiled back, nodded. “That's funny.”
He nodded tow
ard the door. “Here he comes.”
Beto strode toward my side of the truck and I rolled down the window.
He held his hand. “Here.”
He was holding several hundred-dollar bills.
“We don't need to do that,” I said. “But thank you.”
“Please,” Beto said, grimacing. “He is my brother.”
“And he's my employee,” Henry said, shaking his head. “I'm already paying Noah. He's working for me and that now includes looking for Arturo. You're good, Beto.”
Beto frowned at the money, unsure. “I feel like I need to pay. He is my brother.”
“We're covered,” I told him. “Really.”
He stared at me for a moment. “You will find him?”
“I will do my best. I promise.”
“The money,” he said. “It will not make you...look harder?”
I shook my head. “No, it won't.” I held out my hand. “You have my word.”
Beto blinked, then folded the money carefully and put it into the pocket of his pants. He shook my hand. “Thank you, sir.”
“You call me when that call comes through, alright?” I said. “And use the app.”
Beto nodded. “I will.”
We pulled away from the home, Henry making a U-turn to get us back on the road toward the house.
“You let me know what I owe you,” Henry said. “I meant it. I'm paying you. I feel responsible.”
“We're good for now,” I told him.
“Anything I should do?” Henry asked.
I thought for a moment. “Just check with your workers. Ask around. See if they know anything Beto might not. Maybe check your gates and access points.” I shrugged. “I'm at a little bit of a loss here, so your guess is as good as mine.”
Henry nodded, thinking.
“Until we get that phone call, I'm not sure there's much we can do,” I said.
“What will you do until then?” Henry asked.
The truck crested a hill and I could see his home in the distance, up on the plateau above the rest of the ranch.