What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
ePub
A4Chapter 23
P
atricia Eduardo wasn't smiling. Nor was she frowning or showing surprise. In one view, long dark hair framed her face. In another, the hair corkscrewed in thick, springy curls. In a third, it was cropped short.I barely breathed as I moved through the variations Lucien had created. Glasses on, glasses off. Straight brows, arched brows. Fleshy lips, thin lips. Droopy lids, hidden lids. Though the superficial details changed, the anatomic framework remained the same.
I was returning to the second of Lucien's longhair images when he entered the section.
'What do you think?' He set a bottle of Evian on the counter beside me.
'Can you add bangs?'
'Sure.'
I moved my chair to the left. Lucien slid in and worked the keys.
Bangs. He blended the image.
'What about a hat?'
'What kind?'
'Riding derby.'
He searched the database.
'Nope.'
'Something with a brim.'
He found a cap, sized and pasted it.
I recalled the snapshots of Patricia Eduardo, and remembered the determination in the solemn, dark eyes as she stood by her horse.
The face I was viewing was blank and empty, the programmed offspring of pixels and bits. It didn't matter. It was the face of the girl on the Appaloosa.
Other memories shot through my brain. A tank filled with sewage and human waste. A skull oozing muck from every orifice. Tiny bones trapped in a rotting sleeve. Could it be? Could this nineteen-year-old hospital worker who loved horses and went out for an evening in the Zona Viva have ended up in such a horrible last resting place?
I stared at Patricia Eduardo. I saw drowned kittens. I saw Claudia de la Alda. I saw Chupan Ya.
You bastard. You goddamn, murdering bastard.
'What do you think?'
Lucien's voice brought me back.
'It's good.' I forced calm into my voice. 'Much better than I could have done.'
'Really?'
'Really.'
It was. Had I created such a striking likeness, I would have questioned my own bias. Lucien had never seen or heard of Patricia Eduardo.
'Please print several copies.'
'I'll bring them to your office.'
'Thanks.'
===OO=OOO=OO===
'Detective Galiano.'
'It's Tempe.'
'Ay, buenos dias. Glad you caught me. Hernandez and I were just heading out.'
'It was Patricia Eduardo in the septic tank.'
'No doubts?'
'None.'
'The facial?'
'Dead ringer.'
Silence.
'I guess that was a poor choice of words,' I said. 'Anyway, our graphics specialist did the approximation blind. Patricia's mother couldn't distinguish the thing from her junior class portrait.'
'Dios mio.'
'I'll fax you a copy.'
Empty air rolled north from Guatemala. Then Galiano said, 'We're still grilling Miguel Gutierrez.'
'The De la Alda gardener.'
'Cerote.' Turd.
'I take it that means he's a prince among men. What's his story?'
'The Reader's Digest version is that he fixated on Claudia, took to stalking her. Spent nights parked outside her bedroom window.'
'Oh joy. A peeper.'
'Eventually Gutierrez made his move. Claims the vic was receptive.'
'She was probably too young to know how to blow him off without hurting his feelings.'
'On July fourteenth he drove to the museum and offered her a ride home. Claudia accepted. En route, he asked her to explain something about the Kaminaljuyú ruins. She agreed. Once there, he pulled onto the back road and jumped her. Claudia resisted, things got out of hand. After strangling her, he rolled the body into the barranca. The rest is history.'
'Did Gutierrez phone Señora De la Alda?'
'Yes. Got a late-night visit from the heavenly host.'
'An angel?'
'Ariel himself. Told Gutierrez he'd screwed up, suggested a rosary and confession.'
'Jesus.'
'I don't think the big guy got involved.'
'Have you found anything to link Gutierrez to Patricia Eduardo?'
'Nada.'
'To the Paraiso?'
'Not yet. We'll be working those angles a lot harder now.'
I thought a moment.
'The hair links Patricia to the Specter cat.'
'We're working that, too.'
'Ryan's doing some digging on the ambassador.'
'I asked him to, but I'm not optimistic'
'Diplomatic firewall?'
'Like penetrating the CIA.'
After a silence, Galiano said, 'Ryan's keeping us in the loop on Nordstern.'
'We'll know more when we go through his notes.'
'Hernandez and I confiscated a laptop when we tossed his room at the Todos Santos.'
'Anything useful?'
'Let you know when we crack the password.'
'Ryan's pretty good at that. Listen, Galiano. I want to help.'
'I would like that.' I heard him draw a deep breath. When he spoke again his voice sounded huskier. 'These deaths haunt me, Tempe. Claudia. Patricia. These girls were the age of my son, Alejandro. That is not an age to die.'
'Diaz will be livid if he hears about the CT scans.'
'We'll get him a snow cone.' The melancholy was gone.
'I'm finished here. It's time to refocus on Chupan Ya. If I can also help nail Patricia Eduardo's killer, I'll die a happy woman.'
'Not on my patch.'
'Deal'
'Ironic, isn't it?' he asked.
'What's that?'
'The perp's full name.'
It took me a moment.
'Miguel Angel Gutierrez,' I said.
'A guilt-ridden id can break your balls.'
===OO=OOO=OO===
I finished my reports on the shrunken head and the dismembered torso, and informed LaManche of my plans to return to Guatemala. He told me to be safe, wished me well.
Ryan arrived as I was finalizing arrangements with Delta Airlines. He waited while I requested an aisle seat, then pried the receiver from my hand.
'Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Comment ça va?'
I grabbed for the phone. My phone. Ryan stepped back and smiled.
'Mais, oui,' he purred. 'But I speak English.'
I curled my fingers in a 'gimme' gesture. Ryan reached out and wrapped his free hand around mine.
'Not really. But your job, now that's difficult,' he said, voice oozing sympathy. 'I couldn't begin to keep all those flights and timetables straight.'
Unbelievable. The guy was turning the charm on a reservation agent in suburban Atlanta! My eyeballs rolled almost a full three-sixty.
'Montreal.'
And the bimbo was asking his whereabouts.
'You're right. It's not that far at all.'
Yanking my hand free, I slumped back in my chair, picked up a pen, and began sliding it end to end through my fingers.
'Do you think you could squeeze me onto that same flight Dr. Brennan just booked, chère?'
I stopped in mid-slide.
'Lieutenant-detective Andrew Ryan.'
Pause.
'Provincial police.'
I heard a distant, metallic voice as Ryan shifted the phone to his other ear.
'You learn to live with the danger.'
I nearly gagged.
After a pause,
'Fantastique.'
What was fantastic?
'That would be terrific'
What would be terrific?
'No problem at all. Dr. Brennan knows I'm a tall boy. She won't mind a middle seat.'
I sat forward.
'Dr. Brennan will mind a middle seat.'
Ryan waved a hand at me. I threw the pen. He batted it down.
'Six foot two.'
Eyes of blue. I knew her reply without having to hear it.
'Yes, I guess they are.' Humble laugh.
This was absurd.
'Really? I don't want you breaking rules on my account.'
Long pause.
'Two A and Two B through to G City. You're amazing.'
Pause.
'I owe you, Nickie Edwards.'
Pause.
'You do that.'
Ryan handed me the receiver. I cradled it without comment.
'No need to thank me,' he said.
'Thank you?'
'We're riding up front.'
'I'll send Nickie a Hallmark.'
'I didn't ask for special treatment.'
'I guess Nickie was overwhelmed by your French magnetism.'
'I guess.'
'Is Nickie going to knit you a sweater for those cool Guatemalan nights?'
'Think I can get through to her again?' Ryan leaned on the arm of my chair and reached for the phone. I held him off with a hand to the chest.
'You could have her traced,' I suggested icily.
He shook his head. 'Abuse of the badge.'
'Not to worry. Nickie will be calling once she's finished the Teach Yourself French tapes.'
'Think she'd FedEx the sweater ahead?'
I shoved. Ryan righted himself, but did not open the distance between us.
'Are we going to continue this little tete-a-tete, or are you going to tell me why you booked a flight to Guatemala City?'
'Quickest way to get there.'
'Ryan—'
'You're not delighted at the prospect of my company? You're breaking my heart.' He placed both hands over the injured organ.
'You are not going to Guatemala to please me.'
'I would.' The choirboy smile.
'Do you intend to tell me why?'
Ryan ticked off points on his fingers. 'Uno: Olaf Nordstern was killed in Montreal shortly after arriving from Guatemala. Dos: Nordstern's assassin carried a Guatemalan passport. Tres: André Specter, Canadian ambassador to Guatemala and citizen of our fair city, is currently the subject of discreet inquiry.'
'You volunteered to go to Guatemala?'
'I offered my services.'
'You're being reassigned.'
'Guatemala seemed preferable to central booking.'
'And you speak Spanish.'
'Si, senorita.'
'You never told me that.'
'You never asked.'
'Were you able to dig up anything on Specter?'
'According to the wife, he's Albert Schweitzer.'
'That's not surprising.'
'According to External Affairs, he's Nelson Mandela. And strictly off limits.'
'Galiano said you'd run into that. Did you talk to Chantale?'
'According to Chantale, her old man's the Marquis de Sade.' Ryan shook his head. 'That is one angry kid.'
'What did she say?'
'Plenty. None of it complimentary. Most notably, she claims Daddy's chased skirt as far back as she can remember.'
'How could a child know that?'
'Says she overheard numerous arguments between her parents, once caught the ambassador having phone sex in the middle of the night.'
'Could he have been talking to his wife?'
'The missus was sacked out upstairs. The ambassador was doing the deed on the phone in his study. Chantale also claims that shortly before blowing town, she and Lucy stumbled on her father exiting the Ritz Continental with a chick on his arm.'
'Did Specter see them?'
'No, but Chantale recognized Daddy's companion. Says the lucky lady graduated from her high school two years back.'
'Christ. Did she provide a name?'
'Aida Pera.'
'Do you believe her?'
Ryan shrugged. 'I definitely plan to talk to Aida.'
'So the ambassador likes young girls.'
'If the daughter from hell is telling it straight.'
'Did you interview any of the Chez Clémence posse?'
'That pleasure was denied me. Seems the three stooges have all vanished.'
'You ordered those assholes not to leave town.'
'They're probably off on a geology field trip. My colleagues will round them up.'
'In the meantime?'
He pulled Nordstern's disc from his pocket.
'We get acquainted with SCELL.'
I slipped the disk from its envelope, inserted it into my computer, and clicked over to the D drive. One file name appeared: fullrptstem.
'It's a monster PDF file. Over twenty thousand kilobytes.'
'Can you open it?' Ryan had squatted beside me.
'The contents will be gibberish without a reader.'
'Do you have one?'
'Not on this machine.'
'Aren't those programs available as free downloads?'
'Can't put anything on a government computer.'
'God bless bureaucracy. Let's give it a shot.' He gestured with his chin. 'Maybe there's an imbedded reader.'
I opened the file. The screen filled with letters and symbols divided by horizontal dots indicating page and column breaks.
'Damn.' Ryan shifted and his knee popped.
I looked at my watch. Five forty-two.
'I have Acrobat Reader on my laptop. Why don't I take the disc home, cruise through it, and give you a synopsis during our flight tomorrow.'
Ryan stood, and his knee cracked again. I knew what was coming before he said it.
'We could both—'
'I've got a lot to do tonight, Ryan. I may not get back here for a while.'
'Dinner?'
'I'll grab something on the way home.'
'Fast food is bad for your pancreas.'
'Since when are you concerned with my pancreas?'
'Everything about you concerns me.'
'Really.' I pressed the button and the disc slid out.
'You get sick in the highlands, I don't want to be rinsing out your panties.'
I considered flinging the disc at him. Instead, I held it out.
He raised his eyebrows. 'Why don't you take that home, cruise through it, and give me a synopsis during our flight tomorrow.'
'Hot damn. There's an idea.' I slid the disc into my briefcase.
'Pick you up at eleven?'
'I'll pack lots of panties.'
A truck had overturned in the tunnel, and the trip home took almost an hour. After dumping my briefcase and purse, I dug a frozen delight from the freezer and popped it into the microwave.
While I waited, I cranked up my laptop and opened the PDF reader. The microwave beeped as I clicked on the fullrptstem file.
When I returned, a surrealistic tableau filled the monitor. I stared at the blobs and squiggles exploding from a central mass, then scrolled upward and read the title.
It made no sense at all.
