by Cindy L Hull
Madge pulled out the phone, but it caught on her skirt and flipped onto the floor. “Damn!” Madge said. She tried to kick at the phone with her foot, but her bag was in the way. She reached as far as her seat belt and arms would allow but couldn’t touch it.
“Madge!” said Claire.
“Damn car…no cup holders, no air-conditioning.” She unhooked her seat belt and felt around the floor. “Got it.” She punched re-call and handed the phone to Claire.
“He drove past the airport,” Claire told Gonzalez when he answered.
“Where are you?”
“Avenida Itzaes turned into Highway 180 toward Uman.”
“What? You’re breaking up.”
“Toward Uman,” Claire yelled into the static, her phone out of Merida’s range.
“Okay,” came the muddled response, “….on course….helicopter…..Campeche.”
“What?” Claire said. She handed the phone to Madge. “Get the message.”
After a few more disjointed sentences and requests for clarification, Madge ended the call but held onto the phone. “Someone is coming up behind us, and a helicopter is being activated. They think Eduardo is heading toward Campeche.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Brad sat in a closed room furnished with a wooden table and two additional chairs. He avoided looking into the two-way mirror as he contemplated his worst nightmare—being held in a Mexican police station with the possibility of spending the rest of his life in a Mexican prison. His life up to this point flashed before him: the regrets, the years wasted in fear of discovery, and the lack of fortitude to shed himself of his toxic friend.
The windowless room was stifling hot. Brad felt the sweat soaking through his suit, and his hair clung to the back of his neck. An idle floor fan sat in the corner. He considered turning it on, but before he could act, Detective Salinas entered the room with the female sergeant, whose name he couldn’t remember, and another man, tall, middle-aged, with steel-gray hair and gray eyes. The man wore a light gray suit, resulting in an eerie, ghost-like appearance. A policeman Brad recognized from the Casa Montejo followed the trio into the room, delivered a third chair, and then retreated. The two men carried briefcases, the sergeant a notepad.
Salinas reintroduced Sergeant Garza and introduced the man as Michael Morgan. “Mr. Morgan is from the American Consulate, Doctor Kingsford. He is an attorney, though his role at this point is not to represent you in any criminal sense but to protect your rights as an American citizen during this interview.”
Brad stared at the man, but no words came. Instead, he folded his hands and placed them on the table as the officials settled themselves in the chairs. Salinas sat across from Brad, his back to the two-way mirror. Sergeant Garza moved her chair off to his side and Mr. Morgan moved his chair next to Brad, a symbolic gesture Brad did not miss.
The door opened again, and the officer entered with a small pushcart. He unloaded a digital recorder and four bottles of water. Salinas took his time testing the recorder as the others opened water bottles. Sergeant Garza stood and turned on the fan, activating the oscillate function.
Brad could feel the smallest of breezes waft in his direction. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could barely breathe, but he forced himself to ask, “Am I under arrest?”
“As I told you at the hotel, this is an interview,” Salinas said.
“Then why did you make a spectacle of me, and why is the Consulate here?” He looked at the attorney, who instilled almost as much fear in him as did the detective.
“I’m sorry, Doctor Kingsford. I needed to make sure you didn’t leave before we spoke. Mr. Morgan is here on my request, so that there are no questions as to your treatment.”
“I can’t leave. I don’t have a passport.”
The Consulate representative spoke for the first time. “Doctor Kingsford…Brad…let me explain why I’m here.”
Salinas held up his hand and Mr. Morgan paused until Salinas clicked on the recorder.
Morgan continued, “Normally, the Consulate does not get involved in Mexican police matters unless an arrest is made. In this case, Detective Salinas has asked me to come because he suspects that you have been involved in several serious crimes, but he is not yet ready to arrest you.”
“If you aren’t here to represent me, shouldn’t I have an attorney?” Brad struggled to control his speech. He could not afford to be weak now.
“I’m here to protect your rights as a U.S. citizen. If, at any time during the interview you would like to request a criminal attorney, the interview will stop, and I will help you find one. If, at the end of the interview, Detective Salinas feels he has enough evidence to arrest you, he will do so, and an attorney will be found for you. At that point, your case will be turned over to the ministerio publico, their version of a district attorney. The district attorney will then present his case to a judge and a judgment will be made.”
“Is that at a trial?” Panic rose in Brad’s voice again.
“Yes. If you are charged here, the district attorney and defense attorneys will make arguments and may call witnesses before a judge, but there is no jury. The judge will decide guilt or innocence.” He paused. “But it’s too early to think about that. For now, you need to cooperate with Detective Salinas.”
“I didn’t kill anyone!”
“Our purpose today is to ask you a few questions about the events of this week,” Salinas said. “Sergeant Garza and I have interviewed all your colleagues twice, except you. We don’t want you to feel left out.” He smiled.
Brad watched Salinas reach into his briefcase and pull out a notebook and two bulky manila envelopes. “I would like to start with Paul Sturgess’s death.” He reached into one envelope and pulled out a stack of papers Brad recognized as the witness statements completed after Paul’s death. Brad’s statement sat on top of the pile.
“In your written statement, you stated that you didn’t see Mr. Sturgess before the Sound and Light Show that evening.” Salinas looked up from the statement. “Do you stand by that statement?”
“I…I don’t remember seeing him. If I did, it was from a distance.” Brad placed his hands on his legs. “I don’t remember speaking to him.”
Salinas thumbed through the stack of statements slowly. “It seems that several people saw you at the pyramid, near Paul and Cody, just before the show started.”
“That doesn’t mean I saw him. It’s a big pyramid.”
“Did you climb the pyramid that evening to meet with Paul, or to follow him?”
“No, of course not.”
Salinas reached into the second envelope and pulled out a stack of photographs. He made a show of looking through them, but Brad figured Salinas knew exactly where the damaging photograph was located. He first suspected its existence when he watched Claire hand a photograph to Madge at the luncheon. Salinas was dragging out the process to unnerve him, and it worked.
The detective pulled two photographs from the middle of the stack, laid them upside down on the table and said, “An elderly tourist couple took a photo of your group.” He paused and turned the top photograph over to show the group photo.
Brad glanced at it but didn’t see the significance of the photo. “Yes, I remember.”
“Well, it turns out they took many photos that day, including this one of a man climbing the pyramid at sunset.” Salinas tapped the upside-down photo with his index finger. “The photograph is not very clear, but the time stamp indicates six-fifty, just prior to the program.”
He turned the photograph over and slid it across the table for Brad to see. “Is this you, Doctor Kingsford?”
“I didn’t have a hat.”
Salinas laid the two photos side by side and pointed to a small space between Brad and Tanya. Brad looked carefully at the space and saw the straw hat he had removed from his head for the photo. He blinke
d back drops of perspiration that had run from his hairline into his eyes. His knees began to pump uncontrollably.
“I…I forgot that I climbed it. I wanted to see the lighting of the show. But I didn’t see Paul up there. Really!” he pleaded.
Salinas made a sympathetic noise. “But unfortunately, the elderly couple has better observational skills than you, because they did see Paul on the pyramid at the same time. They reported it to the local police at the scene.”
“Do they have a photo of Paul?” Brad pressed his hands on his knees to still them.
“No. Unfortunately for you, they took this photograph…” he tapped the photo of the man climbing the pyramid, “…without even noticing you. Their attention was on the sunset over the pyramid, not on someone climbing it.”
Salinas pointed at the backpack worn by the climber. “Is this you?”
Brad’s knees pumped again. “Lots of people had backpacks,” he persisted. “This could be Paul.”
“So I have been told. But your backpack is distinctive…and Paul had dark curly hair and was not wearing a hat.”
Brad sat back in his chair and grabbed his water bottle.
Salinas continued, “What did you do with the computer, Doctor Kingsford?”
“Computer?”
“Yes. Paul had it that day, but it has not been seen since his death. I think you killed him for whatever he had on his computer.”
“I didn’t push him!” Brad shouted and jumped up.
Mr. Morgan took his arm and said, “Sit down, Doctor Kingsford. Think carefully. What happened?”
Brad sat, leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Lifting his head, he blinked to keep the tears from beading up in his eyes. “He tried to blackmail me. He thought he had some information that would hurt me professionally. He wanted me to assure him that he would get the job, then we would be best friends and colleagues. I don’t know what he was thinking.”
“Tell me how he fell,” Salinas said.
Brad pulled his hair away from his face. “I wanted to see what he had, and he kept pointing to his backpack. He leaned back and…he fell. I tried to catch him, but he tumbled down.” Tears began to flow freely. “I ran down the pyramid stairs. I hoped that, even though he fell a long way, he wasn’t dead, but he was…dead. I didn’t know what to do. He was on his back, so I turned him over and took the backpack. I stuffed his pack into mine. It barely fit, but what could I do?” Brad paused as if waiting for a response. “Then I realized that he would be seen easily when the show ended, so I dragged him up to the balustrade so he would be hidden in the darkness. It was awful, but I couldn’t let him ruin my life.”
“That was extremely cold and calculating,” Salinas said. “He was dead. How could he hurt you?”
“By what was on his computer.”
“What did you find on the computer?”
Brad’s legs bounced up and down, and he held his hands on his thighs to calm himself. “A journal, but I didn’t take time to read it. I just deleted the files.”
Salinas glanced at Garza, who was frantically writing. She looked up at him and held her hand up to let him know she was lost. He waited a moment for her to catch up. Brad tipped the water bottle back to sip, but his hand shook too much to drink. He put it down.
“Did Eduardo see this happen?”
Brad collapsed back into the chair. “He was nearby and saw everything. When I reached the bottom of the pyramid, he came close…but not close enough to leave his footprints, I know now. He told me what to do, and then he walked with me to the Nunnery Quadrangle. I think Tanya saw us approach. I told him I didn’t want to go to the program. I couldn’t do it…sit there with everyone after what happened.” He set his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. “Eduardo told me I had to go, and he would handle it…and he did. We sat behind them, so I could calm myself down during the show.”
“We found the computer, Doctor. Our people are working on it now. Did you take Paul’s phone, too?”
Brad slumped into the chair. “It was in his backpack. I smashed it and threw it away with the computer.”
Salinas paused again. “What can you tell me about Señor Suarez? You might know him as Don Benito?”
“Not much,” Brad said. “He sold artifacts in Motul. Lots of tourists bought souvenirs from him. I didn’t really know him.”
“You never purchased anything from him?”
“Some souvenirs. Nothing more.”
“What do you mean, nothing more? What else did he sell?”
Brad could feel the sweat pouring down his shirt and pooling around his hairline. “I…I heard he sold marijuana.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
Salinas shook his head. “Doctor Kingsford, I understand that Don Benito had another, more lucrative business than selling grass to gringos. He had a business arrangement with your friend, Eduardo; you two have been involved in smuggling artifacts into the United States. Am I wrong in this assumption?”
Brad swallowed, his eyes darting between Salinas and Morgan. “No…I mean yes, you are wrong.”
Salinas continued, “It would be best for you to tell me about this. If it happened a long time ago…so much the better, but if it relates to these unfortunate deaths, you will need that lawyer after all.”
“I didn’t smuggle artifacts into the United States,” Brad pleaded. “You have to believe me!”
Salinas looked at his notes. “Did you go to the beach Monday, Doctor Kingsford?”
“Yes.”
“Did you stop along the way to throw away the computer and phone?”
“Yes.”
“And did you stop off in Motul on your way?”
“What?”
“Well, it seems that a car fitting the description of your rental was seen in Motul Monday morning. The driver wore a straw hat.”
“It could have been anybody.”
“Perhaps,” Salinas agreed. “But this car pulled away from Don Benito’s store around eleven o’clock. There’s only one major road to Progresso. We can estimate from the mileage records on your rental car that you took a detour to Motul, or another destination of equal distance, on your way to Progresso.” Salinas turned his hand upward. “Were you there, Doctor Kingsford?”
Salinas stopped to take a drink of water, allowing Garza to catch up. Brad could feel the sweat on the back of his neck, despite the fan. All attempts to control his leg movements proved unsuccessful. “Yes…yes, I was there.” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it up to allow the fan to cool his neck. “Seeing Benito’s photograph in Paul’s presentation reminded me that I hadn’t seen him for a while. I wanted to stop in and say hello. He wasn’t there, and the store was closed, so I left.”
Salinas frowned and started to speak, when a knock at the door interrupted him. The officer entered, his face flushed. “Por favor, Señor, can we speak?”
Salinas stood. “We will take a short break so Doctor Kingsford can use the restroom. Perhaps we can have more water brought in?” He looked toward the officer, who nodded. Salinas followed him out and closed the door.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Salinas stopped short when he saw George Banks pacing at the station desk, his face red in frustration. Salinas feared that a heart attack might be imminent. He had a bad feeling about this.
“What happened?” he asked, looking from the anthropologist to the desk sergeant.
“Señor,” said the officer, “Mr. Ramirez is gone.”
“Gone? Where?”
“We don’t know, sir.”
“¡Mierda!” exclaimed Salinas.
“That’s not the worst of it,” George said. “Claire and Madge are following him.”
“Following him? How?”
“In Claire’s car.”
“�
�Dios mio! Salinas groaned. “What happened to his tail?” He looked sharply at the officer, who just shrugged. “I had men in that hotel, and the Federal Police at the airport.”
George said, “Claire and Madge are in contact with HSI, but Eduardo is on the move, probably toward Campeche.”
“Do we have a team there?”
“The Mexican Feds are at the airport and seaport.”
Salinas ran his fingers through his hair. “Claire is still following him?”
“Yes, and Madge!”
“¡Chinga!”
Salinas pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and scanned his recent calls. He punched in a number. “Claire?” Pause. “Doctor Carmichael? Let me talk to Claire.”
Back in the interrogation room, Salinas took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Luckily the others had not returned from their break. He leaned back in his chair. That woman! She’ll get herself killed for sure. But he could do nothing. He had to trust the team.
Brad and Mr. Morgan returned from the restroom, taking their seats. Garza had not yet returned. Salinas tried to calm himself as he rechecked the recorder. He concentrated on keeping his hands from shaking as he tested the sound. Garza returned several minutes later with more bottled water and handed them around the table. She took her chair and pulled her notebook out again.
“Doctor Kingsford, where is your friend?” Salinas asked, struggling to maintain a level monotone.
Garza looked up sharply as did Brad, whose eyes darted between Garza and Salinas.
“I…I thought he was being interviewed,” Brad said. “I assumed he was here someplace.”
“Doctor Kingsford.” Salinas stretched out every syllable. “Come now. This is the point where you help us so you can avoid any further charges of aiding and abetting multiple felonies.”
Brad slunk in his chair. “He wouldn’t tell me. He said he didn’t want to implicate me.”
“How considerate of him,” Salinas said. “How about a guess?”
Sweat seeped through Brad’s suit coat, and his leg recommenced its bounce. “His family has a residence in Mexico City, and I know he has family and business partners in Monterrey, Chetumal, and Campeche also. He has lots of contacts in the port cities.”
