Ghost Castle (The Ghost Files Book 8)

by Chanel Smith

  “Let’s go up on the roof then,” the woman said after some moments, satisfied that our brief, midnight visit would bring no harm to her home or her family.

  Chapter Ten

  Having found no magnetic energy or temperature changes present at the location of Escobar’s death, Ellen and I could only reach two conclusions and she laid them out for me on the way back to our hotel.

  “Either he was present during the exorcism and fled that location for another or we aren’t dealing with Escobar’s spirit. It is rare that a spirit would return to a location after 20 years anyway, even after a suicide,” Ellen explained.

  “Okay, well, since we have no other leads at the moment, let’s continue to assume that we are dealing with Escobar’s spirit. Let’s say that he was exorcised from the home. Do we have a timeline for that?”

  “We do,” Ariel jumped in. “Don Jaime told me that they purchased the home in 2013. It had been abandoned for several years before that and the rumors going around were connected to the presence of Escobar’s spirit. That was why they had the home cleansed before they moved in.”

  “Evidently it worked,” I commented. “So, Ghost Escobar leaves the home where he died and takes up residence at El Castillo? Why not go home? Why not go to Hacienda Nápoles, one of his islands or his former country-club jail?”

  “That’s one of several questions that we still have to answer,” Ellen replied.

  “So, what’s our next step, boss?” I asked. We never really laid out who was boss, but I always gave her the lead, whenever she didn’t take it.

  “I think that discovering what is significant about this particular week will help us a great deal. It ends in Escobar’s birthday, which might be enough, but I don’t buy that it’s a weeklong party. There had to be some other significance.”

  “I’m on it,” I said, opening my laptop and starting to get to work.

  Ellen reached over and pushed it closed, shaking her head. “Not tonight, Babe.”

  She didn’t need to say anything else. The twinkle in her eyes and the smile, even in the dim light of Ariel’s SUV after midnight, was enough to inform me of the plans that she had for finishing out the night or morning, whichever you wanted to call it.

  Refreshed and more than sated by Ellen’s passion during the earlier morning hours after we returned to our hotel room, I slipped out of bed, took a quick shower and tried to keep from waking her as I slipped out of the room and down to the dining room with my laptop.

  I started to compile a list of significant events that took place during the week between November 23 and December 1. I started to type out a list, just to see if there was a pattern attached to the week.

  November 26, 1984: car bomb explosion in front of the U.S. Embassy in Bogotá. 1 dead and 6 wounded attributed to the cartel.

  November 22, 1987: kidnapping attempt of a Medellin Mayoral candidate by cartel members failed. (Fallout?)

  November 23, 1989: 6 helicopter gunships of a joint operation of the DAS, the police and the army aimed at capturing Pablo Escobar, Jorge Luis Ochoa and several of his lieutenants. Resulted in the death of two cartel members, including Escobar's brother and the capture of 55 others. Escobar escapes with Ochoa.

  November 27, 1989: bombing of Avianca flight 203 kills 107 people in midair explosion. (Retaliation for the above attack?)

  November 26, 1990: youngest member of the cartel Fabio Ochoa begins a protest over decree 2047. (Dealing with extradition to foreign countries.)

  November 27, 1991: cartel members ambush and kill son of paramilitary leader, Ramon Isaza. (???)

  November 27, 1992: Johnny “the pigeon” Rivera and two of his bodyguards are killed in Itagui by a force of 200 men. (Was a confidant and part of Escobar’s security force, car bomb on December 2, in retribution at the soccer stadium kills 19, 17 civilians and 2 police officers.)

  There was nothing more that occurred during that week; nothing that I was able to find. There were other similar attacks throughout the year that, more or less testified against there being any special significance to the week. I was stumped.

  “You sure look to be hard at work, for a man who didn’t get much sleep last night,” Ellen said, leaning over my shoulders from behind. I turned and met her lips with a kiss. “What have you found?”

  “A big, fat lot of nothing,” I sighed. “There doesn’t seem to be any significance to this particular week, not where the cartel is concerned.”

  “Well, then,” she chirped as she sat down in the chair next to me. “I guess we’ll just have to ask him.”

  “We’re going back to El Castillo?” I knew we were. The night before had been a long shot, which Ellen had hoped to use as another point of connection.

  “An exhibit was trashed last night, so I guess Escobar is back at it. Ariel left several messages on my phone. I’m surprised he hasn’t shown… well, speak of the devil.”

  “Did you get my messages?” Ariel asked as he greeted Ellen and then moved to the other seat at the table.

  “Got them just now.” She grinned and then looked at me and winked. “I had my phone turned off.”

  “So, we’re going back to El Castillo tonight?”

  “We are,” she responded. “How bad was it?”

  “About like the first night, but more violent. Destroyed everything, basically.”

  “So, our being there slowed him down a little, but didn’t stop him,” I commented.

  “Are we any closer to a resolution?” Ariel asked. “Jovani is pretty upset.”

  “We’re hitting a dead end,” Ellen replied. “We have to get him to talk to us, maybe even reveal himself. Would you be able to handle that, Ariel?”

  “I would like to say that I’m getting used to this,” he replied. “But that would be a lie.”

  “It takes a while,” I chuckled. “I can tell you that from experience. I didn’t even believe in ghosts before the first time Ellen took me to help her with a case.”

  “It still took you a while,” she smiled, taking my hand and giving me a look, but it wasn’t like one of her others; it was one of nostalgia and the fact that she’d been well taken care of in our hotel room bed the night before.

  “How do you get used to it?” Ariel asked.

  “You just suck it up and do what needs to be done,” I responded.

  “I have to be able to count on you to hang in there with us tonight, Ariel.” Ellen’s tone and expression had changed to “all business” mode. “Unless we can communicate with him, we’re going to stay in the dark and it will be impossible to solve this case, understand?”

  “I understand,” he replied.

  Several hours later, at just before midnight, in the corridor in front of the Art School Students Exhibit Hall, Ariel’s resolve was put to the test.

  Contact and communication had progressed a very similar fashion as a few nights before, Ariel was hanging in there pretty well, though our kingpin spirit wasn’t cooperating. Ellen started to get a little bit more aggressive with him after some time.

  “Reveal yourself!” she commanded. Ariel translated the order for her and she pronounced it again in Spanish.

  When there was no response, she pushed things to another level. “For such a powerful and important man, you sure are a coward!” she snapped. “Reveal yourself.”

  “You want me to translate that other part?” Ariel asked.

  “Yes, I do,” she snapped, irritated by the fact that we were getting nowhere with the stubborn spirit.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I muttered.

  “We have to force something to happen,” she answered. “Translate it again and again until we get a response.”

  With still no response, she challenged him even further and started to taunt him. “You’ll slap a woman, but you’re too afraid to show yourself?”

  The taunt brought out a great deal more than any of us had expected. In an instant of rage, a spectral image appeared, charged directly toward Ariel until
the poor, terrified translator fell on his back after backpedaling faster than his feet were able to carry him.

  “Recuerde la Alborrada!” he screeched and then flashed away down the corridor.

  Chapter Eleven

  It had taken us several minutes to get Ariel settled down enough so that he could speak, but when he did, he told us the translation of what our ghost had said. “Remember the Alborrada.”

  “That’s the celebration at midnight on December 1, right?” Ellen asked.

  “The ushering in of the Christmas season and, by pure coincidence, Escobar’s birthday,” I mused.

  “Not entirely coincidence,” he said. “The significance of the date became much more important in 2008. I’ll explain that in a moment, but I need to tell you something else first.”

  “Okay, what?” I asked.

  “That wasn’t Pablo Escobar,” he said.

  “What? How do you know?” Ellen asked, shocked by the revelation.

  “I grew up in Medellin, trust me, everyone knows what Pablo Escobar looked like. That wasn’t him.”

  “Wasn’t him?” I repeated. “Then who was it?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered, regaining his nerve the more that he talked. “But it wasn’t Escobar.”

  “Well, now, another fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Ollie.” I repeated the old line from Laurel and Hardy lore. If our ghost wasn’t Pablo Escobar, then we were basically back to square one. After a few moments, I said as much, aloud. “We’re back at square one, then.”

  “Not entirely,” Ellen replied. “We’ve accomplished several things. We’ve eliminated Escobar, gotten our spirit to reveal himself and we can deduce that all of this is leading up to something surrounding the Alborrada.”

  “You said that you had more to tell us about the Alborrada?” I asked, turning back to Ariel.

  “It wasn’t always celebrated here, at least not on the scale that it is now. It will take me some time to explain. Do you mind if we go someplace more comfortable?”

  Ariel was still visibly shaken, so Ellen agreed. “Sure, there isn’t much more that we can do here, anyway.”

  We left El Castillo and started back down the street that wound its way down toward the avenue where the higher-class hotels and restaurants were located.

  “Where’s a Denny’s when you need one?” I quipped. It would have been the perfect place to sit at a table with a cup of coffee, some chocolate pancakes or PB&J waffles and discuss what to do next. We opted for Ariel’s house and the gazebo on the roof, which he referred to as a terrazzo.

  “The original Alborrada or Nit de l'Alba was a tradition of Elche, Spain, dating back to the middle ages and continuing today. It is a celebration of the Virgin of the Assumption and is celebrated at midnight on August 13. The city turns off all of the lights and there are several minutes of total darkness before fireworks are launched into the air. Each rocket is to signify the births that had taken place since the virgin birth.”

  “How is that connected to Medellin, then and why is it celebrated on December 1?” Ellen asked.

  “The word Alborrada has two meanings. In one sense, like the once used in Elche, Spain it is the night of the dawn or midnight before the beginning of a special day, but it can also refer to the outset of a military battle. Before 2003, the Christmas season was ushered in by the first night of the Days of Candles on December 7th. On that night and for several nights afterward, households light candles and place them on their balconies or in their windows, it’s in celebration of the Virgin and—”

  “So, what changed in 2003?” I interrupted.

  Ellen gave me a look, chastising me for my impatience.

  “November 25th of 2003, was the disarmament of a paramilitary group known as the Cacique Nitbarra, led by Diego Murillo Bejerano or ‘Don Berna.’ Six days after the disarmament, the former soldiers of the group distributed gun powder and explosives to be used at midnight, December 1, to announce Don Berna’s return to civilian life. Since that time, though most Paisas connect it with the Christmas season, it has been, more or less, a celebration of the mafia underworld, of which Don Berna—until he was extradited to the U.S. on narcotics trafficking charges in 2008—was the boss.

  “He essentially inherited the Envigado Office, which was the mafia headquarters of the Medellin cartel. The following Alborrada was, for obvious reasons, the most spectacular to date, as the underworld elements made a special showing in honor of their boss, who had been sentenced to 31 years in prison in a district court in the U.S. The bosses are still around in Envigado and in the surrounding communities and there is some speculation to how active they are, but it is safe to say that they still control a portion of what goes on in Medellin, but on a much different scale than before.”

  The date, November 25 jumped out at me and I couldn’t help noting it. “The timeline from November 25 to December 1 fits our timeline exactly.” I ticked off on my fingers the seven midnights from November 25 to December 1.

  “Could we be dealing with the spirit of Don Berna?” Ellen asked.

  “He’s still alive in a federal prison in the U.S.,” I pointed out. I quickly looked him up on my laptop, just to make sure. “He’s still alive.”

  “Well,” Ellen began again. “I think we can safely assume that this is connected to the Medellin cartel in some way, especially since one of the first things he said was ‘plata o plomo,’ which is a phrase connected with Escobar.”

  “So, we’re down to looking for known associates,” I deduced. It was the next step in trying to solve a particularly difficult criminal investigation. “We can build a list and check off who is alive and who is dead.”

  “Or we could just get him to tell us,” Ellen noted.

  “We haven’t had very good luck in that department,” I reminded her. “If our spirit was a little bit more cooperative, we’d be able to put this together a little faster, but it looks like we’re not going to get that, so we’ll just have to come in through the back door, so to speak.”

  “I’m still trying to figure out what this all has to do with the castle. It doesn’t seem to be the location of any sort of controversy, so why is it significant in all of this?” Ellen asked.

  “If we come up with a list of known associates, like Don Monty suggested, and then match that against contributors to El Castillo, we might get somewhere,” Ariel suggested.

  “Hey,” I grinned. “You’re starting to act like a detective. That’s a great idea. I’ll tell you what, I’ll build the list and then you and I can take it to Jovani in the morning and see if we can come up with some matches.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” Ellen’s tone was one of disgust and it matched the look that she gave me. “How about you put together the list and let Ariel and Jovani worry about searching for matches?”

  After that, the meeting was, for all practical purposes, finished and we got into the car to be taken back to our hotel. It didn’t take Ellen long to bring up the topic of Jovani when we got back to our room. She didn’t do it in the way that I was expecting, however.

  “You didn’t get enough last night, Mon?” she purred as she moved in close to start stroking my chest.

  “Do I ever get enough?” I replied in a whisper.

  “Evidently not, if you’re still fantasizing about Jovani,” she answered. “Maybe I need to wear you out a little before we go to bed, you know, to help keep you focused.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Though I didn’t roll out of bed until nearly noon the next day, I was certainly focused. I tried to repeat what I’d done the morning before; sneak into the shower and then out to the dining room, but Ellen was up and met me as I came out of the bathroom.

  “How you feeling?” she grinned and then smacked me on my bare ass.

  “You’re getting a little bit too sassy for your own good, you know?”

  “Yep,” she replied, turning in the doorway, smiling at me and then closing the door behind her. Just to be or
nery, I heard her push the button that locked the door.

  Not to be outdone, I knocked on the door and then called out. “Does this mean that I can sneak out and track down one of the Paisa girls?”

  “Suit yourself,” she replied.

  I had no intention of doing anything of the sort and she didn’t bite on the lure that I’d put in front of her. I went ahead and got dressed, hearing water filling up the bathtub. I knew what that meant. Ellen needed some downtime alone. It wasn’t often that she went through the ritual when we were working on a case, but the case we were on wasn’t a typical one.

  Ellen told me several times before that when she laid back into the hot water of the bathtub and allowed her entire body to relax, she was able to empty her mind and her spirit and allow both of them a new perspective.

  It wasn’t a bad idea. I felt like I was in need of a new perspective as well, but bathtubs weren’t really my cup of tea. A sauna followed by a dip in a cold pool worked better for me, but I wasn’t going to see anything like that anytime soon, so I finished dressing, snatched up my computer and went out onto the balcony of our hotel room.

  From the lounge chair on the balcony, I peered out across the city below, which was cast against the backdrop of lush, green slopes. Along the bottom of the valley, I could make out the metro trains transporting their passengers to the various stops along the line. There was plenty of activity along their interstate, the autopista, and the major thoroughfares that I could make out were busy as well. Medellin was a city at work. It was hard to believe that it had, at one time, been held in the tight grip of a drug cartel. With that thought in mind, I opened my laptop and went to work.

  The Medellin cartel was led by Escobar, several family members and three brothers by the last name of Ochoa. Looking back at my notes from the day before, I noted that Fabio Ochoa, the youngest of the three brothers had been the one who had started the protests against the extradition decree. I decided to start with him, discovering that he was still alive and well in a federal prison in Florida; ironically, he’d been extradited there from Colombia after relations stabilized with the U.S. and extradition became quite common. Fabio would be leaving federal prison at the ripe old age of 76, if he lived that long.