by Becca Bloom
The couple followed the tilt of the mayor’s head to the front of the police station, where an unhappy-looking Officer Rivera stood glaring at us. That his look was intended for us was clear, but it worked to scare off the couple. They backed down the street before whirling around to walk as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Good riddance.
Chapter 8
“Why are you here?” Officer Rivera demanded. “I’ve told you there is nothing to be done but wait.”
The mayor looked down the street impatiently, a gleaming smile showing when his secretary jogged toward us, a cell phone in one hand and a large, hardback book in the other.
“Ah, just in time. Thank you, Nina,” Mayor Guerra said, taking the book from her and pointing. “If you stand by Officer Rivera, you’ll get the best shots.”
Nina took her place on the step, counted down from three, and pointed at our huddled group as she started recording.
Hamming it up for the camera, the mayor puffed up his chest and spoke in his best broadcaster voice (which Sylvia kindly translated for me), “Señora Jiménez, the owner of the acclaimed restaurant offering various traditional meals from our fine nation, informed me that a missing person case left unsolved in the year 1986 can finally be laid to rest. I am here to help, as a concerned citizen and son of my hometown of Baños.” He placed his free hand over his heart and looked solemnly into the camera.
Officer Rivera closed his eyes (most likely to hide the rolling of them) and clenched his hands at his sides. I felt bad for annoying him, I really did, but it couldn’t be helped if we were to successfully light a fire under the investigators’ butts so they would return Tia Rosa’s building to her in a more timely fashion.
The mayor continued. “As many in my town know, I was in the same graduating class as Señorita Sophia Cuesta, an exemplary student and shining light who disappeared the night of July 5, 1986 and was never again seen. Her disappearance cast a shadow on our otherwise joyous occasion, a shadow, which, as the elected mayor of the people, I will assist the investigators to cast off forevermore.” He nodded gravely, his concern masterfully evident in his furrowed brow and frown.
When his act was performed to his satisfaction, he nodded at Nina, who lowered the camera and said, “Got it.”
“Stand by for more footage when I signal you,” ordered Mayor Guerra, now turning his attention to the increasingly aggravated Officer Rivera.
“I apologize for that, Officer, but my position demands that I draw attention to the needs of the community in a manner which will assure the support of my public. That said, I came here to speak with you about the case involving Sophia Cuesta. Her family deserves to know she has been found. Have you contacted the mother?”
Officer Rivera’s mouth tightened. “I have not been given authorization to notify anyone. As far as my superiors are concerned, there is no investigation until the proper department can attend to it.”
Sylvia said softly, “But you know it’s the right thing to do. Her mother has lived with the burden of not knowing what happened to her daughter for thirty years. If it were you, wouldn’t you want to know?”
A pained expression crossed Officer Rivera’s face. “Of course I would. Any parent would. If it were up to me, I would get a positive ID on the body so that the correct family could be notified.”
“But we have identified the body,” Sylvia insisted. “It is Sophia Cuesta.”
With a sigh, Officer Rivera said, “Without running the appropriate tests to determine the real identity of the victim, we cannot notify anyone.” He held his palm up when I opened my mouth to protest, silencing me. “What if it isn’t who you claim? Have you thought about that? What if we tell the family we found their daughter, and it proves not to be her after all? They would be devastated, and you would wish you had kept out of police affairs.”
“But it is Sophia,” Sylvia repeated. “The circumstances surrounding her disappearance, the scraps of her school uniform — the same uniform I used to wear — the promise ring with the year of her graduation on it, and the gold necklace bearing her name are proof enough.”
Exasperation blew out of Officer Rivera as he exhaled loudly. “Until the Cold Case Investigative Team arrives to confirm what you claim, there is no proof.” Looking to the mayor, he added, “And the last thing this town needs is a bunch of news crews poking around. You may think you have the authority to bend me, but I am under direct orders. If you wish to take the matter up with my superior, you will have to deal with him.”
“Nina, get me the chief of police for our province.” To us, he added, “He’s a reasonable fellow. We’ll soon have this mess sorted out.”
Officer Rivera shook his head. “You’re going to have to go higher than that, Mayor. My orders came from headquarters in Guayaquil.”
Mayor Guerra froze. “General Bolivar?”
“The very one.”
The mayor mumbled a few choice words I thankfully couldn’t understand. From the looks Sophia, Tia Rosa, and Abuelita gave him, they were good ones. Nina looked up at the puffy, white clouds racing across the azure sky and pretended not to hear.
With a finalizing huff, the mayor said, “Bolivar is not a reasonable man. He’s so full of himself, he would take on the president in an argument. The only reason he’s still in charge is because no one is brave enough to fire him.”
Looking at Officer Rivera, I could understand why he wouldn’t want to go against a man like the mayor described. Still, something had to be done.
“We can’t quit without even trying. Right is right, and we can’t keep silent in good conscience when we know who was murdered and shoved into a dusty hole for thirty years. It’s in our power to give her family closure and it’s cruel to deny them another day without knowing the truth,” I said with as much emotion as I could muster, which was a lot more than I’d thought myself capable of. Maybe I was channeling my inner “Mayor Guerra” a bit too enthusiastically, but tears burned my eyes, and I had to blink wildly to hold them back.
The mayor put his hand on my shoulder. “Of course you’d feel that way. With the tragedy to befall your family when your uncle disappeared, I can only imagine the relief you would feel to know the truth — be it good or bad.”
Yeah, and thanks for reminding me of how close to home this hits, Mayor, I thought as I measured my breaths to keep what composure I could piece together. It was either that or crumble into a weeping puddle while memories haunted me.
I felt a bony hand lace through my fingers and squeeze my hand until daggers of pain shot up my arm. I welcomed them as the distraction I needed and when I met Abuelita’s hard, black eyes, I calmed enough to remain standing upright. And I didn’t cry when Sylvia’s comforting hand found its way into mine on my other side. She said, “Jessica, you don’t need to do this. We can manage.”
But I did. I couldn’t prevent the consequences to my family of my uncle’s death — no matter how hard I’d tried to soften its blow to the people I cared about more than my own dreams.
Given the chance to ease someone else’s pain was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t.
With a determination as strong as the Andean mountainsides surrounding us, I told the mayor, “If you won’t make the call, I will. We need the investigators here.”
I no longer sensed frustration from Officer Rivera. Instead, he pulled out his cell phone, scrolled through his screen, and held it up so we could see a number for General Bolivar, HQ Quito.
The mayor swallowed hard, but he punched the number into his phone as Abuelita peeked over his shoulder, watching him and his phone intently (and still squeezing my hand incredibly hard).
Taking a deep breath, the mayor spoke in a booming, authoritative voice, “General Bolivar, this is Mayor Guerra in Baños—”
He was cut off at that point, leaving us to guess by the shuffling of his feet and the beads of sweat covering his upper lip that he was being chewed out for calling the great general�
��s private phone.
The mayor’s gaze flickered to Officer Rivera as he spoke to the general, but he didn’t throw him under the bus for providing him with a phone number he would have had to go to great lengths to get otherwise. It made me think better of the mayor. For all his gimmicks, Mayor Guerra was a decent guy.
I couldn’t hear what the general said, but Mayor Guerra puffed up like a blowfish. “I will have you know that I have the cooperation of one of the finest detectives on loan from the United States.”
Surely, he didn’t mean me.
“During her brief stay in the country, she has assisted in the investigations of several murder crimes, leading to the capture of two hardened criminals as well as the discovery of the illegal activities motivating the murders.”
Crud, he meant me. I wasn’t surprised when I heard a laugh so loud, the mayor pulled the phone away from his ear. I was horrified, though, when I heard the voice say, “Is she there? I wish to speak with this ‘famous detective’.”
I didn’t want to take the call. I would say the wrong thing and mess everything up, I just knew it.
The mayor pushed the phone closer to me. There was nothing to do but wipe my sweaty palm against my jeans and take the call.
“Hello?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t reflect the tremble I felt shaking my limbs. Abuelita and Sylvia raised their fists in the air, cheering me on and reminding me to be strong.
“Hello, Miss James. You have become something of a celebrity here in Ecuador, but don’t let your little successes go to your head. You may have an eye for investigative work, I will give you that, but you cannot measure up to the effectiveness of my team. They are trained professionals with years of experience in their field.”
I wondered how he knew my name. Had he Googled me? Gracious, had I been in the news enough to be on Google? Barely controlling my panic, I said, “I respect that, sir, and we will welcome them to Baños when they come. When might that be?”
He chuckled. “Do you think I would be foolish enough to call them off a case involving an infamous drug cartel, allowing me to incarcerate the most dangerous men in the nation, when all you have is a thirty-year-old cadaver?”
I felt my hackles rise. “Her name was Sophia Cuesta. Her whole life was before her when she disappeared the night of her graduation in 1986. She was smart and she was popular, and her family’s life was forever torn apart when she was murdered.”
“And how do you know all this, Miss James? Do you really expect me to believe that one glance at a skeleton told you that much?”
“People who cared about her, people who missed her, remembered Sophia. I’m convinced that if you just sent one of your investigators, they’d easily find the truth of what happened to her, apprehend her killer, and give some much-needed closure to her family. All we need is one.”
“You would tell me how to do my job? Who do you think you are, Miss James? You’re nothing more than a tourist who designs pretty, little web pages for insignificant businesses.”
My blood boiled and I gripped the phone so hard, I couldn’t feel my fingers. “At least I have a heart. Denying Sophia’s family the truth just so you can feed your ego when you take responsibility for your team’s work is cruel and selfish.”
Jaws dropped and I heard gasps all around me, but I didn’t care. The guy was a jerk.
The general’s voice was full of menace when he said, “If you think you can do better, fine.”
I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I pressed the speaker phone and held it up for my companions to hear.
“Do better than who? You and your team? You’ve done nothing! Of course I can do better than that.” I was egging him on, but what did I have to lose? The worse he could do was kick me out of the country, and if he did that, I’d leave content that I’d taken the bull by the horns and tried. He had no power over me, unlike my friends who had to live with the power-tripping egomaniac in charge of their police force.
“I’m going to make you eat your words, Miss James. If you are as talented as you claim, then you go and solve this cold case. You have my permission to investigate.”
My spirits soared in triumph. I had permission, no matter the sarcastic tone with which it was given.
Chapter 9
My triumph wilted like a salad left in the sun when General Bolivar added, “Good luck solving a decades old crime without the cooperation of the local police, access to the body, or identification stating your capacity as an investigator. Nobody will talk to you, and I will take delight in watching you fail.”
“Your authorization is enough, General Bolivar, and I thank you for providing it before the four witnesses who heard you give me permission to investigate. Now, I have a lot to do and must get going. Have a lovely day!” I pressed End Call, and tossed the phone (which may as well have been a snake) to the mayor, who fumbled to catch it.
Nobody knew what to say and my moment of bravado had worn off to leave me with a nauseating ball of nerves in my stomach. Oh my goodness, what had I done? He probably could have thrown me in jail for contempt or something.
I considered sitting on the steps of the police station with my head between my knees, but Abuelita held onto my side. She patted my shoulder. “You amazing!” she said in admiration.
Of course, she would say that. She probably told off high government officials in positions of power all the time.
Officer Rivera stepped toward me with his hand held out.
I looked at his hand. “Is that a handshake or are you going to arrest me?” I asked.
With a smile, he pushed his hand forward. “It’s a handshake. You did what I was unable to do, and I will sleep better tonight for it. I suspect you may receive an anonymous note within the next few minutes with the victim’s mother’s contact information. All these years, she has notified us every time she has moved or changed last names.”
I shook his hand, his grip flopping my numb arm up and down as the adrenaline departed mercilessly from my veins, leaving me dazed.
Sylvia wiped a tear from her eye. “Señora Cuesta never lost hope. No mother would. I will call her when we have her number.”
The mayor shook my hand, too. “I want you to know that while you don’t officially have the support of the police department, you have mine. Please tell me what I can do to help. Please consider me for your team.”
The big book his secretary had brought was tucked under his arm. My brain fuzz cleared enough to register it as a high school yearbook. If me and my team were going to have any success at all, we needed to know who the most likely suspects were. “You can show me who the members of Miss Matty’s study group were for starters.”
Officer Rivera went to his office while the rest of us returned to sit around one of the pine tables at Abuelita’s restaurant. Tia Rosa and Adi were still gone, and I was dying to know what they’d found out … if anything.
Spreading the book open, Mayor Guerra flipped through a few pages until he got to the portraits of faculty members. I’d never seen so many frizzy perms in one place before.
He glided his finger over the page, muttering names until he finally found the one we needed.
“Señorita Matilda Mayorga,” he said, pushing the book closer for me to inspect.
She sported the same style most of her peers had, but she managed not to look like a bird had nested on her head. She had the appearance of a news reporter with her white button-down shirt and fitted navy blazer topped with a strand of pearls and matching studs in her ears. She was the picture of elegance and grace surrounded by teased-out frizz.
“As I understand, her former students will be staying at the Hotel Imperial. Is Miss Matty there too?” I asked, studying her picture.
“She will arrive with most of the other students sometime Thursday evening so she can rest before the student dinner on Friday. Saturday, the high school is giving her a private tour of the facilities, and Sunday afternoon is the gala event in her honor at the hotel.”
“Most of the people we need to talk to won’t even get here until tomorrow night?” I asked, disheartened. Our best shot at finding out what had happened was between now and Sunday afternoon. After that, we’d have to chase suspects all over the country … and I didn’t have a car, nor the guts to drive one if I did. Aside from the ample time I’d have to read, I didn’t look forward to spending hour upon hour in a crowded bus. I’d end up like Joan Wilder trying to get to Cartagena.
“It is distressing, I know. However, Shirley is here.” Mayor Guerra flipped through more pages until he found a picture of a pretty girl rocking her frosted, pink lip gloss and blown-out hair. She reminded me of a Latina version of Heather Locklear. Shirley Solis read the name below the picture.
“She looks nice. Like the peppy cheerleader who’s too sweet for anyone to hate,” I commented.
The mayor nodded. “She is. Shirley always went out of her way to help others; still does. She was a transfer student … I can’t remember from where … but she fit right in here and was accepted into the popular crowd immediately. She was in Miss Matty’s study group.”
“And you said she’s here?” I asked.
“She’s organizing the event.”
Mayor Guerra showed me more pictures of the members of the group.
Diana Delgado had been Sophia’s best friend since kindergarten. She had a nice smile and warm, brown eyes. She had been particularly devastated when Sophia had disappeared.
Antonio Manjarrez was the school’s soccer star and Sophia’s high school sweetheart. He was good-looking and he knew it, but he had been kind to others according to Mayor Guerra. Dangerous combination — talent and charm.
Alex Acosta was the smartest kid in the school, champion of the chess club, and popular with his schoolmates so long as he continued to help them with their homework (for which he earned a pretty penny by charging a fee). “A hustler and an opportunist,” I commented.
The mayor bunched his mouth up before saying, “I’m afraid so.”
