by Sam Hawken
‘Come in and we’ll find it for you.’
The man’s truck was parked in an empty space beside the guardhouse and Gonzalo slotted in beside him. When he got out he saw the man had fetched a cap with his security company’s logo on it and come out into the glare. He had a clipboard thick with papers, a pen attached to it by a piece of string.
‘It’s a white Mitsubishi Galant,’ Gonzalo told the man. ‘Texas plates.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember that one. They had to put it way in the back.’
They walked together along the rows, kicking through the grass and stirring up grasshoppers. The impound yard could have been a junk pile, with all the cars destined for the crusher. Some would end up that way for sure, while others would be auctioned off. Gonzalo’s car was an impounded vehicle whose owner never claimed it. He paid less than 7,000 pesos for it.
‘Down here.’
Gonzalo saw the trunk of the car first, peeking out from behind the bed of a truck on a high suspension. His pace quickened and he left the man behind.
If he had expected something dramatic, he was disappointed. The windows were not broken, which might have told him it was a theft. A quick once around the vehicle revealed no bullet scars and no evidence of a crash. Both front doors were unlocked. Gonzalo opened the passenger side and was hit with a fresh wave of stifling heat. He stepped back to let the worst of it fade.
‘Do you want the paperwork for this car?’ the man asked Gonzalo.
‘Yes.’
Gonzalo took a yellow sheet from the rent-a-cop and looked it over. He recognized the name of the street where the car was found, but could think of no landmarks near it. The officer who discovered the vehicle was named Suazo, and he had first seen it parked illegally on Saturday and then again that morning, the citation still under its windshield wiper. Suazo called for a tow and impounded the car.
The invisible fire from inside the Galant had faded and now Gonzalo stooped to look in. There was no visible blood, no sign of a struggle. A CD dangled from the rear-view mirror, reflecting a rainbow onto the dash. The car smelled vaguely of cinnamon air freshener.
‘What do you see?’ the rent-a-cop asked Gonzalo.
‘Nothing,’ Gonzalo said. ‘Excuse me.’
He used his cell phone to call Armas and arranged for a forensic unit to visit the impound yard to take prints from the car. ‘Is it a crime scene?’ Armas asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘The commander won’t like you wasting the time for nothing.’
‘Then don’t tell him. I just want to be sure of some things.’
‘Like what?’
‘I can’t say, but it’s very strange. Can you go to my desk? There’s a file open there. I wrote down the name and address of the venue where the girls saw their concert. Give it to me.’
He waited while Armas searched and wrote the information down in a little notebook that fit in his pocket. ‘I’m going to be covering for you a while longer, I guess,’ Armas said.
‘Not too long. Do you mind?’
‘No, it’s all right. Take all the time in the world.’
‘Don’t be an asshole, it doesn’t suit you.’
‘Hurry back, all right?’
‘As soon as I can, I promise.’
Gonzalo put his phone away and turned to the rent-a-cop. He scribbled his number in the notebook and tore off the page. ‘Soon a team of officers will be here to examine this vehicle. You will show them where to find it and tell them how to contact me?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To continue my investigation.’
‘Oh, okay. There has been a crime?’
‘When I find out you will be the first to know.’
TEN
THE PLACE WHERE THE CONCERT WAS held was an old dance hall with indoor and outdoor stages. It looked run-down in the daylight, but at night it was probably much more impressive, with neon lights framing the façade and illuminating the name of the place: the Town & Country.
Only one vehicle was parked in the big front lot, a pick-up truck glossy with wax and painted jet-black. Gonzalo pulled up beside it. He checked his watch. The place wouldn’t open for hours.
All the glass in the building’s windows had been painted black on the inside and the front door was solid metal. Gonzalo pounded on the door for a while, but no one came. Back at the car he brought out a map of the city from the glove box and spread it on the hot trunk. He searched for the street on the impound report and found it only a few blocks away.
The door of the dance hall swung open and a woman emerged. ‘Why are you banging? What do you want?’
‘Police,’ Gonzalo said. He held up his identification for her to see as he crossed the lot. ‘I’m conducting an investigation.’
The woman waited until Gonzalo was close and examined his credentials carefully. She was young, maybe twenty-five, but she carried extra weight and she had an unpleasant face that made her seem older. ‘What investigation?’ she asked.
‘A missing-persons case.’
‘How do I know you’re really a policeman?’
‘I just showed you my identification, didn’t I?’
‘You could have bought them.’
‘If you think that, then there’s nothing else for us to talk about, is there?’
The woman hesitated. ‘Come in,’ she said.
The interior of the place was shockingly dark after the brightness of the parking lot. Gonzalo blinked away the light until he could see tables and booths and the bar. A large dance floor spread out from a central stage at the far wall. A mirror ball hung from the ceiling over the wooden space. He was led toward the bar.
‘Are you the owner here?’
‘Me? Oh, no. I’m just one of the managers.’
The woman came around the end of the bar and faced Gonzalo. He took a seat on a leather stool. His notebook went on the bar-top, which was protected by a layer of clear plastic that had smudges and scratches that could not be wiped away. ‘Were you here Friday night?’ he asked.
‘I was.’
‘Was it busy?’
‘Very. Friday nights are always busy.’
‘I want to show you some pictures. Just tell me if you recognize either of these girls.’ Gonzalo brought out the pictures of Marina and Patricia. He put them in front of the woman. ‘Take your time.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know them.’
‘They were here to see live music.’
‘Lots of people were here, I told you. Maybe one of the bartenders would know. Or you could ask the people we have working security.’
‘How many are they?’
‘Three. Do you want their names?’
‘Please.’
‘Armando Cosme, Víctor Almazán and Fernando Simón. They all come from the same security company. They work the live shows.’
Gonzalo wrote quickly. He looked at the woman. ‘Do you have the number of the security company?’
‘I can get it.’
‘Please do.’
He waited while the woman vanished into an office at the far end of the bar. Gonzalo wondered whether the forensic team had reached the impounded car yet, but he wouldn’t know until someone contacted him. The damned phone at the yard. Who was in charge that let things like that happen? It was useless to spend even a second thinking about such things; there was nothing to be done.
Eventually the woman returned with the number written on a yellow Post-it note. She gave it to Gonzalo and the sticky strip clung to his fingertips. ‘I don’t know if there will be anyone there today. It’s Sunday.’
‘It’s still useful. Thank you for your help.’
‘What happened to those girls? Were they murdered?’
‘No, they weren’t murdered,’ Gonzalo said. ‘We don’t know what happened.’
‘So you don’t know they weren’t murdered.’
Gonzalo put the pictures away and palmed his notebook. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry
about,’ he said. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
Sun stabbed his eyes as he left the dance hall and he wished for shade. His map was still unfolded on the trunk of his car and after checking it once more he gathered it up and put it away. Behind the wheel he called the number the woman had given him. The phone at the other end rang a few times and a machine answered. Gonzalo left his name and his number.
He left the lot and navigated his way to the street where the girl’s car had been found. There were few numbers on the buildings here and Gonzalo drove up and down the blocks searching for the right spot. He discovered it almost by accident: a stretch of road faced by the long wall of a machine shop of some kind. There was plenty of space to legally park, but a short section of the curb was painted in chipped yellow before a rusted fire hydrant.
The block was quiet except for the scattered laughter of little children. Gonzalo got out of the car. The neighborhood seemed to be mostly businesses—an auto mechanic here, a paint company there—but there were apartments, as well, and the children played in the courtyard in front of one building. Gonzalo brought out the map again and looked at it three ways, plotting the courses that would take them back to Sector Centro and, beyond, to the Sigala household.
‘What were you doing here?’ Gonzalo said aloud.
His phone rang. The number was unrecognized. When he answered, a man’s rough voice came down the line. ‘My name is Víctor Almazán. This is Inspector Soler? You called my office.’
‘Yes, Sr Almazán. Thank you for calling me back so quickly.’
‘I check my messages every couple of hours. What do the police need with me?’
‘You work private security at a place called the Town & Country?’
‘Sometimes. Did they say something about me?’
‘No, it’s nothing like that. Listen: I’m looking for two girls that may have been at the concert Friday night. I have pictures I’d like to show you and the other men who worked then. When can I see you?’
‘I can meet you at my office in an hour. I’ll try to get my crew together to be there.’
Gonzalo took down the address and they finished their call. Driving to Almazán’s office took twenty minutes and brought him to a small building with a parking lot the size of a postcard. He called Armas at the station.
‘Where are you now?’ Armas asked.
‘Meeting with some hired muscle that worked the concert. Have you heard from the forensic team? Are they at the car?’
‘They checked in. You didn’t say what you wanted exactly so they’re going over the whole car. It’s going to take some time. If something comes up, they’ll have to leave the job unfinished.’
‘They’ll do it. I’m feeling lucky.’
‘Where do you think those girls are?’
‘I don’t know. But I will.’
‘Commander Peláez called looking for you. I told him you had a hot lead on an important case. I hope I wasn’t lying.’
‘You don’t have to worry about it.’
‘Keep in touch, all right?’
‘Talk to you soon, Amando.’
He put his phone away and sat, slowly baking in the rising heat. The roof of his car was like a hot plate. The wall of the office building, a frosty light green, reflected the sun directly into Gonzalo’s face, striking off the dash and blinding him. Finally he had to take off his jacket or be roasted.
Almazán arrived almost exactly on the hour, driving an SUV painted a glittering silver. When he got out, Gonzalo saw that he was an immense man, heavy through the neck and chest, and his two companions were much the same. One of them had extensive tattoos up both arms, starting at the wrist and crawling into the sleeves of his T-shirt. All of them had the same close-cut, nearly shaved heads.
‘Let’s go up to my office,’ Almazán told Gonzalo.
The office itself turned out to be tiny: just a single room with a desk and a chair and a telephone. Almazán looked like a giant behind the desk and the other two crowded Gonzalo in. The one with the tattoos was Armando Cosme, the other Fernando Simón. They had flat, unaffected faces.
‘You want to know about Friday night?’ Almazán asked Gonzalo.
‘Yes. I want all three of you to look at these pictures and tell me if you recognize either of these girls. We know they were at the concert, but I’d like more information.’
Each man took a turn inspecting the pictures, passing them around the small office. Almazán turned on an oscillating fan in the corner behind the desk and it stirred the warm air around just a little. Gonzalo was acutely aware of the space, the way the big men blocked the door and that he had told no one he was headed here.
‘I don’t know them,’ Almazán said.
‘I do,’ said Simón.
Gonzalo took out his notebook. ‘Which one did you see?’ he asked.
‘Both of them. I remember they were up close near the stage, yelling at the musicians. They were drinking a lot. I thought about moving them out, but the band didn’t seem to mind. Cute girls. You know how it is.’
‘Were they talking to anyone besides the band?’
‘I think they were with some friends.’
‘Did you see the girls leave? Were they with anyone? A member of the band, maybe?’
‘No, I remember they went out together and their friends stayed a little while.’
‘About what time was that?’
‘I don’t know. Midnight, maybe? It’s hard to remember.’
‘It’s all right. This is very good. Thank you.’
Almazán spoke up. ‘If something bad happened to those girls, my crew wasn’t involved. We were there until three o’clock. All of us.’
‘You’re not suspected of anything.’
‘I just wanted you to know. We don’t break the law.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Gonzalo said.
‘Are we done?’
‘We’re done.’
Gonzalo let them lead him outside again and he waited until they drove away before he got in his car and left. He checked his watch. He could make it back to the impound yard before the forensic team was done with the car.
ELEVEN
THAT MONDAY JACK TRIED MARINA’S number again, but now the phone did not even ring before it went to voicemail. Either the battery was dead or it had been switched off. Jack felt it like a blow.
It was past noon when Bernardo called. ‘I heard from the police,’ he said. ‘They found Marina’s car. How soon can you get here? We can see it right away.’
‘I’m already gone,’ Jack said.
Lidia was in her room in front of her computer. Jack hurried her into her shoes and out the door for the trip across the border. Everything seemed to take too long, every delay was forever. He was practically out of his truck before it stopped rolling in front of Bernardo’s house.
‘I have the address of the place where they’re keeping the car,’ Bernardo told him. ‘The inspector will meet us there.’
They went out together. Jack paused long enough to see the rest of the family arranged together in front of the house, expectant and watching. He waved to Lidia and drove away.
He followed Bernardo’s directions, driving to a part of the city he had never visited before. They parked outside the gates and Jack saw the policeman, Gonzalo Soler, waiting for them with a man who looked like a nightwatchman. Hands were shaken. Jack was led.
The car was so deeply buried in the yard that Jack began to entertain the thought that they had the wrong vehicle or that it would not be there when they arrived, whisked away magically back to Laredo where he would find it in his driveway and Marina at home with it. When he saw it he felt something shrivel in his chest.
‘This is your stepdaughter’s car?’ Gonzalo asked.
‘Yes.’
‘It was brought here yesterday. I wanted to wait until our technicians were finished with it before I called. You can take it if you want. The impound fee has been waived.’
‘Was there… was
there violence?’ Bernardo asked.
‘Not that we can tell from the car itself. The car is unlocked. Look inside and see if you can find anything out of place.’
Jack opened the driver’s side door. There was black dust on the frame and all over the surfaces inside the car, fingerprints looking like dirty smudges. He looked in the front seat and the back seat and under the seats themselves for any sign of Marina, but there was nothing. ‘I’m sorry,’ Jack said.
‘I had hoped for a purse or some personal item that would indicate your stepdaughter left the car against her will,’ Gonzalo said. ‘You can see for yourself that there isn’t anything to find.’
‘Do you have something?’ Jack asked.
‘We know a few things: that your stepdaughter and her cousin were at the concert just as they said they would be, that they left around midnight… and that they had been drinking.’
‘Marina is only seventeen,’ Jack said.
‘If she didn’t buy the drinks for herself, her cousin could have bought them for her. A witness says they were loud and drunk and they went out alone.’
‘Patricia called me that night,’ Bernardo said. ‘If it was midnight, she might have been calling for a ride home. She was a responsible girl and wouldn’t let Marina drive drunk.’
‘That’s a possibility,’ Gonzalo said.
Bernardo covered his face with his hands. ‘I didn’t take the call!’
Jack looked away before Bernardo cried. He heard Gonzalo trying to placate Bernardo, but his attention was back on the car. After he put the seat back, he got in and put his hands on the steering wheel. Black dust coated the palms of his hands and the rubber burned him. Despite the heat, he didn’t get out.
It was a brilliant afternoon, but Jack tried to imagine it was dark. He did not know where the car was found, but he tried to visualize the street. Where was she going? Why had she stopped? Her hands had been where his hands were now. If he concentrated, he could feel her in his place.
A shadow fell over Jack. It was Gonzalo. ‘Do you know of any friends your stepdaughter may have had in Mexico? Besides her cousin, I mean.’
‘No, she didn’t know anyone. We didn’t spend a lot of time here. Just visits to family once a month.’
