The Vanished

by Tim Kizer

  At nine-forty they drove into the lot in front of a McDonald’s restaurant in the Altavista neighborhood and parked the car. While David was stretching his legs, Vincent called Oscar and informed him that he was in Monterrey and was ready to take delivery of the guns they had talked about earlier. Oscar came twenty minutes later.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” Vincent said to David, and got in Oscar’s Honda Civic. When he returned to the Suburban, he had two FN Five-seven pistols in his jacket pockets.

  “One for you, one for me,” Vincent explained.

  As he put the handguns in the duffel bag, the investigator said, “Guns are illegal in Mexico and legal in America, yet Mexico has a higher gun murder rate than us.”

  The trip from the McDonald’s to the Suites Dioh hotel took seven minutes. After Vincent slipped him a twenty-dollar bill, the front desk clerk told them that Roger Kemper was staying in Room 410. They found Kemper’s room, and Vincent knocked on the door. No one answered. David called the front desk and asked the clerk to connect him with Room 410. He hung up after seven rings.

  “He must be in the hospital,” David said as they rode the elevator down to the lobby.

  “Yeah.” Vincent nodded.

  “Let’s go there.”

  “They’re not going to let us in. Their visiting hours end at nine. We’ll go tomorrow morning.”

  They got a room on the fourth floor five doors from Kemper’s. Then they reserved a room at the El Rey hotel, which was a quarter of a mile from Suites Dioh. They were going to move to El Rey tomorrow after they captured Kemper.

  In the morning, before they left for the hospital, Vincent called Kemper’s room, but no one answered the phone.

  Chapter 10

  1

  Hospital San Jose Tec de Monterrey occupied a large complex of buildings, the tallest of which was sixteen stories high. It was eight o’clock when David and Vincent arrived at the hospital parking lot. Because Vincent was going to pose as a nurse, they needed a nurse uniform, and they had no trouble procuring it: a male nurse by the name of Enrique, whose shift had just ended, agreed to sell the investigator his uniform for a hundred dollars. After Vincent changed into the uniform, they grabbed the first unattended wheelchair they saw and then headed for the transplant department. When they got to the transplant ward, David went into the waiting room alone, leaving the investigator in the hallway with the wheelchair.

  “I’m here to visit Roger Kemper,” David said in Spanish to the nurse at the front desk. “He had a liver transplant. Can you tell me what room he is in?”

  The nurse checked the patient list and said, “There’s no Roger Kemper here.”

  Kemper must have given the hospital a fake name.

  David took Kemper’s photo from his shirt pocket and showed it to the nurse. “Do you recognize him? I was told he’s in this hospital.”

  The nurse looked at the picture for a long moment, and then said, “He’s in Room 415.”

  “Thank you very much. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  David felt a rush of adrenaline; he had found Kemper, and he couldn’t wait to interrogate the bastard. He stepped out into the hallway and told Vincent that Kemper was in Room 415.

  2

  Clad in blue sweatpants and a white T-shirt, Roger Kemper was lying on the only bed in the room with his hands behind his head, watching the TV mounted on the wall. His recovery seemed to be going well: his face was healthy-looking, and his eyes were bright and lively. Vincent pushed the wheelchair over to the bed and said in English with a Mexican accent, “Time for your ultrasound, sir.”

  Kemper glanced at Vincent and said, “Okay.”

  Ignoring the hand Vincent held out to help him, he got up from the bed and eased into the wheelchair. “What’s your name?”

  “Victor.”

  They took the elevator down to the ground floor and five minutes later reached the exit to the parking lot. As they moved through the lot, Kemper turned his face to Vincent and asked, “Where are we going?”

  “Ultrasound. It’s in another building.”

  When they got to Vincent’s Suburban, the left rear door opened, and David climbed out of the car and then stood in front of Kemper.

  “What’s going on?” Kemper asked worriedly, staring at David.

  “Get in the car.” Vincent drew his gun and pointed it at Kemper.

  Kemper’s eyes widened in terror at the sight of the pistol, and then, without saying a word, he got into the Suburban.

  “Who are you?” Kemper asked when David and Vincent climbed into the car. “What do you want from me?” He looked at David and then back at Vincent. “Are you kidnapping me? You’re making a mistake. My family isn’t rich.”

  “We just want to ask you a few questions, Roger,” Vincent said.

  “Who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Vincent replied.

  David shoved the muzzle of his gun against Kemper’s stomach and asked, “Where’s my daughter?”

  “I… I don’t know your daughter, I swear. You’ve confused me with someone else.”

  “Her name’s Annie. You’re her biological father. She was born five years ago.”

  Kemper cleared his throat, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “I have no idea where that girl is. Ask Valerie, she might know. I can give you her number.”

  David pressed the gun harder and said, “Don’t lie to me. You kidnapped Annie to take her liver.”

  Kemper shook his head vigorously. “No, no.”

  “Did they cut out the whole liver? Is she dead?”

  “Who told you that? I didn’t kidnap her, I swear on my mother’s life.”

  “I know you got a liver transplant. This liver came from Annie.”

  “Listen… You’re wrong. Yes, I got a new liver, but I didn’t take it from your daughter.”

  “Whose liver is it?” Vincent asked.

  “Some guy. They told me it’s some Mexican guy. They took a piece of his liver, and… and they paid him for it. I don’t know his name. I’ve never seen him.”

  “Who arranged the surgery?” David asked.

  “The main guy’s name is Gus. I found him through a friend of a friend. I paid him fifty grand.”

  “Fifty grand is a lot of money,” Vincent said. “Where did you get it?”

  “I saved ten grand and borrowed the rest from my parents.” Kemper let out a whimper. “I didn’t kidnap your daughter. Please don’t kill me.”

  “What’s Gus’s phone number?” Vincent asked.

  “It’s in my phone. Let me get my phone, and I’ll give you Gus’s number.”

  “We don’t need Gus,” David said to Vincent. “Let’s take a sample of his liver and run a DNA test on it.” Then he asked Kemper, “Do you agree to give us the sample, Roger?”

  David figured Kemper had undergone a liver biopsy procedure at least once and knew that you didn’t need to cut a person open to obtain a sample of his liver.

  Kemper frowned. “What if you damage the liver? What if it rejects? It’s better not to mess with it at least for a year.”

  “I’m not going to wait that long,” David said.

  “Don’t worry, pal, your liver will be fine,” Vincent said with the confidence of a man who knew what he was talking about. To be honest, David doubted Vincent had any idea what effect a biopsy had on a recently transplanted liver.

  “If anything goes wrong, I’ll pay for fixing it,” David said.

  “How do I know you’ll keep your word?” Kemper asked.

  “I’m an honest guy, that’s how.”

  “Can you afford to pay for fixing my liver? It will cost at least fifty grand.”

  David showed Kemper his Breitling watch and said, “This watch costs fifteen thousand dollars. Yes, I can afford to pay for fixing your liver.”

  Vincent grabbed Kemper’s arm. “Listen, if you don’t let us do it here, we’ll tell the cops in Texas that you kidnapped Annie, and then they will take the sa
mple. Do you want the police to hassle you? You know how cops are. They’re far from gentle.”

  Kemper looked at David without blinking for a long time and finally said, “When do you want to have it done?”

  “Today,” David said.

  “Where?”

  “We’ll tell you later.”

  “Let’s do it in this hospital. I trust them.”

  “We’ll pick the hospital.”

  Kemper frowned. “Okay, you can take a sample of my liver. But if anything happens to it, you’re going to pay for fixing it. You gave your word.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Do you want to write down my cellphone number?” Kemper asked.

  “You’re coming with us,” Vincent said.

  Kemper shook his head. “I can’t. I was told to rest in bed.”

  Vincent and David exchanged glances, and David said, “You can rest in bed in a hotel room.”

  He wasn’t going to let Roger Kemper out of his sight until he was one hundred percent sure that Kemper’s new liver hadn’t come from Annie. He would have taken Kemper with him even if the guy were bleeding from every orifice of his body. It was selfish, yes, but David didn’t give a damn.

  “I’m not going to run away, I promise,” Kemper said. “Take my passport and driver’s license. They won’t let me into the States without my passport or driver’s license.”

  “No, my friend,” Vincent said. “You’re coming with us.”

  Kemper heaved a sigh of frustration. “Where are you taking me? Your hotel?”

  “Yes,” Vincent replied.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Across the street from your hotel.” Vincent opened the door. “Do you have to take any pills for your liver?”

  “Yes. I have to take a whole bunch of them every day.”

  “Are they in your room?”

  Kemper nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, let’s go get them.” Vincent stepped out of the SUV.

  When Kemper and David got out of the Suburban, Vincent said to Kemper, “Don’t try anything stupid, okay? I know where you live.”

  David walked beside the wheelchair while Vincent pushed it. They moved at a brisk pace, not too fast, not too slow. A casual observer would have thought David and Vincent were friends or relatives of the fellow in the wheelchair. David kept a close eye on Kemper during the entire trip to his room. Fortunately, Annie’s biological father made no attempt to run away or call for help.

  “Where are the pills?” Vincent asked when they entered Kemper’s room.

  “The top drawer.” Kemper pointed at the bedside cabinet.

  Vincent opened the top drawer of the cabinet, took out Kemper’s medication bottles, and put them in his pants pockets. “Is this your phone?” He showed Kemper the cellphone he had found in the drawer.

  “Yes,” Kemper said.

  Vincent handed the phone to David, along with the charger. Then he turned to Kemper and said, “Now we’re going to go to the nurses’ station. You’ll tell them you’re going to spend a couple of days at the hotel.”

  “All right,” Kemper said.

  “Tell them that I’m a liver doctor and that I’ll watch over you,” David said.

  “Okay.”

  On the way to the nurses’ station, David caught himself thinking that Kemper’s submissive demeanor was just a façade. The guy was probably plotting an escape plan. He might have decided to kill them to eliminate the source of the problem. Perhaps he had an ace up his sleeve.

  It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

  When they got to the nurses’ station, Kemper asked the nurse on duty if she spoke English. The nurse, a short-haired woman with big brown eyes, said that she did.

  “I’m Roger King from Room 415,” Kemper said to her. “My friends are in town, so I’m going to spend a couple of days in my hotel room. Please tell Doctor Garcia I’ll be back on Saturday.”

  “No, you can’t leave,” the nurse said. “You have to talk to the doctor.”

  “It’s okay. My friend is a liver doctor.” Kemper touched David’s arm. “Everything will be fine.”

  “I’ll take good care of him, don’t worry, ma’am.” David smiled.

  “I’m taking my medication with me,” Kemper said.

  “Room 415, Roger King?” the nurse asked.

  “Yes.”

  The nurse wrote down the name and the room number and then said, “Doctor Garcia will not like it. You have to stay in bed.”

  “I’ll stay in bed.”

  The nurse shook her head with displeasure. “Don’t forget to take your medicines.”

  “I won’t. Thank you.”

  3

  When they pulled out of the parking lot, David took Vincent’s cellphone and opened the Internet browser. He did a search for hospitals in Monterrey, scanned the search results, and clicked on a link to a page about the CIMA Hospital. As he dialed the CIMA Hospital’s number, they arrived at the parking lot of the El Rey hotel.

  “Hello, do you speak English?” David asked the operator when she picked up the phone.

  “Yes.”

  “Does your hospital do liver biopsies?”

  “Biopsy?”

  “Yes. A liver biopsy.”

  There was a silence, then the operator said, “Yes, we do liver biopsy.”

  “What time do your labs close today?”

  “Seven o’clock.”

  David hung up and said to Vincent, who had been watching him talk on the phone, “Let’s go to the CIMA Hospital.”

  Vincent entered the hospital’s address into the GPS and started the engine.

  It took them less than fifteen minutes to reach their destination. David left Vincent and Kemper in the car and went inside the hospital. In the lobby, he extracted five twenty-dollar bills from his wallet and hid them in his hand. He intended to use the money to bribe the hospital staff: he had a hunch that to get a same-day biopsy, palms would have to be greased. He walked up to the reception desk and said that he would like to make an appointment for a liver biopsy. The receptionist punched a few buttons on the keyboard and then asked for his name.

  “Roger Jones,” David said.

  “Are you our patient?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a referral from a doctor?”

  “No.”

  “We can schedule you for tomorrow morning.”

  “I’d like to have it done today. It’s very urgent.”

  “It will cost more. There’s a surcharge.”

  “Okay. How much?”

  “Two thousand two hundred pesos.”

  David asked if he could pay in dollars, and the receptionist said yes.

  After he paid for the biopsy, David returned to the Suburban and informed Vincent and Kemper that he had scheduled Kemper’s appointment for one o’clock.

  “I told them your name is Roger Jones,” he said to Kemper. Then David ordered Kemper to surrender his hotel room keycard.

  “What’s the room number?” he asked as he pocketed the keycard.

  “Four ten,” Kemper said.

  They spent the next thirty minutes in the car listening to a Latin pop station. Because he no longer needed the disguise, Vincent changed into his old clothes. At a quarter to one, they went into the hospital. David had no qualms about making Kemper walk: according to the website of the Canadian Transplant Registry, liver transplant patients were allowed, and even encouraged, to walk on the second or third day after surgery. As they crossed the lobby, David said to Kemper in a low voice, “I’m going to keep an eye on you from start to finish. You’ll tell them I’m your brother and you want me to accompany you.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  After asking for directions a couple of times, they found the Imaging Department, and Kemper checked in at the front desk. A few minutes later, a nurse called the name “Roger Jones,” and David and Kemper stood up.

  �
��Which one of you is Roger Jones?” the nurse asked in Spanish.

  “He is Roger Jones,” David replied in Spanish, pointing at Kemper. “I’m his brother and interpreter.”

  “I need to take his blood sample,” the nurse said. “Follow me.”

  She led them to a small room, where she asked Roger to sit down on a chair. She put on latex gloves, wiped the tip of Kemper’s left ring finger with an alcohol pad, and then punctured the fingertip with a disposable lancet. After she collected Kemper’s blood, the nurse told them to wait in the reception area.

  “Why do they need to test his blood?” Vincent said when they came back.

  “They want to see if it clots properly,” Kemper said.

  They waited about ten minutes before Doctor Raul Olivas took Kemper and David to his office. The doctor made no objection to David’s tagging along.

  “I don’t speak English very well,” Doctor Olivas said in Spanish, leaning back in his chair.

  “Tell him I had a liver transplant last Friday,” Kemper said to David. “Tell him to be very careful.”

  David informed Doctor Olivas of Kemper’s transplant, and then asked, “Is it you who’s going to perform the biopsy?”

  “Yes.” Doctor Olivas smiled. “Our hospital gets thousands of patients from America every year, and every one of them leaves satisfied. Tell your brother he’s in good hands.” He looked at the sheet of paper in front of him. “I see Roger doesn’t have a referral from a doctor. What’s the purpose of the biopsy?”

  “We just want to do some tests,” David said. “We’re going to send the sample to a lab in Dallas.”

  “In Dallas? Okay. You think something’s wrong with the liver?”

  “No. It was our father’s idea.”

  “Okay. Very good. Are you sending the sample overnight?”

  “Yes, overnight.”

  “Very good. When was the last time Roger ate?”