Rita goes to put her foot up on the lone folding plastic chair whose legs are caked in reddish dust. There she oversees the woman, who takes an old brush and pan and sweeps the vomit from the floor. Despite her ridiculous hair, Rita looks almost stately among the shadows. Her tidy waist, the white cable of Martin’s MP3 player hanging like a sash across her torso, her small breasts very high under her shirt, and those shoulders square as blocks. Danielle wonders what’s gone into the making of a woman like Rita, what has twisted her life into this ugly knot. Whatever it is, Rita wants it undone. She wants an entirely new stretch of life to knot up, and this is her time to grab it. Danielle can empathize, can practically bring herself to find Rita a sympathetic character in the story of her own abduction if she thinks about it objectively. But she cannot sustain that thinking at all.
MONDAY
APRIL 11
10:30 AM. Media room, San Salvador Conference Centre
Catharine Keil enters with Raul Schiffer through a side door and walks to the podium. She comes to stand ever so slightly ahead of Schiffer and unfolds her single page of notes. “Thank you for coming on short notice. We are pleased to announce that we received word last evening from representatives of NorthOre Incorporated’s Salvadoran subsidiary, OrNorte, that the company will allow a team of forensic specialists onto their property at Mil Sueños beginning today, and that this will entail a stop-work order at the mine, effective this morning and lasting until Thursday night.”
A murmur passes through the room. Reporters pull out their cell phones to inform senior editors.
“This step signals good faith on the part of the mine and demonstrates the tremendous efforts made by both the Salvadoran and Canadian governments, and by the Policía Civíl, who have worked with us all week towards a peaceful resolution.” Cameras flash, lighting her face. “In a moment, I will hand over to the Attorney General, who will describe another major breakthrough in this case. In the meantime, to the people responsible for this crime I must emphasize that we need to see immediate action.” As she did last time, Keil presents the cameras with a stern countenance. “Your first step will be to hold to your promise of releasing one of the hostages within twenty-four hours, now that your initial requirement has been fulfilled. But we ask you to consider your options at this stage and release all five members of the delegation. You have exhausted the goodwill shown by all parties. The police, as you will hear shortly, have uncovered important evidence that will soon lead to an end to this situation. If you surrender now, your reasonable actions will lead to further reasonable actions on the part of security forces. And now I pass the floor to Mr. Schiffer.”
Raul Schiffer smiles and edges forward, approaching the mic. “I want to speak for the Commissioner of Police and those overseeing this investigation, particularly Capitán Hernández and his Special Anti-Kidnapping Unit,” he says, “to inform the public that we have two critical developments in this case. First, the Policía Civíl have made an arrest in connection with this abduction. This person is associated with the Committee for the Environment, a group based in Los Pampanos.” Another brief sound of surprise emerges from the scrum of reporters. “We cannot release the name of the suspect this morning, as it might undermine our efforts to bring the hostages home safely.
“What we can tell you is that, in response to our increased offer of a reward for information that would lead to an arrest, we received last night, at approximately 22:00, an anonymous tip indicating that there was evidence linking the suspect to the abduction. We assigned our best officers to investigate, and, at 2:30 this morning, they confirmed that they had the evidence in hand. This evidence was sent to headquarters for preliminary analysis, and subsequently an arrest warrant was issued. I have no other comments to make now except that this tip represents a willingness on the part of regular Salvadorans to see the criminals brought to justice.
“The second development involves new information stemming from the publication of a police sketch earlier this week, later identified as the likeness of Rita Guadalupe Canales de Santos, age 34. On Thursday, we announced that she and her sister, Delmi Luisa Canales Muñoz, age 28, both of San Miguel, were persons of interest in this case. Now, we have added two more individuals to this list, and if I can call your attention to the screen, we’ve now been provided by informants with photos of all four persons. On the left is Cristóbal Santos Molina, age 40, husband of Rita de Santos, who is to his right. Below Señor de Santos is her sister, Señora Muñoz, and beside her is the second man, José Molina Domingo, age 41. Both the men are also of San Miguel. We are making the photos public in the hopes that these individuals will come forward with any information they might have in connection with this case. Now I have a few minutes to take your questions. One at a time, please.”
12:00 PM. San Salvador
Aida is shaken. Getting into the front passenger seat, she can still feel the warmth where Marta was sitting. She crosses a knee over her hands to keep from biting her nails — a disgusting habit from her teens that she rarely indulges. Pedro pulls back onto the road, lunchtime commuters all around them going about their normal, traffic-crazy day. Behind Aida, Benoît, Ralph and Sylvie all seem to be talking at once. Finally Pedro yells “Por favor!” and holds his cell away from his ear to make them understand that he needs quiet. After that, they whisper. Aida turns in her seat.
“How could this happen?” says Sylvie, painted fingernails set dramatically against both cheeks. “Marta has nothing to do with what has happened to my son.”
“How do we know?” Aida says. She glances at Pedro to see if he’s understood, but he’s busy with his calls. She wants to be proven wrong, but on her own, Aida can’t say anymore that Marta is not responsible in some way for the abduction. She has staked everything on getting rid of the mine.
“We know because she’s been good to us this whole time. You especially,” says Ralph, then looks away, out his window. “I’m not gonna believe a pair of handcuffs over that.”
The mood darkens. Everyone is quiet, recalling how the police car appeared just minutes ago out of nowhere, forcing Pedro to pull over, how the officers took Marta away. The entire sequence, from the siren and flashing lights behind them to the nauseating click of the cuffs binding her wrists was too brief, too real. Aida has never been anywhere near an arrest, and she was amazed by Marta’s calm reaction, how she went without a word, stepping from the car as if to put money in a meter. Had she expected it?
Benoît pipes up. “Whatever they need to do to investigate this case, I give them my support. Honnêtement là, if Marta has a good lawyer who can get her out, then it’s still a good day for us. The mine is closing. One of our family members is going to be home tomorrow. I pray, with respect, that it is Antoine.”
The rest nod, Ralph somewhat reluctantly. Aida knows it bugs him the way Benoît and Sylvie act like Antoine deserves special status simply because they love him so much. “What about the Thursday deadline the mine has tacked on?” Ralph says, clearing his throat like he seems to do when he’s agitated. “How’s that team from Guatemala going to find anything by then?”
“Those are details,” says Benoît, dismissing the concern. Aida agrees. The kidnapper wanted a shutdown at the mine and he has it. Period.
They drive on, silent again. Aida thinks they’re nearing the cathedral, but Pedro turns in a direction that seems wrong. “Where are we going?” she asks, disconcerted.
Pedro keeps his eyes on the road. “Marta will not want you at the demonstration. I’m taking you back. Please. Tell them they should stay together in their rooms. A friend of ours will watch over them.”
Aida starts to argue, but something about Pedro’s demeanour tells her it will be useless. He’s stepping into Marta’s shoes, playing boss. Carlos will wait at the cathedral for nothing. Aida knows she’s being selfish, that she should be focused on Marta’s well-being, but it’s so unfair that she can’t meet him there now.
An hour later Aida tries Carlos�
��s cell phone for the twentieth time. No luck. He never did give her his home number, so, getting up her courage, she dials the office phone printed on his business card, asking, in her most formal Spanish, to speak to him, only to be told he’s been out for some time. Aida wants to scream. Probably he’s still at the demonstration. But if so, why hasn’t he answered his cell? A man in his position will have heard of Marta’s arrest by now.
Aida tries the first number once more, then finally gives up, slamming down Marta’s receiver. Paco, the minder Pedro has called to stay with her, turns from where he stands, near Marta’s windows. “What are you looking out for, anyway?” Aida asks him angrily.
Paco smiles. “Just being safe.” He pulls back Marta’s drooping brown curtains a bit further.
Until today, Aida has not seriously believed her own safety could be in danger. From whom? The kidnappers? It doesn’t make sense for them to go after the families too. And if it’s true that Marta or anyone with her Committee had something to do with the abduction, however tangentially, the kidnappers will be staying as far away from her place as possible. Then again, if Marta had something to do with this, what is Aida still doing here? Paco works for Marta. He’s the one who takes the car from the cathedral every day. Aida looks him over, trying to see evidence that he’s about to turn on her. But it’s too stupid. She remembers how ashamed she was of herself yesterday, finding out about Marta’s late husband. If Carlos and Ralph are right and she should put her trust in Marta, someone else is responsible for the abduction. Maybe someone totally unknown to the police. If so, can they be found before it’s too late?
Aida can’t seem to piece together a judgment — what she should think, where she should be. She finds herself wandering into her room and back several times before collapsing onto her bed and staring at a dog-eared poster of a young Ricky Martin. Leftover from one of Marta’s children, she assumes. What was it like for those kids to have their father “disappear” — vanish, like Danielle has? He never returned. This must be at the heart of Marta’s obsession with Mil Sueños. She must be looking for payback.
The phone rings. Aida rushes back out to the living room, but it’s only Neela.
“Aida? Oh, god. I’ve been so worried. I couldn’t get through.”
“I was making some calls.”
“I’m glad you’re safe. If we ever needed proof of how twisted the Salvadoran police are, we’ve got it now. They’ve just arrested the one sane voice in this whole case.”
“Neela, do you think we could talk later? I’m actually trying to get through to André.” This isn’t a total lie. Aida has been planning to call him as soon as she speaks to Carlos, though she’s also come to dread her phone calls to Danielle’s house. André has gone from relatively supportive to angry with her absence to fearful that something bad is going to happen to her. She misses her self-assured boyfriend like she misses her clear-headed self. “He’ll be waiting.”
“Oh. Sure. I just can’t imagine what it was like to see what you saw today. You’re probably in shock. Try not to worry about Marta. PJA’s got a great legal team and I’m getting someone to pitch in on the case. There’s still the chance Danielle or one of the others could be released, too. We have to hold onto that hope.”
“It’s not a hope. The mine’s closing, just like the kidnapper asked.”
“Yes. It’s just that Mitch Wall has imposed a deadline for the exhumation. A very short one.”
Aida puts a fingernail in her mouth but forces herself to remove it, unbitten. “We know. It’s still better than nothing.”
“Well, apparently, he only did it after the exhumation team arrived in San Salvador from Guatemala early this morning. I know quite a bit about Reverte’s team, and let me tell you, they never would’ve agreed to come if they’d known what kind of tricks Wall was going to play. The ambassador must be pissed. She’s the one who’s been working on getting Reverte here from Guatemala.”
“Like I said, better than nothing.”
“Absolutely,” says Neela, carefully. “So, just — just hang in. I want you all back here, safe and sound.”
“Thanks, Neela,” says Aida, ending the call. She means it. But she’s filled with sudden foreboding. She realizes she doesn’t want to leave for Toronto so soon if it means never speaking to Carlos Reyes again — a thought that makes her dizzy, because she so fervently does want the abduction to end.
A moment later, the phone rings again. Aida assumes Neela’s forgotten something. “Yes?” Aida says in English, picking up.
“Hola?” says a man’s voice. It’s Carlos.
“Oh, hola,” Aida says, switching to Spanish effortlessly now, she’s noticed, just a week into her stay. “I tried to call you.”
“I’m sorry. I was busy. I didn’t even get to the demonstration.”
“You didn’t?” Carlos specifically said he would be there.
“It’s been a difficult day.”
“Me too.”
“Yes. About Marta, I am very sorry —”
“Why should you be sorry?” Aida brings the phone, on its cord, as far away from Paco as she can and sits on the floor near the entrance to the kitchen. “It’s not your fault.”
Carlos says nothing.
“Maybe it’s not Marta. But maybe other members of her committee are involved somehow. It could’ve been them who hired those four ‘persons of interest.’ Anyway, it could all come together now. Especially since NorthOre changed its mind.”
“With a Thursday deadline.” Carlos sounds hoarse, like he’s underslept again.
Aida feels a strong urge to cheer him. “I was thinking that maybe you were the one who. . . that maybe the things we discussed yesterday got you to talk to Mitch Wall.”
Carlos makes a strange sound, like a simultaneous sigh and cough. “I’m afraid you think I’m someone I’m not.”
Aida smiles. “I don’t even know you yet.”
“I feel that I do know you,” says Carlos, so quietly Aida can barely make it out.
She flushes. “So do I,” she hears herself say, despite the contradiction. “Aida. Did you have time, before the — the arrest, to ask Marta about her husband?”
Aida doesn’t answer. She’d intended to, but everything got so crazy. Now, with the arrest, she doesn’t know when she’ll see Marta again, or how long she can stand to stay at the house. “I ran out of time,” she admits. “But Marta really has done everything to turn the mine into a moral campaign. It’s like she’s looking for revenge or —”
“You put your trust in things you shouldn’t, and you are suspicious of the things you should trust!” says Carlos with force, cutting her off.
Aida reddens further. “I’m doing my best.”
“This is not a school competition. No one will pat you on the head for doing your best. I have to leave,” he says and hangs up.
Aida listens to the foreign-sounding dial tone, staring over at Paco’s wide back as he keeps an eye out for dangers she doesn’t want to guess at.
5:10 PM. 45 KM south of the Salvadoran-Honduran border
Sitting on his haunches, Cristóbal is unsure how to feel about taking the telephone call. He has been grateful to know just enough about Pepe’s plans. He has felt capable of doing a good job. So, while he’s happy to have his cousin’s trust, he’s afraid of the phone that rests about a foot in front of him on a flat, lichen-covered rock. This object includes him in knowledge Cristóbal would prefer to skip.
When it starts vibrating, Pepe picks up, as he said he would. Immediately, his face transforms. He looks intensely curious. Whatever this person is calling to tell him, Pepe needs to know it. Little by little, the curiosity is replaced by assent, Pepe nodding meaningfully. Must be good news. But now, abruptly, alarm. Something dark overtakes Pepe’s face. His eyes rush back and forth as he takes in the voice of his contact. Those eyes are frightened. But Cristóbal can’t dwell on why. It’s his turn. He doesn’t question the reason he will be Pepe’s mouthpiece, or
who’s going to hear him. Pepe figures it’s necessary and that’s good enough. Cristóbal takes the phone, surprised by its unfamiliar weight. The line is open.
“Tell him to check his mailbox,” says Pepe, his voice tight. “I’ve asked an associate to drop off a map and instructions for the exhumation team. These should be faxed to the Canadian embassy. The press too. There should also be a note signed by ‘Enrique’ that says —” Cristóbal hastens to keep up, but feels pressured by Pepe’s increasing agitation “— that because of the mine’s actions this morning, I cannot release a hostage.”
Cristóbal stops cold. Releasing a hostage was always the plan.
Pepe scowls. “I have been left with no choice. Even if the mine is closed, if they do not lift this deadline of Thursday for the exhumation, on that same day I will kill a hostage instead. Tell them that!” Pepe nearly yells. “And tell them I’ve already decided which it will be.”
Cristóbal searches Pepe’s eyes to determine whether he really wants him to repeat these threats, but Pepe is already getting up, like his decision is final. Cristóbal says the words and hangs up the way Pepe showed him earlier, resting the phone back on the flat rock. The cousins are quiet. Above them, birds caw, and Cristóbal, who loves animals, listens in, picking out a torogoz. “Primo. Will they do it?” He poses the question as quietly as he can so as not to upset his cousin, doing nothing to pop the lid on his temper.
“They have to.” Pepe’s breathing has sped up. His exposed face is pinched with strain.
“Was there anything else — about the police? Do they have our names?” Cristóbal has a bad feeling suddenly.
“They need to know how serious we are.”
This doesn’t sound like an answer. Cristóbal watches his cousin pace around, picking up speed, as if the thoughts in his mind are powering his legs.
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