by Carmen Amato
Her mood darkened as the level in the bottle went down. Emilia knew she was tipsy when she brought the empty rice container back into the kitchen.
The floor felt slightly uneven as she walked into the living room and looked around. Masculine leather sofas, scrubbed pine tables, someone else’s choice of artwork. No pictures of her and Kurt. The room was just a path she walked on her way to real life on Acapulco’s mean streets.
“What did you lose, gringo man?” she said out loud. “What am I not supposed to find?”
She carried the bottle of wine into the hall and went through the closet, searching behind Kurt’s surfboard and sports equipment. Boxes of clothes were upended and pockets turned inside out. Emilia didn’t know what she was looking for, but it would be unfamiliar and upsetting.
From the closet she moved on to their bedroom, fortifying herself with gulps of wine before tackling his dresser. It was midnight before Emilia went into the office and slumped into the desk chair. “I used to be a detective,” she mumbled to herself. “But I can’t find shit.”
The desk held no surprises, nor did the bookcase.
One by one, sitting on the floor, she combed through the file boxes Kurt kept stored on top of the closet. The papers were all in English and she actually laughed to think that the language refresher she was getting with Las Palomas was coming in handy.
She easily identified Kurt’s visa paperwork from Mexican immigration and documents with the name of his college on top. Another folder held various professional certifications.
A file marked LEGAL was the thickest, with long papers folded to fit. Some of the documents looked like Kurt had bought and sold a property in Las Vegas. She studied the date of the sale; it was right before he moved to Acapulco.
Another long paper had a fancy seal at the top and the embossed words San Miguel County, Fourth Judicial District Court.
The document was in English. It started In the matter of Kellogg v. Rucker.
The formal prose and complicated verbs defeated her adequate but still basic English skills. Emilia picked out nouns: paternity, child welfare, material support. She didn’t need a dictionary to know what they meant.
The paper swam in front of her. Kurt had a child.
Suzanne Kellogg had borne Kurt a child and sued him for child support. No wonder Kurt had been so oblique when Emilia had asked him about Suzanne.
The dopey effect of the wine was gone. Emilia felt cold and sober. Kurt had a child, whom he’d left in Las Vegas. Paid child support because of a court order, or whatever this document was called. Probably moved to Mexico to get away from the whole nasty legal issue. His trip back to Las Vegas wasn’t to hire an assistant manager, it was to resolve some problem related to the child.
He’d seemed so honorable, so principled. Those qualities had drawn her to him, made her abandon the Catholic Church’s teachings and live in sin with him.
But Kurt was a man willing to abandon his own child. How had she misjudged him so badly?
There were a few other documents in the file with the same seal and embossing but Emilia had seen enough. She stuffed everything back in the box and replaced it in the closet. Kurt would never be able to tell she’d discovered his secret.
Chapter 21
In the morning, Emilia had too much nervous energy churning through her bloodstream to stay in the office. She told Paola she’d be out and suited up with the first shift of La Palomas girls.
“I’m with you?” Natividad walked up to her as Emilia clipped on her radio.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all.”
Emilia watched as Natividad made the five pairs of officers perform radio checks and assigned their beats. Las Palomas patrolled the heavily touristed western side of the bay. No doubt Carlota would soon be touting the great success Las Palomas was having on reducing crime, without ever saying that the unit was assigned to areas of the city that already had the lowest crime rates.
Patrol routes overlapped so that each team met up with two others during a four hour shift. It was a lesson Emilia had learned as a beat cop years ago. The timed meetings cut down on efficiency but reduced the number of opportunities to take bribes or shake down tourists.
An unmarked van bought with the mayor’s money dropped off the teams. It made six stops between the Fuerte San Diego fort and the intersection a block west of the Costera, where Teniente Jose Azueta intersected three other streets all lined with restaurants. Rosalita and Tina Maria were the first to get out at the fort. Her nightstick clanked against the door as Tina Maria stepped out of the van. Rosalita quickly grabbed the end of the nightstick to make sure Tina Maria didn’t trip. As she watched the pair walk down the street, Emilia was reminded of Macias and Sandor. Close together and a little apart from everyone else.
Emilia and Natividad got out next on Avenida Morelos. They got a few stares and smiled in return. Natividad was observant but at ease. Emilia felt like a target and had her gun strapped to her right ankle. Of course she’d never turned it in. She still had her detective badge, too. No one had asked for either badge or gun and she had no intention of voluntarily giving them up to be lost in the police department’s arcane bureaucracy.
It had been three years since Emilia walked a beat but the city looked the same. Pastel high rises touched the bright blue sky. Neon signs and shop windows enticed tourists, which in turn attracted panhandlers. Royal palm trees lined the sidewalks, fronds dancing in the breeze. Bleating car horns, whiny motorcycle engines, and the whistle of transito cops were a continual traffic concerto.
Emilia and Natividad helped a few lost tourists and took pictures for people who wanted a group photo of their vacation. Bought lunch from a food vendor advertising tacos a la canasta. Connected with the other patrols as scheduled. Emilia relaxed a little after the first hour. It wasn’t the El Trio killer’s style to target victims on the street in broad daylight.
Natividad’s radio crackled.
“Paloma 1, Paloma 1.” The voice was clearly Tina Mara’s. They could hear shouting in the background. “This is Paloma 5. We have a situation in front of the Casa de la Máscara and request backup. Now.”
Casa de la Máscara was about two long blocks away. Natividad flipped up the end of her collar to radio their reply. “Paloma 5, this is Paloma 1. On our way. Three minutes out.”
“Hurry,” Tina Maria said breathlessly. “Paloma 5 out.”
Emilia broke into a fast jog. Natividad kept up easily and the two dodged palm trees and pedestrians as they made their way down Jose Maria Morelos to the white stucco building which housed the state of Guerrero’s impressive collection of indigenous masks.
Emilia saw the situation as soon as the building came into sight. Two gringos surrounded Rosalita, propositioning her in English. Rosalita was calm, but her voice was raised as she told the boys to move on. They looked like typical spring break college types; drunk at 10:00 am and likely to stay that way for the next four or five days. An equally wobbly friend blocked Tina Maria from helping her partner. He towered over the girl.
A small knot of people stood on the porch of the museum, watching nervously.
As Emilia and Natividad ran toward the scene, Tina Maria evidently had enough. With a move that the police academy instructors would be proud of, she swept her nightstick into the boy’s right knee. He yelped and buckled. Tina Maria stood on tiptoe to deliver another blow to the side of his head.
The drunk sank peacefully to the ground. His friends reeled toward Tina Maria and were intercepted by Natividad and Rosalita.
Emilia caught up to Tina Maria and grabbed the nightstick before there was any more damage to Acapulco’s reputation. “Easy now,” she said. “Let’s not go killing tourists, okay?”
“I did it just like in class,” Tina Maria whispered.
“Dude,” one of the drunks slurred to Natividad. “Did you see that?”
“Yes,” Natividad said in English. “Identification, dude.”
/> Tina Maria’s lower lip trembled as she looked at Rosalita. “Are you okay?”
Rosalita nodded. “I’m fine.”
Emilia knelt to check that the kid on the ground wasn’t dead. Before she could find a pulse, however, he sat up and grinned.
“Dude, did you see that?” he called to his friends. “She was like Buffy or something.”
Emilia helped him to his feet. His head was so soaked with liquor Tina Maria had hit sponge rather than skull.
As suspected, they were all college students, down from Texas for a few days. “Where are you staying?” Emilia asked.
Their hotel was two blocks away and conveniently past three liquor stores. The small pension catered to the less well-heeled tourist crowd. Emilia told Natividad to call in that the two teams were going off their standard patrol routes for 30 minutes to assist tourists in distress and would report back when they resumed normal patrol.
The four women in uniforms and the three wobbly gringos made a ridiculous parade but they got the boys back into their hotel with orders to sober up or they’d be arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct. As the Las Palomas officers left the hotel and started back to the Fuerte San Diego, Tina Maria abruptly burst into tears.
“It’s okay,” Rosalita said. She stepped between Emilia and the youngest officer, as if to shield the girl from a reprimand. Tina Maria raised a tear-stained face and Rosalita hugged her. It was an intimate scene and Emilia was momentarily nonplussed. She walked a few steps away
A yellow building was ahead. Something flashed gold on one side.
Emilia trotted across the street to get a better vantage point. She took in the grassy area in front of the yellow building, the red flowers, the gold edge of the sign.
“I sent Rosalita and Tina Maria to their scheduled meet with Paloma 2,” Natividad said as she came up to Emilia. “I expect you’ll want to talk to Tina Maria later.”
“Yes,” Emilia said distractedly. She walked a few steps to the left.
Natividad followed. “What’s going on?”
Emilia shook her head. “Nothing, just getting my bearings.”
At the end of the shift, Emilia participated in the debrief, showered, changed and went upstairs to her office. Most of the staff was gone for the day and the spaces were quiet.
She took out the Las Perdidas binder and flipped through the reports of missing women until she came to Lila’s entry. She lifted out the copy she’d made of the torn photo Lila Jimenez Lata had sent her grandmother. A moment of careful study and Emilia was convinced.
Lila had been standing by the employee entrance to the El Pharaoh casino.
☼
It was the one night in the week Mercedes didn’t teach and the dancer accepted Emilia’s spur-of-the-minute invitation. In a strappy dress that floated to her ankles and hair knotted loosely at the nape of her neck, Mercedes seemed quite at ease in the Palacio Réal restaurant. Emilia was grateful; she couldn’t bear another miserable night in the penthouse alone. Besides, Lila had taken lessons from Mercedes and Emilia was eager to tell the dancer what she’d discovered.
“Are we celebrating something?” Mercedes asked.”
The waiter came by, greeted Emilia by name, and poured them sparkling water from a bottle that alone cost more than Emilia’s coral jersey wrap dress. He left them menus and melted away.
“In a way,” Emilia said. “I have some good news about Lila.”
“Por Dios,” Mercedes exclaimed. “You found her.”
“No, but I found where she might be working,” Emilia said.
“Where?”
“At the El Pharaoh casino.”
“So why aren’t we there?”
“I gave the information to Missing Persons,” Emilia said. “They’ll run it down.”
“Well.” Mercedes raised her water glass for a toast. “To Emilia and dogged determination.”
Emilia touched her glass to that of her friend. “Thank you.”
The waiter reappeared and told them about Chef Jacques’s dinner specials. The sommelier was next. Emilia asked him for a suggestion, the way Kurt always did, and accepted what he proposed.
“I love it here.” Mercedes leaned back in her chair and took in the restaurant’s sea-faring décor, lavish linen tablecloths, gleaming silver, and spectacular views of the ocean. “You live in a fairy tale, Emilia.”
The food was delicious and the wine the perfect accompaniment. Mercedes kept up a commentary about goings-on in Emilia’s old neighborhood. Emilia listened but couldn’t help her thoughts from wandering.
Halfway through the meal Mercedes put down her knife and fork. “You’re pretty subdued for someone who is supposed to be celebrating,” she said quietly.
Emilia dropped her head in acknowledgment. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Well,” Emilia considered. Her head was full of things too dangerous to discuss. Time for humor and deflection. “I hate my new boss. Not all of the time, but most of the time.”
“What’s he like?”
“She,” Emilia corrected. “She. Claudia Sanchez, head of Las Palomas. A know-it-all bureaucrat who thinks her shit doesn’t stink.”
“She must have some redeeming qualities,” Mercedes said. “Otherwise, how did she get her job?”
“She’s sleeping with the mayor’s boyfriend.”
Mercedes laughed. “Is that all?” she asked. “How is Kurt?”
“He has a child,” Emilia blurted. She hadn’t planned on saying anything about last night’s unpleasant discovery but the words bubbled up. “In Las Vegas. He’s there now.”
“Oh, Emilia.” Distress turned down the corners of the dancer’s mouth. “Are you sure?”
“I searched the apartment.” Emilia felt the heaviness weigh on her heart. “He had to be ordered to support the child. I found documents. Official orders or something. With a judge’s stamp on them. His old girlfriend, that Suzanne woman, is the mother.”
“Maybe there’s an explanation,” Mercedes said.
Emilia looked beyond her friend’s shoulder to see Jacques, resplendent in his chef’s jacket and checkered pants, making his way to their table. “I think Jacques knows the whole story.”
The chef exchanged kisses with them and asked about their dinner.
“Do you remember,” Emilia said to the chef after both women had complimented his food. “You told me about Kurt’s friend Suzanne.”
“Kurt’s sordid past,” Jacques said.
Emilia glanced at Mercedes. “And her child.”
“Such a sad situation.” Jacques clicked his tongue.
“A real surprise for Kurt,” Emilia suggested.
“Of course,” Jacques said. “But what do you care about that mess, Emilia? Suzanne and her unlucky child have nothing to do with you.”
Emilia couldn’t believe Jacques would have such a cavalier attitude. “Well, if it concerns Kurt,” she said. “It concerns me.”
“You’d certainly never play such a dirty trick on him, non?” Jacques glanced at his watch and bolted up from his chair. “Mon dieu! I must get back to my kitchen.” He exchanged kisses with both but his glance lingered on Mercedes. “Will we have the pleasure of seeing you again, mademoiselle?”
“Perhaps,” Mercedes said.
“I shall live in hope,” Jacques said dramatically. He threaded his way through the restaurant, stopping to chat with patrons, and finally disappeared through the swinging door to the kitchen.
Emilia didn’t trust herself to say anything.
“He’s different,” Mercedes said into the silence.
“He’s French,” Emilia managed. She took a deep breath. “Always good to have your worst suspicions validated.”
“What are you going to do?” Mercedes asked quietly.
“I guess . . . I guess I’ll have to talk to Kurt,” Emilia said.
Mercedes leaned forward and tapped Emilia on the hand. “I have an idea. Let�
�s go over to Sinfonia del Mar and watch the sunset. You can stay over at my place tonight.”
“I’d like that,” Emilia said gratefully. The Palacio Réal held no appeal for her right now.
☼
The Sinfonia del Mar was on the opposite side of the bay but traffic was light and they got there in time for the show. The outdoor amphitheater pointed due west and was the perfect vantage point from which to view Acapulco’s legendary sunsets. Set on a promontory not far from the cliff divers at La Quebrada, the fan-shaped theater emulated ancient Greek amphitheaters but with a special Mexican twist; the bottom tier flared out into a striking red mosaic of the sun.
From time to time the mosaic served as a stage for outdoor concerts but for the most part the Sinfonia was simply a place for locals to watch the sunset. The atmosphere was always casual. Teens got drunk in a parking lot rite of passage, picnicking families left their trash, and lovers made out on the curved stone benches because they had nowhere else to go. Emilia felt safely hidden in the crowd.
The two friends found a bench close to the mosaic as the sun spread extravagant ribbons of pink and gold across the ocean. The amphitheater glowed with the last remnants of daylight while a string quartet played a classical accompaniment to the spectacle on the horizon. The voices of the crowd quieted, replaced by the clicking of cameras. Every other person had a selfie stick.
“I kissed my husband for the first time,” Mercedes said. She pointed to the other side of the amphitheater. “Right over there.”
“It must have felt very romantic,” Emilia offered.
“It was.” Mercedes smiled at the memory. “I knew right then that I was going to marry him.”
Emilia looked over her shoulder towards the parking lot. “I got drunk once over there. Tagged along with my cousins. I was determined to show that I could do whatever they did.”
“Were they impressed?”
“Absolutely.” Emilia laughed. “I threw up more than either of them.”
As the sky slowly deepened to crimson and rust, the spectators were almost enveloped in the sunset. Below the amphitheater, the restless ocean reflected the colors of the horizon.
