“We’re going to see my friend, Connie. I need to talk to her.”
Miguel seemed okay with that, and he walked along holding her hand, hugging his soccer ball.
Outside the police station was a crowd of people, most in uniform. The Guardia Civil had been sent in. She circumvented the soldiers and asked a policeman if inspector Lascano was there.
“No, señorita, she is not. I do not know when she will return. She is helping organize security at the school shelters. Maybe you can find her there.” He gave directions to the nearest school, which was a walk of about four blocks.
“I know a shortcut to the school,” said Miguel.
“Okay, show me.”
They turned into an alleyway but not before Elena caught site of the man she had met at breakfast with her mother. He was standing on the corner of the street behind them, looking in their direction. He stepped into a store when she looked his way. She was sure it was the same man. Tall, thin. Though, she could be mistaken. She shook off an apprehensive feeling she chalked up to storm nerves and followed Miguel into the alley that led to the school. A rain squall pelted them, and they ran the rest of the way.
Some men stood in front of the school under the eaves, smoking. They waved Elena and Miguel inside to a registration desk. Two women with Red Cross arm bands sat behind a table.
“May we help you?” said the younger of the two.
“I’m looking for inspector Connie Lascano. Is she here?”
“I’m not sure,” said the older woman wearing 1950s-style rhinestone eyewear. “Pass inside, she might be there.”
Elena tugged Miguel along and walked into the auditorium. It was an elementary school, and the room was not large. She searched, craning her neck, walking back and forth.
A pleasant looking gentleman with an armband, who was stacking cartons of canned goods, asked if he could be of assistance.
“I’m looking for inspector Lascano. Is she here?”
The man looked around, doubtful. “I don’t think so.”
“I was told she was at a shelter working.”
“There is one other shelter. Maybe she is there.”
Elena was beginning to doubt the wisdom of trying to track down Connie. She wanted to tell her about Rolando and his motorcycle buddies and find out if they had identified the boy found in the river. She still had the St. Jude medal which probably wasn’t anything important, certainly not as important as a hurricane. Nothing was going to go forward until they all got through Hurricane Bob.
“I know where is the other school,” said Miguel.
“How far?”
“It is on the other side of the central plaza near the church.”
“That’s quite a hike in this weather. Maybe we better go back to the clinic.”
“I think so, too. It is raining harder.”
They stood at the entrance to the school under cover, watching rain pour straight down. Elena debated their options. They could go back to the clinic, they could go to the hotel to stay with her mother, or they could try to find Connie. If she decided to stay with her mother, she needed to go by doña Carolita’s house, pick up her computer and a few other things, and talk her into coming with them.
She should go by the clinic and tell Dominic what she was doing if she went to the hotel. But the thought of riding out a hurricane in the lap of luxury with her mother, somehow didn’t fit with the plight of the average person in this town. She could be of some use to Dominic. Maybe she could leave Miguel with her mother. But what if he took off?
The outer bands of Hurricane Bob swirled around Copan Ruinas and as quickly as the rain came, it eased off.
Elena made her decision. “Let’s run for it. We’ll go to the clinic. C’mon.”
They took off, holding hands, running down the middle of the street to avoid the streams of water rushing down the gutters by the side of the road. The wind buffeted them, spraying water into their faces, and a cardboard box bounced down the street with them.
A car, coming up from behind, tooted, and they ran single file to let it pass. The vehicle drew alongside, and the driver wound down the window. It was Jorge, the man from breakfast.
“Can I give you a ride? This is a bad day to be out for a run.”
Elena stopped for an instance. Miguel kept running, and she called to him to wait up.
Jorge smiled from behind the wheel of an early model, yellow Toyota eyesore, one headlight smashed in, which didn’t fit an art dealer image. Something about how he spoke, how he seemed to leer at her, made Elena uneasy.
“No thanks. We don’t have far to go, but thanks.” She waved and started running, caught up to Miguel and grabbed his hand. The car kept coming behind them, its one head light flickering. Elena pulled Miguel over to the side walk and kept running.
“Know any other short cuts?” she shouted as they ran.
He veered toward another alley that led up to the street where the clinic was located. Elena could hear the car behind them, but she didn’t look back to see where it was going. She ran harder. Something about that guy was creepy. She’d have to warn her mother about him. She held tight to Miguel’s hand and ran for the safety of the clinic.
* * * * *
Dominic breathed another great sigh of relief, the second of the day, when he saw Elena and Miguel.
“You look like drowned cats,” he said. “Are you okay? Don’t you know when to get in out of the rain?” He said it with a smile, but he was half serious. People already were suffering injuries from flying objects and falling debris. Like the middle-aged lady before him whose kitchen ceiling had fallen on her. He was carefully cleaning the cuts on her face.
Elena and Miguel looked at each other and giggled.
“I guess we do look a sight, but we’re fine,” she said. “The storm is moving in fast though.”
“Towels are over there.” He indicated with his head a shelf with small white towels. Elena grabbed two and helped Miguel rub his face and hair.
“How are things going?” she asked, patting her face and arms with the towel.
“Getting worse. The land line phone service is out. We still have electricity.”
“I forgot about water and flash lights and all that stuff. I’m going to doña Carolita’s to take her to the Marina Copan. That is if I can pry her out of her house.”
“Elena.” He looked over at her as he cleaned and applied medication to cuts on the woman’s arm. “I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you stay with Miguel and me at my place? Bring doña Carolita there, too. We’ll at least be able to prepare food on the gas stove. I have water and flashlights and batteries and blankets and all those things that you don’t have right now.”
She studied him, like she was considering the offer. She looked down at Miguel who stood in a puddle of water.
“I think you should come with us,” said Miguel.
“Okay, it’s a deal,” she finally said. “I’ll go for doña Carolita and get my stuff before it gets any worse.”
“Let me finish with this lady, and I’ll drive you.”
When Elena started to protest, he held up his hand. “No, I insist. You aren’t running around on foot in this storm.”
He helped the lady down from the table and gave her instructions and tablets in a bottle that he placed in her hand.
“Un million de gracias,” said the woman, and she shuffled out.
Dominic told Corazón where he was going and hustled his charges into the Jeep. Rain was blowing sideways as they crept down the street toward doña Carolita’s.
“Ever been in a hurricane before?” Dominic asked Elena.
“No, have you?”
“Yes, I got caught in Hurricane Andrew down in south Florida. That’s the first and last one I ever want to be in.”
“I guess you’re not going to get your wish. This one looks bad. I have great respect for Mother Nature so I never want to tempt her. But circumstances have dictated otherwise for both of us, hasn’t it?”
“You can say that again.”
Elena looked in the back seat to make sure Miguel was okay. “How you doing?” she asked him, smiling. But the smile died on her face.
“Oh, no,” she said and turned around and slid down in the seat.
“Do you see that yellow car following us with only one headlight?” she asked Dominic.
He looked in the rear view mirror. “Yes, he’s been behind us since the clinic. Why?”
“That’s this weird guy that I met this morning at breakfast with my mother. She picked him up at the hotel, and he says that he’s an art dealer. He wanted to give us a ride. Something about him I don’t like.”
Dominic looked in the mirror again. “I could try to lose him but I hesitate to go any faster in this rain. I’ll go by the Marina Copan and stop out front. Maybe he’ll think you’re visiting your mother.”
He whipped up the next street until they were in front of the Hotel Marina Copan, off the central plaza. Their pursuer turned off to the left before the hotel.
“He turned off,” said Dominic.
“That’s a relief. While we’re here, I’ll run in and tell my mother where I’ll be.”
She got out of the Jeep and ran around the front into the lobby. Dominic watched the street and sidewalks for signs of the man in the car, but he saw none. Elena was back in five minutes.
“She doesn’t like it but she’s resigned to not having me with her. Right now she’s alone in her room. I warned her about that jerk, Jorge, and she said she’d be careful.”
Dominic’s internal radar was humming. Someone taking an interest in Elena with the questionable deaths unresolved made his anxiety level hit a new high. He drove a circuitous route to doña Carolita’s up through the barrio San Pedrito where Armando lived. The houses were on a hill, and the wind was worse. Debris flew about unchecked. A piece of tin glanced off the windshield of the Jeep, and they all ducked. Armando was hunkered down in front of his shack, protected from the wind by the others that crowded on all sides.
Dominic stopped and shouted to be heard above the wind. “Are you okay?”
“We’re okay, go on. Take care.”
Dominic continued on, creeping down the hill that lead to the lower town and doña Carolita’s house.
“No one’s following us,” he said, after checking in the rear view mirror.
Elena looked back. “Good. That guy really gives me the creeps.”
“Me, too.”
They pulled up in front of doña Carolita’s. It looked as if no one was home. Elena pulled out her keys.
“I’ll pop in and try to entice her to come with us.”
Dominic nodded and left the engine running. He looked in the sack Elena had left on the front seat and saw the clothes.
He turned to Miguel in the back seat. “Looks like you got new clothes.”
“And a soccer ball.” He held up the ball.
“Nice. When the storm is over, we’ll have to practice.”
“Will you play with me?”
“Sure, although I’m not very good.”
Elena was not long in returning. She had donned dry shorts and top and her hair was gathered up under her field hat. She stowed her computer and back pack in the back seat with Miguel.
“Where’s doña Carolita?” asked Dominic.
“She left a note that she went to stay with her mother during the storm. That’s good because her mother lives with her other daughter and her husband, so there’ll be more people there to help each other. That’s a load off my mind. She advised me to stay with my mother at the hotel.”
“Is her house secure? I see she boarded the windows.”
“I think so. She’s got the back of the house all closed up, too. But bad news -- the electricity is out.”
“Not good. At least the clinic has a generator.”
Dominic maneuvered the Jeep through an obstacle course back to the clinic and parked in front. Most of the people had left. An American volunteer from the Episcopal mission, wearing a Red Cross arm band, was trying to get the generator up and running.
Dominic walked over to help. He checked the equipment over. It was out of gas. No one had bothered to fill the tank. He’d have to go down the street to the service station. With any luck they’d still be open. He could only hope they had a generator.
He’d take Elena and Miguel with him since he didn’t want to let them out of his sight. He was worried about the strange guy interested in Elena. Maybe they would be better off with her mother. He could drop them off at the hotel but the strange guy might be staying there. He could take Elena and Miguel to his house to ride out the storm, but then they’d be there by themselves since he might have to leave.
Before he could put a plan in motion, Connie Lascano walked into the clinic, wearing a plastic rain poncho in brilliant orange. She looked cheerful, like there wasn’t an impending hurricane or an unsolved murder.
“I came by to see if I could catch Elena,” she said. “I understand she is looking for me.”
Elena came out from the back room where she had gone to help Corazón. “There you are, Connie. I heard you were at one of the shelters, helping out. How are things going?”
“We are trying to secure the area and set up guards at the shelters. I was also trying to arrange a bodyguard for you. I hoped to have one in place by this afternoon, but all available personnel have been mobilized to help with the storm.”
“Can you come into the back?” Elena asked. “I wanted to share something with you.”
* * * * *
Connie Lascano liked to look for the best in everyone. Sometimes she wondered if she might be in the wrong profession. Take Elena Palomares, standing before her, relating her story about Rolando and his motorcycle buddies. Connie had seen those macho jokers cruising around town in their bright, shiny motorcycles. Now that Elena voiced her suspicion, Connie wondered about their source of income. She’d have them checked out.
She wanted to believe Elena. They had checked her record. Clean. She seemed to be what her degrees and profession said she was -- a down-to-earth, intelligent, professional woman, willing to cooperate with the police investigation and report what she knew. She had a pleasant countenance and personality to boot. Why shouldn’t she be trusted? Because in Connie’s professional career she had seen the most upstanding citizens come out on the wrong side of the law. She would reserve final judgment till all the facts were in. But her gut feeling told her that Elena was in real danger for whatever the reasons.
Then Elena related the story of the creepy guy in the yellow car. The description set off red flags, confirming Connie’s gut feeling.
“You say he’s staying at the Marina Copan? I’ll have him picked up for questioning.” She turned to go as there wasn’t a minute to lose.
Elena held up her hand. “Wait. Have you identified the murdered man yet?”
“No, we have nothing on him, although we posted bulletins in-country and in all the neighboring countries in Central America. He may be part of an international ring of thieves I’ve been investigating. They’re a bunch we’ve had a tough time nailing.”
“What about the boy in the river. Do you know who he is?”
Connie shook her head. “We haven’t been able to get anyone to identify him. We need Miguel’s help.”
By the look on Elena’s face, Connie could tell she knew what had to be done. She had to tell Miguel about the death of the child.
Elena said, “I guess we have no other choice.”
“The child is in the morgue,” said Connie. “Can the two of you go with me now?”
Elena looked out the door at the pouring rain.
She was a beautiful, bright woman, thought Connie, and she hoped Elena wasn’t mixed up in any of this. But she had seen beautiful, bright women before who were as ruthless and deadly as the worst criminal.
“Do you have any more of those plastic ponchos?”
Connie smiled. “I bet Dominic has some
. Let’s see.”
Sixteen
Jorge ditched the yellow car several blocks away from the hotel. That bitch might be on to him now, and this was a hot car. He didn’t need to be seen in it again. If she had just gotten into the car with the kid. Now he knew he had thrown the wrong kid into the river. Damn kids. How many were there anyway?
He put his jacket collar up and his head down as he walked in the rain. He wasn’t sure where he was going. He couldn’t chance going back to the hotel. Damn storm was complicating things.
If he could just find where she was going to ride out the storm with the kid ….
Damn that bitch.
Damn that little kid.
And damn this hurricane.
* * * * *
Dominic had the generator working, cots set up, water neatly stacked, and medicines accounted for by the time Elena and Miguel returned, dropped off in an Army truck. Bless you Connie Lascano, thought Dominic, for not letting them walk back on the streets alone. Little Miguel didn’t look happy.
“How’d it go?” he asked them.
“The boy,” said Elena, “was one of Miguel’s friends, not Gordo, but one of the other boys that sometimes hung out with them under the bridge. He drowned. The boy had abrasions that indicated his falling or being pushed into the river, maybe held down.”
Dominic hunkered down so that he could be eye level with Miguel, who still gripped Elena’s hand.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” he said. “You know you are safe here with us, don’t you?”
Miguel avoided Dominic’s eyes and cast his upon his sneakers.
Dominic gathered the boy into his arms and hugged him. Miguel’s small hand left Elena’s, and he wrapped his skinny arms around Dominic’s neck. He felt the child’s silent sobs against his neck and held him close. He thought of the child he would never hold, the one his cheating wife had denied him, the child who belonged to someone else. His bitterness had changed to sorrow, a sorrow that had taken up permanent residence in his heart.
Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase Page 16
