A twinge of homesickness accompanied the warmth of the mild night air, less cool than usual once the sun set in these high plains. Maybe she would sit in the courtyard and enjoy the beautiful night, except that her book summoned and the courtyard light was too dim for reading. As a sort of compromise, Anna retrieved her book from the bed and carried it to the upstairs bedroom in order to enjoy the soothing night breezes. If anyone knocked at her front door, she could look out immediately and see who was there. She thought about spending the night in the roof room, but decided sleeping downstairs might be safer.
Engrossed as she was in Joe Leaphorn's investigation of the fire in Totter's Trading Post, Anna nevertheless detected uneven footfalls echoing on the cobblestones beneath her window. She looked out to see Miguel leaning against the house, rapping on the metal front door.
"Oh Miguel, I'm so glad to see you."
"Maestra, let down your hair and I'll climb up to your window," Michael said with a broad grin that even the night's darkness couldn't disguise.
"Now I know you're drunk," Anna said, "but I'll let you in anyway. Try to remain standing. I'll be right down." She could hear him singing as she hurried across the roof and down the stairs. He nearly fell into her arms when she opened the door.
"You need some coffee. Follow me to the kitchen."
"Maestra, I'll follow you anywhere," he replied, tottering after her.
"Well, at least you're a cheerful drunk," she said over her shoulder, "and I may remind you of that promise in the morning." She wasn't sure how to deal with his flirtatiousness when they were alone. This Miguel was not the reserved school director who frequently used humor to keep people at arm's length. She pulled out a kitchen chair and motioned him to sit down while she went to the bathroom sink to fill the coffee pot. He was still standing when she returned, leaning against the doorpost scrutinizing her bedroom.
"I keep my coffee in the freezer," she said, attempting to redirect his attention from the bedroom to the kitchen. "I hope you won't be offended by my Costa Rican coffee. A friend of mine lives in San Jose and keeps me supplied."
"No, that's fine, Maestra," Miguel said, failing to rise to the defense of Mexican coffee beans. "I'm worried about your staying alone in this house tonight. If Pedro's killer remembers your DVDs he might think about coming here to retrieve them. I could take the disk home with me, of course, but that wouldn't protect you."
"No one in Cuamantla knows where I live except you and María. I don't know how the murderer could find me here." She gave him a questioning look. Miguel nodded, a thoughtful expression clouding his features. She wasn't sure what he was thinking and he didn't say. What she did know is that his mellow presence provided her with a sense of calm, which she desperately needed right now.
"Have a seat and drink your coffee," she said. "I want to talk to you about tomorrow."
Miguel sat down at the table and gave her a silly smile, "there are many tomorrows, Señorita, which one do you wish to discuss?"
Ignoring his tipsy behavior, she poured herself half a cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen wall looking down at him. "The next one. The one we face in a few hours, but before we get to that, I want to know two things: what happened in Cuamantla after I left, and what are the officials doing to find Pedro's murderer before all the crime scene evidence is completely destroyed?"
"Slow down. One question at a time, Maestra." Miguel slurped the hot coffee and gestured her to sit. "As soon as you sit down, I'll fill you in."
An hour later, Anna knew little more than she knew before Miguel arrived, except for one detail. The officials from the various barrios were turning the investigation of Pedro's murder over to his kinsmen. Since Pedro was not a fulltime resident of Cuamantla, they reasoned, the matter was not their responsibility.
Anna fumed. "Doesn't it concern them that a murderer might be running around their village? I mean, doesn't that worry them just a little?" She was incredulous at the Cuamantla officials' decision. "How do they know who might be next? Have they thought about that?"
"I believe they think like this, Anna," Miguel said, the coffee having its effect. "Most people in Cuamantla are not caught up in the kind of activities in which Pedro sometimes involved himself. Therefore, the officials feel they have no reason to worry about the next victim. From their point of view, Pedro's murder is an isolated incident, maybe even justifiable homicide. Many people, including Pedro's wife, probably wanted to kill Pedro for one reason or another and finally someone did. Pedro simply got what was coming to him. That's how they think about it, whether or not their reasoning is justifiable or even based in the truth."
"I object to that line of reasoning, Miguel, and so should you. This is a civilized country with laws that protect people, and a legal system people are expected to follow. Nowhere in the law of this land, I'm sure, is death the penalty for adultery."
"Maestra, your analysis includes several erroneous assumptions. First, you assume Pedro was killed for adultery, which may or may not be the case. Second, you assume the reason for his death was not justifiable, which we don't yet know. And finally, you assume justice can't be served outside the formal laws of the secular state. With regard to the last point, let me clarify two issues."
Anna bit her tongue and waited for Miguel to continue, not failing to notice the sobering effect of her Costa Rican coffee.
"First, the government legal system is sometimes corrupt and fails to impart justice equally," he said, pointing out what to her was obvious, "and second, there exists a social and a religious realm in the rural villages that supersedes the secular state in the minds of the people because it is based on the laws of God. The state police agencies may preside over the cities, but the people govern the villages. In my experience, Anna, the village system is frequently more just."
Chapter 24
Murder is murder, Miguel," Anna said, as Miguel sipped his coffee in amusement at her distress over the apparent laxities of village officials, "whether it happens in a village or it happens in the city."
She was determined not to let him off the hook about investigating Pedro's murder. "What about the village police?" She went on as though Miguel were unaware of their existence. "In my interview with the Municipal President he told me there are at least two policemen for every barrio. I've even met the village Comandante and the Subcomandante or whatever he's called, though I can't remember their names without checking my notes."
"You and your notes." Miguel chuckled, changing the subject.
She wasn't ready to be deterred. "What do they think of all this? Isn't it their duty to investigate when a crime is committed in their jurisdiction?"
"Correct, Anna. However, the village police do the bidding of the village council, the pipilitzin, unless there is outside pressure of some sort, which might happen in this case. Pedro had enemies but he also had powerful friends who might want to see his killer punished. If Pedro's relatives insist on justice, or someone persuades the officials in Tlaxcala to step in, then matters could change."
"Exactly, Miguel, and what about you? You're Pedro and María's friend. You're influential with the officials in Cuamantla and the officials in Tlaxcala. Can't you apply some pressure?"
"Maestra, please be patient and let me finish. I'm explaining to you the position of the village officials in Cuamantla, not my position, which I'll get to when we discuss the subject of tomorrow morning."
This seemed to be one of those times when Miguel was being, in her view, very Mexican. "We're planning to meet for breakfast tomorrow, view the DVD, and then what?" she asked, realizing how American she sounded.
"At that time, we'll visit with an acquaintance of mine, a member of the Tlaxcala State Police who just happens to head their murder investigation unit."
"Great. Thank you, Miguel. I'm so happy I could hug you."
"I‘d like that, Anna," he said, looking at her expectantly if still a little drunkenly.
She grinned at him and went on, "we're
going to talk to the State Police and not the federales, right?"
"Yes. Murder is not a federal crime. AFI, the Federal Investigation Agency investigates federal crimes like narcotics, kidnapping, and the theft of historical and religious artifacts, not murder. Murder is a State offense."
"I see." Anna thought about the theft of the Real Cédula and wished she could share the matter with Miguel, but she'd made a promise to the Municipal President. In some ways, she was glad it wasn't a matter for the Tlaxcala State Police, because she wouldn't feel obliged to tell them about it in the morning. She wondered how far Art had gotten on the matter.
The thought of the stolen document renewed the question in her mind of whether the attack at María's car might be related to the missing Cédula, and the broader question of whether the theft or the mugging or both, were in any way related to Pedro's murder. She didn't see how they could be related, but she didn't want to take that chance. If she could make sense of the day's events, though, it might calm her nerves.
"We'll hand over my DVD to the State Police and let them handle everything, correct?" she said. "I'll feel so much safer after that."
"Interesting, Maestra. You're one of the few people I know who feels safer engaging the police. I expect if you stay in Mexico much longer your opinion on that subject may change." Miguel gave her an ironic grin and held up his hand when she started to question him. "Let me clarify. I did not say we would engage the police. I said we would meet with one specific member of the State Police, Comandante José Cortez. He's a good friend of my cousin Felipe. They're compadres. I've met Cortez on several occasions, but I don't know him well. My cousin assures me he's a good man, a former priest, actually."
"Well, that's an interesting switch in professions. I hope he's an honest cop and not a corrupt priest."
"Not the only alternatives, I expect," Miguel said. He looked exhausted. "I'm tired, Maestra. Let's agree on where and when we'll meet for breakfast and what to do about keeping you safe tonight. My head is beginning to pound." Anna wondered if he might be hinting about staying the night. Well, he could sleep in the room on the roof if he wanted. The Portillos might not approve but on the other hand, they worried about her safety. Besides, he wouldn't be staying with her…exactly. The least she could do was offer.
"I'm sorry for keeping you so late, Miguel. I have an extra bedroom upstairs and you're welcome to stay the night if you wish."
"Gracias, Maestra. I'm not sure I can provide much protection so far away and sound asleep."
Oh dear, she thought, what now?
"Rather, I want you to go next door and stay with your neighbors. I'll need a shower and a change of clothes in the morning. I can catch a taxi at the top of your hill and be home in my own bed in thirty minutes, and I can sleep on the way. Meanwhile, let's agree to meet in Tlaxcala at 8:30, at Los Portales. It's on the east side of the zócalo under the portals. Look for the bright blue chairs."
"I know the place, Miguel," Anna said, ignoring his advice about sleeping next door
"Bueno. I promise to be there on American time, but if for some reason I'm late, please start without me. Now, promise me you will sleep at your neighbor's so I can travel home in peace," Miguel said, rising from the table and stretching to leave. As if the matter were settled, he walked straight through her bedroom without a sideward glance.
The coffee worked its magic and Miguel was back to his old self. Anna wasn't sure if that made her happy or sad. At the front door, he turned to say goodnight. She stuck out her hand for their traditional goodbye handshake, but Miguel turned her hand over and raised it to his lips planting a gentle kiss on the inside of her palm. Still holding her hand, he leaned down and whispered into her ear, "hasta mañana, Anna."
Chapter 25
As Miguel's footsteps faded, the scent of his cologne and the overtones of his departure left a dazed and confused Anna Merino leaning against the inside of the cold metal door separating her from the handsome young man striding confidently up the cobblestone hill. Anna pushed herself away from the door and sat down at the desk in the study trying to catch her breath, her heart still thumping.
I need to compose myself, she thought, temper my emotions and lead with my head. Once David returns with my DVD I can close the curtain on this convoluted day. Where is David anyway? He should be here by now. No sooner had she begun to worry when she heard David's car bumping down the cobblestone road. Once the car came to a stop, she flew out the door asking about the duplicate disks.
"Here they are, Maestra," David said with a note of pride, holding out her original and one copy. "These two are for you and I'll hold this one for safekeeping. My compadre asked a few questions but I told him I knew nothing, only that my friend needed the copies quickly. I'm sorry to take so long, but we had a few drinks together and that led to a long political discussion. You know how it goes."
"I do know, Señor, thank you. Please let me pay you for your trouble."
"No, Maestra. I insist. The disks cost me nothing since my friend owed me a favor. Someday I may need a favor from you and then you can repay. I understand my spouse is cooking tamales, will you join us?"
"As much as I'd love tamales, I'm so tired I can't see straight. I just want to go to bed. Please tell the Señora I'll talk with her in the morning, and thanks again."
Back inside, Anna gathered a roll of masking tape and attached the duplicate DVD to the bottom of her dresser. She locked the original in the strong box under her bed. At last, she could crawl into bed. Heading out to the bathroom to brush her teeth she remembered the Joe Leaphorn book in the room on the roof. The night's warm wind had increased in strength and the curtains danced wildly forming strange patterns in the nighttime air. She closed the windows, grabbed her book and locked the door. The full moon lit her path down the stairs. One stop in the bathroom and I can settle in for the night, she thought, with a sense of relief.
Curling up in bed with the blankets pulled up to her chin, she wondered if she really felt the light touch of Miguel's lips brushing the bottom of her earlobe in that whispered goodbye. Maybe it was a figment of her overactive imagination. As her mind quickly plummeted into deeper levels of unconsciousness a last wakeful thought registered in her brain. Had the possum, or maybe a cat entered the house when she left the door open to go upstairs? Was it searching for food?
Chapter 26
Anna wasn't the only person experiencing an uneasy sleep on the night of Pedro's death. María Guadalupe Costanza lay on the slender cot in the house of her parents, staring at the silvery slits of moonlight bobbing among the pile of chile peppers drying in the corner of the barren room, as her mother watched over her.
“My poor dear Wada,” her mother soothed, using María’s childhood nickname, trying to comfort her daughter and control her own regrets over María’s relationship with Pedro. “Set aside your grief and get on with your life,” she counseled. “Forget about Pedro. He’s no good for you.”
Pedro would never be good enough for her beautiful daughter, María’s mother felt. She’d warned María about Pedro’s jealousy and his flirtatiousness, but her headstrong daughter wouldn’t listen. A day of reckoning would come, her mother worried, and now that day had arrived. She grieved with her daughter, and while she grieved she prayed. Prayed for Wada’s children and for some assurance in her heart of Wada’s innocence in the murder of her lover.
§
Pedro's wife Yolanda, slept better than anyone might have expected, but she was accustomed to sleeping without Pedro. Her grief was a thing of the past. The present brought newfound feelings of relief, except when she broke the news of Pedro's death to his mother who threw her arms around Yolanda and wept miserably bringing tears to Yolanda's tearless eyes. Even the tears of Pedro's son were sparse and silent. Like his mother, his tears were lost in the vagaries of time.
The townspeople of Zocatlo reacted with incredulity at the news of Pedro's death. Who would murder Pedro? Disbelief punctuated their conversations
until early in the evening when Pedro's body arrived. Even then some hesitated, needing proof. Perhaps the officials in Cuamantla made a mistake. Perhaps this was another Pedro García from a different village, perhaps, perhaps. However, Pedro's family accepted reality, throwing themselves over the body, wailing his name and beating their breasts in grief until friends and relatives pulled them away in order to prepare the body for the nighttime wake.
Pedro was dressed in his best clothes. His body lay in an open casket in the front room of his parent's house, the all night vigil already underway. The funeral would be held late the following day in the village church at the edge of the zócalo since his family was one of status in the community and Pedro was respected as a wealthy educated man despite his marital troubles. Yolanda and the priest agreed on a 4:30 p.m. service to accommodate friends and family traveling from distant communities.
Fortunately, Yolanda had remembered to retrieve a suit and tie from Pedro's closet before she left Cuamantla, saving herself the embarrassment of burying her husband in another man's clothes, even though other men had performed her husband's duties for years. Everything in life is a trade-off, she thought, and the cost of freedom has always been high, but now she could enjoy the best of both worlds, and seen in that light, Yolanda had to admit that Pedro's death was a gift.
Thus blessed with a contented heart, she turned onto her side and fell sound asleep while her in-laws maintained their attentive vigil at Pedro's side, from which Yolanda earlier excused herself on grounds of extreme fatigue and profound grief.
§
Home in his own bed, dominoes champion Enrico Salinas tried to shut off his brain, not think about Pedro and Tomás Bello, and get some sleep. Earlier in the day when Enrico left the afternoon fiesta, he drove straight to the house of his friend Jesus Cabeza, fifth grade teacher in Tlaxcala, to deliver the good news in person. Pedro was gone from their lives. No more payouts for their new jobs.
A Corpse for Cuamantla Page 9
