Fleeting Visions

by Rene Natan

  “I see. Good work. We have enough material to question Estorbar—his lawyer, I mean, since he won’t come alone.” The suspicion one of the men he worked with could be on the take hit him with a pang. “Primo, let’s gather everything together before we share this information with everybody else. I want to examine how much was used for heat and light with respect to the total surface of those buildings. The number of calls isn’t so revealing, since plenty of people use their cells. Still, it can be used as an indicator, especially if added to the other amounts.”

  “Sure,” Primo said and kept standing close to Stevenson’s desk. “There is something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “The technician who was supposed to analyze the video we got at the hospital…he said the video has disappeared.”

  “No! Not possible! Tell the technician to hunt down that tape. Priority number one. Meanwhile get another copy from the one the hospital has.” He paused. “Next thing on your list, Primo.”

  “That represents another problem. The hospital cannot find that video, either.”

  Oh my God, Stevenson thought. Would Camilo Estorbar’s tentacles reach that far? “File an official request. It can take some time for them to reply, but they’ll comply. They’ll probably justify what happened by saying they’re overloaded and understaffed.”

  Gordon resumed massaging his temples. It would take a couple of days to tie all the information they were collecting together. Meanwhile he’d have to think of an alternate approach. But first, he had to talk to Louis once more. He left a message he was pursuing a lead, without any further explanation, and walked to his car.

  On the way to Lobo, Stevenson thought of the harsh times immigrants and their offspring usually face. The former, in general, leave their homeland for a very precise reason: some because they are persecuted; others to improve their economical or professional situation. With these goals in mind, they’re prepared to cope with the obstacles and difficulties that they might encounter. Their children, on the other hand, are little aware of their parents’ motivation or situation; their main objective is to adapt to a culture that is different from that they have at home. They might feel out of place and pushed in a corner. As they grow up, they’re part of the new country, and yet they don’t belong there—not completely at least.

  Stevenson’s mind went to Louis. Raised in a Mexican home, he socialized very little in school or the work place. When his uncle Carlos had died, he must have felt left out, abandoned, marginalized—a stranger in a crowd.

  He must have felt estranged.

  But it was worse than that. Louis had been betrayed by his own people—by those who should have protected him.

  The boy had suffered a lot, Stevenson concluded, and there was more hardship in store for him. He should keep this in mind when he pressures Louis for his cooperation.

  ***

  His hands dirty with grease, Louis sat on the floor, busy mounting a chain on a kid’s bike. The chain didn’t fit well, so Louis set it aside, took another one and tried again. He was wearing earphones, and a CD player lay on the floor, behind him. Louis moved his head at the rhythm of the beat, as his hands made the new chain click in place.

  Stevenson called his name and, when he obtained no response, pushed the On/Off button on the player. Louis turned instantly, took off his earphones and looked up. When Stevenson made the move to sit on the floor, Louis stopped him. He pulled a heavy denim cloth from a corner and stretched it in front of the policeman. “The floor is dirty—I have to wear my coverall all the time.”

  Stevenson sat close to Louis. “I was disturbed by what you told me this morning.” He paused. “I want to say how much I appreciate the fact you trust me.”

  Louis nodded, but remained silent.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about Camilo that wouldn’t endanger your life, or that of the people you care about?”

  “He’s an evil man. My uncle did chores for him, but refused to sell drugs. I saw Camilo hit the poor man in the stomach when he told him no for the third time. My uncle was in the hospital for fifteen days, and he was already in poor health. Then…” Louis sighed and changed position, sitting in front of Stevenson with his legs crossed. His voice faltered when he said, “Then I saw him put a bullet in a man’s head, because the man couldn’t pay. Just like that.” He paused. “That man was the only friend my uncle had, almost family to us. We played pool together every other night.” Louis’ eyes were moist.

  “What did Camilo do to you?”

  Louis shook his head. “I don’t want to go into that. I don’t want to have to testify. For me, it’s over. I’ll leave soon.”

  Stevenson closed his eyes, trying to think if there was a way to persuade the boy to help him out in a more concrete way.

  “What about the people around him?”

  “I know of his second-in-command, Vicente Perdiz. He’s a quiet guy. He always walks two steps behind Camilo. Every month or so, he goes to a clinic in Toronto for his leg.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” As Louis shrugged, Gordon asked, “Does he limp?”

  “No. I heard he has an implant.”

  “Implant? A prosthesis? That’s interesting. Toronto, you said?”

  “Yes. Camilo gets upset when he takes off for a couple of days. He doesn’t understand why he can’t have it checked at a hospital in London.”

  “Interesting. Just one more question. Do you know of any other place where Camilo could be?”

  “Only about the penthouse downtown. But you must know of it, since it’s his official residence, and it’s where his fancy office is.”

  Stevenson nodded. “Any others?”

  “No.”

  Stevenson rose. “I have one more hypothetical question.”

  Louis eyebrows crinkled. “What’s hypothetical?”

  “Something that could be true, but one isn’t sure about it.”

  “Hmm. Ask, then.”

  “Is it possible Camilo was somewhat involved in the death of the girl who was taken to the hospital?”

  A smirk appeared on Louis’ face. “Hypothetically, yes.”

  Stevenson took a few steps around the garage. “Are you working here alone?”

  “Yes,” said Louis with pride. “Today I’m the one in charge. The boss trusts me.”

  “A lot of work?”

  “Oh, yes. We repair what others discard. There’s good money in selling used vehicles. Any kind.”

  Stevenson crossed to the exit, followed by Louis. “How did you find out that somebody at headquarters is…is a friend of Camilo?”

  “I overheard him say to his assistant to set aside the usual sum to be paid and delivered to the police station.”

  “More than one guy?”

  “That’s what it seemed, but I’m not sure.”

  Twenty-one

  Jocelyn got ready to put in a solid day of work, which might allow her to forget, for the time being, about seeing Gordon, not only this evening, but other times in the future. Until Miriam was in the hospital and Louis at her place, she had little chance to avoid him without being rude. Her bond with Miriam dated to a long time ago; her friend was the only person who knew her well.

  Miriam had saved her life. When Jocelyn lay half-frozen in a ravine in the middle of the night, Miriam had stopped her car, dragged her into the passenger seat, and took her to the hospital. That day was supposed to be one of the happiest of her life. Her boyfriend, Brad, had proposed, and they were on their way to his parents’ house for a celebration. Contrary to the forecast, the weather had turned stormy and patches of ice had made the driving treacherous. Then it happened. A truck, veering left and right, cut in front of them, and hit Brad’s car head on. She’d been propelled out of the vehicle; Brad died on impact. Three weeks in the hospital cured her injuries, but the loss of her man had left a permanent wound in her heart.

  Jocelyn sighed at the memory.

  She should make an effort to live in the present.<
br />
  She took off her coat and slipped on the white uniform. She took her place behind the counter, ready to assist the first client at the Prescription Centre.

  During lunch break, she tiptoed into Miriam’s room. The woman was asleep, and from the on-duty nurse’s report, she learned there had been no significant change from the day before. She exited, and quickly munched on the chicken wrap she’d taken with her. She knew of a path along the shores of the Thames River. Walking would help ponder her situation.

  She knew the decisive moment would come. You can deceive others, but you can’t lie to yourself—not for long, at least. And this moment was now. She’d gone through puberty when she was barely thirteen, and since then she’d been attracted to men. At first, she’d been ashamed of her feelings as much as of her round and full breasts, so she’d tried to hide both, the first by turning her eyes away when a boy looked at her, the others by wearing those sports bras that flatten a woman’s chest like a wooden board. Conscious of the attraction a young man could exercise on her, she dated only boys she didn’t care for. The only child of parents busy at the local pharmacy, she never had the guts to talk to them about her problem, and they never thought she had any, since she always sported a cheerful face. She’d been ashamed to tell anybody that she longed to be kissed, hugged, and find out what sex was all about—firsthand.

  Then a lot of things happened in her youth, some good, some bad…

  At thirty-five, she felt very much like she did when she was a teenager. Gordon attracted her, but she didn’t want to let him know. She didn’t want to risk her heart one more time.

  She glanced at her wristwatch. Time to go back to work.

  The Prescription Centre was busy, as usual, and for the entire afternoon her mind was occupied with filling prescriptions, deciphering some of the doctors’ writings, and advising clients about the use of their medications.

  At the end of her shift, Gordon appeared in the doorway. She acknowledged his presence with a wave of the hand and slipped off her lab coat.

  Gordon opened the passenger’s door for her, and skillfully disengaged his Nissan from the campus traffic, very heavy at that hour.

  “Okay to go to Kersey?” Gordon asked. “I haven’t had lunch, and I’m starved. Also, I need to talk to you. I need your help.”

  “About Louis?”

  “That, too, but I thought I already had that.” He gave her a furtive look that Jocelyn ignored.

  “About what, then?”

  “I need somebody to do some snooping and help me out. And agree on total secrecy.”

  Jocelyn laughed. “Secrecy? The word rings a bell. I just watched Angels and Demons on TV. Am I going to be admitted to something like a conclave?”

  Gordon laughed. “Nothing that pompous. Just you and me.”

  “Oh. You’re very mysterious.”

  Gordon parked near the restaurant and gave his name to the hostess, who steered them toward a table in a corner of the eatery. Clearly, he’d called ahead and reserved a table. A waiter glided over to take the order for drinks, and soon two draft beers were placed in front of them.

  Jocelyn looked at the menu, closed it, and said, “It’s about what Louis told you this morning, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Jocelyn steepled her fingers and propped up her chin. “I’m not sure I can help you,” she said, at length. “Already being close to Miriam—something I can’t avoid due to the circumstances—brings back memories I’ve tried to forget. Being involved in what you’re proposing…”

  “Has nothing to do with memories or your past,” Gordon cut in.

  “But I’d have to spend time with you,” Jocelyn spat, her words out of her mouth before she was aware of what she’d said.

  “And that would be a problem?”

  Jocelyn avoided looking at Gordon and welcomed the approaching waiter as a savior. She ordered prime rib with green peas, Portobello mushrooms, and fried sweet potatoes. Gordon rushed to say “the same.” Feeling his eyes all over her, Jocelyn sipped her beer as slowly as she could. For a long moment, the only sound came from the other patrons.

  “Jocelyn, your attitude puzzles me. I’m not trying to make an advance or find an excuse to be with you. What I’d ask you to help me with isn’t personal. Did I do or say anything that offended you? Your attitude changed completely since we went out on a date.”

  The moment is now, Jocelyn thought. She knew this moment was coming. It wasn’t too late to play straight. She should stop being afraid. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Gordon.” She looked into his eyes. “Tell me how I can help you, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Oh, that’s better.” He gave her a big smile, clearly relieved. “Louis hinted that Camilo Estorbar pays somebody at headquarters to look the other way.”

  “Oh, no! That’s terrible!” After a moment she added, “And you don’t have a clue who he or she might be. Louis doesn’t know either, or he doesn’t want to say.”

  “I believe he really doesn’t know.”

  “I don’t see how I can help you.” Maybe she didn’t need to be courageous, maybe the usual cowardly way out was available.

  “The copy of the video that recorded the admission of the sick girl—the one who died—has disappeared from our station. When one of my officers asked to make another copy from the original the hospital had in its possession, he was told they couldn’t find it. Our office will follow up with an official request for the tape, but I already know the hospital administration will call its disappearance an unfortunate clerical error.” He grimaced. “Any company caught in the wrong protects itself by blaming the wrongdoing on a clerical error. The hospital wouldn’t be the first, nor the last.” Stevenson looked at Jocelyn. “Here’s where you come in. Find out about the procedure the hospital uses to store these tapes, and the name of the person in charge of securing their presence and integrity. That name or names could provide me with a valuable lead.”

  “That shouldn’t be too difficult. I know the young woman in charge. I’ve had lunch with her several times.”

  “Good.”

  Two oval plates were deposited in front of them. “Finally!” Gordon exclaimed and began cutting his meat.

  Jocelyn did the same, relieved the chore she had to do for Gordon had no personal flavor. Between one fried sweet potato and the next, she asked, “So, what do you do when you go home? Do you read books, watch TV, or what?”

  Gordon took a big swig of his beer. “I surf the Internet, looking for advice on how a man my age is supposed to court the woman he’s interested in.”

  ***

  Once at home, Jocelyn tossed in bed for more than an hour. What torment! Why was she so stupid? If Gordon attracted her, why didn’t she play it straight? Because she’d been hurt so much she didn’t want to go that route again.

  It had taken two years of dating when finally her relationship with Brad, a third-year psychology student, came to full bloom. Brad had been patient with her, consoled her for the death of her parents, and managed to convince her that the sexual drive she was so ashamed of was a gift, not a curse. Slowly, they became friends, and discovered they shared the love of nature, the outdoors, and music. She became free in their lovemaking, and they grew close. Brad had been the center of her life.

  She’d suffered immensely from his loss. She’d felt abandoned, and totally alone in the vast world. She’d cried for days and slid into depression. The only thing that saved her sanity had been going back to school and getting busy with her courses. There had been, however, a regression in her attitude toward a relationship. She became afraid of commitment, afraid of being hurt by losing her partner, and afraid of showing her needs and desires.

  At thirty-five, she felt the same as when she was a teenager. Emotionally speaking, she was a catastrophe.

  Twenty-two

  Gisela Cunnigham slammed the door of her Hyundai and drove off. She was mad, but kept her anger at bay while thinking how to escape Camilo Estorbar’s
vise. It was difficult to bargain with the man, and pleasing him was next to impossible. He’d given her two thousand dollars as an advance on her pay, but asked her to move into the little apartment adjacent to the girls’ new residence. That was no way to live. She missed her home, the clients she had, and the freedom she’d enjoyed for the last few months. She’d play the madam for a month or so, at the same time planning her way out. Tonight was Vicente’s turn to keep an eye on the girls, so she decided to go home and contact some of her friends. Maybe they had a place in the country where she could hide, in case she needed to disappear for a while.

  As she approached her house, she noticed a young man in a motorcycle near her premises, circling around in a leisurely way. What was that punk doing? What did he want from her? As she got closer, she recognized him as Louis Saura. Oh, well… good news. For weeks, Camilo had dispatched two of his men to hunt down the boy. She’d lure him inside, Camilo’s goons would pick him up, and she’d score a point in Camilo’s eyes. She parked her Hyundai in the carport and called Camilo, got his voicemail, and left a message.

  She was just out of her car when she noticed the motorcycle take off. She didn’t hesitate. She re-entered her car and followed. She called Camilo again and left a new message saying she was following Louis. The traffic was intense, and Gisela had a hard time keeping up with the skilful maneuvers Louis used to go ahead of most vehicles. Three quarters of an hour later, Louis entered the driveway bordering a house on Waterloo Street. It was dusk, and there was no number on the house, so Gisela stopped her car nearby and called Camilo again. She left a message with the name of the street and a description of the premises. Old house, two-story, two steeple motifs on the front, brick walls, a few steps in front of the entrance, wrought iron handrails on both sides.

  Satisfied with her little enterprise, she took the way back to her house.