Fleeting Visions

by Rene Natan

  “I don’t think looking at the car again can supply much more information than what we wrote in the preliminary report,” said the forensic expert. “But it’s all yours if you want to do more looking.” He left with dignified steps.

  The expert was clearly nonplussed by the presence of the Task Force. Stevenson wasn’t bothered by the expert’s attitude. For an hour, he went through the trunk and examined the objects stored inside the seats’ pockets, the lateral pockets, and the glove compartment. Then he looked at the objects on the dashboard. There was a gadget to hold a cellular phone upright and an incorporated GPS system. He called Lopes and asked him to get an application form that would authorize him to get the GPS. He’d ask the center to ship it to London as soon as possible. There had been no mention of any finding related to that instrument, and he wanted to examine it carefully.

  Forty-four

  Camilo Estorbar didn’t give Vicente Perdiz much time. He’d transferred the thirty-three thousand to Vicente’s account on the condition that Vicente fly back to Canada with him immediately. Vicente wasn’t happy about it, but the money was too good to pass up. He told his parents he’d be back in a few days, packed a carry-on, and accompanied Camilo. Within ten hours, they were at London Ontario Airport.

  Camilo took a cab. Vicente went to a dealer to buy a used minivan. He did some shopping for the trip back to Laredo, and drove to Camilo’s place. He waited outside. Rose would bring Helenita to him. He wanted to avoid being seen inside, and, especially, to be seen by the two women he’d brought to Canada with Helenita. He waited more than half an hour, worried about what might have happened.

  Holding Helenita by the hand, Rose finally appeared in the doorway. Helenita looked around, seemingly disoriented, screening her eyes from the sun. When she recognized Uncle Alvaro at the driver’s seat, she let go of Rose’s hand and hurried to the van. She hopped into the passenger seat, a bag in her lap. Vicente took the bag from Helenita and tossed it onto a back seat. He waved goodbye to Rose and began driving.

  Helenita kept quiet for a while, then started crying, softly at first, and then more noticeably. Vicente stretched his arm behind him, grabbed a box of Kleenex from the floor, and put it in Helenita’s lap. Helenita exploded in uncontrollable sobs, her chest shaken by convulsions. Vicente—Alvaro for Helenita—kept his attention on the road. The traffic was intense, and he wasn’t a good driver, even if he’d improved with all the practice he’d had in the recent trips. Then the girl mumbled something he couldn’t understand. He didn’t even know if it was English or Spanish. He waited for her sobs to subside.

  “Where do you take me?” she murmured.

  Vicente/Alvaro hadn’t had much time to think about it. Helenita’s grandmother was a possibility, but he had to do a bit of research regarding Assunta, Helenita’s mother and her financial situation. “At the moment, I’m taking you to my parents. Then we’ll see.”

  Helenita didn’t ask any more questions and continued to shed tears.

  “Know what we’re going to do?” Vicente said after a while, speaking one slow word at a time.

  Helenita shook her head, and for the first time she looked at him.

  “We’re going to stop at a big shop and you can buy yourself a pair of jeans—you love jeans, right?—and whatever else you like.” They’d cross Lake Huron late at night so they had time to spare.

  Helenita nodded. She reclined her head on the headrest and closed her eyes.

  At Wal-Mart, Vicente/Alvaro followed the girl as she moved from counter to counter, picking up an item to return it soon after, attracted by the next. Due to the late hour, very few customers were still shopping. A loudspeaker announced closing time. They went to the only counter that had a cashier on duty. Helenita had chosen a pair of jeans, three colorful tops, a Barbie doll, and an enormous polar bear. She’d hesitated when she picked up the toys and asked for Vicente’s approval. Vicente had nodded, thinking how sad it was that she’d been robbed of her childhood.

  It was too late to feel bad about what he’d done. He’d helped Camilo hurt people. When he started to work for him, his focus was only one—find out where they’d taken his kidnapped sister. The rage he had inside, magnified by the sorrow for the death of the other sister, had never let him judge clearly what he was doing. He was guilty, and he wondered if he could ever find inner peace.

  With that last load of goodies, they approached the shores near Bayfield, where a boat would take them across the lake. After that, they’d be facing a long drive.

  ***

  The trip to Laredo was without complications. Helenita had come alive, and once she’d asked if she could be his woman. She’d given him a furtive look and said, “I know how to make a man happy.” Vicente had frozen at those words; they’d hit him hard and reinforced his sense of guilt. He’d explained at great length that she reminded of his sisters; that she was way too young for him—he was thirty-five—and that she deserved a young man—in a few years, of course.

  Because of an unexpected rain, they had to wait a day at Pedro’s before crossing the border. Except for that delay, they reached Mexico in record time.

  Vicente felt relieved that he managed to bring Helenita where she belonged.

  He stopped in Ciudad Juarez and looked for Helenita’s grandmother. She wasn’t home, and Vicente exchanged a few words with her neighbors. Helenita’s mother had died, and the grandmother had gone to church to make arrangements for the funeral.

  Vicente strolled in front of his vehicle for a while. He had come here to look at the possibility that Helenita might stay with her grandmother. The neighborhood was very poor, just a series of sheds to shelter its owners from bad weather and the sun. At the farthest corner, an older man was selling figs and dates. Vicente didn’t see any poles for electricity. Not the best environment, he concluded, as he returned to his vehicle. He’d come back later and talk with the grandmother. For the time being, the girl could stay with his parents.

  ***

  If Vicente had given his mother a million dollars he wouldn’t have made her as happy as bringing Helenita home. The two women spent a lot of time around the house, reorganizing closets and drawers, cooking, and feeding the animals. He’d talked to Helenita and explained to her that she should never say anything about what had happened at Estorbar’s place. Helenita seemed to understand, but Vicente worried she might make a slip—and send him to prison.

  He’d be wise to take the job close to home, which would allow him to monitor how Helenita adjusted to the new situation. The girl had filled a vacuum created by the disappearance of his sisters, but he wondered if that situation was permanent.

  The second weekend after he returned from Canada, he went to pay a visit to Helenita’s grandmother. Her house was as squalid inside as it looked outside, even if a man was painting the bedroom anew. The money Charles had sent in the past had been used to help Assunta with her sickness and, when the grandmother heard that Charles was dead, she made it clear she couldn’t provide for Helenita. Vicente felt the girl wasn’t wanted, and, in that situation, would probably end up in another prostitution ring. Depressed but not surprised, Vicente took the road home. He’d talk to his parents and see if they wouldn’t mind keeping Helenita a bit longer.

  The summer would soon be over, and Vicente hoped to send her to school. He wondered if there would be a counselor or an older teacher with whom to have a confidential talk.

  Forty-five

  Camilo Estorbar’s business was picking up again. Relocating his business in the Stratford area had been an excellent idea. It almost seemed that tourists, tired of listening to spoken words, often looked for something more stimulating to do. From the comments Rose had been receiving, it looked like his place was the main goal, and the theater and its plays were a second choice. He hoped they wouldn’t come by bus. That would definitely attract too much attention. He looked once more at the figures his accountant had printed out for him. Wonderful; he’d already recovered what he had to p
ay Vicente for taking Helenita out of the way, the retainer for Fred’s lawyer, and the advance to Paul for his ongoing action. He shredded the spreadsheet and began going through Vicente’s desk. He hadn’t left much, just a long memo on the things that ought to be done. Under company, he’d marked urgent the payment for the telephone and the property tax; under personal was the renewal of Camilo’s passport. Vicente was an excellent organizer; he should try to get him back. For now, he should find out how Paul was doing, if he’d discovered where Louis was, or, even better, if he’d managed to take him out of circulation. He didn’t have to dial his number, Paul was on the phone that very same instant.

  “Your worries are over. Tomorrow, I’ll follow somebody who takes me to Louis,” Paul started. “I come to your place tonight and get the other twenty-five thousand.”

  “Don’t bother. No sign that Louis is dead, no money.”

  “You mother—”

  Camilo shouted, “No need to swear. No money until Louis is dead.”

  “Buried too?”

  “That would be wonderful.” He snapped his cell closed with wrath. Paul and his friend, Fred, had failed to kill Louis out of sloppiness and stupidity, and now Paul was trying to swindle him! No chance. He walked to his large sitting room and poured himself a well-deserved Coke and rum. He sank into one of his comfortable chairs and savored his drink.

  ***

  Paul Finsey stood outside police headquarters, watching for his prey to take him to Louis’ hideout. He’d spent hours mingling with the crowd of reporters who patrolled headquarters to gather news, movements, or just capturing a word that would lead them to a fantastic scoop. They complained that the daily briefing was about the same day after day, aimed more at avoiding questions than at informing the public. Even if highly boring, the mingling and listening had been profitable. Finsey had learned that Stevenson would be away for ten days. It was then he thought of his next move. He’d delivered a package to police headquarters, writing Stevenson’s name as sender and Louis Saura as recipient. He assumed that no outsider knew Louis’ name, so the message on the box’s cover seemed genuine. He’d put inside a twenty-dollar value of clothes he’d gotten at the Goodwill.

  He’d been tempted to put a bomb inside the box; that would take care of Louis the instant he opened the package. He hadn’t done so. There was probably an automatic system for detecting explosives at the entrance of the building, and in any case, it was possible the police would check the contents. If so, they could trace the explosive to him. He’d stolen it before returning home from Kabul, and the army was still looking for him.

  On top of the box, he’d written in large capital letters: To Be Taken to Louis Saura. Now he had to wait and see who would be carrying the box and follow him.

  He congratulated himself for the great idea.

  Forty-six

  A week had passed, and Gordon hadn’t called. Jocelyn had planned to take a one-week vacation with two goals in mind: to complete furnishing her condominium, and spend time with Gordon, who was scheduled to have holiday at the same time. She’d bought her current condo two weeks after the dreadful storm had paralyzed the city. Since the furniture in her Kerwood house was old, she hadn’t bothered to have it transported to London. She’d purchased new bedroom and living room furniture, with the idea of completing the furnishings in the months to come.

  The inheritance from Miriam Dalton had come through—between the lot and the insurance, it amounted to half a million dollars. She’d ordered a nice granite stone for Miriam’s tomb, and next spring she’d plant a memorial tree in one of the city parks. She’d asked the bank if she could pay back all of her mortgage for the condo, and they’d agreed. She had money to spare.

  To her surprise, she felt a strange desire to build a nest, something she hadn’t experienced before. But, for some reason, the condo didn’t seem to fit her goal. All of a sudden, she felt it would be nice to go back living in a house. Her thoughts went to Gordon’s place. It was fairly big, and needed painting and repairs; the interior was a mishmash; pieces of furniture seemed to have been bought to fill a space more than to serve a purpose; the seams of the sofa were loose, and the upholstery was peeking out. These were probably the reasons Gordon hadn’t found a buyer.

  In spite of her previous idea of taking care of her condo, she didn’t do anything. Maybe she should take off and go fishing. Nothing relaxed her more than sitting on shore, casting a line, and waiting for a fish to bite. While she was debating what to do next, she got a call. The Humane Society had a three-month blue thick, the breed especially trained for raccoon hunting. It was the perfect dog for Gordon’s parents.

  Jocelyn changed clothes and went to see the dog.

  The pup, brought in the day before, was a bundle of energy. He was used to roaming free. He followed her into the car right away. She wound the leash around the back of the passenger’s seat, but the leash was still too long to keep him away from the steering wheel. She got a rope from the trunk and reinforced the restraint. The dog then sat on his hunches, his muzzle turned toward Jocelyn. She wandered if the dog might be too much of a challenge for Gordon’s parents.

  When she arrived home, she spotted Gordon’s Nissan.

  She entered and found him stretched out on the sofa, reading through her magazines. The dog slid on the parquet floor on the first couple of steps and quickly neared Gordon, wiggling and yapping. “You should lock your door,” Gordon said and patted the dog. He rose and welcomed Jocelyn with a friendly kiss.

  “I never did when I lived in the country, and it’s difficult to change habits. So, busy-busy, eh? Anything you can tell me about the investigation?”

  “It’s not progressing as fast as I wish it would. The press is unrelenting, and I have little to report—little that wouldn’t compromise the inquiry. Camilo Estorbar didn’t go to his London office for a full week, so that surveillance was a loss of time and money. I’m waiting for the Corvette GPS to arrive. At the moment, we don’t have any other leads. Once I can compare the info we have on Charles’ usual trips, the companies he was in contact with, and the kilometers he’d driven, I hope we’ll get something.”

  “And Louis?”

  “I call him every day. He’s bored, but keeps his word. I’m afraid I’ll have to lend him those thousand I promised him for the trip to the Yukon.” The dog was going from one to the other, seemingly not knowing whom to choose as his master. “Anything you’d like to do? We could do something together.”

  “Well, we should take the dog to your parents and see if they like him. He comes with most of the vaccinations and tests done, but it might be a bit too much for older folks.”

  “Don’t think so. He’ll be outside except at night. But it will be a big change from Lambrusco, that’s for sure. The old dog hardly walked anymore; he lay down most of the time. When he stood, he leaned on something, either somebody’s leg, a wall or a table.”

  “Not too old for saving Louis’ life.”

  “That right.” He stood and looked at Jocelyn. “Anything planned for the weekend?”

  “No. I was waiting for something exciting to happen.”

  “Good. You said you like fishing, right? That’s what we can do, starting tomorrow.”

  “All cottages would be filled up this time of the year.”

  “Right. What about camping? I know a few spots.”

  Jocelyn was perplexed. “I’ve never done it…”

  “That’s why it will be exciting.” Jocelyn was still looking at him, puzzled. “I’ll make it exciting. What about that?” He grabbed the leash that was sliding loose on the floor and took Jocelyn’s arm. “Let’s go. I’m anxious to introduce you to my parents.”

  ***

  It had been raining since noon, and there was no sign it would end soon. Loading camping and fishing gear had taken place in Gordon’s garage, but now Gordon and Jocelyn would have to unload everything in the pouring rain. On the way to Parry Sound, where Gordon had gone camping with his fri
ends several times in the past, they saw a vacant sign on a small motel, so they agreed to stop there for the night. It was no weather to assemble a tent. They registered and then, with quick hops and steps they brought their personal belongings into their room. A double bed, a closet carved in the wall, a dresser and a stand with a television set was the simple furnishing.

  Gordon had already locked the room when Jocelyn said, “Oh, I have to go back to the car.”

  “Not in this rain! The car is at the front.”

  Jocelyn cocked her head, a smirk on her face. “It’s an emergency. I need my nightgown.”

  “The nightgown isn’t in your bag?”

  “No. It’s a fancy one; I bought it yesterday at Victoria’s Secret. I kept it separate.”

  “Victoria’s Secret? It should stay where it is. This place isn’t good enough for such a fancy piece of clothing. Besides, I don’t mind if you don’t wear anything.” His smile went from one corner of his mouth to the other.

  Jocelyn stood in front of him. “I may feel embarrassed,” she said, half serious and half joking.

  “I’ll close my eyes.” He pulled her close. “You remember when you came to headquarters the first time?”

  “I’ll never forget. You gave me a severe look, like I was a criminal.”

  “Well, forget about that, it was my job. I behaved as a professional should. When you left, for the first time in my life, I regretted being married. You attracted me, something in your eyes told me…” Gordon stopped.

  “Told you what?”

  “Never mind. I want to say that I liked you right away, that’s all.”

  Jocelyn pulled some distance away. “Don’t try to get out of it. Tell me what my eyes told you.”

  Gordon tried to pull her close, but Jocelyn resisted. “My eyes told you…”