Fleeting Visions

by Rene Natan

  He set the kitchen table with a real tablecloth and the only couple of nice dishes he’d found in the china cabinet. Marta had taken most of the fancy stuff. On Jocelyn’s dish, he deposited a box with the pair of pink coral earrings in a gold setting he’d just bought, and on top of it he placed a red rose. He’d noticed that she had a coral necklace of similar material and color. He covered the box and rose with a napkin. He hoped Jocelyn would appreciate the jewelry, and the thought behind it. He finished setting up the table with a sauce of pineapple and orange that would go well with the fish.

  He turned on the pot with the veggies and went outside to set the fish on the grill at low temperature.

  Jocelyn rang the bell and entered. “I have something to show you,” she said cheerfully and neared him. She kissed him on the cheek and opened her cell. On the small screen there was a picture of Louis, dressed like an Eskimo and carrying a kayak on one shoulder.

  Gordon laughed. “Did he go that far north?”

  “No. He was just on a trip. He’s working at a small airport as an apprentice mechanic. He said he’s very happy.”

  “He sure has a big smile. The boy deserves some happiness, after all that happened.” Gordon took Jocelyn in his arms. “I missed you,” he murmured in her ear. “Every free moment I have, I think of you.”

  Jocelyn caressed his hair and kissed him. “I have the same problem. I want to be with you; I want to feel your arms around me.” She looked into his eyes. “Sometimes I get scared that something may come between us, and I’ll lose you.”

  “You shouldn’t worry about all the bad things that might happen. And we don’t have to worry about my ex. That’s what I wanted to celebrate tonight. My divorce became final.”

  “Oh, excellent! You’re right, we should celebrate.”

  “I have a bottle of champagne in the fridge.” He didn’t let go of Jocelyn.

  “Maybe we should eat first? I smell cauliflower. I think it’s boiling over.”

  Gordon was called to his culinary duties. He drained the veggies, set them on the table and went outside to look after the fish.

  In no time, they sat at the table. Gordon poured the champagne, and they toasted each other.

  Jocelyn lifted the napkin and discovered a velour box. She opened it right away. “Earrings! Coral! And a red rose!” She jumped up, rounded the table and gave Gordon a big kiss. “Thank you. How did you guess I like coral?”

  Gordon laughed. “You wore a coral necklace four times, with different earrings. I didn’t have to use my detective skills to understand that you like that gemstone.”

  Jocelyn went back to her seat. “I never thought I’d fall for another man. Not the way I feel about you.” She lifted her glass. “Sometimes, I think I’m dreaming.”

  “There’s more. In three months, I can get a marriage license.” He gave her a penetrating look. “I won’t ask you to marry me. You’ll have to ask me. And my answer will be yes, yes, yes!”

  Fifty-four

  Alvaro Luzardo had given a lot of thought on what to do once he rescued Fatima. It would be wise to have her checked by a doctor right away, but Ontario Health would require a lot of information before treating her. No way would he expose her. Next, he thought about chartering a plane, but he had no connections in that field, and it might take more time than driving all the way through the States.

  At the end, Alvaro decided to retrace the trip he’d taken with Helenita.

  He glanced at Fatima. She seemed so small and fragile in the bed sheet. “How do you feel?” he asked. “Do you have any pain?” He made a point to speak English.

  Fatima rewarded him with a big smile. “No. I’m okay. The fire alarm…it scared me. At first they didn’t want us girls to get out.”

  “I can understand they didn’t want you to go outside, but it’s all over now. No more danger. I have some clothes in the back. Can you sneak there and get dressed?”

  Fatima became alive and Alvaro followed her in the rear mirror as she looked at the clothes, and especially at the colorful tops he’d bought for her. For a half hour, Fatima kept changing one top after the other. “Pumpkin, put something on and come back here. You have to wear a seat belt.” As Fatima seemed not to understand, he repeated his request in Spanish.

  Fatima obeyed right away and sat in the passenger seat, now dressed in a pair of jeans and a tank top. Alvaro helped her buckle up, and kept driving. She didn’t seem as undernourished as when she was wrapped up in the big sheet. He breathed with relief. “We’re going to stop at a food outlet for a quick meal and a call to Mother,” he said, but Fatima was already asleep, her head reclined on one shoulder.

  Every time somebody entered the diner, the picture of a smiling Helenita pasted on the door glass flashed in front of Alvaro. It was a poster of “Have you seen her?” with a telephone and a fax number. He knew the number. It would ring on the desk of Charles MacMillan’s secretary. Somebody had discovered the link between Charles and the girl. He sipped his coffee as he watched Fatima eat one French fry after the other, duly dipped in ketchup. Should he call? The secretary would recognize him right away, and any involvement on his part would mean spending time in jail. On the other hand, the MacMillan family could provide for Helenita better than he ever could.

  He’d try to disclose Helenita’s whereabouts anonymously, but only after he’d taken Fatima home, where she belonged, and where he could protect her.

  ***

  Jocelyn knew Stevenson would be very busy tonight. He hadn’t specified the reason for his engagement. She suspected a raid on Camilo Estorbar’s premises was in the making.

  They’d seen each other every night when their schedules allowed it. Jocelyn enjoyed being with him. At times, she pondered the risks this new relationship entailed. Gordon had a dangerous job, increasing the probability she’d lose him too soon. So be it, she concluded. The time they had together was worth it! There was no pressure, no desire to prevail on each other, and a sincere will to be a support for each other. Gordon had taken the For Sale sign off his lawn. She interpreted that gesture as an offer for their living quarters to be in his house. She wondered if she should go part time at the Prescription Centre and enjoy more free time. With the money Miriam Danton left her, she could afford it. Money had never been the main reason she worked hard and volunteered at the soup kitchen and for other charitable organizations. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts and relive the suffering caused by the loss of her boyfriend. After the first time she’d gone out with Gordon, the weight of the past lost its piercing bite. Gordon added a new element to her life; faith, and acceptance of life as it is. He was a man who tried to do the right thing and walked past what didn’t work—no hesitation whatsoever. Even now, out of a failed marriage, he was ready to enter a new journey of love and commitment. His waiting until she was ready to engage in marriage had earned her gratitude.

  It was eleven o’clock. She turned on the television and wouldn’t go to bed until either she got a call from Gordon or she heard of the police operation from the news.

  Fifty-five

  As head of the Task Force, Gordon Stevenson was in charge of the night raid. Together with two SWAT teams, the tactical unit was twenty-five people strong. An RV served as a temporary command post. At four o’clock in the morning, all the vehicles arrived quietly, covering the last kilometer in obscurity. Members of his squad and one SWAT team spread in a semicircle in front of Camilo Estorbar’s property. The second SWAT team covered the back. Here there was a secondary parking lot well sheltered by trees and evergreens.

  When Stevenson gave the order to go, the first SWAT team advanced, smashed the entrance gate, ran through the front parking lot and forced its way through the first building. Shots and high-pitched screams resounded all over.

  Stevenson entered the first building; it looked like Camilo Estorbar’s headquarters. He began his frantic search. There were two women and two men sleeping in it, the first group claiming to be cleaning staff,
the others cooks. Stevenson entered the biggest bedroom, which he guessed belonged to Estorbar. No trace of Camilo. He anxiously opened dressers and closets in search of documents, DVDs, and videos. He moved to the office where computer equipment lined one wall. He desperately searched for any clue that would let him know where he could find Camilo. There was none. Then the turning on of high-pole light fixtures made him go outside. The entire property was immersed in a blinding glow. At the back, the big gate that delimited the secondary parking and gave access to a back road opened with a loud screech. Roars of engines and screeching of tires filled the air.

  “Get them all!” Stevenson shouted into the phone, even if he knew that the second SWAT team was on alert and waiting for those customers who would try to escape. Camilo Estorbar was a clever businessman, who thought of protecting his customers by providing a fast and easy escape in case of an emergency. For once, the Task Force had been a step ahead of him.

  Stevenson went back to continue his search. After an hour he was still empty-handed. He sealed the computer, and examined all the memory devices available. Lopes and Primo could hardly keep up with the labeling and storing of each piece of evidence in the proper plastic bags.

  An ambulance arrived with light and sound. The image of dead Dolores Cardova had never left Stevenson’s mind, so he’d ordered medical assistance, in case some of the young girls were in need.

  Within four hours, Stevenson had taken into custody the four employees, the four armed guards who had fired at the police, and seven clients of the brothel. Of the ten young women, two were taken in an ambulance; the others went to the hospital in police vans. His squad was still collecting evidence, while the SWAT teams had left, their assignment successfully completed.

  Stevenson didn’t give up his search. He made a last effort and went from one building to another, scrutinizing each of the premises. Where was Camilo Estorbar? He couldn’t believe the man had escaped his carefully-designed operation. Disheartened, he crossed over the line that cordoned off the crime scene and walked toward his command post.

  A group of reporters surrounded him.

  In spite of the early hour, he expected to see television and radio crews flocking in. He was prepared for them, so he invited them to join him in the RV. He offered coffee and held a briefing. He kept talking until he was informed that the accountant working in Camilo Estorbar’s office downtown had been arrested. At that point, Stevenson said, “There’ll be a follow-up to this operation. I’ll talk about it at the next briefing, tonight at six o’clock.” He marched out. He was exhausted. Even the disappointment of not having caught Camilo Estorbar wouldn’t prevent him from falling asleep as soon as he touched his bed.

  Fifty-six

  Alvaro swore that even the neighboring villages had come to celebrate the homecoming of Fatima Luzardo. A constant flow of people, carrying garlands, flowers, religious images, and home-made toys, crammed the street leading to his parents’ house. The procession lasted until late in the afternoon.

  Alvaro sat in a lounge chair, enjoying the quiet and the evening breeze. He worried. Would Fatima and Helenita talk about their stay at the brothel? Did Helenita already say anything about it? They’d become outcasts, and might be forced to live inside the house or go far away. He’d tried to explain to both girls that the past was best forgotten and buried forever. They’d agreed, because what they had to do revolted them and often carried physical pain that lasted days. But they were young, and there was the danger that something, one day or the other, would trickle through. His job allowed him to come home often, so he’d be in a position to monitor the girls’ behavior. Emotionally, the two girls had been badly scarred. He’d look for a suitable person who could counsel them in total privacy. The other problem he had was how to put Helenita in contact with the MacMillan family without exposing himself. Contacting the phone number of “Have you seen her?” was out of the question; it remained the fax number that, with a few precautions, did not expose the sender.

  Tomorrow, when he went to work, he’d compose a letter with information about the possible whereabouts of Helenita and fax it to the number he’d seen listed on the poster’s bottom.

  Now it was time to see what was happening in the world. He retreated to the house and connected to the Internet. He was attracted by the headline about a night raid and clicked on the link.

  The raid on Camilo Estorbar’s premises was described in detail, together with the arrest of Rose Miller, the four guards, and seven of the brothel’s clients. Alvaro’s heartbeat accelerated. Last time he was inside the property, he’d deleted everything regarding any computer account or reference that pointed to his pseudonym, Vicente Perdiz. He could only hope to have done a thorough job. He read more. The owner, Camilo Estorbar, was nowhere to be found, and a bulletin for his arrest was circulating in the country. Ohmygod, Alvaro thought, I hope he doesn’t show up here.

  ***

  A week after Alvaro Luzardo had faxed the information about Helenita to “Have you seen her?” a lawyer showed up at the house of Helenita’s grandmother, asking about the young woman and wanting to see what documents were in her possession. On Alvaro’s advice, the grandmother had cooperated fully and set up an appointment to meet with Helenita at the rectory of St. Mary’s Church. Alvaro was there, holding Helenita’s hand. He hadn’t expected her reaction. She didn’t want to hear about going back to Canada. Helenita looked up to him and, after some hesitation, he’d used this fact to convince her to come to the meeting.

  The MacMillans’ lawyer, a woman in her late fifties, was accompanied by a younger woman carrying a leather bag. They sat around a wooden table. After a short introduction, and thanks directed to Alvaro for setting up the appointment, the lawyer explained Abigail MacMillan’s interest in the girl. She’d like to meet her and spend a couple of days with her. The lawyer’s assistant would like to take Helenita’s blood and have it tested, among other things, for DNA. The lawyer’s explanation was simple and to the point. “If she’s Charles’ daughter, there’s no need for adoption or any other long procedure. No need to appear in court. I can handle everything from my office. She acquires all the rights as Charles’ offspring and heir.”

  Alvaro appreciated the lawyer’s straightforward approach. The problem would be to convince Helenita to cooperate. He translated what the woman had said in Spanish.

  Helenita began to cry and shake her head. “No, no. I don’t want to go away. I want to stay with you.” She looked at him with imploring eyes.

  “Nobody is sending you away. You have an opportunity for a better life. If you don’t like it, that’s fine. Just try,” Alvaro said.

  Helenita rose and went to stand in a corner, her face against the wall.

  “Give us a few minutes, will you?” Alvaro joined the girl. “Helenita, please. Do what they ask. Just sit there and stretch your arm. It’s only a couple drops of blood.” The girl didn’t budge. He had to use an emotional appeal. “Do it for me.”

  Helenita looked at him, nodded and slowly sat at the table, as Alvaro said, “She’s ready. Go ahead.”

  The assistant opened her leather bag and extracted a pair of rubber gloves and a syringe. She wore the gloves and set up a small container. “Make a fist,” she told Helenita in a cheerful tone. “It won’t hurt.”

  Alvaro felt relieved. It was done. It was the first step toward Helenita’s bright future. He patted the girl on the shoulder as the two women got ready to leave.

  The lawyer stood for a moment, and said, “She’s a beautiful woman, and looks a lot like a young Charles MacMillan. Same green eyes and curly, blond hair. I’ve been on the family’s legal team for twenty years, and I remember him well. He was a very handsome man.”

  Fifty-seven

  A week after the raid, there was still no information on where Camilo Estorbar was hiding. Stevenson’s frustration had been at a peak for the first few days. Now he realized it wouldn’t be easy to catch the man. He was a master criminal. What good would
it do to accumulate evidence after evidence, charge after charge, if the man eluded capture? He mentally reviewed all the wrongdoings they had proof of. There were so many… Then the capital crime—Louis Saura had witnessed Estorbar kill the only friend his uncle had—this would get Estorbar out of circulation forever and fast.

  He drummed his fingers on the desk, giving a long thought on how to induce Camilo to slip up. He kept drumming his fingers, faster and faster. What were Camilo’s feelings at this point? No more business, hunted down in the entire country, forced to be on the run…all because of Louis Saura.

  Camilo must hate Louis, and hatred is a feeling that doesn’t know reason. Hatred was going to lose Estorbar. He’d go for revenge, sweet revenge. This would be Estorbar’s next move.

  Stevenson would act upon it.

  ***

  An hour later, Stevenson went to see the sergeant and had a long talk with him, explaining his plan, discussing the details, and improving on them. Finally, satisfied with the outcome, he said goodnight to his superior and went home. Tomorrow, they’d set up the snare.

  As the few nights before, Jocelyn was already in his house, measuring and writing numbers on a pad. In a pair of Capri slacks and a short-sleeved top, she looked younger than thirty-five. She mumbled a busy “Hi Gordon,” and hopped on a two-step stool to check some measurements.

  Gordon neared her and caressed her legs. Jocelyn turned to him immediately. “You can’t distract the operator. I may make another mistake on the window’s width, and then the curtains won’t fit.” She wrote a few figures on a piece of paper.

  “I didn’t know we needed curtains on the kitchen window,” Gordon said, feigning innocence.