Baja Blues: The Boy Who Played With Marbles (Liza McNairy Mysteries Book 2)

by Dan Glover

  "Most all abductions of children are by men, Danners. In fact, I don’t recall ever hearing of a woman kidnapping a child other than her own offspring."

  "Yeah... there is that, Liza."

  She was right. But then again, there'd been that case in Taos, New Mexico, where a man's wife helped him to procure young girls to use in their prostitution ring. Had they taken boys too? Maybe. Even though that fact never came out, Danners got the distinct impression the couple had kidnapped any child available at the time... crimes of convenience they were called. The sex industry in America was a sordid beast built on the misery of children.

  "Are you coming down to the beach with me, DanDan?"

  Well now that depends. Are you planning on dropping

  2

  That top of yours, honey child? If so, then I'm your man. You have no idea what I wouldn’t give to... oh, stop it, you old queen. The lady doesn’t want to hear about your latest perversions. Just answer her yes or no.

  "I'd like that, sweetie. We going to the same one we were at yesterday?"

  "Yeppers. I like that spot. No one around for miles. I'm working on my tan. You like?"

  Peeling down her halter top Liza arched her chest while exposing both breasts for his perusal, tanned as honey and nipples firm with the anticipation of his stare, or so he hoped. Did she really know how much seeing her like that excited him? Maybe. Or else she simply loved playing the tease. Yeah... that had to be it.

  Liza McNairy was a lot of things but shy wasn’t one of them. The woman seemed to enjoy taunting him with her body. Maybe it was her way of trying to convert him. If so, it was working. But why couldn’t he summon the courage to make that first move?

  It all had to do with his lifelong fear of rejection. What if he took the chance, propositioned Liza, and she refused his advances? It could happen. In fact, he imagined that's exactly what would take place. He'd be justifiably mortified. And then that weird awkwardness would creep into their relationship. She'd no longer feel comfortable sleeping next to him or baring her body in his presence. Honestly, he didn’t think he could handle that.

  For Danners Forthright, suicide was always just a fictitious moment away. In fact he was never sure whether he was actually alive or not. He couldn’t remember there ever being a time in his life when he didn’t consider ending things and it occurred to him more than once that he'd gone ahead and done just that and all this was simply his dying brain expending the last electricity available to it in the form of some elaborate dream... a dragon dream.

  Ah, Detroit, the palace of his youth... he still remembered the shining mountains of coal slag rising above the skyline overlooking the apartment he shared with his mother and others. He imagined the slag must have once been dust but over the years it sat there beside the stinking river the piles of spent debris left over from the steel mills must have hardened into what they were then... vast stalagmites fastening themselves to the precious living earth like pernicious parasites sucking all the vitality out of the neighborhood and spreading venom to the people who were forced to live and work there.

  It seemed as if everyone in that neighborhood had a relative with some sort of cancer... many families had several, both in the ground and above. When the snow fell during the brutal Detroit winters it wasn’t white like it was in the movies. Oh no. It was a black thing, diseased looking, cankerous. What flowed beneath the MacArthur Bridge wasn’t water. It was sludge... oily grime that stank of diesel and sometimes spontaneously burst into flames and Danners watched as the entire Detroit fire department would come roaring to the scene wielding battle axes and pitchforks to fight back the demons raging toward the shore.

  "You know how much I love you, Liza... and your tan. Maybe I'll work on mine a bit too."

  "You should, sweetie... I won't look. I promise."

  "What’s the fun in that?"

  Jesus, what a gorgeous day! A sweet smelling sea breeze blew in over the ocean sparkling and blue as they made their way down the coast, skirting some boulders all but blocking the way, and finally coming to their own secret paradise. He almost felt guilty over getting paid two thousand dollars a day... almost. They were working the case, however. So what if they took a little time out?

  Whoever nabbed little Eduardo Ramirez had been waiting for him. Despite what the Bureau files said, it wasn’t a crime of convenience. The kidnapping had been carefully planned and orchestrated from beginning to end by someone who knew the boy. What Danners found interesting was the fact so many other children had vanished over the years. Poor kids, mostly... subsisting on the fringes of society... many of them members of families so large they were scarcely missed.

  3

  Most addicts he'd known were scarecrows, walking zombies, nodding nobodies, existing only long enough to find their next fix. Liza McNairy was none of that. As she disrobed Danners couldn’t help but notice how her body rippled in the sun, the ever-present jiggle of her bare breasts, and the way the muscles in her legs flexed in time to her stepping.

  Maybe some people were born to be depraved junkies while others simply needed the calm that heroin brought to their otherwise sullied lives. You couldn’t call Liza a junkie. She wasn’t like that. Instead, the girl simply had a need that the juice from the poppy fulfilled. You couldn’t blame her for it anymore than you could fault her for needing to breathe, to eat, or to shit.

  What sort of life could they have together? Him, an old queer who'd never made love with a woman even once, and Liza, a former prostitute and full time addict who'd been with so many men she'd long ago lost count. Not that any of that mattered to him. People did what they had to do to survive. She was just a kid when that shit went down... the death of her twin sister, the abusive parents, everything combining to force her into the streets before she even had a chance to grow into adulthood. None of it was fair. But then again, what was.

  She rarely talked about her childhood but when she did begin to open up, he kept quiet. Let her talk it out. It seemed as if she had to unburden herself of the memories and if he spoke up, she'd realize her mistake in confiding to him, to anyone for that matter. Lots of people had happy childhoods in loving homes with perfect parents. Just not Liza McNairy or Danners Forthright, that's all.

  "The second time I ran away from home, Danners, I took along one change of clothes, crawled out my window, and walked off into the night. I remember how warm it was... Seattle is usually cool even during full summer but that night it was almost hot. Muggy too. A mist seemed to hang over the whole city.

  "I walked down the street far enough that I felt safe enough to put on my shoes. I was so sure my mother would hear my footsteps and come running after me. There was an old beat up bicycle lying on the curb. Some kid must have punked off and just left it there. I got on the thing and started pedaling. At first I headed for the bus depot. I had enough money from my piggy bank that I could afford a bus ticket to Los Angeles but I needed something else first. I turned back around and heading in the opposite direction.

  "There aren’t any signs to indicate you're entering Belltown. I'm not even sure that's a recognized name for the neighborhood. Maybe it's just what we call it... us denizens of the dark. You get there by navigating through the better areas of the city... all the ornate Victorians built back during the gold rush days and the height of the timber barons, the ultimate criminals.

  "I rode that old bike back to my former haunts. Those dismal streets... so inviting, tempting me to stay. The lure of easy money... the ever present supply of every narcotic a person could desire. The pimps were out calling to me as I rode past them. They knew what I was there for... just like I knew exactly what they wanted too. It seemed like everything was coaxing me into staying again. Instead, I got what I needed and pedaled my ass right back out of Belltown. By the time the sun was coming up I was on that bus to the city of angels."

  "Whatever happened to it, Liza?"

  "To what, DanMan?"

  "That bicycle."

  "Hell
, I don’t know. I left it lying on another curb, just like I found it. Maybe it helped someone else get to where they were going."

  And was this it? Was this the place? He could see spending the rest of his days here in Mexico sunning himself while sitting next to Liza McNairy. But they had a job to do, and then another would take its place, and yet another, and in the end they'd forget all about these languid days spent lounging on that secluded beach riding out the storms on the coast of Mexico.

  "I like it here, DanMan... maybe we'll come back sometime when we're old and gray and just stay here... we could build a little cabin right on the beach and live like hermits... what do you say?"

  "What's wrong with right now, sweetie?"

  Chapter 18—Charades

  (And Mud Huts)

  They didn’t seem to do a lot to earn the kind of money they were pulling in. But of course it might not be what they did so much as how they did it, or so she told herself. Plus it wasn’t her money anyway. Though she supposedly borrowed the thirty grand from Johnny, he knew better than to consider the money a loan... funds that would one day be repaid. No, it was a gift, or perhaps closer to extortion.

  She'd advised them on where to stay as well as where to eat and whom to see while staying in Mexico but for some reason she couldn’t seem to bring herself to broach the subject of Father Fletch. The man frightened her. That so-called church of his held more than a gaggle of worshippers... but what if she was wrong? A person didn’t go about accusing a priest of kidnapping and murder without good reason.

  "We tried finding the Cervantes family, Ms. Stamper... but as near as we can tell, they're all dead. Do you know of any remaining siblings?"

  "No, I'm sorry, Ms. McNairy. As far as I know, Alexandria was an only child. Senor and Senorita Cervantes are both dead?"

  "Yes... according to the census records we were able to access, they're both buried at that old Catholic cemetery just outside of town."

  "La Iglesia de los Cinco ángeles… The Church of the Five Angels... sure, I know of it."

  "Pardon me for saying so, Ms. Stamper, but you seem a little discomfited by that name. Are you familiar with the place?"

  "No, not really, Mr. Forthright... I knew the priest there once. Or I should say I knew of him. We never met personally. I used to take Eduardo to mass and I heard Father Fletch preach. The talk around the village was that the man had some bad vibes about him. I got that impression too."

  "How so, Ms. Stamper?"

  "The people here are simple peasants, Mr. Forthright. When a man like Father Fletch shows up, they're impressed by his worldly nature. I always got the feeling he took advantage of that."

  "Do you mean for his own gain?"

  "Oh no, not like that... at least not monetarily. If it wasn’t for the resorts, Santo Tomas would be just a collection of grass and mud huts. The people here have no money to speak of even with the employment opportunities the hotels and restaurants bring. They pay shit. No, there's more to it than that, Mr. Forthright."

  "I'm not sure I understand, Ms. Stamper..."

  "Maybe you should talk to him yourself, Mr. Forthright. He's an interesting man."

  You're nothing but a liar, Elena Ramirez. Tell them the truth! What are you afraid of? Eduardo was your brother and that bastard... but what if you're wrong? Isn't it a sin to bear false witness against someone, especially if he's a priest? Not if it's the truth it isn’t. Tell them, Elena.

  "His name is Father Fletch?"

  "Yes, Ms. McNairy. Father Fabulinus Fletch. He's an American. He came here ages ago. Mother always told us to stay away from him... that the Church had sent him here because of something bad he'd done up north. But I thought... well... maybe she was wrong... and the next closest church was in Ensenada. So I took Eduardo to La Iglesia de los Cinco ángeles, just on Easter and maybe Christmas Eve... mother always had to work and I just thought the boy needed to know something about God."

  Why am I telling you this? Shouldn’t you know all of it already? Isn't that why I hired you two? I'm starting to think I made a mistake. No wonder you want so much money up front. Once people realize the charade you're perpetrating upon them, they'd quit paying you, pronto.

  "That should be easy enough to check, Ms. Stamper. We'll run his name through the databases back home and see what we come up with. What do you think, Danners?"

  "Ms. Stamper is right. We should talk to this Father Fletch."

  There... now that wasn’t so bad, was it, Elena? You don't think I said too much? Not at all, Elena. You aroused their interest. That's what you needed to do. Now, the ball is in their court.

  Chapter 19—One Door Opens

  (And Another Closes)

  1

  Someone'd been talking. Those two private detectives didn’t show up all on their own. Whatever transgressions he'd made against his vows were supposedly sealed when he agreed to the assignment in Mexico. But now, those same old questions were once again being raised.

  The door was always open. In fact he'd never gotten around to putting a lock on it. There was no need. Not here. Maybe up north in El Paso or San Antonio or some other American shithole, but not in Santo Tomas. If anyone needed anything, all they need do was ask and it would be given.

  These two desired something, all right. They wanted information. On the children. Why did they come here? What was their source? They seemed to know more than the other policemen who swooped down from the north every so often. That and they had no respect for the Church. That much was obvious, right off.

  "Father Fletch?"

  "Yes, that's me. Who's asking?"

  They came upon him while he was kneeling in prayer. This was his time to talk to the Lord. Everyone knew that. Morning mass was at seven and afternoon mass at three and in between, he prayed and meditated in the sanctuary. The interruption flustered him enough that he started and nearly grew angry until he realized these people didn’t understand his ritual. Nor did they care. His wrath would've been wasted on them.

  Some day he'd like a statue of the Christ, even if it was one carved out of wood. For now, though, he had that old painting salvaged from the church in Ensenada that the diocese deemed beyond repair after the floods from that horrific hurricane that brought with it a wall of water some fifteen feet high.

  The bottom half of the portrait was saturated with salt water but after leaving it lay in the sun for a week and then another, the old white waterline was barely noticeable any longer. True, the paint had faded a good deal from the sun's rays bearing down upon the canvas but in the dim light of the sanctuary that was hardly a concern. The image was all that mattered.

  "Hello, Father... my name is Liza McNairy and this is my partner Danners Forthright. We're private investigators from Los Angeles working on a cold case."

  "Americans... be careful down here, Ms. McNairy. A pretty woman like you... why, there's no telling what might happen."

  Was it a threat? Sure it was, though carefully veiled. Just go away and leave us alone. The world was a hard enough place without the blasphemers and the disbelievers. Take comfort in the Lord, my children, and never doubt His sincerity. His grace is sufficient.

  "Thank you for the warning, Father. Yes, we understand the dangers here. We wouldn’t have come if not for the disappearances."

  "Disappearances, Ms. McNairy?"

  "The children, Father. We understand a number of children in and around Santo Tomas have vanished over the past two decades. Surely you must be aware of that too."

  "Such things are deeply troubling, Ms. McNairy. I always strive to remember that God's strength is revealed through our weakness."

  "Right you are, Father... right you are. Tell me... do you have any suspicions?"

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Forthright... suspicions?"

  "You know these people better than anyone, Father. Do I have to spell things out for you?"

  "Mr. Forthright... even if I were privy to certain intimate knowledge, the seal of the confessional bars me from revealing
the nature of that information."

  "Even if you have a pedophile in your midst?"

  "Whatever is said in the confessional is sacred, Mr. Forthright, inviolable. Those past sins are forgiven. To carry them into

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  "The present violates everything the Church stands for."

  "So you do know something."

  "I didn’t say that, Ms. McNairy."

  "Why did the Church send you to Santo Tomas, Father?"

  "Why, to minister to the people, Mr. Forthright."

  "How long have you been here?"

  "Oh... roughly thirty five years, Mr. Forthright. I was still a relatively young man when I received my assignment in Santo Tomas. Now... well, those days are behind me, as you can see."

  "Isn't it unusual for a priest to remain in one parish for so long, Father?"

  "Mine isn’t to question why, Ms. McNairy. I do God's work. It is enough."

  "We understand you were once assigned to a parish in San Antonio, Father. Would it trouble you to learn children vanished from that area at about the same time you were there?"

  "I'm not sure I like what you're insinuating, Mr. Forthright. Children disappear every day."

  "Of course they do, Father. El Paso comes to mind as well."

  So they'd done their homework, but who was doing the schooling? The Church would never reveal that knowledge. Most everyone who knew him from those days were dead. No... these two had inside information. Someone was helping them. Someone with a lot of influence. State and local authorities didn’t carry that much clout. It had to be at the federal level.

  The Federal Bureau of Investigation had spent a lot of time in Santo Tomas. They'd kicked over tons of stones, or so he heard. His standing with the Church afforded him a good deal of immunity, at least when it came to the Feds. They left him alone. These two, though... it was clear they had no respect.