by Dana Marton
He made his sons compete for the prize. Little did he know that they conspired behind his back.
If Marcos got back the diamonds, everything would work out. Or…if Eduardo succeeded here today…the competition would be off, and the Morais fortune equally divided between the heirs.
They had two chances. Marcos and Eduardo. One of them would succeed. Eduardo loved and trusted his brother, but he wanted to be the one.
He reached for his drink, knocked it over. “Sorry.”
He looked at Joaquim, willing the man to come and clean it up.
But Raul waved off Eduardo. “Go. I’m tired. I can’t make any decisions today.”
So Eduardo had no choice but to stand.
Joaquim walked him out. Before opening the front door for Eduardo, the man produced a bottle of water from behind his back.
“I noticed you were holding a pill, senhor.” The man’s hard gaze held Eduardo’s. “Perhaps you’d like to take it.”
Sweat popped onto Eduardo’s forehead. He cleared his throat. “Just some headache powder. But while we were talking, the headache actually got better.”
Joaquim kept his horse face expressionless. He gave a measured nod, then opened the door.
Eduardo hurried out, a cold shiver running down his spine, as if death had brushed by him.
He shook off the disturbing sensation by the time he reached his car. As he drove away, he glanced into the rearview mirror. Joaquim still stood in the door, looking after him.
Eduardo swore and slammed his fist into the steering wheel. He’s been so close. One minute, or, less than that, a few seconds, and he could have done it.
He hoped Marcos succeeded. Getting the diamonds back was their only chance.
* * *
Carmen
Carmen taped a MISSING CHILD poster onto the light pole on the sidewalk that edged the road, her daughter’s sweet, chubby face smiling at her from the picture.
The heat and humidity were oppressive, Manaus with its two million inhabitants hopelessly large. Carmen ignored the sweat that rolled down her back, ignored the car exhaust that choked her.
Phil worked the other side of the street. They tried to cover as much territory as possible. The phone number listed went straight to the police, and Gustavo Santos, the detective on the case, had an officer assigned to it. Because of the reward, dozens of calls came in every day, but no real lead so far.
Carmen pushed on. Maybe today.
She trusted Ian Slaney and Daniela Wintermann, the US investigators, hoped beyond hope that they’d be able to find Lila, but she wanted to do absolutely everything that might help.
She taped up the next poster, then the next, bleary-eyed from crying all night and dizzy from lack of sleep. Then she somehow, stupidly, slipped off the curb and twisted her left ankle. She went down with a cry of pain.
Phil was next to her in a moment. “How bad?”
“It’s nothing. A sprain.” But when she tried, she couldn’t put weight on the leg.
He helped her up. “Let’s catch a bus back to See-Love-Aid.”
“We still have all these posters for today.”
“Then you take a cab back, and I’ll keep on with the posters.”
She held his concerned gaze.
She couldn’t go back to their room, to the empty crib. She couldn’t lie there on the bed, looking at Lila’s empty baby bottles on the nightstand. She needed to be doing something. She needed to be doing this.
Thank God, she didn’t have to say it. Phil nodded as if she had. He turned his back to her and bent his knees. “Piggyback ride. I’ll carry you. You tape the posters.”
Tears gathered in her eyes—a permanent state lately. “I love you.”
Had she ever thought that maybe he wasn’t a strong man, not enough of a warrior? How wrong she’d been. He’d been her rock through this whole ordeal. She couldn’t imagine a stronger man than Phil Heyerdahl.
“I love you too, Carmen.” He moved forward, carrying her easily.
People looked at them askance. But then the onlookers saw the posters she was taping up, and some came over to pat her on the back and wish them luck, others offered prayers.
The spectacle she made on Phil’s back drew attention. Instead of hurrying past them, passersby actually looked more carefully. People were actually checking out the posters.
And Carmen thought, Maybe this will help.
They finished the block, then moved on to the next one.
* * *
Not far behind them, a young woman stopped, her chest tight. Her skin tingled as she read the poster on the side of the bus stop. The photo of a smiling baby was the largest thing on the poster, but the young woman could focus only on the numbers at the bottom of the page.
Ten thousand US dollars. The local currency was right under it, in smaller print: thirty-six thousand reais.
A fortune in Manaus.
She could think of a million ways to spend that money. That much money could save her.
Thirty-six thousand reais.
She chewed the inside of her cheek, shifting from one foot to the other, unable to stay still. Too much. The reward had to be a trap. If she went to the police, they’d put her in jail and keep the money.
She read the poster again.
Before she could read it the third time, the bus rolled up to the curb, huffing and puffing as it stopped. She hurried up the steps. Then the bus was moving again.
Through the window, she kept her eyes on the reward money for as long as she could make out the numbers.
* * *
Ian
By the time Ian and Daniela got back to the See-Love-Aid hostel, the Heyerdahls had also returned. They invited Ian and Daniela into their room, offering the two chairs. Carmen was sitting on her bed, her right foot up on the bed, elevated, with a wet cloth on her ankle. She kept one hand on the crib.
Phil sat behind her, a hand around her waist, supporting her.
They told their story, pretty much what the detective had related, but with a lot more tears.
The young couple were in their mid-twenties, collapsed, no other word for it. They looked as if they’d been through war, eyes red, faces pallid. Their gazes were dazed, as if they hadn’t slept since their baby had disappeared.
Ian ruthlessly punched back every dark memory that tried to rise from his past.
“Lila is such a good baby,” Carmen said. “She rarely fusses. That’s why I knew I could leave her for a few minutes. We felt we were surrounded by friends.” Tears poured down her face. “I thought it was safe.”
Ian wished he had access to the other visiting volunteers who’d been here at the time, but when their two weeks had ended, they’d all gone home, scattered to the four corners of the world. Only the Heyerdahls remained. The new batch of volunteers currently in residence hadn’t been in Brazil when the baby had been kidnapped. Ian saw little point in questioning them.
“Did anyone pay special attention to Lila?” Daniela asked gently.
The mother sobbed harder.
The father, Phil Heyerdahl, said, “Everyone did. She was the darling of the group. She was handed from lap to lap, entertained. We had no shortage of people offering to watch her, even change diapers.” He pulled a little rolled-up mat from under the bed. “Even the teens. Look. They made her a changing mat.”
Carmen sank against his chest behind her but kept a hand on the crib, as if needing that connection.
“How about when you were out in the city? Anyone come up to you? Did you ever feel watched?” Ian asked.
Phil dropped the changing mat onto the other bed. “I’m big and blond and blue-eyed. I stand out a little among the locals, but not that much. There are plenty of other tourists. So some people looked, but nothing unusual. Carmen looks local.” He kissed the top of his wife’s head, folded both arms around her. “We asked these questions ourselves a hundred times.”
“We gave DNA to the local police,” Carmen said. “Her hair f
rom her little brush. So if any child is found…”
“That’s very good,” Daniela immediately reassured her. “If the police have DNA, they can identify her.”
“Even if they don’t find her right away.” Tears rolled down Carmen’s face. “Babies change so fast.”
A knock came on the door, and Carol stuck her head in. “Sorry. I’ll come back later,” she said, then backed out and closed the door behind her.
Ian decided he’d check on her later, ask if she needed anything. He didn’t think she should be here this close to giving birth, but that wasn’t his decision. Best he could do was help with what he could. He remembered Linda at this stage of the pregnancy, feet swollen, heartburn out of control, general twenty-four-seven misery.
“That’s Carol, one of the permanent staff,” Phil Heyerdahl said.
“We’ve met.” Ian drew his attention back to the man.
“She’s about to have a baby.” Carmen flashed a miserable look. “I feel like I should offer her the crib, but I just can’t. When we find Lila… She’s only six months old.” Caught herself. “Almost seven now. But she still needs the crib.”
Six months old. The memories overwhelmed Ian, the twins sitting up for the first time while he’d been home on leave, making all kinds of sweet sounds, but not words yet.
He’d had plans for their first birthday. He was going to order a rent-a-petting-zoo visit over the Internet, have them show up at the house. He’d found a place that did that. They had a pony, a goat, a piglet, and two bunnies. He’d wanted to make sure Connor and Colin would have a good time, even if he was half a world away.
He rubbed his eyes. Filled his lungs. Looked at the Heyerdahls.
He’d always done his best on every case he’d investigated for CPRU, but somehow, baby Lila was fast becoming personal.
He took in every detail of the room, the parents, the way they talked, the tone, the words, the body language. He watched and listened while Daniela asked questions and consoled the mother.
The Heyerdahls seemed ridiculously grateful that Ian and Daniela had come all the way from the US to help them. Ian didn’t want their gratitude. Not until he brought that baby back.
After the interview, Daniela went to talk to the girls again, while Ian went outside. He needed some air, so he walked around the building, all the way to the back.
He scanned the ground as he walked, doing his best to ignore the heat and humidity. An idea was slowly forming in his head. Maybe the reason why nobody had seen anyone taking the baby out of the parents’ bedroom was that baby Lila hadn’t been taken out.
She could easily have been lowered from the window, in one of the large sisal baskets the girls wove right on the premises. Maybe whoever had stolen the baby had passed her over to his or her baby-selling connection right here.
Of course, a month later, finding any tracks was hopeless.
The back of the property stood knee-high in weeds. A row of small wooden houses waited straight ahead, their tiny backyards fenced except for a few.
Daniela was talking with the girls in the far corner of the yard. They were playing some kind of a game with rocks and empty food cans. She had her back to Ian. She had the girls’ full attention, every face turned to her, every expression admiring. The girls seemed very impressed that someone so much like them could become an important American investigator.
The girls had been outside at the time of the kidnapping, but they would not have seen the area where Ian was standing, not from the basketball court. But…maybe not every eye had been on the basketball game. And, Ian thought now, maybe one had snuck off back here for a smoke or a beer, or to meet a boy. Teenagers were teenagers the world around.
He left Daniela to the girls and went to talk to the people who lived in the wooden houses. The police had done a door to door, according to their report, but Ian wanted a firsthand feel for the people who lived in the homes. They would see the aid workers coming and going. They would have seen the baby. Maybe one of them had come up with the kidnapping to make a little money.
Ian strode across the lot, crossed through a small backyard that wasn’t fenced in.
Having a little distance between Daniela and him for a couple of hours wouldn’t hurt either. That kiss back at the sugar factory…
He couldn’t think about that kiss. Every time he did, he felt so guilty, he wanted to hand his own ass to himself, dammit. He’d spent the rest of the morning carefully maintaining professional distance. And maybe he’d keep investigating for the rest of their time here, without stopping, because he couldn’t cope with the idea of sleeping in the same bedroom with her.
He strode toward the nearest house, the path to the steps overgrown with weeds. He gave it a try anyway, knocked on the door. Nobody responded.
At the second house, a harried mother with three little kids clinging to her legs opened up for him. He asked his questions: Where had she been a month ago? If she’d seen or heard anything?
He was glad that while he’d been teaching Daniela English he’d agreed to her teaching him Portuguese. They used to trade word for word after she’d moved to DC.
Daniela’s English was way better than Ian’s Portuguese, but he knew enough for basic questioning. And he must have gotten his questions right, because the woman in the cracked-open door responded.
“Sorry, senhor. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t know what happened until the police came.”
He tried four more homes and received nearly identical answers.
“How about the empty house?” he asked on an impulse at the last place he visited.
“Essie?” The old, nearly toothless woman in the doorway wrinkled her forehead, which was so wrinkled already, Ian could just barely tell that she was frowning. “She moved to São Paulo.”
“Do you know why?”
“New job.”
“Do you know when?”
The old woman hesitated, sucking her only tooth as she tried to remember, so he asked, “Was it before or after the baby disappeared?”
The woman thought hard, scratching the mole on her chin. “Before, but not much, maybe a day or two. I only remember because Clara, the neighbor, said the police wanted her to let them into the house to make sure the kidnappers weren’t there. Clara has Essie’s key.”
He thanked the old woman and went back, asked Clara for the key. The neighbor didn’t hesitate handing it over—probably because Ian had flashed his CPRU ID card when he’d first questioned her. Likely she had no idea what the card meant, but she’d decided he was some kind of a foreign official. She gave him the key with the warning that the local police had already seen everything.
Ian went for a look anyway. The power had been shut off, but he didn’t really need the overhead lights. Enough light still came through the windows.
Essie had left behind her furniture. Not unusual in itself. The furniture was cheap bamboo stuff. Moving it would probably cost more than buying something used in São Paulo.
Two bedrooms. One with an adult-size bed, the other one a kid’s room, pictures of animals on the walls, a plastic ball in the corner. The sisal carpet still had dents in it where a crib had been.
Ian strode back to the neighbor. “Did Essie have a child?”
“Two years old,” the woman said. “A little boy.”
Ian thanked her, then walked back to See-Love-Aid. The police report didn’t include an interview with Essie. Made sense, she’d moved before the incident. She couldn’t possibly have seen anything. Yet something floated at the edges of Ian’s mind, wisps of half thoughts he couldn’t put together into a whole.
As he walked up the stairs to his and Daniela’s room, he decided to visit Essie’s neighbor again the next day and see if Essie had left a forwarding address or a phone number where she could be reached.
Daniela was back in their room already, sitting on her bed, organizing her notes.
“Anything?” he asked.
“The girls insist that they were
all at the game. Nobody snuck off. They never sneak off. They’re all perfect angels.” She shoved an escaped tendril of black hair behind her ear. “They’re probably worried that if they betray any bad behavior, they’ll be kicked out. They just don’t want to risk it.” She stacked the papers into a pile and put it on her nightstand. “I’ll keep trying. Every time we talk, they trust me a little more.”
Something was off in her voice, something more than frustration.
“What is it?” Ian asked. “What’s wrong?”
She dropped her gaze. “I told them I grew up around here, upriver, grew up poor like them.” She picked at the bedspread. “But I didn’t tell them what I’ve been. They might trust me more if I do. If I talk about that. If they don’t see me as an investigator so much, but something else.”
“You are an investigator,” he said, because he knew how hard she’d worked to create a new identity for herself, because she deserved to be respected for what she’d achieved. “But you have nothing to be ashamed about your past either. You survived it. It doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you a survivor, an incredibly strong woman who could overcome extraordinary hardship.”
She looked up with a half smile. “Calm down, mother hen. No need to have the talk again. I know, I know.”
“Good.” But even so, he knew that a break line existed between her past and present, a fault line between continents. And when those continents rubbed together, there was friction and earthquakes.
She stopped picking at the bedspread. “Found out anything new by walking around?”
“Not much. I talked to the neighbors out back. Nobody’s seen anything.” He had nothing but some unformed half thoughts, too vague to articulate. Instead of trying, he asked, “Want to go out for dinner?”
The food at See-Love-Aid was okay, but they were obviously on a budget and leaning toward vegetarian. He needed a damn steak.
Daniela was already on her feet, her melancholy shaken off. “Do I ever not want to go out to dinner? Do you even know me?”
Good question. Did he? Because that kiss…
He turned and strode out the door. No way was he thinking about that kiss while they were in a bedroom together.
