Border Crossings: A Catherine James Thriller (8 page)

“We should tell the police and get the reward,” Juan was telling Julio.

  It was something Julio had been pondering since the day before when
Auntie Nita told them what the paper said about the American.  “Maybe,” he said.  “It’s still dangerous.  And Auntie Nita’s right.  They won’t give us the reward.”

“Why not?”

“Because, we’re not old enough.  We would have to have an adult.  If we had parents, then they would get the money until we were old enough, but no parents means no money.”

Juan was frustrated by this reasoning.  “That doesn’t make sense.  They have money for anyone who knows where the American is.  We know.  What difference does it make how old we are?”

“It’s just how they do things.  They won’t give two street kids that much money.  They’ll find a way to trick us and keep it for themselves.”

“So what do we do?  We could get
Auntie Nita to help us.  She said she could help.”

Julio shook his head, “She’d definitely keep it for herself.”  He picked up a piece of paper wrapper on the sidewalk and began twisting it in his fingers, thinking deeply.  “Maria would probably help, but then
Auntie Nita would find out.  Let’s just wait.  We have to be smart.  We’ll wait until we can think of a way to do it.”

“But what if someone else finds her first?”

“Who’s going to find her?” asked Julio.  “You saw how well they hid her.  Nobody knows where she is except us and those gangsters.”

Juan reluctantly agreed and then changed the subject when his stomach growled.  “Can we at least go back and find some food, then?”

Julio wasn’t sure if he wanted to forage under the eyes of Auntie Nita, but decided there was little harm in it.  They’d already told her they didn’t know anything, and if she tried to talk to them again they’d just leave.  “Yeah, I’m hungry, too.”

They walked down the streets, the sun cooking the brick of the buildings and beating down on the boys.  No sooner had they entered the market and began looking through the garbage than
Auntie Nita saw them and told Maria to watch the stand while she walked to the
caseta
and made a phone call.

The boys had found little food today and were just about to leave to go look behind some of the restaurants that would be throwing their lunch trash away when a police car pulled up.  A man dressed in a suit got out and was greeted by
Auntie Nita.  She pointed to the boys and Julio was suddenly filled with fear.  Juan watched with curiosity as the man began walking towards them.  Julio began walking away quickly and Juan turned to him, “Where are you going?”

“We should run, Juan,” he told him.

“Why?”

“She must have told the police we were asking questions,” said Julio.  He paused and beckoned for Juan, “Come on.”

Juan turned and the man was now briskly headed for them.  “
Hola, niños
!” he called to them, “I just want to talk for a moment.”

“Come on, Juan,” Julio said sternly.

Juan looked at the man and thought about the reward.  This was their chance.  This was his chance, maybe.  For once, he thought Julio was wrong.  The police wouldn’t care they weren’t adults.  All they wanted was to find the American.  He was convinced they’d give them the reward.  If Julio wasn’t willing to talk to them, then he would, and he’d bring back the reward and Julio would be embarrassed about being wrong.  But Juan would share.  Julio was his best friend and he’d bring back the reward for both.  For once, Julio would have to admit that it was he, Juan, who had known best.  “No,” he told Julio.  “I want the reward.”

The man in the suit was nearly on them, “Come on, Juan!” Julio scolded again.

But Juan stood his ground, “No!”

The man in the suit had reached Juan now and was telling him, “Hello, Hello.”  He looked at Julio who had backed away some fifteen feet.  He smiled friendly and held out his hand, “Where are you going?  Come back, come back,” said the man, waving him to return.  “I only want to talk to the two of you.”  Julio stood firm, looking from Juan to the man, an awkward standoff of tension.  “It’s so hot out here,” said the man kindly, “Don’t make an old man walk anymore, please.  Come, I’ll buy you both a lemonade and we’ll just talk for a bit.”

Juan smiled at Julio and also waved for him to come back and join them.  "It’ll be okay,” he told Julio, “you’ll see.”

But something told Julio to run.  He didn’t trust the police.  He knew
Auntie Nita was after the reward and he didn’t trust her, either. 
Why hadn’t Juan listened?
  The police would lock them up and make them tell them what they saw, but there wouldn’t be any money.  They’d drop them back in the streets and the gangsters would come looking for him.  Julio was furious with his friend.  He wanted to grab Juan and make a run for it together, but it was too late.

“Come on,
niño
,” said the man, now a bit more gruffly.  He started to walk towards him, and Julio turned on his heels and ran.

“Julio!” yelled Juan.  “Where are you going?!  Julio!”

He looked back over his shoulder only once to see if the man was chasing him.  He wasn’t.  Instead, he’d gone back and put a friendly arm around Juan, who seemed to be apologizing for Julio, who turned back around and disappeared.

The man and Juan sat in the square and talked over a nice glass of lemonade.  Then he told Juan something that made him smile wide.  A few minutes later Juan and the policeman drove away together.

“So you’re the new girls, huh?” asked the woman.  Silvia and Yesenia had each been given a room already furnished with a bed and dresser.  Yesenia’s had an ugly orange carpet with a matching bedspread and when she opened the closet to set her bag out of the way, roaches shot out and disappeared behind the wood paneling that lined the walls.  She recoiled and smacked the lining, hearing a slight squish sound followed by a large dead roach falling out from under the crack.

Silvia’s room was almost identical except done in green.  Both rooms seemed like a throwback to the 70s.  She had put her bag away and gone into Yesenia’s room to try and figure out what was going on, but as soon as she sat down with Yesenia on the orange bed another young woman walked into their room.  She wore shorts and a tee shirt with no bra.  She would have looked relaxed except she had makeup caked on her face.  She stood leaning against the doorjamb, filing her nails and waiting for the girls to answer.  “So, you got names?”

Yesenia was still embarrassed about being fondled outside, horrified at the events that had occurred on their ordeal coming here, and downright afraid for her life at this point.  She wasn’t in the mood to talk, so Silvia answered for them.  “I’m Silvia, this is Yesenia.”

The woman eyed them.  “Where you from?”

“I’m from Mexico City,” said Silvia.

“And you?”  She looked over at Yesenia who sat stoically without answer.  “What’s your problem?  You don’t talk?”

“She’s from Mexico C
ity, too.” said Silvia.  “We had a bad trip.  I don’t think she feels like talking.”

“Oh?” asked the woman.  “What was so bad about it?”

Silvia knew better than to tell the woman about the police officer.  “It was just bad is all,” she said.

“Oh, Jose and Hector had a go at you, huh?  I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What do you mean?” asked Silvia.

“You know what I mean.  What happened?  They rape you or something?”

“No!” said Silvia.  “Of course not!”

“Oh,” said the woman, genuinely surprised.  “Well, they’re going to have a go at you sooner or later. Those two are a couple of horny little bastards.  They’re always getting free ones.”

“Free ones?” asked Silvia.

The woman laughed.  “Oh, shit.  Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“Do you have any idea where you are?”

“No,” Silvia admitted.

The woman found this very funny and laughed even more.  “They haven’t told you, yet?  Wow, that’s just fucked up.  Neither of you know what this place is?”  She chuckled to herself, “Wow.”

“Told us what!?” Silvia asked defensively.  “What is this place?”  She didn’t like the way their apparent new roomie was enjoying their confusion.

“
Chinga, chica
, you’re in a brothel.”  Silvia looked confused but Yesenia looked up, suddenly awakened from her shocked state.

“A brothel?” asked Silvia.

“Yeah, you know.  A whorehouse,” the girl said.  “A place where men pay to have sex with women.”

“What are we doing here?”

That made the woman laugh even more, “Holy shit, girl, are you serious?  You’re the new girls, aren’t you?”

As the words seeped through, Yesenia’s heart sank like a lead weight.  She’d been conned.  They weren’t going to help her find a job here.  They were going to try and make her a prostitute.  She’d given herself over to murderers and drug running coyotes, and now they had her and there was nothing she could do about it.  She broke down in tears.

It had been a full day and night since Juan left the market with the police officer, and Julio was worried.  He’d walked the streets they normally walked together looking for him, but had seen nothing.  He had wanted to go back and ask about him, but he was scared
Auntie Nita would call the police on him.

Finally, he told himself he had to go back to the square and find out where Juan was.  If the police were holding Juan, then he had to consider whether or not he was prepared to risk joining him.  He was scared of the gangsters, but he was also scared of life on the street alone.  Juan was impetuous, clumsy, and not the brightest person in the world, but Julio missed his friend terribly nonetheless.

He made his way through the streets to the market, but stayed hidden across from Auntie Nita’s stand, waiting for her to leave.  After sitting crouched in between two other little stands for half the morning, he finally saw the old woman get up from her little chair, tell Maria something, and hobble away.  He watched her as she strolled out of the market square, and then he quickly darted out and ran to the stand.

“
Hola
, Julio,” said Maria.  “I was wondering where you got off to.  What was all that about yesterday?”

“Have you seen Juan?” he asked.

“No,” said Maria.  “Haven’t you?  He’s not with you?”

“I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning,” he told her.  “Not since
Auntie Nita called the police and they took him away,” he added with a hint of pout.

Maria looked at him sympathetically.  “Is that what it was?  I was wondering where she had gone when we saw you two back again.  I guess I should have known.”

“Yes, and now Juan is missing.”

She looked at him skeptically, “Missing?  You mean he still hasn’t come back?”

“No,” Julio told her.

She picked up her wooden spoon and stirred the lemonade.  “Do you think he’s sitting somewhere waiting for you?”

“No, I’ve looked.  He’s not anywhere we usually go.”

She clicked the spoon against the lip of the large jug that held the lemonade and said, “I’m not sure where he is.  I guess maybe they’ve kept him for questioning, or they may have taken him to an orphanage.  That’s probably what they’ve done.  I don’t think they’re allowed to just let a little homeless boy go back on the street.”  She didn’t seem much concerned.

“An orphanage is worse,” he told her.  “Can you find out where he is?”

Maria seemed to ponder it.  “Maybe. 
Auntie Nita has gone to get medicine from the pharmacy, but she’ll be back any minute.  If she sees you she might call the police again.  She thinks you boys know something and she’s hoping for the reward.”

“We don’t,” he said automatically.

Maria smiled at him.  “I don’t really care, Julio.  If you do, then you should tell the police so the American girl’s family can find her, but if you don’t, you don’t.  It’s really none of my business, but Auntie Nita thinks everything’s her business and that could be trouble for you if you do know something.  I’ll tell you what.  I’ll go this afternoon to the police station and see if he’s still there or if they’ve dropped him off at the boys’ shelter.  If you come back tomorrow I’ll tell you what they tell me.”

Julio thanked her and ran off before
Auntie Nita returned.  Neither he nor Maria noticed a man who looked like a tourist taking photos of them.  As Julio left the square, the man began to follow him and pulled a cell phone from his pants pocket, his fingers already dialing.

That afternoon, true to her word, Maria took a taxi the seven miles to the police station.  She was greeted by a police officer
who sat in a little booth that looked like an old-fashioned theatre ticket box.

“May I help you?”

Maria briefly explained the situation before she was cut off.  “One moment, please.”  The officer picked up a phone and dialed an extension.  A moment later a young female officer came out to greet her and she explained the reason for her visit.

Meanwhile, Catherine James was asking, “Have you circulated the vehicle information outside the district?”

“Of course,” said Ramirez.  He was holding up fairly well given the amount of pressure he was under.  For the past two days he had given two press conferences on their progress, been hounded by the press both at the office and at his home for the few hours of sleep he tried to gather, and sifted through tips, all the while the governor’s official shadowing him and coaching him on what was and wasn’t okay to say to the press.  “Keep it optimistic.  Downplay the possibility of her being killed and for God’s sake assure them that Cancun is safe.”  Things had continued to slide for the popular vacation destination.  The markets of local wares and crafts had full shelves and empty cash registers.  Hotels were having spring breakers exit like herds of cattle as parents were calling their children and demanding their return to the States.  The airlines were swarmed with angry calls as people couldn’t get their departure date moved forward.  The busiest tourist time of the year was becoming an economic black hole as money flew away by the planeload.  Ramirez had retreated to the police station for some peace and quiet to review the information they had accumulated thus far, which wasn’t much considering how much manpower they had on the matter.  He’d expected to have more by now . . . a body, the car, someone calling in who recognized the man immediately, something.  But thus far, they had nothing new but some worthless video and hundreds of leads that all seemed to go a thousand different directions, none of them concrete.  His quiet moment of peace had been interrupted by Ms. James’ visit.

“Interpol has stepped in to assist and has circulated the information to border patrol.  Not to mention the media attention.  If either the girl or this man appear in public, I have little doubt someone will see them and we’ll be notified,” Ramirez assured.

As if he hadn’t already had enough headaches, Ramirez had recently met Ms. Catherine James, fresh from a visit from the Woodalls and full of focus and dissatisfaction at the progress thus far.  Apparently, she was a private investigator the family had hired, or so they had explained.  She was polite and professional, but she was already clearly putting her thumb down on important people, which was making things that much more uncomfortable for Ramirez.  Plus, there was something about her.  It struck him that the she seemed a little too seasoned.  She swiftly set into a mode of operation as though she’d done this many times before, and Ramirez wondered just what kind of private investigator she was.  She’d already demanded full access to all their information, and much to Ramirez’s dissatisfaction, his superiors had agreed.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think the family deserved the access, but in his opinion having their own person step in like this could cause a diversion to the investigation.  The Governor’s shadow man, Fuentes, had told Ramirez, “The last thing we want is the girl’s family going on the news and telling everyone that the local officials aren’t cooperating.  The girl’s probably dead, anyway, so give their people whatever they want so if we do end up with a body we can say we did all we could.”  So, acting on his superior’s orders, he was now giving Catherine a rundown of where they were on the investigation, Catherine still launching a barrage of questions.

“Someone had to have seen that car around the club before the night of the kidnapping.  Have you checked with all the stores along that part of Kukulcan?”

“Yes, we have.  And we’ve pulled as much video as we could find.  We have images of the car, but that’s all that can be seen.  Its windows were dark and it was at night, but Detective Vargas is running down matches.”

“I’d appreciate a copy of any video you have,” she told him.  “Have you sent it to the FBI to see if they can clean up the resolution?”

“We have our own technology division, ma’am.  We are not as backward as you may think.”

“I’m not making a judgment one way or the other, Detective, but Interpol can send along a copy to Quantico and they have a system there that we need to run it by.  How soon can I get . . . “

She was interrupted by a knock that came at the door as the female officer walked in, “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir,” said the woman.  “But a woman is here asking about a missing boy.”

“Well, take a report,” he told her with a sigh.  This was one more thing Ramirez was having a hard time reckoning.  All other investigations were now on hold indefinitely pending a resolution to the Taylor Woodall kidnapping.  And while he understood its importance, he couldn’t help but feel a pang about telling his officer to take a report about a missing child instead of doing it himself.  “I’m in a meeting,” he told her, “but get the info.”

“I know,” she said.  “I’ve already talked to her a bit.  She says she’s pretty sure Vargas had talked to the kid about the missing girl.  She wants to know if we’re holding him.  I just thought maybe you might know what she was talking about.”

“No, I haven’t heard anything about it,” said Ramirez, surprised.

“Okay, I’ll take a message then for Detective Vargas,” she said.  “He probably knows.”

She was about to leave the room but Catherine stopped her, “No, please.” She turned to Ramirez, “Why don’t you go ahead and talk to her?  I need a refill on my coffee, anyway.”

Ramirez shrugged, “Okay, if you don’t mind.  It probably won’t take but a few minutes.”  He told the officer, “Go ahead and send her back and I’ll handle it.” She left the room and returned a few moments later with Maria in tow.

Maria entered apprehensively, immediately trailed by Catherine who had also returned with a fresh cup of coffee.  She nodded to the departing officer and smiled at Maria as she passed next to her and took a seat.  Ramirez rose to greet Maria, “
Hola,
señorita
.  I’m Detective Ramirez, Detective Vargas’ partner.  Is there something I can help you with?”

They shook hands and Maria couldn’t help but to look at the other woman in the office.  “This is Catherine James,” said the officer.  “She works for the missing American girl’s family.”

Catherine rose, shook her hand, and greeted her in perfect Spanish, “Hello, please just ignore me.  I’m just going over some papers.”  The woman returned her greeting and Catherine sat back down and began reading over a notepad she had with her.

“Now, then, what can I do for you?” asked Ramirez.

“Oh, I was wondering about Juan,
señor
, the little boy Detective Vargas talked to yesterday.  I was just wondering if the police are holding him for some reason.  His friend came and told me he wasn’t back yet and he’s very concerned.  Can you tell me if he’s still here or if he’s been taken to an orphanage?”

“I’m not sure,
señora
,” Ramirez told her, reaching for his own notepad.  “When did Detective Vargas talk to him?”

“Oh, just yesterday,” said Maria.

“Are you sure it was a Detective Vargas?” asked Ramirez.  “What did he look like?”

“Yes, my aunt called him.  I saw his name on a piece of notepaper where she wrote his number.  I was going to call but thought I’d stop by instead.”  She described the man she’d seen talking to Juan in the market.  Ramirez listened intently and then recalled Vargas did leave the day before to check out a lead.  When he returned, all he said was that it was another dead end.

“Are you sure the boy left with Detective Vargas?”

“Oh, yes, quite sure.  I watched them leave together.”

Ramirez began rapping his pen against his desk.  This was quite odd.  Vargas hadn’t mentioned the boy.  “Maybe he dropped the boy off somewhere at the boy’s request,” he told Maria.

“Maybe, but I think he would have come by.  Do you know if he was taken to a shelter nearby or an orphanage, maybe?”

“Not that I know of,” said Ramirez.  “Maybe he just hasn’t come by the market again yet.”

Catherine sat quietly thumbing through her notepad as though the conversation did not concern her, but Maria had the odd sense she was listening quite intently.  “Maybe,
señor
.  But if so, I am still concerned.  You see, Juan and the other little boy, Julio, they go everywhere together.  It’s not like him to go off on his own.”  Slowly she began to feel a worry creep upon her, even a dread.  The more she sat there telling them why she was there, the more she realized Julio was right.  Juan wouldn’t go anywhere without him.  She was beginning to wonder if Juan didn’t get himself into trouble somewhere.  “Can you ask Detective Vargas where he dropped him off?  He’s a sweet boy, but he is prone to get into trouble, probably even more so without his friend.  I would like to make sure he’s all right.”

Ramirez gave her his card with his direct phone number as well as his assurances that he would check with Vargas and that if Maria called back that afternoon, he’d have something for her.  As she turned to leave Catherine rose and asked, “May I walk you out?”

The question caught Maria off guard as much as Ramirez, but she saw no reason to protest.  Ramirez could only watch in curiosity as Catherine exited with the woman.

“So you are with the police up north?” Maria asked as they walked.

Catherine smiled, “No, not the police.  I know Taylor Woodall’s parents and they’ve asked me to help look for her, is all.”

“Oh.  I’m very sorry for them.  I hope they find her.”