Cry No More (9 page)

Milla went from window to window, checking to see if any of them showed signs of being forced. She wasn’t a detective; nevertheless, she didn’t see any new scratch marks on the latches, nor were any of the windows broken. Whatever method he’d used for gaining entrance, he hadn’t left any obvious evidence of it.

Joann was visibly trembling. “I can’t believe you sat down and talked to him, as cool as pie. That’s the scariest man I’ve ever seen.”

“Did I look cool?” Milla swallowed and found herself a chair, too. “I couldn’t have. I was shaking so hard I could barely stand, so I had to sit down.”

“I didn’t notice. I thought he was going to kill us. His eyes—it was like looking at my own death.”

“But he didn’t kill us, and he gave us information I’ve been trying for ten years to get.” Milla closed her eyes. “Arturo Pavón. I have a name. Finally, I have a name! Do you know what this means?” Tears scorched her eyes and seeped from beneath her closed lids. “I have a real chance now of finding my baby; for the first time I have a chance!”

8

The fund-raiser in Dallas was more successful than she’d hoped; not only did the event produce money, but Finders also picked up a corporate sponsor, a software company that had promised to upgrade their computer system. Visions of new computers danced in Milla’s head, but that wasn’t what kept her awake in her hotel bed that night.

Excitement zinged through her every time she thought of what had happened that morning. She felt as if she had plunged headlong into a fire and emerged unscathed; she was almost giddy with hope. She wanted to call David, wanted to tell him that at last she was making real progress, that she had the kidnapper’s name and an expert—what else could she call Diaz?—was helping her locate him. She wanted to share her elation with someone, and who better than Justin’s father?

But that was a call she refused to let herself make. David wasn’t her husband now. He had another family, and Milla was very wary about intruding on it. She didn’t know, and wouldn’t ask, if David’s wife had a problem with the money he gave her every year. As much as possible Milla had tried to make the break a clean one, to not give the new Mrs. Boone any reason for anger.

The
new
Mrs. Boone? Milla had to laugh at herself. David’s wife’s name was Jenna, she was a very nice woman, and she had been married to David twice as long as Milla had been.

When she had something concrete about Justin, then she’d call David. She didn’t keep him abreast of every rumor and development. He called her about twice a year, and that was when she brought him up to date on any progress, which for ten years had been precious little. To keep things as smooth as possible in his private live, she never called him. Period. A surgeon’s wife had enough everyday hassle, with her husband’s long hours and emergencies that seemed timed for whenever he sat down to dinner or they were about to leave for vacation. There was no need to add calls from an ex-wife to the turmoil.

She couldn’t contain the excitement, the sense of expectation, so she gave up trying to will herself to sleep and instead went over and over everything that had happened and been said that morning, from the time of True’s call to the moment Diaz had vanished.

The biggest mystery for her—though perhaps not for Diaz—was who had called her about the meeting in Guadalupe, and why. The reason couldn’t be the reward, since the call was anonymous. But someone had put her in Diaz’s way, and she didn’t know if the intent had been to help or to harm. Diaz could just as easily have killed her, rather than knocking her out. And after meeting him, she didn’t think killing her would have cost him any sleep.

She wracked her brain but couldn’t come up with any logical reason for the call, and finally she decided to simply count her blessings. Perhaps Diaz was a mixed blessing, but still, in the space of a few minutes he had given her priceless information and offered her the best chance she’d had yet of finding Justin.

She couldn’t believe she’d actually talked him into helping them. She couldn’t believe she had sat down so close to him that only a couple of inches had been separating their knees, and pretended she wasn’t terrified of him. His were the coldest, emptiest eyes she’d ever seen, as if no emotion touched him. She would almost call him a sociopath, except he did seem to have some internal braking mechanism on his inherent violence. He
knew
right from wrong, she thought, but he didn’t
feel
it. If he chose to do what he perceived as right, it was a mental decision rather than an emotional one.

But because of that, she thought she could deal with him. They—the Finders—weren’t in danger from him. He could have killed her and Brian that night in Guadalupe, simply for being in his way, but he hadn’t because they weren’t a threat to him—to his purpose, maybe, but not to
him
. So long as she was fairly certain of his boundaries, she thought she could trust him and work with him.

She hoped.

Considering True’s reaction to Diaz’s name, she decided to keep it quiet that the man himself had turned up in her office. True had a protective streak that she found charming even though she knew she had to keep her distance from him. He might call the police, which was the last thing she wanted.

She thought about asking True to find out what he could on Arturo Pavón, but decided against it. For one thing, he would want to know how she came up with the name, and she didn’t like the idea of outright lying to him, when he had been so helpful. For another, Diaz wouldn’t like it. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she was certain of it. Diaz liked to work alone, with very few people, if any, knowing his whereabouts or what he was doing. If both he and True were searching for Pavón, they might very well cross trails. No, he wouldn’t like that at all. He might even stop helping her, and no way would she risk that.

So, the fewer people who knew about Diaz, the better. She made a mental note to call Joann first thing in the morning, before she went to the office, and tell her not to mention Diaz to anyone.

She caught the first flight out of Dallas for El Paso, swung by the condo to leave her luggage, then continued on to the office. As early as it was, the heat was already becoming oppressive, reminding her of how much she looked forward to winter.

When she entered the office, she saw at once that Brian was in a playful mood, which always took the form of teasing Olivia and trying to drive her mad. Today he was giving her fashion advice, and it wasn’t going over well at all, much to the amusement of everyone else within hearing distance, which was most of the staff.

“You should try a new hairstyle,” he was saying as he lounged on the corner of her desk. “Something flirty. And bigger. You know, with waves and swoops and things.”

Every feminist principle she possessed insulted, Olivia gave him a long, cold stare. “Who do I look like, Farrah fucking Fawcett?”

“No, but you could try,” he said seriously.

Brian was young and big and fast, but for a moment Milla thought that might not be enough to save his life. Olivia slowly stood up until they were almost nose to nose, which, at five-two, she was able to do only because he was sitting on her desk. “Little boy,” she said deliberately, “I’ve destroyed better men than you: used them up, wrung them dry, and thrown them away. Don’t try playing out of your league.”

Brian did
obtuse
really well. “What?” he said, looking bewildered. “I’m just trying to help. You know, give you some pointers and stuff.”

“Really. I didn’t know Neanderthals were fashion experts.”

He grinned. “A little fur goes a long way.”

“I’m sure you’d know.”

Joann caught Milla’s eye and gestured toward Milla’s office. Milla looked and almost groaned aloud when she saw who was waiting for her. Mrs. Roberta Hatcher was searching for her missing husband, who had disappeared one weekend several weeks ago while she was in Austin visiting her sister. Since Mr. Hatcher’s clothing was also missing, as well as his car and half the money in their checking account, the police had correctly concluded foul play wasn’t involved, that Mr. Hatcher had left of his own free will, and there was nothing they could do. She had then turned to Finders for help, and refused to take no for an answer.

Casting a cautious look at Brian and Olivia—Milla hoped Olivia’s antiviolence philosophy would continue to hold—she stepped into her office and smiled at Mrs. Hatcher. “Good morning, Roberta. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Roberta shook her head. She was a pleasant, graying dumpling of a woman, in her late fifties, with the kind of round, cheerful face that looked most natural when wreathed in a smile. Since Benny Hatcher had disappeared one sunny afternoon, however, her eyes were often red-rimmed from weeping and Milla had yet to see the woman smile.

If she could get her hands on Mr. Hatcher, Milla thought, she would gladly strangle him. How dare he put his wife through this? If he wanted to leave, he should at least have had the guts and the courtesy to
tell
her, instead of leaving her twisting in the wind like this. Her heart would still be broken, of course, but at least she would know what was going on, that he was alive, and what her legal status was. She was in limbo, she was suffering, and Mr. Hatcher needed to have his ass kicked.

“Please help me,” Roberta said in a low, scratchy voice, as if she had cried so much her throat was raw and swollen. Milla knew all too well how that felt. “I know you said he isn’t a missing person, that he walked away under his own power and of his own accord, but don’t you see, I don’t
know
that, not for certain. What if some con man talked him into something, and now he’s lost all his money and he’s ashamed to come home, or he’s hurt or even dead? I checked into a few private detective agencies like you told me to do, but I can’t afford them. Even the cheapest one is way out of my budget. Please.”

“I can’t,” Milla said, just as upset as Mrs. Hatcher. “We’re in the same boat you’re in. We don’t have unlimited funding; we pinch every penny and make do with what we have or we do without. Look at this office. You can see we save most of our funds for our searches. The odds are that Mr. Hatcher left you and didn’t have the courage to tell you. How can I justify using our resources to locate someone who almost certainly left of his own free will?”

“But can’t you check his social security records to find out if he’s working somewhere?”

“That takes a special subscription service, and we don’t have it. The people we track are lost, not hiding.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to think of a solution. “Have you tried the Salvation Army? They locate lost relatives. I believe it’s a one-time-only free service and I don’t know if they do it under these circumstances, but perhaps they can help.”

“The Salvation Army?” Roberta murmured. “I didn’t know they did things like that.”

“They do, but as I said, I don’t know their requirements. If they can’t help you, then please see a lawyer. Do what you can to protect yourself legally.”

A single tear dripped down Roberta’s cheek. “I haven’t told the children,” she said raggedly. “How do I tell them their father just walked away?”

She had two sons, both married and with their own children. “You just tell them,” Milla said. “You have to, rather than letting them find out some other way. What if he calls them? Then they’ll be angry at you for not telling them what was going on.”

“I suppose.” She wiped her cheek. “I guess I keep hoping he’ll come home and they’ll never have to know.”

“It’s been almost three weeks,” Milla said gently. “Even if he did come back now, would you take him back? Do you still want him?”

Another tear rolled down. “He doesn’t love me, does he? If he did, he wouldn’t have done this. He
couldn’t
have. I know I’ve let myself go a tad, but I’m almost sixty and it’s all right to be gray-haired when you’re sixty, isn’t it? Benny always kept himself in good shape, though. And he has only a little gray in his hair.”

“Could he have a girlfriend?” Milla hated to say it, even though she knew the police had already asked Roberta the same question. At the time, in shock, worried out of her mind and terrified that her life was falling apart, Roberta had automatically rejected the idea.

Now, however, her face crumpled and she put her hand over her eyes. “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “He could have. He played golf almost every day. I never checked up on him. I
trusted
him.”

Milla supposed there were people who willingly played golf even in the most searing heat, but every day? She doubted it. And so did Roberta, now that she was seeing things from a different perspective.

“Please, see a lawyer,” Milla said again. “And change your bank account. I bet you haven’t done that, have you? His name is still on the account. What if he empties it out? What will you do then?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Roberta moaned, rocking back and forth a little in her distress. She began blindly pawing through her purse. Guessing what she needed, Milla pulled a tissue from the box on her desk and pressed it into Roberta’s hand.

After a few moments of wiping and blowing, Roberta took a deep breath. “I guess I’ve been acting like an old fool these past few weeks. I need to wake up and see what’s what. He left me. I might try the Salvation Army thing, but you’re right: first off, I need to change the bank account and protect what’s left.” Her chin quivered. “I’ll call the boys tonight and tell them what’s happening. I can’t believe he’s done this. Leaving me is one thing, but what about the boys? He’s always had such a good relationship with them. He has to know this will change everything, so I guess he doesn’t care about that, either.”

Milla didn’t say anything to that, though she suspected that eventually Mr. Hatcher would contact his sons, say he was sorry and so on, and expect everything to be as it was before. Some people simply didn’t see the consequences of their actions, or they figured they could work things out. She didn’t think this could ever be worked out, but it wasn’t her call.

Roberta’s eyes were red and swollen but her head was up and her stride brisk as she left the office. The door was barely closed behind her when Milla’s phone rang. She punched the button and sank into her chair, feeling exhausted already.

“This is Milla.”

“Hi, sweetie. Are you free for lunch today?”

It was Susanna Kosper, the obstetrician who had delivered Justin at the tiny free clinic in Mexico. Life was funny sometimes; Susanna and Rip, her husband, had liked the Mexican people so much that they had settled in El Paso to practice. That way they were still in the United States but close to the culture they enjoyed. They still made at least two trips a year into different parts of Mexico.

Susanna made an effort to stay in touch with Milla, and considering an obstetrician’s busy schedule, that was saying something. There was a link between them because Susanna had been in the clinic that awful day, and she and Rip had been part of David’s desperate struggle to save Milla’s life. Sometimes a couple of months would slip by without contact between the two women, because of their hectic schedules, but whenever they could they’d have lunch together. Such plans had to be spur-of-the-moment, but somehow they usually made it work.