Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 02 - Papoosed (16 page)

Chapter Eighteen

“Babies are such a nice way to start people.”

–Don Herrold

            After Antonio downed the contents of his makeshift bottle and then promptly filled his tiny pink makeshift diapers, Essie quickly changed him and rocked him gently in her arms until he fell asleep.  She placed the tiny infant on the center of her bed and rolled herself back out into her living room.  She was exhausted.  Glancing at her wristwatch, she realized that it was only two-thirty.  Opening her telephone directory, she looked up the home number for Harold Compton, father of the late Gerald Compton.  Perhaps he would be at home grieving for his son and she would be able to ask him a few questions.  A man’s voice responded after three or four rings.

            “Yeah?” said the gruff voice.

            “Mr. Compton?” asked Essie.

            “Yeah,” he replied.  “Who’s this?”

            “Uh … you don’t know me, but I heard about your son and I just wanted to offer my sympathy …” she answered cautiously.

            “Yeah?” he yelled back, “what good is that?”

            “I know, sir, that it’s small compensation for the loss of a child … ” she stammered.

            “It was his own damn fault!” countered Harold Compton.  “The kid was a stupid jerk!  Always goin’ off half cocked!  A real hot head.  He was an accident waiting to happen, lady!  So don’t waste your sympathy on him!”

            “Oh, dear,” she replied, flustered.  “But what about his wife?”

            “Oh, shit!” he swore. “Not you too!  Who are you?  Some bleeding heart do-gooder from immigration?  That woman was using him!  I told him over and over!  She just wanted a green card and the minute she got legal, she’d dump him!  I doubt that their ‘marriage,’ as you say, was even legal.”

            “But, sir, Mr. Compton,” pleaded Essie, “what about the baby?”

            “What baby?” he screamed into the receiver.

            “I … I understand that Maria … his wife … just had a baby several days ago,” she said, tentatively.

            “Naw,” replied Compton, “I saw that woman a few weeks ago.  She wasn’t pregnant.”

            “She wasn’t?” asked Essie incredulously.  Could it be possible that baby Antonio wasn’t Maria Compton’s child?  Gerald Compton’s child?  “Did you speak to her?”

            “Hell, no!” he said. “She came into the company looking for Gerald once.  I told her to get lost.  I told her to quit bothering my son and trying to scam him!”

            “But she lived with Gerald,” replied Essie.  “Do you know where she might be now?”

            “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are or why you’re so damned interested in my son’s business.  But he’s dead so none of this really matters any more!  I don’t care where that bitch was living or where she is now.  Gerald was no saint, but just because he goes through some hokey ceremony with some local when he’s on vacation in Tijuana doesn’t mean he’s officially hitched to her … at least not here in the ol’ US of A!  All I know is that if that stupid whore hadn’t latched onto my son, he’d be alive now!”  With that, Harold Compton slammed the receiver down and Essie cringed as the silence at the other end of the line reverberated.

            Obviously, the marriage–legal or otherwise–between Gerald and Maria was not accepted as such by Gerald’s father.  Harold Compton also wasn’t aware or didn’t want to admit that he was aware that his daughter-in-law had been pregnant and that he now had a grandson.  Poor Antonio, thought Essie.  If only Harold Compton had accepted Maria and embraced her as a member of the family, little Antonio would now have a place to call home.  But, no way was Essie going to turn the infant over to this monster who would probably just hand him over to Immigration–if that. 
No
, said Essie to herself,
I’m going to redouble my efforts to find your mother, Antonio.

            She picked up Maria’s wallet from her end table and examined the green card inside.  The small rectangular card was laminated.  On the front of the green card (and, yes, it truly was printed in green ink), at the top, read “United States of America Permanent Resident.”  It featured a photograph of Maria Valdez Compton. Essie stared at the photo–Antonio’s mother.  She was a sweet-looking young woman with long, straight black hair, pulled back over her ears.  Maria stared into the camera looking forlorn and unsmiling.  Other information on the card indicated her country of birth:  Mexico and her birthdate:  January 7, 1991.  It also listed a date when Maria became a resident, which Essie noted was over a year ago, and a date when her card would expire.  As Essie turned the card over in her hands, she realized that the card exhibited other sophisticated features such as bar codes and imprinted holographs.  It appeared that the backside of Maria’s green card was a high-tech treasure trove.  She again opened the small blue wallet and replaced the green card inside.  As she held the tiny purse in her hands, it dawned on her that the green card was the single most important of Maria’s personal possessions and that she would have guarded it carefully.  She never would have willingly deserted it–any more than she would have deserted her baby.

            Would Maria contact an Immigration office to replace her card?  Essie believed that she would–if she were able.  The fact that she had not yet returned to retrieve Antonio suggested to Essie that something very bad had happened to Maria Valdez Compton.  She had not been in the car with her husband when he was killed–nor in the other car involved in the accident.  Few people at Rose Brothers’ Construction were aware of her or of Gerald’s marriage to her–if such marriage truly existed.  Gerald’s father, Harold Compton, was aware of Maria, but blamed her for Gerald’s accident, so it was unlikely that he was concerned about her welfare or whereabouts.  He, Harold Compton, also did not appear to be aware that Maria had been pregnant or had given birth.  The last anyone apparently saw Maria seemed to be last night, when she dropped Antonio off with Santos.  From Santos’s exploration of the Compton’s apartment, it appeared that Maria must have returned home to pack after leaving Antonio with Santos, maybe planning to leave her husband. 
Possibly,
Essie reasoned,
Gerald returned to the apartment and found his wife packing.  He may have become enraged and a fight ensued.  During the fight,
thought Essie,
Maria managed to escape, but was not able to grab her wallet.  Gerald followed her–with Maria on foot and Gerald in his car. 
From that point on,
Essie continued to speculate what might have happened.  Assuming both Gerald and Maria were very upset at this time, neither of them would have been thinking clearly.  Obviously, Gerald’s anger and lack of clear thinking was what probably led to his fatal car crash–given his high speed in a residential neighborhood.  If Maria was running from Gerald, maybe she saw the crash.  Maybe she didn’t.  Maybe she panicked and in her attempt to elude her husband, fell and was injured.  Assuming she was on foot, the woman could be anywhere near her apartment.  Essie knew the area where the Comptons lived and there were many wooded spots around it.  If Maria had hurt herself or fallen in any of these locations, she could be lying on the ground–injured or even dead.  Quite possibly, she could be out in the open and might not be discovered until spring.  The weather was so bad, it would be unlikely that anyone would be out walking in the woods if they didn’t have to be.  Obviously, Essie could not go out in the snow to look for Maria in the woods.  But Santos might be able to when he got off from his shift.  She decided to ask him to check the wooded areas near Maria and Gerald’s apartment when he had a chance.  She lifted her receiver and called the main desk.

            “Hello, Phyllis,” she said when the familiar voice answered.  “Can you give me the extension for the kitchen?”

            “Do you need something, Essie?” asked Phyllis. 

            “Um … yes,” she replied.  “I just need to ask a favor of one of the workers.”

            “A favor! Oh!” replied Phyllis, somewhat surprised.  “Just a moment, Essie, and I’ll connect you.”  The phone rang several times in Essie’s ear and then a cheery voice responded.

            “Kitchen!”

            “May I please speak with Santos?” she asked politely.

            “Hey, Santos!” she heard the voice call out.  “You got a caller!”  Shortly, she recognized the young waiter’s voice on the other end.

            “Hello?”

            “Santos, it’s Essie Cobb,” she said surreptitiously.  “I’m sorry to bother you while you’re working …”

            “Miss Essie!” he exclaimed, then whispered, “Is baby okay?”

            “Yes!  He’s fine!” she said. “I was wondering, Santos, if you might have a few moments to check out some of the wooded areas near Maria and Gerald’s apartment?  I’m thinking that since we haven’t heard from Maria and she wasn’t in the car with her husband when he was killed last night, that maybe she was trying to run from him.  She did leave her wallet, so she must have left in a hurry.  Maybe she wasn’t able to come back for Antonio because she fell and is injured.”

            “You mean, she fall in woods, Miss Essie?” he cried in a whisper, obviously shielding the phone from anyone overhearing the conversation.  “That is very bad!  Weather very bad today!”

            “I know, Santos!” agreed Essie.  “That’s why it’s so important that you take a look around their apartment.  If Maria is lying wounded somewhere out there, she could be unable to contact anyone.  She could be … dead, Santos.  We need to know.  There has to be a reason she hasn’t returned for Antonio.  It certainly isn’t that she’s afraid of Gerald anymore.”

            “Maybe Maria not know Gerald is dead,” suggested Santos. 

            “True!” agreed Essie, “but if she’s anywhere inside, she’s probably seen the news coverage of Gerald’s accident.  It’s been all over the news and it was pretty gruesome.”

            “Gruesome?” asked Santos.

            “Yes, terrible!  Horrific!” explained Essie. 

            “Oh,
si
.  Gruesome!” repeated Santos.  “Very good English word, Miss Essie.”

            “Santos, enough with the vocabulary lesson,” said Essie.  “Can you go check the wooded areas around Maria’s apartment?”

            “
Si
, Miss Essie!” he replied.  “I take break now.  I have fifteen minutes
for humo de romper
… how you say, smoke cigarette.”

            “You don’t smoke, do you, Santos?” she cried.

            “Oh, no, Miss Essie,” he said, “but I do the break!”

            “Wonderful!” she responded.  “So, get going.  You have a car?”

            “
Si
!” he said, “I have very nice American sports car.  It is 1994 Ford Escort.”

            “Good for you,” she chuckled, as the young man’s pride in his vehicle was evident.  “And Santos, let me know what you find out–even if you don’t find anything.”

            “
Si
, Miss Essie,” he said.  “I report to you right away.  Now I go!”  He hung up quietly and Essie replaced her telephone receiver with a relief.  She both hoped and dreaded that Santos would find something, that something being Maria lying injured somewhere near her home unable to move or contact help.  If he didn’t find her, the circumstances of baby Antonio appeared more and more bleak.  She got up from her lounge chair and rolled over to her bedroom door where she could check on her charge.  The baby was sleeping soundly.  There were no leg movements which Essie realized were the signs that Antonio was stirring and would soon want to be fed.  She sighed.  Was there anything else she could do from her apartment while she waited for Santos to look for Maria?