Sounds of Silence (14 page)

Fear for Danilo momentarily paralyzed Eli. This type of investigation was a whole different ball game than what he was used to. Every time he got hold of one end of the string, three more appeared to confuse him. How was he supposed to proceed now?

Consumed by his thoughts, Eli faded through the crowded tables until he found himself at the back of the barroom. He realized he stood directly in front of the beaded curtain that led to the storeroom. Mercedes’s beaded curtain.

He looked over his shoulder. Nobody was paying any attention to him. With slow, inconspicuous movements, he pushed aside the strands closest to the doorjamb and slipped through.

The light of the single naked bulb in the low ceiling revealed that the room was unoccupied. Realizing he’d been holding his breath, Eli took a moment to orient himself. There’d been something in this room that had snagged his instincts last time—something more than the curtain itself. The layout of the room—it was just as Mercedes had drawn it.

He pictured Mercedes sitting in this dismal little room, trying to draw or read while her sister turned tricks in the bar. Looking through the curtain, he saw exactly what she must have seen: garish red light and movement behind the shimmering beads—almost an underwater scene.

He checked the furniture to see if anything had been moved since the last time he was here. The table and chairs were right where they’d been, as were the cot and the bench against the wall. Okay, so he was going to move things himself, look under everything.

First the table. After shoving it aside, he got down on his knees to examine the tile floor. It was stained, imperfectly laid, but yielded no clues. Frustrated, he walked over to the cot. Quickly he stripped the bedding, then flipped the whole thing over to look underneath. His heart jerked when he found a couple of books—children’s books in English, with the covers ripped off and pages dog-eared. Evidence that perhaps Mercedes had been here, but nothing to do with the murder.

The only thing left was the bench, simply constructed from a two-by-four plank and a couple of cinderblocks. He lifted the plank, and what he saw made him fling himself to his knees. Near the floor, underneath where the bench had been, the tar-paper wall had been ripped open to form a flap, sort of like a doggie door. Eli cautiously pushed against it, putting himself inside the skin of a scared little girl. He could easily imagine Mercedes shimmying through this flap as a matter of convenience, or a way of escape. As his hand dropped, it brushed against a bent nail, wickedly placed at the juncture of floor and wall—maybe the source of the gash in Mercedes’s knee. It was amazing that she hadn’t developed tetanus as a result.

Okay. Now what?

Eli searched the shadows close to the wall, unsure of what exactly he was looking for. He moved one of the cinderblocks and sucked in a breath. Behind it was a small blue-flowered tennis shoe, a perfect match to the one Mercedes had been wearing when he found her. If she had been here and witnessed the scene in her drawing, it would explain why Medieros was determined to get rid of her.

Eli stuck the shoe in his back pocket and made sure everything in the room was back where he’d found it. He slipped back into the barroom without attracting attention, taking a deep breath when he hit the relatively fresh air outside.

He pulled out his cell phone to call Artemio and nearly had a heart attack when it suddenly vibrated in his hand.

“Eli, you’re not going to believe this,” said Artemio. “Hector Caslas is dead.”

Mercedes sat up in bed. She’d been awake long before she felt Isabel get up. She had a decision to make, and she knew God was talking to her.

She didn’t like to think about the night her sister died, because Lupe had been so frightened and her death so violent. And remembering her heel in Pablo’s hand…a nightmare. But now she understood why she’d had to tell Eli about it. If she’d told a long time ago, Danilo wouldn’t have been taken from his mama.

The anxiety in Eli’s blue eyes had made Mercedes want to cry. The trouble was, even after she’d told him about Lupe, it didn’t seem to make him any happier. If anything he’d looked even more grim.

She knew Pablo wanted her, Mercedes, instead of Danilo. No telling how many other people Pablo would hurt to get to her.

She slid out of bed and crept toward the bathroom door. She put her hand to it and felt the warmth from the shower steam seeping through the cracks. Isabel was getting ready to do something brave and dangerous, she could feel it.

God, please let me help her. Here I am.

She got up and found her sandals, then sat down on the floor to put them on.

Chapter Thirteen

E
li knew it was late, but he called his supervisory agent’s home number anyway. Now that he had Pablo Medieros’s name, he wasn’t going to let anything keep him from finding the guy.

“Carmichael, have you completely lost it?” snarled Dean when Eli identified himself. “It’s one o’clock in the morning!”

“Yes, sir. But I think I’ve found the Mexican mobster who’s the source of all that coke funneling through our sector. He killed Bryan Hatcher and—I suspect he kidnapped the Valenzuela boy. Owen and I want to take the hilo across the river to get him.”

“I’m dealing with lunatics. No wonder Washington keeps turning down funding. You know perfectly well you can’t cross the border in a government helicopter, they’ll shoot you down and put you in prison.” Dean paused. “And rightfully so.”

“The
federalies
have
asked
me in.” Eli made an effort to monitor his words. “Respectfully, sir, you assigned me to stop the leak, and I’ve found a way to do it.”

Eli was suddenly aware that Dean was fully awake, fully engaged, and mad as a nest full of hornets. “Are you questioning my judgment?”

“Sir, I—I know you told me to stay out of the Hatcher murder, but it’s connected to my other case. If there’s a good reason why Owen and I can’t go across to look for the Valenzuela boy, you need to tell me what it is.”

Dean hesitated. “I’m taking care of it myself.”

Eli pressed. “Let me at least tell you what I’ve found out. Did you know that the governor of Coahuila’s personal bodyguard is trafficking—”

“That’s the point,” Dean ground out. “There are political ramifications you can’t begin to understand. Trade negotiations between us and Mexico are delicate, and right now both our jobs depend on making Washington happy.”

“But, sir—”

“Carmichael, do what you have to do. We never had this conversation.”

Eli watched the disconnect light blink. Then he realized Dean had said in so many words that he could go.

Rico had always said that if the family livelihood depended on Isabel’s acting ability, they’d be on food stamps within a week. It was a good thing she didn’t have to deal with this in daylight.

Turning off the shower, then the light, she stumbled through the dark room toward the bed. She knelt beside it, trembling so hard the mattress shook. Mercedes was going to wake up thinking an earthquake had erupted.

She remembered telling Eli that she was a homemaker not a warrior—or some such drivel. Well, she was certainly proving that out.

Call Eli.
She slipped her hand into her pocket and closed her fist around the cell phone. But what if she did that, and the kidnapper found out she’d disobeyed orders? Still, she flipped open the phone and located Eli’s cell number. She could trust him to tell her the right thing to do.

Before she could rethink it any more, she pushed the call button. Two rings and she heard an electronic message, “The cellular number you have dialed is currently unavailable for service.”

Okay, so the decision was out of her hands, at least for a while.

Clenching the bedspread, she stayed on her knees for a while longer, agonizing over what she knew she had to do.

She was going to have to leave Mercedes here and go across the border, hoping she’d know what to do once she got there. Isabel reached for Mercedes.

All she touched was a cool, empty bedsheet.

She stopped herself on the point of screaming. Biting her lip hard, she found the bedside lamp and turned the switch.

There was Mercedes, sitting cross-legged in front of the door. She was dressed in the red shorts and shirt and her new sandals.

Weak-kneed with relief, Isabel collapsed onto the bed. “Mercedes, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be asleep.” She mimed sleeping with her hands against her cheek.

Mercedes got up.
I’ll go with you,
she signed.

“No, baby. Come here.” Mercedes reluctantly approached, and stood knee-to-knee with Isabel. “I have to go look for Danilo. You stay.”

The big brown eyes watered as Mercedes shook her head.

“Yes.” Isabel tried to look stern, though her heart was breaking. “I promise I’ll come back. Obey Officer Beatty and Pamela.”

Dark. Night,
Mercedes signed.

“Yes. Go back to sleep.” Isabel grabbed Mercedes in a hug, then picked her up to lay her in the bed.
I love you,
she signed, then reached for the lamp switch.

Isabel walked through the quiet, softly lit house into the kitchen, where she found a pen and paper. She wrote a brief note for Pamela, asking her to care for Mercedes until she returned and promising she’d be back in a day or two. She left it propped against the coffeepot.

She started a second note addressed to Eli, then thought better of it. He’d likely come looking for her anyway, and she didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She wadded the note and threw it in the trash can under the sink. She couldn’t leave a note and take the chance that somebody she didn’t trust might find it.

She hooked her purse strap over her shoulder and dug out her keys. Breathing a prayer, she left the house by the kitchen door.

Mercedes slid down off the bed and followed Isabel down the stairs, staying far enough behind so as not to get caught. When Isabel went into the kitchen, Mercedes scooted through the den into the foyer, then out the front door.

She had seen Isabel’s car in the barn the night Danilo disappeared. In fact, she’d almost decided to hide there, but found herself lured by the kittens instead.

Now she knew exactly how to get there.

She trotted through the moonlit pasture between the Hatcher’s landscaped yard and the outbuildings, pausing only to climb over a fence post.
Good thing I’m fast
, she thought.

Fast but not obedient
, an ugly little voice in her head whispered.
Worse than Danilo. Isabel will spank you when she finds you out of bed.

Mercedes ran faster.

She reached the barn and paused to look over her shoulder. Isabel still wasn’t in sight, and Mercedes panicked at the thought of being out here alone all night long. What if Isabel decided not to come for her car?

Well
, she thought,
you’ve been in worse places before
.

Determined not to be left behind, she gritted her teeth and walked around the corner of the building until she found the small opening she’d seen the cats going in and out of. Wriggling and squeezing, she managed to get through it.

Ugh—
the barn was dark, doubly frightening because of the horses. She wouldn’t see it if one of them came at her suddenly. With her insides quaking, she sidled along, her eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness until she made out the dim outline of the car at the far end of the center aisle.

Relief poured through her as she ran the final steps to the vehicle. At least the car was safe and familiar. Yanking open the rear door, she hopped in, slammed it shut and squeezed into the floorboard space between the front and back seats. Fortunately, the overhead light was broken, so Isabel wouldn’t see her back here until it was too late.

It would be worth a spanking to be with Isabel.

As Isabel hurried across the pasture, silence pressed down on her shoulders like an anvil. If she strained, she could see the lights of the international bridge ten miles away. It had been a long time since she’d been out alone this late at night. Fear pierced the numbness she’d wrapped around herself since Danilo was taken.

God, please take care of him and Mercedes. Help me know what to do.

With everything in her she wished Eli were here to share this burden, this fear. How had she gotten to be so emotionally dependent on one man’s strength? How could a slow baritone voice be so reassuring, and at the same time make her heart race? Sometimes, with Rico, she’d felt as much like a parent as a wife. Eli made her feel completely like a woman. Better and stronger and more aware of God’s presence in her life.

Isabel began to walk faster, as if to outrun the dangerous longings that had overtaken her common sense.

A few minutes later she stood in front of the Hatchers’ barn, staring at the padlock in the hasp across its door. She had her car keys, but how was she going to get into the barn?

Think, Isabel. If you were a brave, resourceful woman, what would you do?

She walked around the building looking for a way in. It was constructed in typical fashion of rough unpainted boards, and well-ventilated, but the windows were near the tin roof. Even if she’d had a ladder, Isabel knew she’d break her neck climbing down from the inside.

That obviously wasn’t going to work.

But when she rounded the corner of the barn, the gleam of an ax propped against a woodpile caught her gaze.
Thank You, Lord.
She grabbed it, staggering a bit as she ran back to the front of the building. Either it was heavier than she’d expected, or she was extraordinarily tired. Maybe both.

She stood looking at the lock, nervously swinging the ax in both hands. She’d never had a reason to pick one up before, and she could just imagine the noise this procedure was going to make. She looked around to make sure she was alone.

Oh, yeah. Nobody here but us chickens.

Gritting her teeth, she drew the ax back in perfect batting stance as she’d seen Eli demonstrating for Danilo. Feet apart, knees bent, elbows up.

Here we go.
She swung with all her strength.

To her astonishment and joy, the blade bit into the lock dead center, split the hasp in two, and stuck in the door.

“Wow,” she muttered. “Grand slam.”

With one quick yank she had the door open, and there was her little Escort sitting in the center aisle of the barn. It was darker than the Seminole Canyon caves in here, but she knew this vehicle like the back of her hand. Fishing her keys out of her pocket, she ran to open the driver’s door.

Making arrangements for Owen to fly the chopper across the border turned out to be a bit more complicated than Eli had bargained for. Artemio was highly connected in the police force, but the number of officials he could trust were limited. Eli found himself cooling his heels in a cantina for nearly an hour, waiting for permission to land the helicopter without bringing the wrath of the
federalies
down on his head.

To keep from going to sleep, he decided to fill the time by harassing Phyllis Beatty.

“Phyllis, this is Eli,” he said when she groggily answered the phone. “Sorry to call so late, but I need a favor.”

“What’s the matter,” she teased, “you border boys run out of yards to roll?”

He chuckled. “Listen, do me a favor and go down the hall to check on Isabel, would you?”

“Do it yourself, Don Juan.”

“Phyllis…” He dragged her name out teasingly. “Please? I’m tied up for the foreseeable future, and I’m worried about her. But don’t wake her up if she’s asleep.”

“Oh, all right,” she grumbled. “But you owe me a steak dinner. Hold on.”

Eli could hear her footsteps on the hardwood floor, heard her yawn and open a door. Then a distinct gasp came over the line. “Eli, she’s not in the bed. Neither is Mercedes. Let me check the bathroom.” A few seconds later, Phyllis’s voice returned, slightly strained. “I can’t find her. Listen, I’m going to check downstairs. She probably couldn’t sleep and went down to watch TV or something. Let me call you back.”

Before Eli could reply, the connection ended. He closed his phone and stared at the neon Pepsi sign on the opposite wall. Somehow he’d known something was wrong.

The lump of lead in his stomach wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Isabel reached the customs checkpoint on the bridge and offered her driver’s license to the agent. She recognized the young Hispanic man with neat mustache and dimples as a co-worker of Rico’s who’d been in their home a time or two.

“Isabel!” he exclaimed. “What’re you doing out this time of night?”

If she told Berto that her son was being held by a kidnapper, he’d probably call the men in white coats. She tried not to look suspicious. “My grandmother’s ill, and I’ve been called to help care for her.”

Telling lies was getting altogether too easy. Maybe she should be worried about her morals.

“Where does she live?” asked Berto.

“Ten miles or so out in the country, on the other side of Acuña.”

“Okay.” He flicked his flashlight beam across her lap to the passenger seat. “When do you plan to return?”

“I—It’s kind of an emergency. I’m not sure.”

Berto handed back her driver’s license and turned off the flashlight. “You should be careful. There are a lot of drunks and crazies running around this time of night.” When Isabel started to roll the window back up, he put out a hand. “Wait, would you like an escort?”

Isabel’s heart hammered. “No. No, thank you. I’ll be fine, I’ve driven it a million times.”

He gave her a searching look. “Hope your grandma gets better soon.”

“Thank you.” Isabel rolled the window up.

Oh Lord, please forgive me.

Tied hand and foot, Danilo Valenzuela lay blessedly asleep on a pallet in the corner. His superhero nonsense, amusing at first, had driven Pablo right over the edge. On the verge of cutting the boy’s tongue out, he had finally taped his mouth again.

He turned as Camino entered the camp’s great-room, throwing the screen door back on its hinges and then slamming it shut again with a great bang.

“
Hola,
Pablo,” sang out Camino, yanking a chair away from the table. He straddled it backward and propped his arms across the top. “You wanted to know when the woman crossed the border.” He reached in his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes. “She is on her way.”

Pablo didn’t know whether to smack his
compadre
across the back of the head or embrace him. “And the
niña?
”

Camino looked offended. “Our man on the bridge saw her in the back seat. Can you not trust me?”