Sufficient Ransom (18 page)

Marty crushed her half-smoked cigarette in an overflowing ashtray next to the lamp on the table. “I came home at five and he wasn’t here. I got worried. I called my mother in Chula Chula…..Vista.” Her eyelids drooped along with her voice. “She didn’t hear from him either.”

Ann had assumed that Marty was married, but now she wasn’t so sure. She hoped her next question would not put Marty on the defensive. “And his father?”

Marty stared at the floor for a long moment. “There’s no father.”

Ann felt a stab of compassion. “Any siblings?”

“Just me and Jesús.”

Ann noticed Marty wore a silver cross at her neck.

Marty’s voice took on a querulous tone. “You ask so many questions. I told the police everything already.”

“Marty,” Ann said gently. “I saw Agent Fox leaving here. What have the police told you?” For a moment she thought Marty wouldn’t answer. The pack of cigarettes on the table was so close. Ann almost wanted one. Anything to relieve the tension in her shoulders and chest.

“Nothing,” Marty finally said. “Two cops came with the FBI man. The one with red hair. They poked around some. The cops said they’d be back for the press conference. The FBI guy stayed and asked more questions, then he left.”

“Why would anyone want to take your son?”

Marty’s shoulders lifted and fell. “This ain’t exactly La Jolla. Crime up and down this street.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “Maybe I pissed someone off. Or maybe Jesús did.”

Ann sensed Marty was holding something back. “Who could you have crossed?”

“Dunno.”

“Did anyone threaten you or your son?”

Marty shook her head in a slight rolling gesture, as if her head were too heavy for her shoulders.

“You mentioned crime,” Ann said. “Could one of the gangs have taken Jesús? I read about how the drug cartels recruit kids to sell drugs and work under the radar.”

Marty’s voice took on an unexpected edge. “I’d know if my son was dealing drugs.”

“I didn’t mean to imply Jesús had done anything wrong,” Ann said quickly. “Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe he heard or saw something that he wasn’t supposed to. And was taken to—”

Marty buried her face in her hands.

Ann reproached herself for saying scary things to the boy’s mother.

When Marty looked up, her eyes were pleading. “Jesús’s been hanging out with older kids, from troubled homes.”

For the first time in days, Ann felt doors opening. “Maybe I could to talk to these friends and see if there’s something I can find out that the police, for whatever reason, couldn’t.” She wanted to help Marty. “If you need anything…Please don’t take this the wrong way, but if I can help you pay the mortgage or —”

Marty’s shoulders slumped further. “I don’t need nothing from nobody.” When she looked up her slight smile was rueful, as if she knew she was being difficult but couldn’t help herself.

Maybe it was Ann’s offer to help or maybe it was her frank approach. In either case, Ann sensed that Marty was warming to her. Ann started asking her about Jesús, their family, and his friends. Marty answered in clipped sentences, cigarette smoke spewing from her mouth. Marty said nothing about Travis. Ann was not surprised. Marty’s grip on reality seemed tenuous enough as it was.

It was time to leave. When Ann pressed her phone number into Marty’s hand, Marty let the paper fall to the floor. Ann scooped it up and placed it on the side table. “I have to go now. Please call if you hear anything. Or if you need anything.”

Marty pulled herself to her feet and accompanied Ann to the door. Leaning heavily on the doorframe, her words were slurred. “I did forget
to tell the police something. Jesús and his friends play at a warehouse down by the train tracks.” She waved, indicating the general direction of the place. “Past Palo Boulevard, on the edge of the
barrio
.”

Señora Valdez too had saying something about a warehouse.

Marty’s voice was suddenly tight and clear. “When I think of that place, I get scared. It’s so close to the border.”

If only Marty would take some action to find her son, she wouldn’t feel so helpless. “Marty,” Ann said kindly. “Come with me to the warehouse. We’ll look for Jesús together.”

“I can’t…. I can’t do anything…I feel so…” Her shoulders bowed, Marty turned to go.

Ann called after her, “I’ll call tonight to see how you’re doing. Let me know if you hear anything. Okay? My number’s on the table.”

11:00 A.M
.

W
aiting at the intersection for the light to change, Ann’s eyes followed the train tracks to the right of the road as they veered south through a clump of thickly planted trees. She wondered if maybe Jesús and his friends had gone to the warehouse Marty had mentioned, to play, and Jesús got hurt. His friends might not have said anything because they were scared they would get in trouble.

As soon as the light turned green, Ann sprinted across a four-lane boulevard and past a few busy streets. Soon, the road branched off into a fast moving highway to the far right, and in the other direction—which she followed—a quiet area, flanked on one side by rows of narrow roads, and on the other side by a grove of trees and the train tracks. Hurrying along, Ann glimpsed auto body shops, self-storage facilities, and small warehouses. A few hundred yards up, the road curved to the left, past what looked to be the last street in the neighborhood.

Ann followed the bend to the left and soon found herself on a lonely stretch of road. Suddenly, the earth shook as the screeching of metal on metal clawed the air. She swung around just as a long line of freight cars, partially hidden by the wall of trees on the right came into view. Chugging and straining to get its heavy load around the corner, the train settled into a steady jog and soon passed out of sight.

Walking, Ann let out the breath she had been holding. She wondered why no one was around. She stumbled and fell. She hadn’t noticed that the sidewalk had ended. Standing up, she dusted off her jeans and continued moving—past empty lots strewn with broken bottles and trash, past another gutted building and a dusty field. On the right, up a ways, she saw a break in the trees.

Hurrying across the road toward the clearing, she spotted a tall structure set back a hundred feet or so from the road. It seemed to dominate the area.
The warehouse
. Diagonally behind the building there appeared to be an open space filled with rusting hulks of metal. The entire area looked abandoned. Ann walked to the edge of the trees and
sat down on a large rock, debating what to do next. Images of Mrs. Aziz, her raw anger, and Marty’s passive fatalism came to her. Neither woman seemed to have the right approach to finding their children. She shook her head. Not that she had figured it out either.

A car was approaching. Ann scampered behind the rock. This place was so isolated and creepy, anyone could be in that car, even a bad guy. Peering around the rock’s edge, Ann watched a blue sedan stop in front of the clearing. A young man with narrow eyes and clipped black hair leaned out of the passenger window and scanned the area. She couldn’t get a good look at the driver, but she could tell from a brown hand on the steering wheel that he too was probably Latino. She heard muttering but couldn’t make out their words. Slowly, the car pulled away and disappeared down the empty road.

Relieved that the men hadn’t spotted her, Ann darted into the junkyard, grateful for the cover. The fenced lot was bigger than it appeared from the road. A rusting remnant of a once powerful machine towered over reddish mounds of metal scattered about the ground. Picking her way through the maze of dead objects, Ann looked for signs of Jesús. She stopped short.

Tucked behind the warehouse was a small plot of land enclosed by a low picket. The smooth dirt was dotted with what appeared to be gravestones. Ann noticed a rectangle of fresh earth at the far end. Morbid fascination propelled her forward. She stepped over the short fence. A few feet away, a small block of wood clung to the dirt. Scratched on its flat surface were the words:
Domenico Salazar, 1965-2006
. Next to this plaque stood another one carved in crude letters.
Roger Esteban 1970-2007
.

Goose bumps traveling her skin, Ann moved down the row reading names and dates on the makeshift headstones. A fresh plot of earth marked the end of the row. With no plaque to identify the space, Ann knew she could learn nothing about who was buried here. She knelt to touch the dirt. She pictured human remains rotting in a box. A person who had once lived, laughed, and cried.

For the first time since coming to this place Ann was glad to be alone. For once, she could experience what she yearned for in her darkest moments—nothingness. She felt like praying. To whom, she couldn’t say. To someone, somewhere who could hear her, and understand what it felt like to be forsaken.

After a few minutes, Ann glanced at her watch. It was past noon. Her husband was probably wondering where she was. She dug her phone out of her jeans.
No service
. She gave a resigned sigh, pushed the phone into her pocket, stood up, and dusted herself off.

12:30 P.M
.

T
hough Ann’s conscience warned her of the folly of entering an isolated building with a graveyard for a garden, she was so intent in her search for Jesús, and through him her son, that she pushed the warning voice away.

The warehouse was tall, wide, and deep. Made of corrugated metal, it had double doors that when opened looked to be wide enough to accommodate a medium size truck. A long rectangular slit at the top of the structure was its only window. She stepped up to one of the double doors and pushed. It didn’t budge. She tried the other side. It too didn’t give. After studying the building’s façade, she took hold of the handle again. Throwing the weight of her body into it, Ann jerked sideways. The door slid open with a groan.

The smell of dust, grease, and rusty metal smacked her nose. She turned away to take a breath of fresh air before leaning back in. Her eyes strained to make sense of the chaos. The left wall was piled to mid-ceiling with long planks of stacked wood. The right was filled with odd shaped machines, including what appeared to be a gigantic grass cutter and myriad hedge trimmers. A wide path in the center of the warehouse had been cleared, presumably to allow ready access to its jumble of contents in the rear.

The faint sound of an airplane engine overhead reminded Ann of the blue car. If the men returned they would stop to see why the door was open. She stepped inside the structure and slid the door shut.

Her eyes adjusting to the lack of light, Ann noticed thick coils of industrial hoses hanging from wall hooks along the back wall. She moved down the path, straining to see into the pockets of shadow under and around the objects. “Jesús, are you there?” She stopped to listen. No Jesús. She made her way to a large canvas bin. Careful to avoid the sharp edges of rusted objects, she leaned over and peered into the bin. It was empty.

Back on the path, Ann continued toward the rear wall. A long wide object beneath a dark tarp in the far right corner caught her eye. Past cardboard boxes large enough to hold refrigerators, she made out the outline of what appeared to be a vehicle. She tugged the cover back, revealing a truck with a shattered windshield. Walking around it, Ann noticed that the driver side door was dented and pocked with a smattering of small holes. “Bullets,” she murmured. Her hands on the cold metal, she forced herself to look inside. Thank goodness it was empty. She replaced the cover.

Ann stopped short. The flooring at the end of the truck looked different. It was slightly raised and a shade lighter than the surrounding concrete. She knelt to inspect the ground. She gasped. A wooden structure a few yards away seemed to lunge at her. It was a life-size Santa Muerte. The isolation of this place so close to the border. The men in the car. The graves. And the bullet-ridden truck... Suddenly, Ann understood: this place belonged to drug dealers!

Her eyes locked on the patch of flooring at her feet. She had a glimmering that what she was about to do was foolish, but her curiosity was stronger than her fear. Ann dropped to her knees and began clearing the remaining objects from the space. Working up a corner of a gray plank, painted to blend in with the surrounding area, she glimpsed a hole. She lowered the plank and took a deep breath. Her hands under the wood again, she pushed the board up and to the side.

Dank air reached Ann the moment she saw the wooden ladder. Before she had a chance to process her discovery, an arm reached up and pulled her into the darkness.

C
HAPTER
10

Tuesday, October 9

6:30 A.M
.

K
ika kissed the twenty-dollar bill, then pushed it into the metal slot. She selected a tapered candle from the tray and felt for the wooden matchbox. The candle to her lips, she whispered, “For you Mary, always.” After impaling the candle on the stand, she turned her attention to the box of matches. The matchstick scratching the sandpaper marred the stillness of the church.

The candle lit, Kika turned and faced the altar. Kneeling briefly, she said a benediction, straightened her back, and walked down the center aisle. Mary’s beneficent arms stretched out in a welcoming gesture warmed Kika’s heart. She smiled up at the Virgin, thankful to once again have her dear friend and her sanctuary all to herself.

Kika placed her purse on the bench and knelt to begin the seventh day of her novena to Mary. Her hands together, she started with the traditional prayer. “Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

Kika continued whispering, “Oh Most Blessed Mother, Heart of Love, Heart of Mercy. Ever listening, loving, comforting…” And, “Receive with compassion and understanding the petitions placed before you today. Especially regarding Travis. Mary, I’m afraid for the child. He too must be scared. Please take away his fears. I don’t want him to be another Frankie. I couldn’t live with myself. You’ve always been there for me, Mary. Please keep Travis Olson safe.”