10 Tahoe Trap (41 page)

“No. I have a question. What could Paco possibly know that would be very valuable?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve learned that there was a thirty thousand dollar price on him. Now he’s been kidnapped by the person who hired Cassie murdered.”

“What?!” she shouted in my ear. “Someone kidnapped him?!”

“Yeah. But I can’t figure out why.”

“That poor boy! Oh, no!” I could hear her crying.

“Can you think of a reason why someone would pay money to kidnap him?”

“No! Absolutely not! People kidnap for ransom money, right?” she said in a near shout. “There isn’t anybody who knows Paco who would have ransom money. This is a poor community.”

“There must be something remarkable about Paco,” I said. “Some secret that he knows.”

“I’m sorry to say it, but there is nothing remarkable about Paco. I think he has a good heart. I know he works very hard. But special, no. He’s like any other kid except for two things. One, he’s an illegal immigrant.”

“What’s the other thing?”

“I shouldn’t even say it. Other people wouldn’t think it is remarkable. And it certainly isn’t worth any money. But he is Basque.”

“Why is that remarkable?”

“I don’t really know. If you knew the Basque people, you’d understand. They are special. They have a heritage that is unique. They are Europe’s oldest people. And even the ones who’ve been on this continent for generations, it... I don’t know. It shows in their manner. I’ve seen it in our local doctor. He’s Basque, and he... Wait, you met him, right? Dr. Mendoza. Not only is he Basque, but he’s quite an expert on Basque people.”

“Yes, he told me that Paco was Basque,” I said. “Do you think he would know anything else about Paco? Would he pay ransom money for Paco?”

“I don’t know,” Sagan said. “You could call him.”

“It’s late. He won’t be at the office. Do you have an emergency number for him?”

“Yes,” Sagan said. “Let me look it up.” She read it off. “That’s his home number. He’s probably there at this hour.”

I thanked her, hung up, and got Mendoza on the phone.

I told him what had happened. I heard an intake of breath, but he didn’t exclaim.

“Did you ever tell anyone anything about Paco?” I asked when he answered.

“No,” Mendoza said. “I would never do that. I have complete respect for the privacy of my patients.”

“The foundation that paid the medical bills for your poor patients, did you tell them anything that could be used to identify Paco?”

“No. All I did was give them the medical reports for their researchers’ epidemiology study. It’s totally anonymous with regard to my patients.”

“What does an epidemiology study do?”

“It’s a standard approach to judging what is needed with regard to public health. Understanding the etiologies of disease, or the causation, if you will, is central to making policy to improve health everywhere. So, in return for the funding for medical service for the poor people in our community, we gave them standard medical reports.”

“What is in those reports?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” Mendoza said. “There are many complicated components to health analyses, and they tell us many things about the patient’s physiology, any current diseases, biochemical imbalances, certain genetic information, drug use, and so on. We can also make predictions about heart disease, diabetes, and a host of other conditions based on aggregated community medical information. Great breakthroughs in health treatment worldwide have come as a result of these kinds of studies.”

“I asked Pam Sagan what was so special about Paco, and she said nothing except that he is an illegal immigrant and he is Basque. When I asked her why being Basque is special, she said I should call you. So I ask you, what is so special about being Basque?”

“Certainly nothing that would make someone kidnap a boy. What is special about being Basque is largely a matter of pride, of our history.”

“How?” I said. “You must be able to describe it.”

“I guess it’s about enduring. When all of Europe’s earliest inhabitants succumbed to invading forces, the Basque people survived. Even when Hitler and Mussolini committed the unforgivable atrocity of bombing a peaceful people, they still survived. Their endurance has been celebrated, and they...”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “What you just said. What do you mean that their endurance has been celebrated?”

“Just the whole brutal bombing. It was disgusting. Hitler’s men bombed Basque women and children, more than a thousand of them. It was even commemorated in a famous painting by Picasso.”

“The painting. Do you know the name of it?”

“Of course. It was named for the town that was bombed. It’s one of the most famous paintings in the world. It’s called Guernica.”

My heart beat hard enough that I felt it bang in my chest. Guernica was the painting that I saw hanging above the mantle in Robert Whitehall’s house.

“Doctor, the foundation that pays those medical bills. Tell me again, what was the name of it?”

“The Medical Freedom Foundation.”

“Who runs it?”

“A philanthropist up at Lake Tahoe. A man by the name of Robert Whitehall.”

“Thanks, doctor.” I hung up.

FORTY-SEVEN

I pulled up outside of Whitehall’s gate. I could try to crash through, but maybe I didn’t have to. I dialed his number. It rang five times. A machine picked up.

I didn’t want to accuse Whitehall of kidnapping Paco. If I did and he was guilty, he would flee. Maybe I could make him think that I just needed information.

At the tone, I said, “Mr. Whitehall, this is Owen McKenna. I’m parked outside of your gate. Cassie Moreno’s boy Paco has been kidnapped. You are connected to it in some way. Maybe you know that, maybe you don’t. I need to talk to you immediately. If you’re home, please open the gate. I need to find...”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Whitehall’s voice said on the phone. “I was in the bathroom. I could only hear some of your words. What is this about?”

“Cassie’s boy Paco has been kidnapped.”

“Hold on while I open the gate.”

I hung up. The gate opened. I drove in. The front door opened. I let Spot out of the Jeep. He trotted inside Whitehall’s house while I flattened myself against the outside wall of the house. If Whitehall was armed, maybe Spot would sense it and do something that would clue me in.

Nothing happened. Spot came back out the door. He looked at me, his tail on intermittent wag.

I went inside. Whitehall was over by the fireplace, pacing.

“You said Paco’s been kidnapped. Why would he be kidnapped? I don’t understand. Is this connected to Cassie’s murder?”

I pointed to a chair. “Sit,” I said.

He sat on the edge of the chair, back straight, feet and knees together like a school girl. Spot sat, too, probably thinking that I was talking to him. Spot looked at me, then at Whitehall.

“What do you know about Paco?” I said.

“Nothing. He is Cassie’s son. Or stepson, or something like that. I believe she referred to him as her son. He helps with the vegetables. I never met him until you brought him by the other day.”

I stood opposite Whitehall.

“Paco and I set up a trap in a house on the West Shore. We succeeded in catching the two hired killers who murdered Cassie. But I was suckered. The person who hired them must have been there in the shadows as I worked my trap. When the commotion was over, Paco was gone.”

Whitehall paled. “Why would someone kidnap Paco?” His voice was small. Frightened.

“That’s what I want to know. It might have something to do with his being Basque.”

“Paco is Basque?” Whitehall said. “He looks Mexican. Mestizo.”

“I’ve learned that many Basque emigrated to Mexico. They married Mexicans the same way that the Basque who came here married Americans.”

“What would being Basque have to do with Paco getting kidnapped?” Whitehall frowned. His concern seemed genuine.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But every time I learn something more about Paco, I hear something more about his Basque background. There are too many Basque connections for it to be a coincidence.”

Whitehall’s frown deepened. “Speaking of which, the painting behind you.” He pointed toward the fireplace.

I looked at the famous painting we’d discussed the last time I was in Whitehall’s house.

“Picasso’s Guernica,” I said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“It was a terrible attack,” Whitehall said. “You can see all the symbols of agony in the painting. The women and children and even the horses that were blown to bits.”

I sat down. Put my fingertips to my temples. Pushed as if to force understanding into my brain.

“What is your connection to the Basque?” I said, unable to keep anger out of my voice.

“None,” Whitehall said. His fright had turned his face nearly white. He shook his head.

“Then why do you have the painting? You just happen to love a painting that portrays the horror of an atrocity committed against the Basque?”

“The painting pays honor to the victims and what they went through.”

“I don’t buy it, Whitehall.” I was shouting. “A young Basque boy is kidnapped, and it turns out that you’ve been funding medical care in his community. I spoke to Dr. Mendoza. He says that one of the conditions of the medical funding was that he turn in medical reports on his patients. The school principal thinks that Paco’s Basque heritage is involved. You have on your wall a painting about the Basque.”

Whitehall was sputtering, suddenly seeming old. He struggled to get the words out. “But it’s not even my painting. It belongs to my tenants. When they moved into the guest house, there was no wall large enough to hang the painting, so I said it could hang here for the time being.”

“It belongs to your tenants? The retired vet and his son who has cancer,” I said.

Whitehall nodded. “Yes, Dr. Andrew Garcia and his son Martin. You must remember meeting them. Andrew was wearing the running suit, and his son Martin was in the wheelchair. I never see the reports that Mendoza sends the foundation. I turn them over to Dr. Garcia. He gives them to medical researchers. In fact, it was Garcia’s idea that my foundation fund the medical services for poor communities. He’s a vet, but he’s deeply involved in medical charity for people. Now that I think of it, it was Andrew Garcia who first learned about Cassie and her business. He first met her at the farmers’ market.”

“Was that before or after he directed you to fund medical services?”

“After.”

“So Garcia may have learned about Paco from the medical reports, then had you sign up for Field To Fridge just so he could get to know Cassie and Paco better. Is Garcia home?”

“No. Andrew left with Martin that day you and Paco came by. Andrew said they’d be out of town for several days.”

I pulled out my cell phone. Dialed Dr. Mendoza one more time.

“McKenna again,” I said. “I’m at Robert Whitehall’s house. Do you know a retired veterinarian named Dr. Andrew Garcia?”

“No. Why?”

“I’m wondering if he has any connection to the Basque.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about him. But Garcia is one of the most common Basque names, if that makes any difference.”

“It does, yes. Can you think of a reason that a person of Basque heritage would kidnap a Basque boy?”

“No, of course, not. From my perspective, there is nothing about Paco that would attract a kidnapper.”

“What about a medical reason?”

Mendoza was silent for a moment. “Well, I hate to think it because it is so horrible, but yes, there is a medical reason, and that would be to use Paco as an organ donor. I don’t have Paco’s blood work in front of me. But as a Basque boy, there is a good chance that he has type O negative blood. If so, that makes him what we call a universal donor because his tissues would be less likely to be rejected than donors with other blood types.”

“Is forced organ donation something you’ve heard much about?”

“Mostly, doctors hear about it the same way the general public does, in stories, in movies.”

“Yet, you believe it happens?” I asked.

“Absolutely. But it’s very uncommon because stealing an organ doesn’t do a thief any good unless it is a close tissue match to the recipient. The idea of someone kidnapping someone for the purpose of taking their organs is highly impractical for that reason. Even if the person is type O negative, there are many other factors that are necessary for an ideal match.”

 “Dr. Garcia had access to the medical reports you sent the medical foundation. You said that the reports didn’t have names attached. But is there other information that could be used to figure out a person’s identity?”

Mendoza inhaled. “Yes, if one is determined. The reports include patient age, gender, and race.”

“Garcia has a son who has some kind of stage four cancer. Paco is an undocumented, illegal immigrant who wouldn’t be missed by many.”

“You are scaring me, McKenna. You are tearing out my heart. What can I do?”