Angel Among Us (24 page)

‘The man knew a little Spanish?' Calvano asked. The Hispanic man looked at Calvano with contempt. When translated, his answer became, ‘I would not call the ability to dishonor women as speaking my beautiful language. Many Americans have picked up the worst of our colloquialisms. That does not mean they speak our language.' The nun had imitated his dignity with perfection and Calvano looked properly ashamed at the rebuke.

‘Did your wife see where the American went after he walked away?' Maggie asked him.

The man said, no, his wife had been quite upset by the encounter and had fled home, calling him on the way to report what had happened. They had discussed telling someone, but were afraid to approach the police. They told themselves that the man was just passing through, looking for someone desperate for money, and would keep going. Who were they to try to stop him? But now, the man continued with an abashed expression, he wished that they had done more. Perhaps they could have spared others pain? Perhaps the American had taken the two missing women?

After several more questions about the time of day the man had approached his wife, and if she had noticed him before that day, and other attempts at extracting even the smallest detail about the encounter, Maggie and Calvano let the man go. He had promised to stay in touch with the nuns and would be available if they needed him further. Neither Maggie nor Calvano looked convinced that he would follow through. They were certain, as I was, that he would join his wife wherever she had gone for safety as soon as he could, now that he had told them what he knew and his conscience was clear. But they were unwilling to take him into custody officially. They did not want Gonzales throwing him in jail, too. One Aldo Flores on their consciences was enough.

The young woman with curly hair waiting to see them held something in her arms that she jiggled with an automatic efficiency as they approached her table. It was the baby that, according to the nuns, a man had tried to buy from her. Apparently, having had someone try to take it from her once, she now intended to keep it as close as possible to her in the future. The baby was wrapped in pink and white blankets and though it was no more than a few months old, tiny gold studs had been affixed to its ears.

Most women attempting to establish rapport with a new mother would coo over her baby or ask questions about it. Maggie did not even try. She gave it a cursory glance to establish that it was there, and confirmed that it was the baby the man had tried to buy. The young mother was shy and it took much coaxing to get her story out of her. In the end, she was able to tell them that when she was approached, she had been pushing a cart filled with fresh produce as she gathered food for her family's evening meal. It was just two weeks before her eventual delivery date, and the man had come out of nowhere, frightening her as she stood on the sidewalk between two specialty shops.

‘I thought he was going to rob me,' she said. ‘But then he showed me a big stack of money and said that he would make me rich if I would give him my baby. I told him that I would never sell my baby. That he was sick and must go away. He got angry. He said I would have many more babies. That I should be smart and make money from them.' Her voice cracked as she described the man's behavior. One of the nuns patted her on the back until she regained her composure and continued with her story. The man had spat on the ground beside her feet and stomped off, angry that she had refused his offer.

‘I would never give my baby to someone like that,' the woman protested, as if Maggie and Calvano thought she had intended to sell her child. ‘I would never sell my baby to anyone, but especially not to a man like that.'

Under the questioning, she revealed that the man had been only a little taller than she was. He had been wearing a brown leather jacket and a baseball hat. She did not remember what the hat had looked like. She could not remember much about his face, except that he had angry eyes and his mouth was cruel. A sketch artist would not be able to do much with that, and neither Maggie nor Calvano looked hopeful. But at least she had watched the man leave and had seen him get into his car and drive away.

‘Do you remember the make and model?' Calvano asked eagerly.

The woman looked confused when the nun translated. ‘It was a big car,' was all she could offer. ‘It was silver and would take much money to buy. It is the kind of car that rich people drive.'

It wasn't much, but it was something. There weren't that many wealthy people in my town. It was either the politicians, the mob bosses – or the pair of movie stars who lived on the edge of town.

‘When did you tell Arcelia about what had happened?' Maggie asked the girl.

She had told Arcelia about the man and his offer about two weeks ago, and Arcelia had asked her questions just as they were doing. She had told them the same things she had told Maggie and Calvano. The man had been driving a silver car, like rich people drove, and he had been angry at her for refusing his offer.

‘Did you get the feeling that Arcelia knew who you were talking about?' Maggie asked. She looked at the nuns and said, ‘It is very important that you translate the question exactly.'

The young mother took Maggie's question seriously, mulling it over before she answered. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘I believe that Mrs Gallagher knew who I was talking about. I think this because she grew very angry and started talking about how people with money thought they owned the world, thought they owned us, and that they must be stopped.'

‘What did she say she was going to do to stop them?' Maggie asked.

The woman shrugged when she heard the translation of the question. ‘She did not tell me what she was going to do,' she explained. ‘But I thought she was going to talk to the man. I got the feeling that she was going to tell him he must stop trying to buy babies in our town.'

Maggie and Calvano looked at each other. While they had learned more than they had expected, the information could lead them nowhere. The man had approached the women several weeks apart, which meant he was a local or at least staying in town. On the other hand, all they really had to go on was that he wasn't very tall and he drove a silver car.

Still, it was better than nothing and nothing was all they'd had to go on until now.

‘If you hear of anyone else with a similar experience, we need to talk to them,' Maggie told the nuns. They nodded solemnly.

‘What she really means to say,' Calvano explained, ‘is that we need you to question each and every one of all the other women illegals who are pregnant or have young babies to see if they were approached by the same man. If so, we need to speak to them ourselves. This could be our most important lead.'

Maggie looked startled but said nothing. She knew Calvano was right. If the illegal immigrants in town would not speak to the police, they had no choice but to use the nuns as their go-betweens.

M
aggie and Calvano were exhausted but they would have no rest that night. They had just finished a late-night dinner when the call came through – Gonzales wanted to see them and he wanted to see them now.

By this time of night, Gonzales was usually finishing up an evening of wining and dining all the right people to further his career. I had never known him to be at the office this late. I rode along, curious to know what might have happened to inspire this meeting.

The station house was deserted and blessedly calm. Not even a drunk awaited booking. The news hounds were finally gone and I knew the bars nearby were probably jumping with visiting journalists. Maggie and Calvano hurried through the lobby to the upstairs offices while I tagged along, energized by their urgency and wondering if this was what my life would have been like had I cared more about my job when I was alive.

Gonzales was waiting for them in his office. He was watching the re-run of his appearance on Lindsey Stanford's show, perhaps seeing for the first time that her follow-up guests and rants had turned away from who might have taken Arcelia Gallagher to focus on illegal immigration. Gonzales looked irritated, but then Lindsey Stanford had that effect on nearly everyone. I couldn't tell if he was angry because he had been a part of the show, she had anointed herself judge and jury, and the whole country was letting her get away with it, or because he was embarrassed that his people were the focus of such intense scrutiny.

He gestured for Maggie and Calvano to sit. In another rare break in his routine, he poured himself a glass of whiskey in front of them. The smell of it drifted across the room. It was irresistible. Even in death, I was still an alcoholic. Gonzales took a long sip then drummed his fingers against the glass. He did not bother to offer either Maggie or Calvano a drink.

‘You had something for us?' Maggie asked. She was tired and in no mood for his usual maneuverings.

‘I do indeed,' Gonzales said. He handed them a manila folder thick with photographs. ‘I just printed these out. I called in a favor and some locals have been tailing Enrique Romero since he arrived in Los Angeles.'

‘Why?' Calvano asked, unable to stop himself. Like me, he was wondering why the hell Gonzales had bothered to have Romero followed. Yes, the television star had left town as soon as the investigation opened. Yes, he was condescending and annoying. And, yes, as owner of the Delmonte House, he at least deserved scrutiny. But calling in a favor like that from another police department was using up a pretty big chit.

‘I don't like people who blatantly ignore our jurisdiction,' Gonzales said abruptly. He banged his glass on his desktop a little too hard. For a moment, I thought the glass had cracked.

Maggie had opened the folder and was staring at the first photograph with a look of astonishment.

‘Is it her?' Gonzales asked. ‘Romero went straight from the plane to her hotel room. They spent about an hour and a half inside before they were picked up by a car and driven north to some restaurant where they had dinner and, as you can see if you look at the rest of the photographs, several hour's worth of drinks. He also saw her last night.'

Calvano was staring over Maggie's shoulder. Why should I be left out? I joined them.

Maggie looked around the office and shivered. ‘Can you turn the air conditioning down?' she asked Gonzales. He ignored her.

Calvano was too engrossed in examining the photos to care and I didn't blame him. We were staring at what looked like a photo of Arcelia Gallagher and Enrique Romero in an embrace.

‘This woman is not pregnant,' Calvano said. ‘It's not her.'

He was right. Enrique Romero, movie star and heart-throb to many, including his own ignored wife, was shown in a series of photographs kissing, groping, laughing with and clearly wowing a beautiful young Hispanic woman who looked remarkably like Arcelia Gallagher. But she was not pregnant and, from the looks of her body in her clingy red cocktail dress, she had not been pregnant in this century, not unless she knew something about regaining her figure that no woman I had ever known knew.

‘She could have had the baby already,' Gonzales said. ‘She was due in less than a month, right?'

‘I don't think it's her,' Maggie said. ‘Although the resemblance is startling.'

‘Are you sure?' Gonzales asked. ‘It explains everything – she goes out to the Delmonte House, meets the man of the house and boom. Chemistry kicks in. You know how it goes. If someone like Enrique Romero wants something, he gets it. He probably moved her out there so that they could be together without interference.'

Calvano was staring at Gonzales, trying to hide his disgust. ‘I don't think that Arcelia Gallagher would do that to her husband,' he said. ‘It seems completely out of character.'

Gonzalez waved a hand dismissively. ‘People will do almost anything when they're offered a limitless bank account, a big house in Malibu and fame. Arcelia Gallagher was raised in poverty in Mexico. You'd better believe she jumped at the chance for a better life.'

There was something in his voice we'd all heard before. I knew that Maggie and Calvano were wondering, as I was, why Gonzales had it in for people who looked like him.

‘I still don't think it's her,' Maggie said quietly. ‘It would help if there were better photographs of her
face.
' Gonzales missed her sarcasm.

‘Call in the husband to look at the photos,' Gonzales told them. ‘He'll know if it's his wife.' He looked disappointed. He had deigned to dabble in their investigation and had hoped to pull off a coup, probably to show them that he still had all the right moves.

‘Now?' Maggie asked. She glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘This seems like a pretty big thing to spring on him this late.'

‘If he wants to find his wife, he'll cooperate,' Gonzales told her.

Maggie rose, willing to obey him for now. But I noticed that she kept the news of what she had found out from the two witnesses at the church to herself. She did not want Gonzales interfering with her investigation any more than he already had.

‘Does this mean that Aldo Flores can be released?' Calvano dared to ask. It really bugged him that the poor guy was still in jail, a convenient suspect on hold until someone else came along.

‘No, it does not mean that Aldo Flores can be released,' Gonzales said irritably. ‘Call me if it turns out to be her.' He sat back down at his desk and stared at his empty drink moodily. He hated the case and wanted it to be over.

The woman in the photograph was not Arcelia. Danny Gallagher raced to the station house as soon as he got the call, frantic to find out if his wife was safe. He had grabbed the photographs out of Maggie's hand and, when the first one proved disappointing, spread them out across the conference table, looking from each to each with a hopefulness that broke my heart to witness. He wanted it to be his wife. He wanted her to be safe. He was willing to accept anything – even the possibility that she had run away with another man – so long as she was safe. But he had been forced to acknowledge that while the woman in the photograph resembled Arcelia, it was not his wife.