Betrayed (16 page)

“They’re just trying to be helpful. After all, who better to explain anything that might have to do with the center?”

“Maybe. Okay, then, let’s see what’s on there, and we can go from there. Now, if you can read on these roads—” Michael handed Vicki a file before starting the engine—“there’re your police files.”

“Wow, that was quick! Thank you. Uh . . . do you know where Casa de Esperanza is?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Michael shot Vicki a charming smile as he pulled out into traffic.

Vicki smiled back, suddenly glad it was Michael who was driving her home—and not only for the gift he’d brought. At least one person was not only on her side, but competent—and willing—to do something about it.

The file itself was far more complete than anything Vicki had seen to date but still less than an inch thick. Michael wove expertly in and out of the congested traffic while she skimmed through it in silence. It was distasteful reading, and only by detaching herself from it as though this were just another investigation on which she’d embarked could Vicki bear to read it.

They were turning into the narrower side streets of the old part of the city when Vicki looked up. “So the weapon used was a thirty-eight service revolver. Isn’t that what the police carry?”

“Sure. And every lowlife who’s ever stolen or purchased one off law enforcement,” Michael said.

Vicki shuffled a few pages. “Except for our statements at the scene, the only person they’ve interviewed was Alison at the WRC hostel.”

“That’s because Alison told them Holly had left to meet you. Since Holly had just come into town, the assumption is that she was jumped on her way to see you, so the homicide unit felt there was no reason to waste further manpower.” Competently dodging a donkey cart, Michael glanced at Vicki. “Okay, so you don’t agree with that, but read incompetence into it if you like, not conspiracy.”

The most useful item Vicki found was a catalog of Holly’s belongings the police had taken possession of, presumably the contents of that black bag under her bed. The gold and emerald jaguar pendant was not in it.
Some police officer’s salary will be augmented this month
, Vicki thought sourly.

“They have the computer listed here but not the PDA. Nor Holly’s cell.”

“Which could mean they simply didn’t recognize the PDA unit as separate from the computer. Or there’s the very likely possibility Holly’s assailants grabbed her purse with the cell and PDA and just didn’t even notice the jewelry.”

At least he didn’t suggest Vicki had imagined the pendant. “Right. The world’s greatest pickpockets, and they don’t check for jewelry. Okay, we can agree to disagree since neither of us really knows. Holly might be foolhardy enough to wear jewelry in the streets. I’ve seen her myself. But that you can replace. Holly was paranoid about her PDA ever since she had one stolen back in college. I can’t see her carrying it in the streets at night any more than she would her passport. It’s probably in with the computer.”

Vicki slapped the file shut. Looking over at Michael, she studied his handsome, tanned profile before saying hesitantly, “Would you mind if I asked one more question?”

Michael threw her a look. “By all means. You’ve hardly been shy about it so far.”

“Joe and Bill back there at the church—did you know them before?”

Michael turned a corner, revealing the concrete box of the children’s home before answering casually, “Bill Taylor, sure. At least I know
of
him. He’s the biggest landowner—expat or otherwise—up around the biosphere. The other guy—the handyman, Joe.” He shook his head. “Just by sight from that tree-hugger party of Holly’s. He’s kind of hard to miss. Why?”

“I don’t know.” Vicki was embarrassed to put it into words. “There just seemed to be some kind of—”

“Animosity?” Michael supplied quickly. “So you caught that too?” He grinned. “Of course, it could just be a tug-a-war to chauffeur the prettiest woman around.” Before Vicki’s cheeks could turn red, he turned his attention back to the street. “Still, he’s an unusual type to be content burying himself out there in the middle of nowhere. Maybe it would pay to do some homework there.”

His statement invited comment, and Vicki saw no reason not to oblige. “All I know is he’s a surfer, and he’s trying to earn money to get back to the beach. He does fly planes as well as doing handiwork.”

“Well, that explains why the center hired him on instead of someone local. There aren’t a lot of pilots for hire down here. He’ll likely move on as soon as he gets a stake. That kind of expat drifter usually does.”

They were at the gates of Casa de Esperanza now. They stood open, and a jungle green Mitsubishi Montero with the logo of a snarling jaguar was pulled up in the courtyard. Joe and Bill had made it before them. A doorman closed the gates after the Land Rover, the inevitable throng waiting for clinic services scattering as Michael pulled up behind the Montero. On the veranda, Vicki spotted Evelyn in animated conversation with the two WRC men, a large duffel bag slung over Joe’s shoulder.

Joe lowered the duffel bag to the ground as Vicki reached them. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” Vicki gestured toward the children’s home next door. “The computer is in my quarters. That would probably be the easiest place to hook it up.”

“Can I offer you all some tea first?” Evelyn looked Vicki over solicitously. “You’re looking all in.”

“No, thank you.” She suppressed a shudder. The last thing she wanted was to drag this out into a social event with these not particularly compatible virtual strangers. “I . . . I’d just like to get this over.”

“Here, I’ll get it.” Joe took the duffel bag just as Michael reached for it. 

Evelyn turned away as a clinic volunteer in a white coat approached.

Vicki led the way through the connecting gate and up the freight elevator, feeling claustrophobic and somewhat ridiculous with three tall men looming over her. Even before she reached her door, she saw that it was standing slightly ajar.

A cry of dismay burst from her as she stepped inside. Nothing in the room remained untouched. Vicki’s duffel bag was pulled out from under the bed, her clothing ripped to shreds. Shampoo was spilled, toothpaste sliced open. Mosquito netting was pulled down, the bedsheets torn. The black plastic sack Vicki had shoved out of sight was ripped too. She recognized pieces of beige canvas as the backpack Holly used for travel.

Worse were the shards of computer components all over the floor. Even the files that had been with Vicki’s computer on the card table, now overturned, had been methodically ripped to unsalvageable scraps.

Directly across from the door between the two shuttered windows, words had been spray painted in red across the whitewash. The meaning was unmistakable even with its Spanish misspelling.

Yanqui go jom

Chapter Eleven

The maliciousness of the vandalism got at Vicki more than the loss of possessions.

“Don’t go telling me this was just a robbery,” she cried as her companions joined her in picking through the debris. “I told you someone doesn’t want me digging into Holly’s death. I told you it was no mugging.”

“Maybe,” Joe said, shaking fragments of the motherboard from the largest remaining piece of Vicki’s laptop. “Or it may just be some local police types—like the ones who walked out of your service this afternoon—who figured there’d been an aspersion cast on their competence and decided to teach you a lesson. Your pal Michael here would probably know better than I, but from what I’ve seen of law enforcement here, it wouldn’t be hugely out of character.”

“He’s right.” Michael sounded rather surprised at his own statement. “I did warn you, Vicki, that challenging the locals isn’t the best way to make allies around here. May I suggest again that you continue your inquiries from the safety of your home stateside? I hope you’ll believe me that the embassy will continue to pursue this case with every resource at our disposal.”

 “You’re not going to try and tell me that if I pick up and go home, the embassy is really going to find out what happened to my sister.”

“Not at all. I wish I could guarantee that. But I can guarantee that anything you think you can do here, the embassy can do better—and certainly with a lot more discretion.”

“He’s right, Vicki.” This time it was Bill’s quiet tones, the sharpness of his blue eyes softening to concern as he walked over to her. “I’ve been here a long time, and I can promise you that staying and banging your head against the wall of local bureaucracy is a one-way ticket to a nervous breakdown. I know Holly too well to think she’d want an obsession with her death to keep you from going on with your life.”

“Why do people keep saying that?” Vicki asked. “Why is everyone in such a hurry to put me on a plane and send me home?”

“Maybe because they have your best interests at heart,” Joe said. “And because they know this country better than you.”

They were all being so reasonable. But Vicki didn’t have to respond because by now passersby had spotted the destruction through the open door, and the room was filling up with sunshine yellow T-shirts and exclamations.

It took Michael’s authority to keep the scene from being totally trampled while Joe and Bill began picking up the debris. It was immediately clear they wouldn’t be recovering any data from either Vicki’s computer or Holly’s.

“Please, it’s just a machine,” Vicki reassured when a horrified Evelyn showed up.. Digging into her purse, Vicki pulled out a flash drive. In her opinion it was the greatest invention of the computer age for a frequent traveler like herself. “I have everything backed up here. And I’ve already e-mailed all the reports to headquarters.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t say the same for Holly’s computer.” Bill shook his head over the smashed fragments. “If we could just find that PDA.”

There were not even fragments to suggest Holly’s Palm Pilot had been among the destroyed items.

While Vicki changed into a Casa de Esperanza T-shirt and the one pair of jeans that remained intact, Michael accompanied Evelyn to make inquiries as to who had seen what. Vicki knew their questioning was pointless. With any number of staff quartered on this hallway and dozens of local volunteers rotating through, she doubted that anyone could pinpoint a stranger or two who might have slipped up here.

“I guess we need to review our security protocol,” Evelyn said mournfully when she and Michael returned to Vicki’s room. “There’re always so many people going in and out. We do keep medicines, supplies, and personnel quarters under lock. But you said yours was locked, Vicki.”

An examination showed the door had been expertly picked.

Vicki looked around at the broken and ripped debris now neatly gathered in two large trash bags. An enterprising volunteer had managed to scrub the graffiti into a pink smear, and one of the nursery personnel was wielding a broom.

Michael’s mouth tightened before he said mildly, “That could have been construed as evidence. Vicki, did you want to call the police?”

“Is there any point?” she asked wearily.

“Not a whole lot,” Michael admitted. “But if there’s insurance involved, you’ll need a police report to put in a claim.”

Bill was examining the pink smear left between the windows. “I must be slipping. We should have taken some photos of all this before clean-up.”

“I did.” Joe pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll JPEG them if you need them for insurance, Vicki.”

“No, I don’t carry insurance.” Vicki shook her head, then wished she hadn’t. The headache that had abated since the funeral service was back in full force.

“If that’s settled, then I’d say we should call Alison at the office.” Bill had taken Joe’s cell phone from him and was sifting through the pictures. “If Vicki’s right and Holly wouldn’t have been carrying that PDA on the streets, Alison might have some idea where she’d stash it.”

“Good idea,” Michael said. “On behalf of the embassy, I’d like to be there if it turns up. Vicki, can you think of any place Holly might have stored it for safekeeping?”

“Not tonight!” Vicki didn’t realize how high her voice had risen until all three men turned to look at her. Wiping a suddenly trembling hand over her face, she used it to wave to the door. “You’ve all been very kind. But can’t we leave everything else until tomorrow? I . . . I just want to be alone. Please go away, all of you.”

“Yes, can’t you see the poor girl is worn out? And no wonder after such a day. Come, all of you out of here!”

If Vicki’s head wasn’t pounding so, the sight of Evelyn shooing away three large men like so many chicks would have brought a smile.

As the room emptied and the door clicked shut, Vicki sank on the edge of her bed, still stripped of bedclothes and mosquito netting. After a few seconds she rose and walked over to the nearest window. The shutters were open, and through the protective bars, the evening sky had darkened enough to see the smoldering glimmer of the dump. An explosive spatter of sound in the distance could have been firecrackers or gunfire from some
mara
gang, a reminder of the violence that gripped the city.

A commotion below drew her attention across the dividing wall to the courtyard. The yellow glow of its outdoor lighting illuminated a horse cart clattering across the cobblestones. Vicki watched a man with the wool poncho of a Mayan peasant walk around the back to lift a child from the bed of the cart. A nurse came out of the clinic, and the two carried the child through the bright yellow rectangle that was the open clinic door. Tonight in the drama being played out on that dimly lit stage, the child would live or die. Either way the child was only one of thousands more who’d never make it to these gates. Millions across this continent and the globe. If one less died tonight, what difference had they really made?

"
This is my Father’s world
."

Is it really, God? Was Holly right?

Vicki rested her forehead against the iron bars. Anger and disbelief and then sheer stubbornness had carried her this far, permitting her the dignity of remaining dry-eyed in front of all those strangers. But now beyond her exhaustion, she felt more helpless than she ever had in her life, as though she were pounding futile fists against a cosmic brass wall, accomplishing nothing but the bruising of her own flesh. The demolition around her had been the last straw, though not for the loss of possessions. She never traveled without the possibility of such loss, and she could—and would—walk into a Zone 10 electronics boutique tomorrow and replace everything on Visa. She had little enough on which she spent her salary.

No, it was the reminder of how vulnerable she was in this country, how easy it had been for an adversary to invade her private space. Despite her declaration of defiance at the memorial service, she hadn’t the slightest idea what she could do or where to go next.

The worst was that all these well-wishers in such a hurry to get her on a plane were right. The measured, logical thing to do was follow their advice. And Vicki had always been a prudent person. Holly had been the fearless one, charging in where angels feared to tread. Like her birth father, it would seem now.

So why not just take that commemorative flight with Joe, then head stateside to pick up the carefully frantic life track that had kept Vicki too busy for so long to feel and think? After all, did it really change anything whether it had been some mara or some corrupt local colleague or government official who was responsible for her sister’s death? It was still just part and parcel of what this country was—and so many other countries she’d traveled around the globe. A jungle where human predators were far more dangerous than the remaining jaguars in Guatemala’s rain forests.

And like every war zone into which Vicki had ventured, you watched your back, took your best precautions for survival, and occasionally counted your casualties and called a retreat.

Oddly, if it were just Holly, that retreat would be easier to accept. But though she’d no memory of it, though it was only a story told of strangers, Vicki could not forget that this had happened before. Her family had died in Guatemala. And she’d turned her back on it and run away. Not by choice, of course. But the truth was that no one had stood up for her parents, fought to find out what happened. Not the embassy. Not family. And as a result her birth parents had been forgotten, their memory buried so deep that their own children had not known of them, leaving them as
desaparecidos
as the thousands whose cause they had championed.

On the other hand, what had been the alternative?

The images of yesterday’s marching women rose in Vicki’s mind, those pitiful black-and-white enlargements, the determined but somber dark faces. Those people had been searching for years for the truth of their disappeared loved ones. Was she being naive—or even arrogant—to think she would be the exception?
Here comes the gringa. Just because she’s an American, she thinks she should get the answers no one else has.

Still, they were marching.

Hopeless or not, certainly at the risk of their own lives, in defiance of the brutal powers responsible for their loss, they were doing
something
.

“Vicki.”

Vicki hadn’t heard the door open. Startled, she spun around.

Balancing a well-laden tray, Evelyn walked into the room. Behind her one of the volunteers carried a stack of fresh bedding and towels. After placing it on the nearest bed, she retreated, shutting the door behind her.