Midnight Crossing (11 page)

SEVEN

Josie arrived home at 7:30 p.m. and found Nick on her couch reading a
True Crime
magazine and drinking a beer. He pitched the magazine onto the coffee table as she sat beside him.

“You look like you need some sleep.”

She shrugged and blew air out in frustration. “I feel like we’re checking tasks off a to-do list. No big breaks yet. Did you hear anything today?”

“I have feelers out about the trafficking and two missing women. Since we’re in Medrano territory I have guys checking there first. There’s no doubt the Medranos are involved in prostitution and trafficking, but I don’t know about transportation routes. Did Border Patrol have information on routes?”

“Jimmy Dixon’s working on it.”

Josie watched Nick take a long swig of his beer, and again she was struck by his physical presence. When he walked into a room he filled it up; he was big and intense and couldn’t blend into a crowd if he wanted to. In contrast, Josie tried to fall back and observe; she attributed this to being a cop, but she knew it was also her personality. She watched the condensation drip down the bottle and onto his jeans and took in his hard jawline. He smiled without turning to face her.

“You okay with the view?”

She laughed. “A little cocky, aren’t you?”

“Just making sure you’re satisfied.”

“I was deciding what kind of a bodyguard you might make.”

“The best.”

“You busy tonight?” she asked.

“I’m your man.”

She smiled as she nodded. “Good. I need an escort to Mexico.”

*   *   *

Nick carried dual citizenship in the U.S. and Mexico and frequently made the trip across the International Bridge. Driving in his black armored SUV, they passed through customs with no issues, and within a few minutes they were driving parallel to the river, headed for desert country. Once they were out of Piedra Labrada they both rolled down the windows and let the warm night air blow through. When Josie had told Nick about Señora Molina he said he knew her. Apparently she was a legend with the young kids in the area. When somebody needed a place to crash, they could count on her.

Nick pulled off the marked gravel road and onto an arroyo that led down into a shallow streambed a half mile from the Rio Grande. The arroyo was dry, since no measurable rain had fallen in the area for several months. The monsoons should have started in September and people were getting nervous that the territory would have another fire season like the year before.

As Nick drove over the fallen boulders in the dry creek bed, Josie couldn’t help smiling at the night. The sun had faded and a fresh scattering of stars cast light across the sky. They were driving along slowly enough to catch the whirring sound of the night insects in the cottonwood trees at the top of the arroyo. In spite of the unpleasant nature of the trip, she relaxed into the night and breathed in the smell of juniper and creosote, a pungent earthy scent like perfume to Josie.

She felt Nick’s hand rest on her own, lying on her thigh.

“You like this, don’t you? The rough desert?” he asked.

She took a minute to respond. “I do. It’s strange to think back, how I grew up in the Midwest, but I never felt at home until I moved here. It’s like my body was meant to be here, with the heat and the wide-open spaces.”

In the failing light, Josie could barely make out the turnoff that Nick pulled onto from the arroyo.

“How could someone in trouble ever make it out here?” Josie asked. “It would be impossible to find.”

“That’s the beauty of Señora Molina. To get here is a feat in itself. It’s not like some kid who had a bad day at school would make his way over here for help. You have to seek her out to get here. And she recognizes that. She’s a pretty amazing lady.”

“Have you worked with her often?”

“She’s helped me with a few negotiations. She has a network of contacts that would rival any police department’s.”

“Why don’t the police use her? I’ve never even heard of her,” she said.

“I’m not sure how to explain her,” he said. “She doesn’t have allegiance to the police, or to anyone, for that matter. She wouldn’t put up with the police coming to her for information, especially as an informant.”

Josie nodded.

“She told me once that her life’s work is heartache and trouble.”

They rounded a bend and Nick pulled the SUV to a stop. Josie stepped outside and stood still to allow her eyes to adjust to the dark. She smiled and breathed in deep the sweet smell of wood smoke from a fire, and then heard the river flowing before she saw it, a dark swath cutting through the high bank on the U.S. side of the river. A jagged silhouette of rocky outcroppings and clumps of salt cedar were visible above the bank. As she turned away from the river she saw the stone house, barely visible against the low canyon wall that ran behind it. Tucked back under a narrow front porch was a door with two windows lit up on either side of it.

The house was stacked stone, with the rock most likely collected from the low-lying mountains around it. Ruins of old stone homes could be found throughout West Texas, but there were still people who fought the critters and the occasional cold winters to live in them, enjoying the centuries-old way of living. Glass lanterns glowed in the deep windowsills and let off a warm orange light.

Nick knocked on the door, which resembled an old barn door with long wrought-iron hinge straps that held the wooden slats together. Josie could see thin strips of light between gaps in the wood. Nick hollered through the door, “Señora Molina. It’s Nick Santos. I’ve come to check on you.”

Nick had said he always came with a small gift of appreciation, something to help her get by, so Josie found herself holding a loaf of French bread that she’d fortunately picked up at the grocery to have on hand for her mother.

They stood quietly at the door until it was finally pulled open. Josie realized Sergio hadn’t been exaggerating about the woman’s age. She was stooped over at the waist so far that she had to lift her head up to see Nick. Gray wisps of hair stuck out from under a faded blue bandanna tied around her head like a babushka. She wore a loose-fitting white smock top and long flowered skirt. She squinted up at Nick and then broke into a smile that showed a half dozen teeth.

“What you doing here so late, ole boy?” Her voice crackled with age and carried very little accent of any kind.

“I wanted to see how Señora Molina was. And you look better every time I see you.” She reached her hand out and they held hands for a moment before she turned to Josie.

“And you brought a friend with you. Well, then you come inside so you can introduce me proper.”

She stepped aside and Josie followed Nick into a room that held a small kitchen and woodstove to the left and a table with eight mismatched chairs around it in the middle of the room. To the right of the table, a handmade wooden couch with cushions covered in colorful afghans and wool blankets ran the length of the wall. Nick took the loaf of bread from Josie, and she watched him set it on the table and then slip money underneath it.

Señora Molina shut the door and latched it, and turned to study Josie.

“This is my good friend Josie Gray,” Nick said. “She lives just across the river, not too many miles from here.”

The woman put both her hands out and Josie did the same. She held Josie’s hands inside of her own warm hands and looked straight into her eyes for a long time. “I know who you are, Josie Gray. You have a heart for people. And you do what’s right in the face of evil.”

The warmth from the old woman’s hands was like a tonic. Josie felt the strength and wisdom move from the woman’s hands through her own body. She was overcome by this seemingly simple woman and her strength of spirit.

“You do the work of God. Do not ever forget that. You are a foot soldier, just like me. Yes?”

Josie felt her throat tighten with emotion and she was shocked at her own reaction. All she could do was nod yes in response.

The woman finally let go of Josie’s hands and pointed to the table, where Nick was sitting. When she dropped her hands it was as if a connection had been broken. Josie turned to the table, shaken by the experience. She could feel Nick watching her as she sat down, and she finally looked over at him. His face was soft and kind. He seemed to understand what had just happened. Maybe this was the effect the old woman had on people.

They watched as she went into the small kitchen area, pulled a teakettle off the wood-burning stove, and carried it over to the table.

“Can I help you?” Josie asked.

She pointed Josie toward the small bank of kitchen cabinets and a tray that sat on top of the counter with teacups and containers holding milk and sugar.

They sat down at the table, and as Josie poured each of them a cup of tea to steep, the woman asked, “Have you come to see me about the two women I sent to you?”

Josie stared at her, startled by the question. She’d hoped to find some tidbit of information, but never expected the women had actually visited Señora Molina. “I have. Yes.”

“They made it to you safely?” she asked.

Josie glanced over at Nick, unsure if she should upset the woman with the news that one had been murdered.

“You can tell her. Señora Molina has watched the same story unfold again and again. It won’t surprise her,” he said.

The woman sipped from her cup, her expression never wavering as Josie explained how they had found the murdered girl in the pasture and the other girl hiding on her porch.

Josie was sitting next to Señora Molina, who laid her arm on the table and opened her hand for Josie to take it.

“When God calls upon you to do something important, you mustn’t question. God trusts you to make decisions to help people as best you can. When you question your decisions, you weaken your resolve. If those women hadn’t come to see you, perhaps both would be dead.”

Josie nodded.

“Too much thinking goes on up here.” She dropped Josie’s hand and tapped a finger to her own temple.

Josie smiled and noticed Nick doing the same. “I’ve been told that,” she said.

“We do the best we can, and we let the rest go,” she said. She braced her hand on the table and slowly stood. “I want to show you something.”

The woman walked into the kitchen and then called for Nick. She pointed to a box on top of a kitchen cupboard in the corner. “Reach up there and pull that down.”

He did so, and she carried a small glass bowl to the table. Several bullets rattled around in the bowl as she placed it in front of Josie.

Señora Molina sat down beside her again and said, “When I was fifteen I married a man much older than me in my village. He was a mean man. When he drank, his anger boiled up into a volcano of hatred for me. The longer we were married, the more he hated me. But I had nowhere else to go.”

Her voice was so broken and cracked with age that Josie wasn’t sure she’d be able to finish her story. Nick pointed to a clay honeypot on the tray and Señora Molina nodded. He lifted the lid and twirled the dipper to gather honey onto the stick and then drizzled it into her tea. She stirred her tea and drank from it, allowing her voice to rest before she continued.

“One hot summer night he was in the horse stable and I was inside the house. I could hear banging and yelling. He’d been drinking tequila all day. He’d skipped the supper I had laid out for him. Then he started yelling my name, and I went to him. Why did I walk into that barn full of trouble and hate? I can’t tell you. That’s what victims do, they walk into trouble. I found him lying on his back in one of the horse stalls, pointing his gun at me. He fired as soon as he saw me. He looked right into my eyes. Six times he pulled that trigger. Time enough to stop and think, regret, feel something other than hate for me, for the woman who cooked his meals and shared his bed.”

She reached up with hands crooked, probably from arthritis, and slowly unbuttoned the top buttons of her smock. She looked at Josie with eyes distant from memories, and she ran her finger from the hollow at her neck down and over to an indentation under her collarbone. She slipped her finger into the hole like a plug in a socket.

“That’s where all the hatred from one man’s soul buried inside me for eternity. If I push hard enough, I can still feel the lead.” She reached her hand into the bowl of bullets and picked one up, showing it to Josie. “He died that night. Drank himself to death. Later I stood in the barn with his rusty pocketknife and dug the rest of these bullets out of the wood in the barn stall. I’ve kept them all these years.”

She motioned for Josie to fix the buttons on her top. When Josie was done buttoning them, Señora Molina studied her again. “You have your own lead bullet lodged inside your heart. Don’t let it poison you. That night I committed myself to doing good in the world. And I don’t let the hatred inside that bullet escape.” She tapped her chest where the bullet was buried. “You protect yourself with people who care about you. With good men like Nick. Yes?”

Josie nodded and felt her face flush.

Señora Molina brushed at her sleeve with the back of her hand as if brushing off a worry. “Now. I’ve talked too much. Tell me why you came to see me.”

Josie looked at Nick. She was so overcome with the woman’s story she wasn’t sure she could make the right connections just yet.

Nick set down his cup and said, “We came here looking for information about the two young women. Can you tell us what you remember about them? Any details about where they came from so we can search for their families? Our problem is, we have the young woman in our trauma center, and we know her name but don’t know where she’s from. She speaks some English, but she’s said little more than Josie’s name since we found her.”

Señora Molina nodded. “A rancher who lives five miles downriver from here brought the women one afternoon. He found them hiding in his barn. They wouldn’t talk. His wife fed them and let them clean up. They’d been staying in the barn.”

“Did they talk to you?” Nick asked.

“The first day they slept. I made them a pallet of blankets on the floor and they slept for hours and hours. The next day they talked and talked. A horrible thing that happened to them.”