Sounds of Silence (4 page)

When Governor Avila, his boss and first cousin, won reelection this fall, his first action would be attracting businesses to the depressed cities along the border. If he brought money here, civic improvements across the state would follow.

Of course, in Pablo’s opinion, the legal route wasn’t always the most efficient. He didn’t much care which side of the law he stepped across; after all, legality was relative.

Relative, as in family. Relative, too, depending on one’s perspective.

Smiling at his own joke, Pablo walked to the locker room and extracted his cell phone from his gym bag. He punched numbers to check his messages.

“Hey, Pablo,” came the rasping voice of Camino, one of his two employees. “We found a kid who saw the little girl you’re looking for, hiding out in the orphanage in St. Teresa Colony. I’d check it out for you, but the governor’s got me tied up with a trip to the States this week. Don’t know what you want her for, but—”

The connection disintegrated, leaving Pablo scowling.

What was the good of paying people to work for you, if they were always leaving town? On the other hand, if Avila was out of the way, Pablo would have time to do something about the mess that brat had caused.

He still couldn’t believe he’d let her get away with the knife. Rage overtook him afresh, and he kicked the door of the closest locker. Scrawny little girl-child, worse than vermin. If only he’d caught her. He’d almost had her by the foot that night.

Well, it would be easy enough to take care of her at the orphanage. He’d kept an ear to the ground via a buddy in the Acuña police department. If he could get to the girl before she turned the knife in, everything would still be all right.

He calmed himself. He
would
take care of her.

Mercedes stepped out of the bathtub and let the beautiful American
señora
—Isabel—wrap her in a big fluffy towel. With delight she curled her toes into the deep pile of the yellow rug as Isabel pulled a second towel from a cabinet under the sink, then began to briskly rub Mercedes’s hair.

She had never seen a place this clean. She had never
been
this clean, head to toe, and she even had her own toothbrush with a cartoon character on the handle. Danilo had shared his toothpaste, and it tasted like bubble gum.

Mercedes realized Isabel was talking to her, so she watched her lips but couldn’t quite figure out what she said. Lupe had taught Mercedes a lot of English words, but she was going to have to work hard to catch up. She didn’t want to miss anything Isabel said.

Isabel suddenly smiled and drew her close, wet hair and all, and Mercedes leaned in to feel the pulse of laughter against her cheek. Then Isabel set her away a bit, both hands cupping Mercedes’s face, and said in careful Spanish, “I’m sorry, I forgot. Let’s find you some pajamas, then we’ll comb and dry your hair.”

With the towel clutched around her, Mercedes followed Isabel into Danilo’s room and watched her dig through a small chest of drawers. Pulling out a pair of colorful briefs, Isabel frowned and glanced at Mercedes. “Boy pants,” she said with clear dissatisfaction. “We’ll ask Eli to bring you some things tomorrow.” Then she brightened. “I can make you a nightgown. With lace.” Her eyes sparkled as she made a fluttering motion with her fingers, girl to girl.

Mercedes grinned and copied the gesture.

Oh, God had sent her to a place of richness. She had been frightened when Eli put her in the little blue car and backed away, making it clear he wasn’t coming. But he’d said he would visit and bring her a doll. Mercedes didn’t care so much about a doll, but if it came with Eli, then everything would be all right.

Isabel was engulfed by darkness. Standing high atop the apex of
el puente negro
, the old iron railroad bridge that arched across the Rio Grande, she knew that Piedras Negras lay to the south and Eagle Pass to the north. But with the city lights extinguished, she couldn’t tell up from down, right from left.

Fear made her fingertips tingle and her stomach lurch. If she stepped an inch in any direction she would plunge into the black water. Nothing to break her fall.

Then she saw a light, two lights approaching from the American side, swinging side-to-side as if looking for something. Rico. It had to be Rico and Jack, on patrol. Illegal aliens attempted to swim across here nearly every night.

But it was late. Rico should have been home an hour ago. Anger replaced her fear. She opened her mouth to call out. If she could get Rico’s attention, he’d get her down, and they could go home. Danilo missed his daddy reading a bedtime comic book story.

Her voice wouldn’t come out. Mute, she watched the lights reach the cane at the edge of the water.

Suddenly the silence was broken by gunshots. Popping and pinging with obscene rhythm. Clang on metal, thud into wood. One of the lights collapsed, splintered by the cane, doused in the water.

Isabel teetered on the bridge, unable to scream, terrified beyond expression. Sweat poured in streams between her breasts, soaking her nightgown, and tears dripped off her chin.

Rico was gone. If she’d just been able to tell him one more time how much she loved him, maybe he would have come home on time.

Baby, I’m sorry I was angry. I loved you so much.

Now he would never come home, and she was going to have to stand on this bridge alone forever.

She woke up with a start, covered in sweat.

Eli bent down to ruffle the ears of Isabel’s dog as he walked up her front porch steps. He’d just gotten off duty and hadn’t even been home yet, but he had to find out if Mercedes had communicated anything to Isabel during the last two days.

“Sit, Fonzie,” he said, snapping his fingers. The dog slurped Eli’s fingers one more time and obeyed, one eye cocked for potential treats. “Dude, you are no Lassie,” Eli told him as he knocked on the door.

The relaxing of Isabel’s shoulders when she opened the door and scanned him from head to toe made him glad he’d changed into civilian clothes before walking down the street to her house.

She smiled. “Eli. Hi, come in.” She looked beautiful as always, but there was a tired droop to her dark eyes.

“Hope my timing’s not bad,” he said, stepping into the tiny foyer.

“No, I’m just putting the kids to bed. Danilo’s in the tub.” She pushed a wavy lock of black hair behind her ear. “Did you come to check on Mercedes?”

“Not really,” he replied, following her into the den. “I know you’re taking good care of her. I was just wondering how, uh, communication’s going.”

“It’s amazing what you can do with hand motions.” Isabel hesitated. “Sit down, would you like something to drink?” she said in a rush as she headed for the kitchen.

“No, thanks, I just ate supper.” Eli looked around and decided the leather recliner looked more comfortable than the sofa. He plopped into it with a sigh.

Isabel turned and stopped. Barefoot, dressed in a pair of white shorts and a pink knit top, she looked about fifteen years old. In a long silence, color came and went in her cheeks.

Eli swallowed. What had he done wrong? “Are you ok-k-kay, Isabel?”

She took a sudden breath. “I’m fine. I’m just—” She laughed. “Never mind. Let me just check on Danilo. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the back of the house, leaving Eli scratching his head. “Maybe I should have asked for a root beer,” he muttered.

As a series of whalelike splashes came from the bathroom, he picked up an unfinished sampler lying on the lamp table. “This precious treasure” was all it said. Eli knew nothing about sewing, but even he could see that Isabel was a gifted needlewoman. Every stitch of the elaborate border was carefully executed, and the back side of the fabric was as neat as the front.

Suddenly he was aware of Mercedes standing in the doorway. Her damp hair hung in wavy hanks around her shoulders, and she had on a pink nightie with lace edging just brushing her bare feet. He smiled as the little toes curled.

When he crooked a finger, Mercedes sidled toward him. She came as far as Isabel’s mahogany rocker and sat down, where she continued to watch Eli with sober brown eyes.

Mercedes made the sign for woman, then pretty. She pantomimed sewing and brushed her hands down the front of her gown. Clearly she was proud of the garment.

“Isabel made it for you?” he guessed aloud. “Isabel?” he repeated slowly, as she watched his lips.

Mercedes nodded, beaming, and made the sign for beautiful again.

Eli grinned. “Oh, yeah. She is.”

He’d love to know what was going on behind Mercedes’s intelligent expression. He’d been using every spare minute to study an American Sign Language book he’d checked out of the library. This would be a good time to practice.

But before he could do more than ask Mercedes how old she was, and discover that she was seven, Isabel came back into the room with Danilo riding piggyback.

“Eli!” shouted the little boy. “Let’s play baseball!”

“Maybe next time, cowboy.” Eli glanced at Isabel. “It’s already dark outside.”

“You’re on your way to bed, Nilo,” said Isabel. “Tell Eli good-night.” She held out a hand to Mercedes. “You, too, sweetie.”

Mercedes let Isabel pull her to her feet. To Eli’s astonishment, the little girl blew him a kiss before heading for the bedrooms.

Isabel’s eyes widened, too, but she leaned over to let Danilo and Eli high-five over her shoulder. The subtle, spicy scent of roses, along with the sweetness of bubblegum toothpaste, gave Eli an odd, familiar pang from his childhood that made him wish he could kick the recliner back and stay indefinitely.

He suddenly understood Isabel’s flustered behavior when he’d sat down in the recliner. It must have been Rico’s favorite place. The husband chair. The daddy chair.

Eli jumped to his feet.

Chapter Three

I
sabel looked up at Eli, noting with interest that his ears had turned scarlet. She had no idea what she’d done to make him bolt to his feet, but she knew she was glad he’d vacated Rico’s chair. Trying to analyze her feelings, she decided she wasn’t exactly angry. Maybe just…uncomfortable.

Aware.

A good-looking single man sitting in Rico’s place seemed disloyal somehow. Because for a split second, when she’d opened her front door and found Eli standing there, she’d felt a dizzy sort of elation that he’d come by.

Danilo wrapped both arms around Isabel’s neck, nearly strangling her. “Come on, horsie, back to the ranch,” he said, bouncing against her back.

Isabel met Eli’s blue eyes and again experienced that disconcerting feeling of falling down an elevator shaft. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, “can you stay a minute? I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.”

Isabel tucked Danilo in with his favorite plastic action figure, then crossed the hall to the guest room. Mercedes had climbed into bed, but the overhead light was still on. Isabel had discovered that her little guest didn’t much like the dark.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Isabel turned on the night-light and kissed Mercedes’s brow. “Good night, angel,” she whispered, smiling as Mercedes released a contented sigh and closed her eyes. What would it be like to have no reference of sound for the normal activities of everyday life?

Isabel flipped the wall switch off and left the door ajar so that the hall light would filter into the room, then returned to the den. She found Eli still on his feet, examining a family photo on the bookshelf beside the kitchen door.

“The obligatory Alamo picture,” he commented, setting the frame back in its spot.

Isabel came to look, though of course she’d seen the photo hundreds of times. It had been taken during a visit with her parents, on a typical hot, muggy San Antonio day. Isabel had stood in front of Rico, with two-year-old Danilo perched on his dad’s shoulders and pointing at the pigeons scavenging for popcorn on the sidewalk.

Isabel sighed. “I love the place, but it seemed to give Rico the creeps. I had to make him go through it with me.”

Eli chuckled. “He wasn’t much for history, was he?”

She looked at him in surprise. “No, he wasn’t. I didn’t know you knew him that well.”

“We worked together off and on over the years whenever Torres had something else going on.” Eli shrugged. “I’m sort of a history buff, especially World War Two.”

“Really?” Isabel smiled. “I’m more into the Colonial and American Revolution eras. I was a history major until I had Danilo.”

“How about that?” Eli turned to scan the bookcase. “You have any Stephen Ambrose stuff?”

“I have the Eisenhower biography.” Isabel found the book and handed it to Eli. “Would you like to borrow it?”

“Sure, if you don’t—” He looked at her, stricken. He’d flipped open the front cover, where Rico had inscribed “To Isabel, my one and only love. Happy Birthday.”

“Eli, I don’t mind.” She bit her lip. “I’ve already read it.”

He hesitated, but closed the book and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll be careful with it.”

“I know you will.” She’d trust Eli with anything, though she had the sense to keep that information to herself. Enough emotional minefields had been crossed for one night. She stepped back. “So have you made any progress in locating Bryan Hatcher’s killer?”

Eli blinked at the change of subject. “Not much. The Mexican police aren’t as efficient as we’d like. I was hoping Mercedes would tell you how she got hold of that knife.”

Isabel shook her head. “We’ve had all we can do, just taking care of the basics. She’s so fragile….”

Eli released a breath. “Isabel, I don’t mean to sound harsh, but that little girl is a lot tougher than most kids her age. Sooner or later we’ve got to push her for information.”

As the widow of a border cop, Isabel knew better than most how critical time was in an investigation. Still, the idea of interrogating a traumatized seven-year-old made her sick.

“Let me show you something, Eli.” Isabel led the way into the kitchen, then almost wished she’d had him wait in the den. Even standing in the doorway, Eli’s tall, rangy frame seemed to fill up the little room. Putting the breakfast bar between them, she picked up a sheet of first-grade tablet paper that had been lying on the counter. “After supper, Danilo and I were working on his penmanship, and I wondered how much education Mercedes has had. I wrote her name, and she copied it beautifully.”

“Let’s see.” Eli held out a hand.

Isabel gave him the paper and waited for his reaction.

After a moment he whistled between his teeth and looked up at Isabel. “This is unbelievable.”

Using nothing but the contents of a sixteen-count Crayola box, Mercedes had turned the tails and loops of the letters of her name into a garden of exotic flowers—some of which were familiar to Isabel, and some which she suspected came from Mercedes’s imagination. Subtle depth of shade gave perspective and light to the drawing, far beyond the usual ability of a seven-year-old.

Isabel spread her hands. “This little girl is something special.”

Eli gave her a cautious look. “Maybe so, but—”

“There’s another one.” Isabel opened the drawer under the bar and extracted a second paper. She’d put it away because she didn’t want Danilo to see it. She slid it across the counter toward Eli, then crossed her arms over her stomach, which suddenly hurt.

During ten years of patrolling the border, Eli had no doubt seen it all. Still, he stared speechless at the drawing for a moment. “I think we’ve found our witness,” he finally said.

“I didn’t want to believe she saw something like that.”

“Did you talk to her about it?” Isabel couldn’t interpret Eli’s expression. He folded the piece of tablet paper and slipped it into his wallet.

“I tried. I pointed to the body and tried to say
who
—but she just looked at me like she didn’t understand.”

“Okay.” Eli leaned over the counter and grabbed Isabel’s hands. “Look, don’t worry about it for now. I’ll have a police artist look at it and see what they can figure out. You can keep gently questioning her, and if you see anything else…” He shrugged. “Just keep your eyes open, okay?”

Isabel didn’t want to see anything else. She wanted to go back to her normal, regular life. She sighed. “All right. Eli, thanks for checking on us, but it’s late and I’m tired.”

He straightened, dropping her hands. “I’m sorry. I’ve got an early day tomorrow, too. I’ll call you with any news.”

At first Eli couldn’t tell what had woken him up. He lifted his head and stared, bleary-eyed, at the green monster-eyes of the digital clock on the dresser. 2:00 a.m. He knew he hadn’t set the alarm, because he didn’t go on duty until seven.

Who was in his room playing the
Mission Impossible
theme?

Cell phone. Groaning, he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Please, Lord, not Isabel.
He lunged for the phone. “Hello?” he croaked.

“Eli, it’s Benny,” said a husky feminine voice he barely recognized through a surge of static. Not Isabel. He relaxed a fraction. “I need you to come down here,” she continued, her voice wobbling. “Something terrible’s happened.”

His hair stood on end. Bernadette Malone was the least melodramatic woman Eli had ever met.

“What’s the matter?” He reached for his jeans.

She started to cry so hard he could hardly understand her. “I just found one of the children—somebody broke in—Oh, Eli she’s dead—”

“Benny, whoa.
Which
child?”

“Dulce Garcia. I got up to check on the twins—they’ve both been running fever—” Benny gulped. “Anyway, I had the bathroom light on so I could read the thermometer, and I noticed Dulce was lying on her back. She always sleeps on her stomach, curled up in a knot. I put my hand on her forehead out of habit, and she was cold, I don’t know how long she’d been—” Benny’s voice disintegrated into sobs.

“Benny, listen.” Eli felt like throwing up. He had his jeans on, and he dug a T-shirt out of a drawer. “Had she been sick?”

“Eli, the window screen over her bed is cut. The air conditioner’s been out, and we haven’t had the money to fix it—”

“You’ve called an ambulance? The police?”

“No, I wanted you to come first. I don’t trust them, they were out here asking questions a couple of days ago—”

“Questions? About what?”

“About Mercedes. When I realized they didn’t know you’d taken her, I played dumb.”

“Good girl. I’m working with one guy that I trust over there. Nobody else is in the loop.” Gathering his thoughts, Eli started to holster his gun, then remembered he couldn’t take it across the border. “Listen, I’m on my way. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” Benny asked. “Hurry, Eli.”

The connection ended.

Praying for direction, Eli clipped the phone to his belt and headed for his Jeep. As he drove across the international bridge that led to the Border Patrol checkpoint station, he reviewed what he knew.

A child murdered in her sleep in a Mexican orphanage. A child bearing a close resemblance to a mysterious little girl who had appeared there two days ago. A little girl gifted with extraordinary artistic talent, and who happened to be carrying a murder weapon.

And two years ago, Eli had decided to get involved in his church’s mission outreach to that orphanage. Nothing was accidental. In the same way he’d sensed the connection with Mercedes, Eli knew God had chosen him uniquely for this task.

If he’d learned anything from his father’s fall from grace, it was that everyone had the capacity for good or evil. And sometimes small choices led a man toward one or the other.

Because of DEA connections through Border Patrol, he had personal experience with the dark underpinnings of the drug smuggling and prostitution rings on both sides of the border. As much as he wanted to deny it, instinct told him that there was a connection between Mercedes and that darkness.

Her drawing, which he still had in his wallet, made him almost sure of it. He’d studied it carefully when he came home from Isabel’s house. Eli was no child psychologist, but there had to be significance to the sinister red-and-black hues, the bloody slashes across a grotesquely human form in the center of the picture.

The most curious component of the drawing, in Eli’s mind, was an element like water drops in the foreground. Did it represent tears? Rain? He tried to remember if it had been storming the night Bryan Hatcher died. He didn’t think so.

Making up his mind to interview Mercedes as soon as possible, he pulled into the small parking lot reserved for Border Patrol agents at the checkpoint. Better connect with his supervisor before heading over to Mexico.

“Carmichael, you’re not on until seven. Where’s your uniform?” Agent Dean looked up from his usual mountain of paperwork.

“I’ll be back later in uniform. Just wanted you to know I’m headed over to the orphanage in St. Teresa Colony. A child was killed under suspicious circumstances, and the house mother is a friend, so I’m on my way to check it out.” Eli hesitated over how much to tell his boss. “It may have something to do with the little deaf girl we brought over a couple days ago.”

Dean’s language disintegrated into curses. “I still don’t think that was a good idea. I know you’re working with Del Rio homicide on the Hatcher case, but if we keep interfering in every Mexican investigation, trouble’s bound to escalate.”

Eli buttoned up a disrespectful retort. Less than a month ago, Dean had been promoted from a desk job in Dallas. The man had yet to figure out how to connect events in Acuña and Del Rio.

Eli shrugged. “Benny Malone is American, and I promised I’d help her sort the situation out. I’ll be back in uniform as quick as I can.”

Dean stared Eli down before reluctantly nodding. “We’re two men short on your shift as it is, Carmichael. Don’t mess around and get yourself written up.”

Eli’s rare temper flared. Everybody in the agency knew what his father had done, but so far he’d never heard a word of blame attached to either himself or his brother, Owen. Maybe he was reading too much into Dean’s words, but there was something needle-sharp buried in the admonition.

Not trusting himself to answer, Eli gave a jerky nod, turned on his heel, and left the building.

When the phone rang, Isabel was in the attic, knee-deep in dust, spiderwebs and memories. Naturally, she had forgotten to bring the handset up.

She leaned over to poke her head through the opening into the hallway. “Danilo! Will you answer the phone for Mommy?”

“Sure!” he caroled. Isabel could hear his bare feet pattering across the hardwood floor in the living room, and a distinct skid when he reached the kitchen tile. “Valenzuela residence.” They’d practiced answering the phone off and on for the past month or so. He was actually getting pretty good at it.

Danilo came back down the hall. “She can’t come to the phone right now. She’s up in the attic, bowling.”

“Danilo! Bring me that phone right now!”

Her son blinked up at her with the handset clutched to the side of his face. “But you said to stay off the ladder.”

“That’s right. I did.” Frustrated, Isabel swiped a dusty hank of hair behind her ear. “Stay right there. I’m coming down.”

“Never mind,” Danilo said into the phone. “Here she comes.” He paused and listened. “No, I’m through with school for today. I’m playing with—” He gulped as Isabel held out a hand for the phone. “Uh-oh, here’s Mom. ’Bye, Eli.”

“Eli!” Isabel’s breath came quickly, both from her precipitate trip down the ladder and from the sound of the low chuckle rumbling in her ear. “What are you doing?”

“I might ask you the same thing. Bowling in the
attic?”

“I wasn’t bowling. I just needed to get some stuff ready for a yard sale.”

Truthfully, she had no intention of selling Rico’s bowling ball, not now. She’d opened the leather bag and rotated the ball until she could stick her fingers in the holes. The sensation of holding hands with her husband had nearly undone her.