me.”
“You delivered the baby alive. And then, at some point, you left the apartment. And then what happened? Later on she called you to let you know she had killed the baby?”
“Yes. That’s what happened. I wasn’t there. I had to go to work. She called me. I came home and the baby was dead.”
I nod sympathetically.
“You believe me, don’t you?” he asks and grabs my left hand.
“Yes, I believe you. La Ceiba,” I say, enunciating the words clearly. If I know Hector, he’ll have divers down there with underwater flashlights before I’ve finished this mojito.
I release my hand from Felipe’s strong fingers. I push my chair a little way back from the table. He wilts, puts his head down on the stained mahogany top, and starts crying like a good one. It’s pathetic. What does he want me to do? Pat his back? Give him a hug?
“She killed the baby and you hid the body?” I ask to confirm the testimony.
I push the phone close to him.
“Yes, yes, yes!” he mutters.
That’s good enough for me. I swivel in my seat and signal the guys on the corner. I hold up two fingers and almost immediately two uniforms come out of a car I hadn’t noticed before.
The beggar kid disappears.
Felipe looks up as the cops clamber over the barrier around the patio tables. His eyes are desperate, darting left and right. He grabs the back of a heavy metal chair.
Shit.
Quick flash of a possible future: table overturned, chair on my head, dislocated eye socket, smashed teeth, blood in my mouth, fumbling for the gun in my purse, second swing of the chair, roll to the side, revolver in my hand, trigger, two bullets in his gut.
Sort of thing you never get over.
“Don’t even think about it,” I tell him severely.
He lets go of the chair.
“Please,” he says and tries to grab my hand but I slide away and he clutches air.
Finally one of the uniforms puts a hand on his shoulder. He flinches.
“You know where I was when she called me?” he asks me.
“Where?”
“The cathedral.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Yes. Yes. It’s the truth. I was there,” he says, pointing up the street.
“Praying for forgiveness?”
“No, no. No. No. You’ve got it all wrong. The baby was still alive when I left. She did it. She killed it. Drowned it.”
The uniforms look at me as if to ask “Is this one a runner?” I shrug my shoulders. Their problem now.
“Come on,” one of them says and cuffs himself to Felipe. With surprising efficiency an old Mexican
“You believe me, don’t you?” Felipe asks, his eyes wide, tears dripping off his face like a leaky tap.
“I believe you,” I reassure him.
He walks meekly to the
The doors close and just like that he’s gone, whisked off into the night as if he’s part of a magician’s trick. I look around the restaurant but the place is so busy no one except the Quebecois has noticed any of this. The two widows at the next table are still studying the menu and everyone else is getting quietly hammered on daiquiris.
Only the gamin seems to care. I feel his glare from the semidarkness. His unasked question needs no answer but I give it to him anyway. Gratis. “He killed his girlfriend’s baby. A little girl. Ok?”
The boy looks skeptical. My cell phone vibrates. I stick in the earpiece.
“Hell of a job, hell of job,” Hector says.
“Thank you.”
“Where did you come up with that stuff? ‘Maria Angela.’ Fantastic. That’s exactly what they would call her, will call her when they find the body. You took a risk, though, no?”
“What risk?”
“You didn’t know it was a girl. What if it had been a baby boy?”
“They wouldn’t have killed it if it had been a baby boy. They would have sold it.”
Hector sighs. “Yes, you’re probably right.”
“I’ve given you enough to go on, right?”
“More than enough. Wow. The things that come from nothing. All we had was a tip from the old lady that she was pregnant and wasn’t pregnant anymore. We didn’t have proof of anything.”
“Well, now you got two losers whose lives are ruined.”
“Always the downside, Mercado. Don’t look at it like that. You did good. You really did good. You broke it open. In about two fucking minutes.”
“Like to take the credit, Hector, but it really wasn’t me. He wanted to talk. He was itching for it. I believe him about the cathedral, by the way, but he probably went there afterward. To ask forgiveness from Our Lady.”
Hector doesn’t want to think about that. “No. You really scored for us. Come on. Put down that glass and let me buy you a real drink. We’ll go to that place on Higuera. Let’s go celebrate.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m meeting my brother.”
“Here?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you want to meet here?”
“I knew I was going to be here.”
“What if Felipe had gone crazy and strangled you or something?” Diaz chips in.
“He wasn’t strangling anybody. He was glad. Relieved.”
“Well. We’re all pleased. You should come…” Hector says, then his voice drops a register. “You should come, Mercado, we’re, uh, we’re meeting our friends from the embassy, uhm, I’d like to introduce you.”
“You should definitely come,” Diaz seconds.
Which embassy? The Venezuelan? The Chinese? The Vietnamese? They all have what works in a plutocracy. Money. And Hector wants to introduce me to some of the players. Never done that before. It’s what all ambitious cops want. The way in. The party, the drinks, the jokes, the dollars, an end to the sweatbox on O’Reilly, bigger cases, DGI contacts, maybe even a car.
“Sorry, Hector, rain check, I can’t do it tonight.”
“Tell her, Diaz,” Hector says.
“She doesn’t want to go,” Diaz replies.
“Can’t do it, I’m meeting my brother, he’s flying in from America.”
A long pause before Hector decides it’s not worth it. “Ok, well, if you change your mind you’ll know where we’ll be.”
“I will, thanks, guys. And Diaz, please don’t let him tell any jokes-you two on a bender with embassy people has ‘international incident’ written all over it.”
I hear them chuckle and they flash the lights on the Yugo and wave as they drive past. No obscene gestures this time.
I finish the mojito and look about for a waiter. I suppose I should tell the manager that I’ve just arrested their-
