“There’s a new guest who checked in two days ago. An American woman. She’s an archaeologist, she says, on holiday.”
“So?”
“So you should make her acquaintance. She’s very pretty. Blond. Soft-looking. She doesn’t go out much.”
“So maybe she’s tired. Maybe she sleeps a lot.”
“Maybe she’s lonely. Maybe she’d appreciate a little companionship from a fellow countryman.”
“Why are you always trying to set me up?”
“Because you live like a mercenary.”
“I’m not a mercenary.”
“I know what you are. But you still need a nice girl in your life.”
“I have a nice girl in my life. I have you.”
“I’m old enough to be your mother, and if you ever looked at me that way, Cyril would slit your throat.” She smiled, but her eyes remained closed.
“Your husband should be jealous of you. You’re one in a million, Magda.”
“I know.” She tucked an errant strand of graying hair into the bun at the back of her neck.
“Magda, if I wanted to make a phone call”-he placed his cup on the table to refill it-“there would be a secure line?”
“Of course. All of my lines are secure.” She lifted her head and opened her eyes. “I myself check them every day, just like you showed me. Do you think I forget such things?”
“I was just wondering if you were still in the habit.”
“You need not worry. This is a small hotel, most of our business is repeat. Same people, over and over. Many of them, like you, require that extra measure of security.” She drained the coffee from her cup and rose. “For you, there will always be security here. Whatever you need. We don’t forget, Cyril and I.”
She patted Connor fondly on the arm and walked past him.
“The American woman takes tea in the courtyard every afternoon at four,” she said without breaking stride. “Today she’ll be seated at one of the tables for two, in the corner near the palms.”
Magda closed the door behind her.
Two gulls were battling on the top of the courtyard wall, and Connor watched idly as he finished his meal and thought over the e-mail he’d gotten from Annie. It had been dated the previous week, but he’d only just received it last night, after checking in to his room and turning on his computer for the first time in days. He’d known there’d be no electricity where he’d been headed, so he’d left the laptop locked in a safe deep in the basement of the hotel. He’d had no qualms about leaving it there. Magda and Cyril would guard it with their lives.
There was something to be said about having someone in this part of the world in your debt, he acknowledged, though that had never entered his mind the day he dove off the prow of a fast-moving pleasure boat to rescue a young boy who’d fallen over the side. Without a life jacket, the panicked child would have quickly drowned. The boy’s horrified parents had watched helplessly from the dock as the tall dark-haired stranger reached their son and carried him back to the boat, whose captain had circled back around and cut the engine, the other passengers calling encouragement. From that day, the best room in Villa Andre had always been available to Connor. He knew that he could always count on the most comfortable accommodations, the best food, the best service-and some motherly fussing-from Magda.
He leaned back in the chair, his face to the sun much as Magda’s had been, and went back over Annie’s message in his mind. He hadn’t thought about Santa Estela in months.
He moved the tray out of the way and set up the laptop in its place. He booted up and scanned his incoming mail before opening the saved e-mail from Annie.
Connor, strange development on a case Evan is handling in PA. Tattoos on the vics found to be identical to those found on three vics in Chicago. Young girls, one of whom appears to have a connection traced back to Central America, possibly Santa Estela. Do I recall correctly that you had spent some time there? Any contacts remain? Am looking for source and/or significance of the tattoo.
He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking back to that night in the alley in Santa Estela, of the truck filled with terrified children. Any connection between dead young girls in two cities and Santa Estela was way too coincidental. He’d thought that business had been shut down two years ago. His cousin had personally worked on that and had assured him the trafficking of children had been dealt with.
He brought the phone from the room onto the balcony and plugged it in, then dialed the familiar number. When the answering machine picked up, he said, “Hey, it’s Connor. Hope all you guys are doing well. Just wanted to ask you a quick question. About Santa Estela and that report I asked you about a few years back, you remember? Do me a favor and take another look at that situation, would you? I’ll check back in with you in another day or two, hope you have something to tell me.”
Connor started to hang up, then said, “And hey, if you see my brother, tell him I said hey, all right? Your brothers, too. Take care, cuz…”
He disconnected the call and stood up to stretch. From the balcony he could see into the courtyard, where, right at that moment, a woman in a gauzy white dress had stopped to put a large hat atop her head. Before her hair had disappeared under the hat, he’d noticed it was blond, cut short in a choppy style, as if done without artistry or skill. She was tanned, almost as tanned as he was, and even from a distance, he could see she was very well put together.
The American Magda had told him about?
Tea in the courtyard at four might be interesting after all. He watched her disappear through the courtyard gates and hesitate, as if unsure of her direction. He was tempted to join her, to offer her a tour of the marketplace, but he had a meeting in twenty minutes with a man who had information Connor’s superiors were eager to obtain.
He turned off the laptop, located his sunglasses, and locked the door behind him, the memory of the events of a dark night in Santa Estela and all thoughts of the pretty blond American put aside for a while.
17
Annie lay spooned beside Evan, her eyes open in the dark, watching the rain splat against the bedroom windows. She’d arrived late the night before and had deferred any discussion by climbing into bed next to him and keeping him otherwise engaged for nearly an hour.
She knew him well enough to know that he knew she was not asleep. When she felt him pull the sheet up over her bare arm, she knew that sooner or later, the concerned questions would begin.
She didn’t have to wait long.
“So, you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.
“I thought maybe you might want to tell me about Chicago.”
“Ladies first.”
“Melissa had a number in her phone book listed to a G.S. I called it. Grady answered.”
“That was the only number in the book?”
“No.”
“Why’d you pick that one to call?”
“Because of the obvious-the initials. I knew Grady had dated Melissa, but when I asked him about her, I got the feeling he wasn’t being truthful. Something told me it wasn’t as casual a relationship as he tried to pass it off. No matter how casual a relationship is, there are certain things you have a tendency to talk about when you first meet someone, and for him to claim to know nothing about her, nothing about her background, it just didn’t ring true. So when I saw those initials with a Virginia area code, I thought I’d dial it and just see what happened.”
“Did you tell him Melissa was dead?”
“Yes.”
“And…?”
“And he hung up on me. He sounded genuinely stunned. Stunned, and upset.”
“Which plays back to him having more of a relationship with Melissa than he’d wanted you to know.”
“But why? Why would he lie about that?”
“Why was she hiding in Montana?” he asked. “I think if you answer one of those questions, you’ll have the answer to both.”
“I guess the only one who knows is Grady. And the only way to find out is to confront him.”
“Have you heard yet from the M.E. in Montana as to cause of death?”
“I’m still waiting. I expect they should know by today. God, I’m hoping it was natural causes.”
“What difference would it make?”
“The difference between her dying a natural death or one that I possibly led someone to-”
“Whoa. Hold up there.” He sat up partially and turned her to face him. “Where is this coming from?”
“It’s coming from the fact that Melissa seemed to be living quite happily in Montana until I started looking for her.”
“Annie, please don’t tell me you think you are in any way responsible for her dying.”
“If she was murdered, yes, I have to question why now. The thought that somehow I could have brought this on her is making me physically sick.”
“You can’t be serious?” One look at her face assured him she was. “Okay, let’s take a look at this, shall we? Let’s assume for a moment that Melissa was murdered. You found her, Annie. What makes you think that someone else couldn’t have found her, too? Someone who maybe started looking for her long
