“Maybe we need to start looking at places along the coast.”
Carlos looked out at the ocean and issued a heavy sigh.
“So you think Samantha Lu was looking for something down here.”
“I do, yes.”
“But you have no idea what she might have been looking for.”
“No.”
“It could be anything.”
“Yes.”
“I saw an empty water bottle on the trail leading down here. And over there by the rocks is a deflated soccer ball.”
“Your point?”
“My point is the only thing I see down here is junk. Do you think she was looking for junk?”
Ramon said nothing.
Carlos sighed again and said, “Do you think she had something to do with the murders?”
Ramon just gave his partner a look.
Carlos said, “Yeah, I’m having trouble on that point, too.”
“Seeing the smoke from the highway and coming here to try to help and finding the bodies—okay, I’m willing to believe that. But then she follows us into the city? And beats up those two pimps? And then takes out the kids those pimps sent to kill her? She doesn’t sound like any graduate student I know.”
Above them on the bluff, an officer called down to them.
“They’re here!”
The officer waved to them to come up and then disappeared.
Carlos said, “About time. The sun goes down in another hour.”
Ramon looked at his partner and took a breath.
“Ready for this?”
“Not climbing back up that hill, no.”
They started back up the trail that they had taken down twenty minutes earlier. Ramon was barely thirty and in shape and the climb didn’t faze him at all. Carlos, much older and overweight, needed to rest three times to catch his breath. When they reached the top they saw the building and the police cars still parked around it. As well as a new car that hadn’t been there earlier.
Carlos said, “Looks like they’re already inside.”
They were. There were two of them. Both males wearing khakis and polo shirts, their pistols holstered to their belts. They were crouched around the charred bodies which hadn’t been moved yet (they had been given strict orders from Mexico City not to move the bodies until somebody arrived). They glanced at Carlos and Ramon when they entered the building but didn’t give them more than a couple seconds’ attention before directing their focus back on the bodies.
Carlos said, “You’re the PMF agents?”
The Policía Federal Ministerial was a federal agency tasked with fighting corruption and organized crime. Once the Devil started targeting cartel families, President Cortez ordered a task force to lead up the investigation. Cortez wanted to stop the cartels, but he also wanted to make it known it was still illegal to murder the wives and children of those cartel families.
The men stood up and approached Carlos and Ramon. Each of them held out his hand.
One of them said, “Sorry about that. We thought you were just officers.”
Carlos introduced himself and Ramon to the men and the men introduced themselves to Ramon and Carlos. Their names were Ibarra and Serrano and they had been tracking the Devil for over a year. When they heard about the bodies being found this morning they got on a plane as soon as possible.
Ibarra said, “And now we’re here. What can you tell us about this?”
Carlos and Ramon told the agents as much as they knew. They didn’t hold back. They even went so far as to tell them about Samantha Lu and how she had evidently followed them into the city.
Serrano said, “So you don’t know where this young woman is now?”
Both men shook their heads.
Ibarra said, “What about Miguel Dominguez?”
Both men shook their heads again.
The agents traded glances and then turned to look once again at the bodies.
Ramon said, “It doesn’t sound like you’re too worried about either Miguel Dominguez or Samantha Lu.”
Ibarra shook his head.
“We’re not. We would certainly like to speak to both of them if possible—the phone call to the motel is especially interesting—but right now they’re not our focus.”
Carlos said, “Why is that?”
“Because neither of them is the Devil.”
Now it was Carlos and Ramon’s turn to trade glances.
Carlos said, “How do you know that?”
Serrano crossed his arms and turned back to the bodies. When he spoke next his voice was low and hushed, almost conspiratorial.
“Because by now we think we know who the Devil is. And he’s a ghost.”
Twenty-One
I rip open the plastic packaging as I exit the corner store and slip the disposable phone out and power it on. It takes about a minute before everything is up and ready. As it’s brand-new, the phone has little battery life, but it’s more than enough for my purposes. I dial the number on the card to add minutes to the phone, then dial the number I had memorized days ago before coming to Mexico. I toss the packaging in the nearest trashcan as I walk down the street back toward Gabriela’s house.
After three rings, a female voice answers.
“Thank you for calling Scout Dry Cleaners. Our normal business hours are Monday through Friday, seven a.m. to seven p.m., and on Saturday eight a.m. to three p.m. We are closed Sundays.”
Then there’s a beep and at first I’m not sure what to do, thinking maybe I have the wrong number. I even glance at the screen to double-check the number in case I’d somehow mixed it up. But no, that’s the number Atticus had me memorize. Then thinking about Atticus and Scout Dry Cleaners, I shake my head and roll my eyes.
“Call me back. I don’t know the number—this is a disposable—but hopefully it shows up on your end.”
I disconnect the call and pause at the end of the block, surveying the street to make sure I’m not being followed. Gabriela loaned me one of her hats, so at least my face is somewhat hidden from those keeping an eye out for a young Asian woman.
A minute passes before the disposable rings.
I hit the green button and place the phone to my ear.
“Atticus?”
Silence for a
