Grave Secrets

I moved my chair to the left. Lucien slid in and worked the keys.

Bangs. He blended the image.

“What about a hat?”

“What kind?”

“Riding derby.”

He searched the database.

“Nope.”

“Something with a brim.”

He found a cap, sized and pasted it.

I recalled the snapshots of Patricia Eduardo, and remembered the determination in the solemn, dark eyes as she stood by her horse.

The face I was viewing was blank and empty, the programmed offspring of pixels and bits. It didn’t matter. It was the face of the girl on the Appaloosa.

Other memories shot through my brain. A tank filled with sewage and human waste. A skull oozing muck from every orifice. Tiny bones trapped in a rotting sleeve. Could it be? Could this nineteen-year-old hospital worker who loved horses and went out for an evening in the Zona Viva have ended up in such a horrible last resting place?

I stared at Patricia Eduardo. I saw drowned kittens. I saw Claudia de la Alda. I saw Chupan Ya.

You bastard. You goddamn, murdering bastard.

“What do you think?”

Lucien’s voice brought me back.

“It’s good.” I forced calm into my voice. “Much better than I could have done.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

It was. Had I created such a striking likeness, I would have questioned my own bias. Lucien had never seen or heard of Patricia Eduardo.

“Please print several copies.”

“I’ll bring them to your office.”

“Thanks.”

“Detective Galiano.”

“It’s Tempe.”

“Ay, buenos dias. Glad you caught me. Hernandez and I were just heading out.”

“It was Patricia Eduardo in the septic tank.”

“No doubts?”

“None.”

“The facial?”

“Dead ringer.”

“I guess that was a poor choice of words,” I said. “Anyway, our graphics specialist did the approximation blind. Patricia’s mother couldn’t distinguish the thing from her junior class portrait.”

“Dios mio.”

“I’ll fax you a copy.”

Empty air rolled north from Guatemala. Then Galiano said,

“We’re still grilling Miguel Gutierrez.”

“The De la Alda gardener.”

“Cerote.” Turd.

“I take it that means he’s a prince among men. What’s his story?”

“The Reader’s Digest version is that he fixated on Claudia, took to stalking her. Spent nights parked outside her bedroom window.”

“Oh joy. A peeper.”

“Eventually Gutierrez made his move. Claims the vic was receptive.”

“She was probably too young to know how to blow him off without hurting his feelings.”

“On July fourteenth he drove to the museum and offered her a ride home. Claudia accepted. En route, he asked her to explain something about the Kaminaljuyu ruins. She agreed. Once there, he pulled onto the back road and jumped her. Claudia resisted, things got out of hand. After strangling her, he rolled the body into the barranca. The rest is history.”