“Zuckerman.”
A tiny ping.
“First name?” Galiano asked.
“Doctor.”
“Gender?”
“Doctor.”
“Do you know why they fought?”
“Patricia never elaborated.”
At that moment Buttercup joined us, went directly to Galiano, and began rubbing back and forth on his pants leg. Senora Eduardo slid from her chair and clapped at the cat. He arched, then turned and performed another figure eight around Galiano’s ankles.
Senora Eduardo clapped louder.
“Shoo. Go on. Back with the others.” Buttercup regarded his odd mistress a very long moment, raised then flicked his tail, and strolled from the room.
“I apologize. Buttercup was my daughter’s cat.” Her lower lip trembled. I feared she was on the verge of crying. “Since Patricia is gone, he listens to no one.”
Galiano pocketed his notebook and stood.
Senora Eduardo looked up at him. Tears now glistened on both her cheeks.
“You must find the monster who did this to my Patricia. She was all I had.”
Galiano’s jaw muscles bunched, and the Guernsey eyes grew moist.
“We will, Dona. I give you my promise. We will catch him.”
Senora Eduardo hopped to her feet. Galiano leaned down and took both her hands in his.
“We’ll speak to Dr. Zuckerman. Again, we are so sorry for your loss. Please call if you think of anything else.”
“That was one self-assured stud of a cat.” Galiano finished his Pepsi and slid the can into a plastic holder hanging from the dashboard.
“We each deal with loss in a different way.”
“Wouldn’t want to cross ole Buttercup.”
“Good call on the gray pants.”
“They’ve seen worse.”
“What’s the deal with Senora Eduardo?”
“Rheumatoid arthritis at a young age. Guess she stopped growing.”
We were back in the car heading to police headquarters after a brief stop at a Pollo Campero, the Guatemalan equivalent of KFC.
Galiano’s cell sounded as we turned onto Avenida 6. He clicked on.
“Galiano.”
He listened, then mouthed the name Aida Pera for my benefit.
“What time?”
I took a swig of my Diet Coke.
“Don’t mention our visit. Don’t mention this call.”
Pera said something.
“Encourage her to go out.” Pera said something else.
“Uh huh.”
Another pause.
“We’ll deal with that.”
Galiano disconnected and tossed the phone onto the seat.
“The ambassador is home and horny,” I guessed.
“Dropping in on his honey at nine tonight.”
“That was quick.”
“Probably wants to tell her he’s booked a church.”
“Think you might happen to be in the neighborhood?”
“Never can tell.”
“Why not just haul the bastard in and grill him?”
Galiano snorted. “Ever hear of the Vienna Conventions on diplomatic and consular relations?”
