A Corpse for Cuamantla (27 page)

Chapter
3

T
he screech of a siren startled her and she looked around, catching a glimpse of the official Tlaxcala State Police car pulling into a nearby parking place.

"Here they come," Cortez said, glancing over at the two officers emerging from the car, the older man hurrying to keep up with his agile young companion. "Two of the honest ones," Cortez had told her once, shaking his head in exasperation at the corruption problems plaguing Mexican law enforcement agencies.

Anna and Cortez crossed the street to the hotel. "After you, Maestra." Cortez held the door and followed her into the Posada, the city's newest hotel recently renovated by a European company betting on Tlaxcala's potential as a tourist attraction.

A wise investment, Anna thought, in a city quickly catching up to its future.

Cortez approached the mahogany reception desk and greeted the hotel clerk with his I.D.

"
Buenos días
," the young woman replied, quickly buzzing for the manager.

Anna stood a ways back surveying the lobby's vaulted ceiling, which reminded her of the church on the opposite side of the square. An elderly couple lingered over breakfast in a corner of the half-empty restaurant adjoining the lobby. The hands on the Aztec sundial wall clock read 10:37. Too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, she thought, even though her stomach craved either or maybe both.

The click of a handle signaled the arrival of the Posada's day manager, Señor Flores, who entered through the door behind the desk. "Thank you for coming so soon, Comandante." The two men shook hands.

"This is my team," Cortez said, introducing the two detectives along with Anna.

The manager shook hands all around, reserving a slight bow for Anna. "We have a serious problem here, Comandante, and as you can understand we wish to keep everything as quiet as possible." Flores lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "News of such a terrible happening at our hotel could ruin our business, especially with the competition from the San Francisco. We can't afford to lose more tourists to them. You understand." Sr. Flores struggled to keep from wringing his hands.

"I do," Cortez told him, resting a reassuring hand on the manager's shoulder. "I'll try to handle matters quietly. I hope no one has disturbed the scene in any way?"

"Of course not, Comandante. I had to send the maid home she was so frightened, and no one has returned to the room except me. I only stepped in long enough to verify the maid's story."

"And you did not touch the body, right?"

"Correct, Comandante. There was no need to touch the body to know the woman was dead." Flores crossed himself.

"Thank you, Señor. Perhaps you can answer my questions as you direct us to the victim's room." Cortez turned to Anna. "Maestra, you can wait here or join us, whichever you prefer."

She dreaded viewing the grisly scene, but she wanted to learn more about the crime, and corpses were not unfamiliar to her. "I'll come along." She'd dealt with them in her anatomy class in graduate school even though she knew viewing a recently dead body would be different. Classroom cadavers were injected with so many preservatives they hardly seemed real. She could hear her father's voice in her head as she struggled over her misgivings --
suck it up
. She took a deep breath and hurried to keep up with Cortez and the hotel manager.

In the outside courtyard, they encountered three stucco buildings surrounding a large pool filled with water that reflected the deep azure of the sky. The terra cotta walls of the hotel matched the giant flower-filled urns scattered about the courtyard. Hanging baskets with colorful blends of annuals and perennials hung at various points along the walls.

The French doors of the second floor rooms led to wrought-iron balconies most of which stood open to let in the morning breezes. Anna could hear the purring of the maids' vacuum cleaners. The sound seemed to blend with the American jazz flowing from camouflaged speakers mounted at the corners of the buildings. If someone dropped me in the middle of this space, she thought, I'd be hard pressed to say whether I was in Mexico or the Mediterranean.

"Señor Flores," Cortez said, the sound of his voice returning Anna's thoughts to the business at hand, "what is the relationship of the victim to this American?"

"I don't know precisely except the American came to Tlaxcala to meet with the murdered woman about a business matter of some sort." Flores stopped walking when he talked. "They met for lunch yesterday, but the exact nature of their business? That I don't know, Comandante."

"I see. On the phone you said the American is staying here alone, correct?" Cortez continued across the patio, looking back at the stalled manager.

"Sí, Comandante," Flores said as he hurried to catch up.

"Do you know if he's checked out yet?"

"As far as I know, he's still here. According to my staff, he and the victim were scheduled for breakfast together at 0800 this morning, but she never arrived." He paused for breath. "Apparently, the American waited for over an hour before inquiring at the desk. When the desk clerk told him no one had seen her since the previous night, he asked the clerk to telephone the woman's room, but she never answered the phone. " The manager shrugged. "Now we know why."

Impervious to the manager's theatrics, Cortez persevered. "Do you recall the American's room number?"

"Sí. He is registered in room 201." Flores pointed to one of the second floor balconies.

"And the murdered woman?"

"You will find her in room 115. Just over here." The manager swept his hand toward the opposite wing of the hotel. "Though it's not her room."

"Not her room?"

"No. She's registered in the room next door."

Anna expected Cortez to ask about the person registered to the room
next door, but his mind seemed elsewhere and Flores didn't volunteer the information.
I suppose it will come out at some point, but I'd like to know now."

She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking as she and the three policemen followed the melodramatic manager
out the door.