Betrayed (10 page)

Chapter Seven

Anger and disbelief sustained Vicki through the next hours.

The tears had time to dry, her face to set into stone by the time the
basureros
made their way up the mound, tongues clicking astonishment and sympathy in their own Mayan dialect.

She waved them back as they crowded around. “No, don’t touch her. We have to wait for
la policía
.”

“They will not come out this far.” The Mayan laborer who muscled forward was the same who’d snatched Vicki’s five-quetzal bill, his labored Spanish patient but adamant. “And it is too dangerous to stay here longer. Look.”

Vicki took in the explosive pop of a methane leak igniting just a few meters away, recognized dully the painful heat burning through the knees of her jeans. She made no further protest as the
basureros
unslung the lengths of Mayan homespun used to bind packs to their backs, maneuvering them under the black plastic to form a sling. Prompted by a lifetime of cop shows, she tried to explain the concept of fingerprints. But she’d neither authority nor language to contradict their rapid discussion as they lifted Holly, three men to a side. Those not occupied as bearers spread out in front to warn of obstructions.

By the time they’d all stumbled and jostled and clawed their way back up the side of the gorge, she had to concede the near impossibility of separating the
basureros
’ grimy, if well-meaning, handling from any marks previously on the black plastic.

Reaching the school compound brought no relief to her nightmare. Vicki’s students had been served their noon meal, but when they spotted the strange procession, enamel plates clattered down. A shrill, excited babble pierced at Vicki’s temples as the children swarmed around the bearers.

Then came the hurdle of finding a resting place off the dirt floor. The only table was piled high with cooking preparations, the rickety benches only inches wide. The
basureros
stood patiently with their burden while Vicki scurried around the compound. Finally in desperation, she ripped the portable blackboard from its frame to balance across three of the benches.

In all of this, the heat and noise and confusion didn’t abate. Vicki’s assistant, Consuelo, had shooed out most of the students, but they’d been replaced by a sizable portion of the dump residents. Curious gawkers swarmed the mud-brick enclosure, crowded into the patio, and perched on the walls like so many vultures.

It isn’t fair
, some back corner of Vicki’s mind wailed. This still shape on a propped-up slab of wood, covered only by a
basurero
’s carrying cloth, hemmed in by strident, unruly strangers of another nation and tongue, was her young sister. Surely she’d every right to give way to her grief, dissolve into hysterics, and allow some authority somewhere to step in and take charge.

Instead the very ludicrousness of her circumstances kept Vicki dry-eyed and numbed as she dealt with each obstacle. She thanked the
basureros
, digging up a few more quetzals to press into their leader’s hand. Enlisting Consuelo’s furious vitriol when her own protests proved futile, she drove the gawkers back outside the walls. Vicki’s phone was still not working, and the school compound didn’t have one. Corralling a lingering student, Vicki thrust another five-quetzal note into his hands and sent him at a run to Casa de Esperanza.

“What is happening here?” The four khaki uniformed police marching through the opening in the mud bricks had arrived too promptly to be in response to Vicki’s messenger. This was neighborhood muscle, hard-faced and hard-eyed.

The local precinct’s arrival scattered the crowd, shutters and doors slamming shut up and down the street. Vicki’s
basurero
bearers and the students still lingering outside the walls melted into the landfill.

The police listened with patent disbelief, only briefly pulling back the woven cloth to glance at the victim and not bothering with so much as a cursory survey of the dump site. Eyebrows rose incredulously at Vicki’s inability to produce witnesses to her story, unfriendly eyes zeroing in on the dried rusty blotches and muck staining Vicki’s clothing.

“Who was the shooter?”

“Was there a fight?”

“Where’s the gun?”

“Was this a domestic dispute? A boyfriend involved?”

The questions pounded at Vicki with the hammer force of the blood throbbing at her temples.

The testimony of Consuelo was waved aside as the corroboration any hireling would be expected to offer their employer.

“Isn’t it obvious she wasn’t killed here?” Vicki cried out with frustration. “There isn’t even any blood.”  Where was the assistance she’d sent for? Had her errand boy absconded with those five quetzals?

“Then produce your accomplices who brought the body here.”

In all this, the patrolmen remained standing, thereby keeping Vicki on her feet, her hands balled up at her sides, her body taut with holding in her anger.
I’m not in America
, she reminded herself.
I have no rights to demand
.

“Vicki!”

“Evelyn!” Vicki spun around, her relief coming out suspiciously like a sob as she caught sight of the thin, straight figure marching into the compound. “Then Jaimito did get through to you.”

“Yes, I was at Casa de Esperanza when Jaime arrived. But I had to walk over because Alberto has the Jeep. I am so sorry. This is a terrible tragedy.” Evelyn looked even smaller and more fragile next to the four patrolmen, her white bun barely reaching their lapels. But there was nothing frail in the cool survey behind thick-framed glasses as she summed up the uniforms, the emptied courtyard, the still shape on the benches, and Vicki’s filthy clothing.

“Let me deal with this.” Evelyn patted Vicki’s shoulder before singling out one of the patrolmen. “Robertito, how tall you’ve grown. I haven’t seen you since you left Casa de Esperanza,
sí
? I’m glad you joined the police force. This country needs good and honest police officers. Your grandmother must be very proud of you.”

The patrolman was the unit leader and the most brutal in his interrogation tactics. Now he was actually shuffling his feet. “Sargento Roberto Alvarez now.” He proudly indicated his insignia. “I received my promotion just last month. Not so bad for a child with no parents nor home but the streets.”

“And Casa de Esperanza.”

Under Evelyn’s stern look, the sergeant had the grace to look abashed. He glanced at Vicki. “You know this woman,
Doña Evelina
? You can vouch for her?”

“Yes, of course, I can vouch for her. And you know very well that she is one of my volunteers.” A sharp gesture indicated Vicki’s stained yellow Casa de Esperanza T-shirt. “Now where are your manners that you have kept the poor child on her feet all this time?”

From his surly expression, Vicki wasn’t going to get an apology, but he allowed Evelyn to urge Vicki to a bench. Whipping out her cell phone, Evelyn went on briskly, “Now, Robertito, I can see you’ve become a capable police officer, but this is the homicide of a foreign woman. Their American embassy will be involved. You know your barrio station has neither the resources nor the experience for this kind of investigation. I am going to call the chief of police right now to send a special investigation unit. And
los americanos
.
La profesora
will need representation from her embassy.”

Under the calm authority of the older woman’s voice, Vicki felt the tension begin to leave her shoulders. Tugging the bench over to one of the beams holding up the thatched roof, she let her body sag against the hard wood and closed her eyes.

Vicki was not surprised when a half hour later a marked police van and ambulance jolted up outside the compound.

Then a dark green Land Rover with the double-paned tinted windows that meant bullet-proof glass pulled up.

Embassy
. She felt too numb for surprise when she saw Holly’s State Department acquaintance, Michael Camden, get out. She pushed herself to her feet.

The embassy attaché walked to the thatched shelter and stopped short when he saw Vicki. “You!” He took in her disheveled appearance, and his mouth tightened to a grim line as he demanded, “Is it true about Holly?”

Vicki could only make a hopeless gesture.

Spinning around on his heel, Michael stalked over to the makeshift bier and looked down. Then he swung back. “We’re going to need to notify the next of kin. Would you know where we can contact her family?”

Vicki swallowed. “That would be me.”

“You!” The muscles of his jaw bunched.

“Yes, this is Holly’s sister, Vicki Andrews.” Evelyn tucked her palm into the crook of Vicki’s elbow, her calm voice at her ear. “And you?”

Now it was Evelyn who bore the brunt of his scrutiny. “Michael Camden. DAO. American embassy.”

“DAO?” Evelyn’s question conveyed her surprise. “I’d expected at the most a consulate staffer. To what do we owe this honor? I wasn’t aware our embassy had begun affording this level of service.” Evelyn’s question held dry irony.

“Yes, well, I’ve been running some training courses for local police officers. The commander of the special homicide unit was one of them.” Michael indicated the police lieutenant who was organizing the new arrivals. “He called me as soon as they were told an American was involved.”

Evelyn didn’t look particularly impressed. “Then maybe you can make yourself useful by clarifying to your . . . local colleagues that Vicki is a victim and very distressed family member, not their prime suspect.”

“The embassy is not authorized to interfere with the local judicial system. Only to monitor any legal proceedings and ensure that they abide by international treaties.” Michael’s glance went from Evelyn to Vicki, and the grim line of his mouth relaxed a fraction. “But as a private citizen, I will do anything I can to help. Excuse me.”

He joined the special unit lieutenant, and soon all the uniforms Vicki could hope for were swarming around dusting for prints, exploring the canyon rim, even making their way out over the landfall to the mound Vicki showed them.

Vicki had to tell her story again, but at least this time the questions were courteous. Michael lingered, leaning against a pillar within earshot, not speaking or interfering in any way. But his solid, observant presence was felt by her. But his solid, observant presence was impossible to ignore.