Stolen Grace (40 page)

“I don’t like the way—”

“I’ve got
diarrhea
,” he blurted out in a panic. “I’ve got to go.” He switched the phone off and shoved it back into his pocket.

The arms dealer burst out laughing—a gold glint flashed from a back molar. “The missus?”

“Yes,” Tommy said. But it wasn’t funny. The most important thing in his life had just happened and he was mixed up in a swirl of mendacity. Of his own making. He’d just had a wake-up call. His hand in the cookie jar. But it wasn’t a cookie jar where his hand had wandered; it was a nest of scorpions. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to pass. I’ve changed my mind.”

“So this has all been a waste of my time?” The dealer’s hollow eyes were caverns of mistrust. And disgust. His rubbery smile turned to a sour sneer.

“No! Yes. I mean, I’ll pay you, all the same, I just don’t want—”

“I understand. I saw that look on your face earlier. The writing was on the wall. Listen man, there are two camps of men in this world. The pussy-whipped and the lions.” He snatched the weapon out of Tommy’s trembling hands and reached for a soft packet of cigarettes, lying on the table. He took one out with his teeth, the gold twinkling like a warning light. He spat off a loose flake of tobacco. Tommy flinched. The man still held the weapon in one hand. The door was bolted behind them. Tommy’s heart was clobbering his ribs. “Get the fuck outta here,
pussy
. You can pay my wife before you leave. Go on. Out!”

TOMMY WAS BACK on the street, three hundred and fifty dollars down, sweat drenching his T-shirt and dripping from his brow. He remembered the scene from
Scarface
—the man sawn up by the chainsaw in the bath. The blood and guts splattering the walls, splashing and spraying the faces of his murderers. That could have been him if this man had turned. What had he been thinking?

He took out his cell, wedged himself behind a tree so as not to be seen, and dialed Sylvia. Pussy-whipped? He’d take pussy-whipped any day of the week over being a killer. Hearing that Grace was alive, wrapped in Sylvia’s arms, made his bitterness vanish. He’d accused Ruth of having an inflated ego but it was he, Tommy, whose ego was like a peacock on a bad day. Terminating Ruth wasn’t going to solve a thing, even though he was sure he would have gotten away with it scot-free. But he would have paid heavily with his conscience. That bitch wasn’t even worth his time, and certainly not important enough to risk his family life. Grace and Sylvia would need him. Grace had been found. That was all that counted now.

He’d wasted time with his stupid vigilante plan, literally saved by the bell. Saved by Sylvia ringing when she did. A close call if ever there was one. He’d wasted the FBI a whole half day. At least. Why didn’t he tell them where Ruth was, instead of trying to be the big avenger, taking stuff into his own hands? Still camouflaged by the tree, he dialed Agent Russo. He enlightened her to what his ex-colleague had discovered—Ruth’s whereabouts.

The detective cut in, reeling off the rest of the address. “We were onto it already,” she divulged. “The Rio police might even be there as we speak.”

“Oh,” Tommy replied awkwardly, wondering what would have happened if his bullet had gone through Ruth’s head just at the moment the feds were turning up to arrest her. Or, perhaps the police would have arrived first, just as he was setting up the shot, and he would have been too late, anyway. He hung up, tail between his unsteady legs.

He still had the image of gangster’s orange-peel face imprinted on his mind.

Pussy-whipped.

He dialed Sylvia and listened to the long ring. It picked up. But it was only her voicemail. He said, “I’m so sorry, my darling, my stomach was inside out. I’m over the moon about Grace—I’m so proud of you. Well done! Listen, I’m on my way to the airport now—well, I need to pick up my backpack from the hotel first—then I’ll get on the first plane out of here to Nicaragua. Even if you don’t want to see me, I’m coming. You can’t keep me away. I won’t take no for an answer! I love you. You and Grace are my life, you know that. Give Gracie a big hug—tell her Daddy is on his way. Call me.”

He slipped out from behind the tree and ran as fast as he could. In zigzags. Just in case that crazy fucker with the glinting tooth was standing on the terrace of his house with an M107 pointed at his head.

Sylvia

N
o sooner had Sylvia finished listening to Tommy’s message, when Agent Russo called with congratulations about Grace. The detective told her how Tommy had revealed his findings from his ex colleague, although the FBI, she said, was already one step ahead. She recapped the information; that the three postings on the
Lonely Planet
forum had come from different e-mails, yet all had the same IP source. Obviously, they suspected Ruth of being the one who sent them.

Sylvia remembered Tommy explaining that to her—IP: Internet protocol. How IP tracers can see where an e-mail or picture has travelled, and IP sniffers will detect all the IP around a certain place. Most people, he’d explained, have a floating IP address but the sniffer can find the root of it. Why, Sylvia wondered, hadn’t Tommy
told
her when he called, that his old colleague had tracked Ruth down? The Brazilian police, the agent assured her, were on their way to the source address. But she warned Sylvia not to get her hopes up—nothing was conclusive. Ruth was a slippery fish.

With Grace now safe, Sylvia could see the world in a different light. She imagined Agent Russo, now, working long hours, giving all her energy to this case. Washington DC was a couple of hours ahead. Was the detective back at home, sipping a glass of wine, working overtime, or was she still in the office, in a lonely, dim-lit room? Had Sylvia even said “thank you?” She supposed she had because that’s the way she’d been brought up, but had she
felt
that thank you? She dialed her number. “Agent Russo?”

“Yes?”

“You know with all this commotion and drama, I don’t even know anything about you. I don’t even know if you’re married or if you have children. I’ve been so self-centered, I—”

“Your child was kidnapped then went missing. It’s normal. And yes, I am married and I do have a child. A little girl called Madison. She’s eight now. That’s why I took your case. I empathized. As you can imagine.”

“Thank you with all my heart.”

“How is Grace?”

“I found a doctor. She was on her way to bed but she kindly agreed to give Grace an examination. Grace is okay, but in shock. Hardly speaking, and when she does, it’s a medley of Spanish and Spanglish. She’s physically fine, just a few cuts and bruises. Thank God for that priest and her friend María.”

“Did you find María’s parents?” Agent Russo asked.

“No, we went to her little shack by the dump but nobody was there. Can you get your attaché on to that? She told me her name is María Bianca Macias Mora. Have you got a pen to jot that down?”

“Got it.”

“Really?”

“Don’t need to hear a name twice,” the agent said coolly.

“And also, we need to get Lucho Reynes out of that cell. It’s late and I’ve just put Grace to bed. We’ve checked into a hotel here in Chinandega. So I really don’t want to go down to the station right now—I need to stay with her, but I can’t bear the thought of that poor guy in there another minute. I’ve asked Grace about him. She adores him. He didn’t do anything wrong, I’m sure of it. Can you pull some strings to get him out of there ASAP?”

“I already have.”

“Always ahead of it all, thanks.”

“That’s my job.”

“You know, when I’m back in Saginaw and things have settled down, I’d like to come to Washington one day. Have lunch with you.”

“That would be my pleasure.”

“And Agent Russo? One more thing? You know Tommy had nothing to do with the money being stolen, don’t you? That he wasn’t involved in Ruth’s shenanigans?”

“We know that.”

“He’s totally innocent. I mean, you believe that, don’t you?”

“Put it this way. He hasn’t committed a crime in the eyes of the law.”

Sylvia felt herself flush. “And in your eyes?”

The agent laughed lightly. “He’s got a little growing up to do. He’s lucky to have you.”

Sylvia smiled. “That’s what
he
says.”

“Well, I’m sure after all this, he’ll really start acting on it, too. I’m sorry, I have no right to judge, I−”

“Yes, you do. You’ve lived through this with us more than anyone else. You’ve seen our warts and all. Anyway, thank you for all you’ve done. And your colleagues, too. Well, goodnight.”

“I’ll let you know what comes of the Rio bust at that address. Fingers crossed.”

“Fingers crossed,” said Sylvia.

Sylvia sat on the edge of the bed, with Grace snuggled under the sheets, her daughter’s skinny arms tight around her waist.

Grace—her sanctuary. Her peace. Nothing was more important than family.

It made Sylvia remember LeRoy. If he hadn’t drowned, maybe they’d be friends now. Not having him in her life was somehow a blow. To be given something and then instantly lose it again was shocking. She wondered, for a second, if she’d rather not have found that shoebox with the letters at all, yet somehow it made her love her father all the more. His weakness, his pain, the feeling of being torn and, above all, his guilt. She had been there, too, and, thank God, was given a second chance. Her dad’s failing made him all the more human to her. And Loretta. Lying to her son to protect him. People usually lied or hid information in order to protect others.

Except in Ruth’s case. What was her reason? Who was
she
protecting? Her ego? Sylvia still found it inconceivable that a person like Ruth could function so breezily without remorse.

Grace’s eyes were closed but Sylvia sensed she was still awake. Little María was fast asleep on the other bed.

“I love you so much Gracie, you know that?” Sylvia whispered. “I’ve missed you. Every second of every day. I’ve missed you and thought about you. All the time. And so has Daddy.” Sylvia stroked her tufty hair. “You’re like a soft little baby hedgehog.” She knew how Grace always likened people to animals. She needed to get her back to being the little girl she had been just a few weeks before. She couldn’t imagine her story, but it must have seemed a lifetime to a child her age.

Grace opened her amber-gray eyes and just stared at her mother in response.

“Tell me about your new teddy bear, honey.”

“Amarillo.”

“That means yellow, doesn’t it? Did Ruth buy him for you? And this gold cross around your neck?”

She nodded.

“Was Ruth kind to you?”

Grace lay still. She obviously didn’t want to bare her soul.

“Where’s Pidgey O Dollars?”

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. Sylvia got up and unlocked it. “Hi Melinda, come in.” All the lights were off except for the bathroom which let off a soft glaze in the room. After all the turmoil, the two children brought an atmosphere of tranquility, as if halos of light were emanating from their beings. Gilded like angels.

“Oh my goodness! Is that the most beautiful little girl in the whole wide world and her name is Grace?” Melinda rushed over to the bed and gave her niece a bear hug. “I could die you’re so cute. I’ve missed you so, so much!” She covered her face with kisses. “I’ve got you some chocolate! I know it’s late and you’ve probably brushed your teeth, but just for a special treat. “Look,” she said unwrapping the foil.

Grace pushed it away. “Nuh-uh.”

“You don’t want
chocolate
! But you love it usually.”

“I think we should wait until tomorrow,” Sylvia advised. “She’s exhausted. She’s been running around that dump with no shoes on.” She lowered her voice and said, “Goodness knows what else she’s been through. She’s hardly speaking. I don’t know what happened, but she’s not herself at all. Where’s Elodie?”

“She got a call. They let Lucho out of the police station. She went to collect him and then they’ll either get a room here tonight or go back to the cabin. I gave her a hundred bucks even though she didn’t want to take it, but I insisted. Just felt like they might need some help.”

“That was nice of you. Thank God he’s out.”

“Lucho?” Grace said, her eyes wide open.

“Yes, honey . . . Lucho. I imagine you can see him tomorrow, when we go to the beach. To the cabin where you were living.”

“And Daddy?”

“Daddy’s on his way. He’s coming by plane. It might take a while but he could be here tomorrow night. Or the next day. Thought we’d stay near the cabin for a couple of days before going home to Saginaw. We need to pick up our stuff. Plus, I want get to know the place where you’ve been living all this time. You can show me around, sweetie.” She kissed her on the forehead.

“You can meet Olive Ridley.”

“Olive Ridley? Why does that name ring a bell?”

“That’s a breed of turtle,” Melinda told her.

Grace closed her eyes and, still clutching her mangy yellow teddy, fell immediately asleep, as if somebody had flicked off a switch.

“What about María?” Melinda whispered. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does she have a home?”

“Barely. A shack that’s falling apart. Her family doesn’t seem to be around. I’ve got her full name so maybe we can trace them down. Although I think her father’s gone AWOL.”

“And if not?”

“The priest has been housing children on a makeshift basis.”

“Look at her sleeping so peacefully,” Melinda said, looking at María. “She’s so cute.”

“Grace seems to adore her.”

“Well, let’s try once more tomorrow to find her mom—go to their shack. And if she’s not there, we can at least take her to the beach with us for a few days.”

Sylvia stretched her arms above her head. “You think we can just do that? I guess we could leave a note saying where she is. You know, I won’t feel good about just returning to Saginaw and leaving this place behind. It’s not the kind of thing you can just forget. The dump. The faces of those people. The poverty. As you said, whole families living on less money a day than it costs us to buy a cup of coffee. It breaks my heart. I want to
do
something. I’d like to help in some way.”