Wolf in the Shadows (34 page)

“Anything?” Hy whispered.

“Not yet. The drapes’re closed.” I adjusted the focus some more. “Give me a minute. People are moving around in there. I’m
pretty good at reading body language, and I may be able to identify who they are by the way they walk.”

Hy fell silent, crouching behind me, his posture alert as he kept watch along the beach. I observed the shadow play on the
hill.

I watched for about five minutes, comparing heights and nuances of movement. One figure entered carrying something, set it
down, then left. A maid, perhaps, or the bartender. Another appeared to be pacing back and forth the length of the room. A
third got up from a chair, crossed to the right where the maid or bartender had stopped, and after a while went back again.

“I don’t think Fontes is there,” I whispered to Hy. “These people are short to medium height.”

“How many?”

“Three, but I think one’s a servant. I’m pretty sure Salazar’s there; somebody crossed the room in that languid gait he has.”

“The other?”

“Pacing. Short, stocky. I’d say it’s Navarro. Hard to tell, though.”

“Not Mourning?”

“Uh-uh. They’re probably keeping him under guard.”

“So where d’you suppose Fontes is?”

I didn’t reply. A heavyset figure had appeared and was standing next to the chair occupied by the person I thought was Salazar.
The shadow stood there for about half a minute, then left again, walking in a heavy, rolling gait. Jaime? Shortly afterward
a light flashed on in an uncurtained window in the two-story wing to the far right. I moved the lens and adjusted the focus;
Jaime came into view, removing a shoulder holster.

“Salazar’s bodyguard is there,” I whispered, “and he’s going off duty.”

“So that leaves us with …”

“Salazar and Navarro. The servant. Whoever else Fontes employs. Maybe Fontes himself.” I continued watching. The short, stocky
figure quit pacing and sat down near the other person. For a long time there was no movement.

“Hy,” I said, sitting up and resting my eyes, “how much do you suppose the people in the riverbed know about what goes on
at those villas?”

“Probably quite a bit. I got the impression that they watch them the same way people used to watch prime-time soaps like ‘Dallas’
and ‘Falconcrest.’ Nobody I knew would admit to liking those shows, and they flat-out hated the characters, but they were
hooked anyway.”

“If we could ask somebody down there what kind of a staff Fontes employs, it would help. Tomás seems to watch that particular
villa pretty closely; he might even know if Fontes is home tonight.”

“I suppose I could walk down there. Don’t like to leave you alone here, though.”

More echoes of months ago, when he hadn’t wanted me to go off into the darkness of Stone Valley without him. “I’ll be okay.
Just go.”

He nodded and squeezed my shoulder, then got up and moved silently down the beach.

I fended off uneasiness and concern for him by applying my eye to the viewfinder.

Still no movement. Time passed slowly; it could have been five minutes or half an hour. I began to wonder why Hy was taking
so long, then realized he probably hadn’t even reached the riverbed. Finally I spotted some motion, focused on it. The figure
that I thought was Salazar stood, appeared to speak to the other person, then left the room.

I scanned the windows of the villa, but couldn’t tell where he’d gone. The other figure remained in the chair for a while,
then resumed pacing. Up and down, up and down. Past the glass doors in short, fast steps. Then the shadow came closer to the
drapes, and its outlines blurred. The drapes parted, and I stared at Ann Navarro.

Navarro stepped out onto the terrace, shutting the door behind her. She crossed to the wall where there was a space between
the glass baffles and leaned forward, palms braced on top of it, head thrown back as she breathed the fresh night air. I scanned
the rest of the house. Jaime’s window was dark now, no one moved in the other lighted frames. Navarro remained by the wall.

It was a chance that might never present itself again.

I slid back, rolled over, reached into my bag for the .45. Shoved it into the rear of my waistband, then went around the
pongas
on my hands and knees, heading up the beach toward the northern end of Fontes’s property. When I got there, I began to angle
in gradually, keeping an eye on the terrace. Navarro still stood alone by the wall, illuminated by the outdoor lights, head
hanging down now.

Looking at me?

I stopped, watched. No, she was merely relaxing tense neck muscles.

Rock protruded from the sand next to the terrace’s concrete foundation, and the land angled up along its side, where It was
flanked by cacti. I moved slowly toward it, scanning the slope and beach, listening for the slightest sound or movement. When
I reached the edge of the foundation, I glanced up at where Navarro stood. I could make out only the shape of her head, now
turned toward the sea.

On hands and knees I began scaling the slope. The sand that overlaid the rock made it slow going. Hard to gain a foothold,
a handhold. Hard to keep from sending a shower of telltale pebbles skittering down behind me. Finally I reached the place
where the terrace wall butted into the hillside. The glass baffles didn’t quite meet the house; there was a two-foot space
through which I could climb onto the terrace. I covered my hands with the long sleeves of Hy’s sweater, gritted my teeth,
and moved into the thick stand of cactus.

Spines pierced my jeans. I covered my face with my sweater-swathed hands and peered between them. A barrel cactus took painful
hold of my right arm; I moved my left hand to free it and suffered a painful swat. Finally I yanked the sleeve loose, tearing
the wool and rustling the plants around me. Plunged forward and crouched by the wall.

No footsteps on the terrace. No call of inquiry.

After a bit I stood and peeked over the wall. Navarro was still looking out to sea; I was well outside her peripheral vision.
I placed my hands on top of the wall and hoisted myself up. Rolled onto it and swung my legs over, ready to drop. Took the
gun from my waistband. Slipped down to the terrace floor and stood with feet wide apart, gun extended in front of me.

Navarro’s head jerked. She started to turn.

“Don’t move,” I said softly, “and don’t make a sound.”

She froze.

“I have a gun aimed at your back. Step to your right until you touch the side wall.”

She moved as I’d told her, stiffly.

“Now step back this way.”

She backed up, eyes straight ahead. A cool woman, Navarro.

“Good,” I said, moving forward and patting her pockets for weapons.

“What do you want?” Her English was more heavily accented than I’d expected, although by no means broken or ungrammatical.
Its strong Hispanic undertone was the reason Hy had taken her for a Mexican national when she’d called with the ransom demands.

“To give you some news—about Stan.”

“Stan! What—”

“It’s okay to turn around now. Do it slowly.”

She did, eyes moving swiftly from my face to the gun. Now lines of strain cut furrows beside her mouth and eyes; she looked
years older than she had through my telephoto lens the night before.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m working for RKI.”

Quick intake of breath.

“I know all about the kidnapping, how you and Stan and Diane planned it.”

“I didn’t—”

“I saw Diane at the hospital in San Diego this afternoon.”

“Diane! That can’t be. Gilbert said …”

“Said what?”

“She’s dead,”

“No, she’s in critical condition, but she’ll recover.”

“Gilbert said she died on the way to Ensenada.”

“She was stabilized at the trauma unit there and flown to San Diego. It was Fontes’s efforts that made it possible for her
to leave Baja without being questioned about the shooting.”

“Oh, God!” Navarro put her hands over her face, fingers pressing hard against her eyes.

I asked, “Who shot Diane?”

She shook her head.

“You don’t know?”

Silence.

“There’s no point in concealing what went on down here.”

No reply.

I said, “I saw Stan in San Diego on Thursday.”

“You couldn’t have. Stan’s in Mexico City—” She bit her lips, pressed them together.

“Have you talked with him?”

“… No.”

“Then how do you know he’s really there?”

“Gilbert said—”

“Just as he said Diane had died.”

Navarro took her hands from her face and studied me. She seemed to be weighing what I’d told her. “All right, where in San
Diego did you see Stan?”

“The county morgue. He’s dead. He’s been dead since Sunday night when he tried to pick up the letter of credit. Marty Salazar
shot him.”

Navarro’s reaction wasn’t what I’d expected. Just a slight hesitation before she said, “You’re lying.”

“I have an eyewitness to the shooting. He’s down on the beach.” Somewhere down there, and probably panicked at finding me
gone. “And the San Diego police have made a positive I.D. on Stan’s body. They’ve been trying to contact you since shortly
after you came down here.”

She studied my face, her expression giving no clue as to what she was thinking.

I reached into my pocket and took out a slip of paper on which I’d written Gary Viner’s name and phone number. “This is the
detective in charge of the case. He’ll confirm.”

“It’s a setup.”

“You don’t really believe that.“

Her eyes moved to the paper. She bit her lip again, then reached for it. “I’ll call him. Wait here.”

Such bravado in spite of the gun I held both impressed and amused me. “No, that’s not how it works.”

“How, then?” Impatient now to get on with it.

“We’ll go over the wall the way I came. Down the beach to the access point, where I have a car equipped with a cellular phone.
You’ll call Viner from there.”

Navarro crossed her arms. “How do I know—”

“You don’t. But you have no choice, do you?”

She shivered slightly, glanced at the door to the house.

“Let’s go,” I said.

She went ahead of me, crossing the wall clumsily, wincing when the cactus spines raked her skin. I had to give her credit:
she never once cried out. When we were past them, I motioned for her to start down the slope. We descended and moved up the
beach in tandem, keeping clear of what light the windows of the neighboring villas cast on the sand. Finally we reached the
path to the parking area.

The Seville sat alone where Hy and I had left it. I urged Navarro toward it, then realized he had the keys. Why the hell hadn’t
I—

“Jesus, McCone, I can’t turn my back on you for a minute!” Hy’s head appeared from where he crouched on the other side of
the car. Nodding, he said, “Ms. Navarro.”

Navarro recognized him and stiffened.

“The eyewitness I mentioned,” I told her. “I believe you’ve met.” To him I added, “She’s decided to call Lieutenant Viner.”

“Smart choice.” He tossed me the car keys, held open the passenger’s door, and motioned her inside; shut it and leaned against
it. I got into the driver’s seat, flicked on the electrical system, and lowered the passenger-side window so Hy could hear.
Holding the phone up so Navarro could see I was dialing the number on the paper she clutched, I made the call and handed the
receiver to her.

Navarro pressed it to her ear. After a few seconds her eyes grew wide and her fingers tensed; she asked the SDPD operator
for Viner’s extension. Identified herself and listened.

“I see. … Yes. … I’ll …” She glanced at the gun I held. “I don’t know exactly when I’ll return to California, but I’ll be
in touch with you.”

Viner spoke some more.

“Yes, she’s here.” Navarro handed the phone to me.

“McCone, what the hell is going on?” Gary demanded.

“I told you I’d have Ms. Navarro contact you. And I—”

“I’m tired of this runaround. I want you in my office—”

“I’ll see you in less than twelve hours.” Saying it gave me a rush of confidence. Maybe saying it would make it so.…

“What time?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“McCone—”

I was tired of arguing with him, so I broke the connection. When I glanced at Hy, he looked amused.

Navarro sat with her head down, hands twisted in her lap, still clutching the slip of paper. “It’s true,” she said, a desolate
note underscoring her words.

“It’s true.”

She raised her head, turned to look at Hy. “You were there with him?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

He squatted beside the car, described the scene more tersely than he had to me. Navarro listened silently, flinching when
he got to the part about Stan being shot.

After Hy finished I said, “Everything’s coming unraveled, Ann. You’d better cooperate with us.”

No reply.

“You’re in very big trouble,” I added. “Kidnapping, accessory to transporting a kidnap victim over an international boundary.
If Mourning dies, it’s special circumstances—carries the death penalty.”

When she still didn’t say anything, Hy asked, “Where’s Fontes?”

“… He flew to Mexico City with the letter of credit late this afternoon. He was going to … He
said
he was going to meet Stan there and put the L.C. through in the morning. Then they’d come back here to divide the money.
But now I know that Stan’s—” She shook her head.

“What about Timothy?”

“At the villa. They’ve kept him doped up since … since this morning.”

Hy said, “You know they’re going to kill him.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be that way!”

He gave her a skeptical look, but didn’t comment.

I said, “You also must realize what Fontes and Salazar plan for you.”

Navarro still didn’t want to believe what was happening. She put out her hands, fending off reality. “How do I know
any
of what you say is the truth?”

“You talked to Viner. That wasn’t a setup.”