Betrayed (12 page)

Leaving the outcrop, he strolled back to the circle of fluorescent beams. The workers were unloading the supplies he’d delivered. As he checked manifests and snapped out orders, it was not regret that occupied his thoughts. Nor guilt. Nor worry. Nor even satisfaction

The predominating feeling was righteousness.

So he’d guessed right.

No, this had been a studied calculation. After all these years, the equipment was still out there—and still in use.

It was carelessness not to consider that others might be listening. But then, how could they? That frequency and scrambling technology had been phased out a decade ago.

Or so the records showed.

When the crackle of voices didn’t return, he reached out and flicked off his own communications system. From that transmission, they were not likely to be back tonight, and the kerosene for the generator was too scarce in these parts to waste.

Walking out onto a veranda, he leaned against one of the concrete pillars that held up the tile roofing. The night was empty of music and voices, the locals long since having blown out candles and lanterns to retire to their hammocks. The only illumination came from a single generator-powered bulb dangling from a rafter through the open door behind him and the pale twinkle of starlight stretching to the jagged black of the mountains.

His eyes narrowed against the darkness. That transmission had originated somewhere out there. His preliminary assessment would seem to be right on every point. This was no new threat. They had returned. Nor had the intervening years curbed their tactics.

 Still, the years had brought other changes. Maybe this time an end could be made. With equipment he didn’t presently have, it might be possible to triangulate both those transmitters. And there were other options, even with limited resources.

He felt neither anger nor righteousness, only cool, focused concentration.

Chapter Eight

“I don’t want assistance shipping remains home.”

Heads turned all around the lobby of the Guatemala City police headquarters. Behind the clerk’s desk, a guard cradling an M-16 took a step forward.

Vicki lowered her voice, if not her frustration level. “I’m not here about the Certificate of Death Abroad, as I’ve already explained. I’m here to find out the status of my sister’s murder investigation. It’s been four days.”

Four interminable days since the horror of finding Holly on that trash heap in the middle of Guatemala City’s municipal dump. Four days of unanswered questions compounded upon unanswered questions. Four days of pounding her fists against bureaucratic concrete walls.

“In all this time, I haven’t received so much as a police report or
anything
about where the investigation is going. Now, all of a sudden, I’m told the body has been released, and I’m free to leave the country and take my sister with me. Well, I don’t
want
to leave the country. What I
want
is to know is just what is being done to find my sister’s murderer.

“As for this—” Vicki slapped a photocopy on the desk—“how can this be the final investigation report? ‘Holly was the victim of assault, by person or persons unknown, for probable ends of robbery.’ That doesn’t say anything. Where are the interviews? the evidence reports? the suspects? Have they even tried to find out who did it?”

“
Lo siento
. I am sorry. This is all I was authorized to release to you.” The police clerk did not shift a muscle of his stony expression as he shoved the report back toward Vicki. “Perhaps things are done differently in your country, but this is not America.”

Vicki gritted back a response. Levelly, she said, “Fine, then. If you can’t release anything further to me, I’d like to speak to someone who can. Who is the officer in charge of my sister’s investigation?” 

The clerk tilted back in his chair. “
El teniente
is already occupied with another
homicidio
. He does not make appointments with civilians.”

Vicki forced her hands to unclench. “Then I want to speak to your chief of police.”

“
El comandante
does not make appointments with civilians.”

Bloodred fingernails plucked at Vicki’s sleeve. Marion Whitfield, the consular aide assigned to Vicki in due course, was a breathless young woman in a power suit and precariously high heels. “Ms. Andrews, I don’t think you appreciate how cooperative the locals have been to secure your release as well as your sister’s in just four days. At least you’re now free to leave the country and make your arrangements for your sister. Meanwhile, let’s allow the authorities to do their job.”

From blank expressions across the desk, neither the police clerk nor guard understood English.

Marion lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “Ms. Andrews, if it’s a matter of finances, the embassy does have at their discretion a program of aid for distressed citizens abroad. We can at least cover your passage home.”

“I don’t
need
aid. Haven’t you heard me? What I need is answers!” Vicki heard her voice rising again and seized on the shift to English to vent her frustration. “Look, Marion, I know you’re trying to help. But you’re basically telling me that I should be grateful
not
to be arrested for a crime I didn’t commit and forget all about who actually murdered my sister. You say we should let them do their job. Well, I don’t see that they
are
doing their job. I mean, how can a murder case be wrapped up in four days? This should be the beginning of an investigation, not the end.”

“I’m sure the police do their best, but with their limited resources, there is only so much we can expect. Unfortunately, they do have full jurisdiction. We can ask for cooperation, but we cannot demand it.”

Yeah, right!
As though Vicki didn’t know just how much political clout the United States carried around here. “Holly was an American citizen. Shouldn’t the embassy be interested in finding out who murdered one of its citizens?”

Marion’s lips pressed together in a stiff line. “We care about all our citizens, of course. But you must understand the justice procedures you take for granted as a citizen back home do not for the most part exist around here. The embassy’s primary responsibility is to ensure our citizens get a just representation under local law. Which is why our first concern has been that you no longer be listed as a suspect or prohibited from leaving the country, if you so choose.”

“I appreciate that—,” Vicki began.

Marion went on unsmilingly, “If you’ve been in Guatemala any time at all, you must be aware of the situation. Hardly a day goes by that the embassy doesn’t get a distress call from some American tourist who’s been robbed at gunpoint, hijacked, or worse. We’ve currently got a dozen homicides on the books, none of them resolved.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t accept that.” Vicki looked at the police clerk as she shifted back to Spanish. "I don’t want to be difficult, but I’m not leaving this country—or these premises—until I speak with someone who knows what’s going on. If not the chief of police, then at least the officer in charge of the special homicide unit.”

 “I don’t know if I can arrange that.” The swift response came in two languages, but the implacability was the same.

Vicki looked from the police clerk to Marion. “Fine, then I’ll camp out on the front steps until someone can.”

Any response was interrupted by the tap of footsteps across the tiled floor behind Vicki.

Marion smiled. “Michael!”

The police clerk, who had not budged from his lounging position since their arrival, sprang to his feet.

Vicki turned. So the DAO attaché was back in town. She hadn’t heard from him in the last four days. Nor had she bothered calling his secretary.

Michael reached them and waved the police clerk back to his seat. “Hello, Marion. I didn’t realize you had an appointment here.”

“Just handling our latest death abroad, Holly Andrews. Michael, I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know if you’ve met the victim’s next-of-kin, Ms. Andrews. We’re having a bit of a communication difficulty you might be able to help us with.”

The melting look Marion bestowed on Michael held both relief and adoration. So much unadulterated approval couldn’t be good for a man, Vicki concluded ungraciously, reminded of Holly’s own agitated reaction.

Vicki kept her voice carefully neutral as she stepped forward. “Actually, we have met, and I do have some questions I hope you can answer for me, Mr. Camden.”

“Why, yes, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t . . . Please call me Michael.”

Vicki suppressed a wry grimace at the immediate warming of his gaze. She could construe the lack of recognition as an insult or a backhanded compliment, so she’d choose to presume the latter. A glimpse of herself in a gilt-rimmed mirror on the wall behind the police clerk was explanation enough. The usual efficiency of her ponytail had been released to a shining, shoulder-length wave, a suit replacing her work uniform of T-shirt and jeans while her makeup brought out the green flecks in her amber eyes and lengthened already long lashes. High-heeled sandals and a gleam of gold at earlobes and throat completed an image unfamiliar even to herself. But Vicki hadn’t chosen today’s ensemble for the surprised appreciation in Michael’s eyes. In this place where power suits and high heels determined social status, she’d dressed to do battle.

“Thank you, Michael. You mentioned you work with that homicide unit who’s supposed to be handling my sister’s case.”

“I teach a few classes for their training program,” Michael corrected.

“And that’s where you’re headed now, if I remember,” Marion broke in brightly, “so we wouldn’t want to delay you. But if you could take a minute to help Ms. Andrews understand that the embassy has no jurisdiction in individual police investigations. I’ve been trying to explain that her best option is to take advantage of her release to travel and let the investigation take its course.”

Lifting her chin, Vicki said evenly, “All I’m asking for is a reasonable explanation of what is being done about my sister’s murder investigation. This is as ridiculous as the run-around I’ve been getting for the last four days.”

Vicki handed Michael the police report, then looked over at Marion. “Again, I really appreciate the assistance and time you’ve given me. But I too am at the end of my options. If I have to, I’m perfectly willing to sit here until I can speak to someone—anyone—who can give me some straight answers.”

“And I’ve already told you,” Marion cut in sharply, “that we can’t make those types of arrangements. This is a sovereign country.”

Michael’s expression was unreadable as he studied the police report. Then he smiled. A singularly charming smile that relaxed the stern planes of his face. Suddenly Vicki could empathize with Marion’s adoration.

“Vicki’s right.” Michael rattled the report. “This says absolutely nothing. And if speaking to someone else in authority can bring her some closure, make it possible for her get on that plane with a clear heart and mind, then by all means let’s make it happen.” He talked with the police clerk in low, fluent Spanish.

Beaming, the clerk picked up a phone, spoke briefly, then held out the receiver to Michael.

He took it. “
Sí, ¿cómo le va
, Gualberto? How are your children? your wife? . . . I have a friend here who would like to speak with you. Señorita Vicki Andrews . . . Yes, the same señorita who has been making
representación
about her sister. . . . We’ll be right there.” After replacing the receiver, he said, “All set. Vicki, you’ve got a conference with the chief of police as soon as we can get you to his office. Marion, I’ll take over from here. ”

“But your class.”

“There’s still plenty of time, and if they have to wait—” Michael shrugged—“then they wait. Vicki, if you’ll come with me.” He was already striding across the lobby, his glance back over his shoulder an impatient order.

Ignoring Marion’s unhappy expression, Vicki murmured a quick thank you, then stretched her legs to catch up. The teetering of her high heels was a reminder of why she usually wore jeans and sneakers. As she reached Michael’s side, she smiled and said fervently, “Thank you! I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

"You’re welcome.”  Michael guided her out of the lobby and down a wide corridor.