Echoes of a Distant Summer (89 page)

Jackson replied, “We’ll call you at your father’s campaign headquarters.” He turned and waved to one of his men. “Let’s get that last cement truck pouring now.”

Paul DiMarco never regained consciousness sufficiently to answer any questions regarding Elizabeth’s whereabouts. His life was ended when the suffocating cement flowed over his mouth and nostrils and covered him.

T
he stench of human waste, mold, and dampness dominated the small, spare, low-ceilinged basement room. The walls were stained and cracked, unpainted plaster. In some places the interior lathing was exposed. There were stains on the walls that looked like blood, and even in the dimness it was clear that the scratches in the plaster were made by human hands.

Elizabeth ached with hunger as she paced the room’s cement floor for what seemed like the millionth time. She had lost count somewhere in the twenty thousands. Back and forth, past the foot of the cot, from the casement window on the exterior wall across to the heavy, wooden entry door and back again. She had estimated that her prison was around ten feet square. Five hundred twenty-eight laps made up almost a mile. She liked pacing. It was a mesmerizing exercise that seemed to free her mind from the monotony of her hunger and her imprisonment. She had been locked in this particular cell for the last three days. The only sound other than her regulated breathing and her footsteps was the muffled broadcast of a Spanish-language radio station from the other side of the heavy door.

Every detail of the dingy, pallid little prison had been memorized
and filed away: the low-wattage bulb hanging on a wire from the ceiling; the weak rays of light which filtered through the dirty pane of the casement window; the military-issue cot; the chipped porcelain sink and the portable orange plastic toilet. She had given particular attention to the two doors leading into the room: the heavy, wooden door, through which all traffic entered and exited, and the second, a narrower door, similar in size to those for small closets and pantries. Both doors and the window were locked securely. There appeared to be no escape.

She was permitted to leave the room once a day for the noontime meal, which was the main meal of the day. She was taken upstairs to an old hacienda-style kitchen with a wide-open hearth and a heavy, cast-iron cookstove and ate her food alone at a rough-hewn wooden table while her guards watched. The peasant women working in the kitchen did not look at her. They wisely kept their heads down and talked in whispers. The only serving of meat she received, if she received any at all, was at that meal. Dinner consisted of a plastic container of water and a small serving of beans wrapped in a couple of corn tortillas, and there was no breakfast. While she had never considered herself a big eater, by the time lunch came around, she was pretty hungry.

She stretched her arms over her head as she paced the cement floor and winced at the strength of the odor her body gave off. Although the room’s temperature was only eighty degrees, its stuffiness caused her to perspire profusely. Elizabeth took pains twice a day to wash up in the small sink with the rough rags and harsh soap they had given her, but that did nothing to mitigate the smell of her clothes. Unconsciously, she put her hands up to check her hair. There was no mirror but she could feel the unraveling of her miniature braids with her fingers. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d washed her hair. She felt like she was wearing a filthy cap. She had been allowed to shower only once since her capture and that had been in full view of Deleon. From her years in police work she knew that debasement and degradation were the general lot of kidnap victims, that she should consider herself lucky that she had been raped only once, but the realization brought her no comfort. She took a deep breath and increased the speed of her pacing. Resolution was the key. She had to focus her energies on staying strong so that she would be ready to take advantage of any opportunity that came along.

Elizabeth had deduced from the look of the peasant women, the Spanish-language newspapers she had seen in the kitchen, and the
snatches of Spanish that she had heard spoken that she had been taken south across the border to Mexico. Her deduction made her heart fall for she knew it lessened the chance of Jackson finding her, much less rescuing her. She would have to rely upon her own ingenuity. She had established a workout regimen to stay in shape the first day that she was released from her bonds. She started her morning with a stretching routine then jogged thirty-two hundred laps. In the afternoon she paced out four thousand laps and worked on her push-ups. At night she spent hours trying to pick the lock of the narrow door with one of her few remaining large bobby pins. It was an old-fashioned lock which was opened by a round-stemmed key. A couple times she had thought the tumblers had rolled over, but the door had remained locked. She wished she had paid better attention while attending police seminars on the methods and implements of breaking and entering. She could only hope that her perseverance would eventually pay off.

She had no memory of her journey to Mexico. Much of it she had spent in a drug-induced stupor. The first time she awakened in this room the floor had been cold and hard. She could not tell whether the room was lighted or not. She had been blindfolded, bound, and gagged. She had fought back the fear that squirmed deep in her chest. She tried to lie quietly and reserve her strength, but fear was an adrenaline-pulsing entity that hurled itself against the confines of her rib cage. It was a force in her mind that sent her thoughts scattering in confusion like bowling pins hit by a well-placed ball.

She picked up her pace, losing herself in the rhythm of her steps. Time passed slowly, interminably, seconds ticking as if slogging through a sea of molasses. She thought about her life before her capture and shook her head in amazement. Her whole worldview had been wrong. She remembered the angst and concern that her work at the district attorney’s office had caused her, how she had felt that her life wasn’t fulfilling. Now such feelings seemed to be the petty concerns of a sheltered fool. The truth was, she didn’t know how good she’d had it. She had been living a life of cherries and cream. How could she have been dissatisfied with her career? Then there was Jackson. She realized now that, instead of being guarded and cautious, she should have taken every second of the time she had with him and enjoyed it to the fullest. How easy it was to see now that neither love nor life was guaranteed. The sounds of voices outside the wooden door halted her reverie.

The door swung open and a voice commanded, “Move away from
the door and stand where we can see you!” Elizabeth did as she was ordered. Deleon, followed by Alejandro, Tercero, Simon, and San Vicente, entered the room. During Elizabeth’s imprisonment she had learned each of the men’s names. Alejandro, Tercero, and Simon were her guards. They were the ones who emptied her plastic toilet and escorted her to the kitchen.

San Vicente ordered, “Bring her a chair!” Simon immediately left the room and returned with a wooden chair, which he placed in the middle of the floor facing the door. With a gesture, San Vicente directed her to take a seat. He gave her a cold smile, his sunglasses reflecting the harsh light of the bare bulb. “Now that we’ve gotten our security set up, it’s time we were introduced formerly. I am Don San Vicente. These three are my men. And you know Señor DuMont already. You are now my prisoner. Señor DuMont has relinquished control over your well-being to me.” San Vicente’s men moved around behind Elizabeth.

“Why am I here?” Elizabeth put a submissive whimper in her voice. She hoped to make her captors underestimate her.

“You don’t ask questions here.” San Vicente tapped his chest. “I ask the questions. Where are the stock certificates?”

“The—the what?” Elizabeth sputtered. “Why would I know about stock certificates?”

Someone behind her stepped forward and slapped the back of her head hard. She cried out as the sting of the blow spread across the back of her skull. “You don’t ask questions!” Tercero declared from behind her in a thick Mexican accent.

San Vicente continued, “I ask you once again, where are the stock certificates?”

Elizabeth hunched down as she replied in a whining voice, “I swear I don’t know anything about any stock certificates! No one ever talked to me about that! On my father’s grave, I swear! What stock certificates?”

Someone else slapped the back of her head hard and said, “You don’t ask questions!” Elizabeth bent over with pain and screamed.

Deleon turned and confronted San Vicente. “Goddamn it! This wasn’t the agreement! We need her in good shape!”

There was an ominous quality in San Vicente’s words when he replied, “We are partners, yes? But you are not master here, DuMont! Watch how you speak!”

Deleon answered, “I’m just saying what you’re doing isn’t smart. We
have a phone call scheduled in thirty minutes. We want her to be able to talk to him. Why mess up the hostage before that if it isn’t necessary?”

San Vicente didn’t bother to oblige Deleon with an answer. He studied Elizabeth, his eyes hidden behind his dark glasses. He walked around her chair. No one spoke. Only his footsteps echoed in the room. After making a complete circuit around her chair, he turned to her and said, “I believe you. I don’t think Tremain would be stupid enough to tell you anything either. Of course, I have ways of finding out if you are lying. But these ways will change the way you look, the way you move, even the way you think—if you live. But for now, we will just keep you prisoner and see what your boyfriend will do.”

Elizabeth did not let her facial expression change. Since her captors were Jackson’s enemies, she was only valuable to them as bait. Once Jackson was lured into their trap, she would be expendable. She set her mind to thinking about her options. No one would know where she was. She would have to manufacture her own route to escape. Surprise was her only weapon. She must continue to present a weak and frightened facade, but not too weak and not too frightened.

San Vicente walked over to Elizabeth and let a finger brush her cheek. “You are dark but pretty. Some of my men want to bed you. It might go easier for you if you share what you have between your legs. Do you want that?” Elizabeth kept her head down and shook her head. San Vicente pointed to Deleon. “He has had some, no? Why not share it with my men too?”

Deleon challenged, “That’s not what we agreed upon! Stick with the agreement!”

Deleon’s words and tone angered San Vicente and his men. There was some shuffling of positions as if a couple of the men were preparing to attack Deleon, but San Vicente held up his hand. When he spoke to Deleon there was no warmth in his voice. “This is the last time I’ll warn you! Watch your tone and your words!” San Vicente paused then smiled evilly. “We both know, don’t we, that agreements are made to be broken. You are fortunate I am a honorable man.” Tercero and Alejandro laughed at the way their boss was toying with Deleon. San Vicente’s smile was gone when he turned to Elizabeth. He grabbed her jaw in a firm grip and growled, “You are my prisoner, not his. You will live by my rules or not live at all. You are fortunate that I do not like dark
women because I would take you whether you wanted it or not. But since I do not desire you, you only have to obey my commands. The penalty for disobedience will be harsh. It would be a shame to mark your face unnecessarily because you will bring a good price once you’re broken.”

Elizabeth trembled and she did not have to pretend. The coldness of the man’s tone left no doubt in her mind that San Vicente would torture her and kill her should his plans to exchange her for the certificates go awry. She wondered if there was any way she could play on the obvious tension and enmity that existed between San Vicente and Deleon.

San Vicente stepped back and asked in a more kindly tone, “Are you hungry?”

Elizabeth knew that, despite her loss of appetite, she should eat. She nodded her head meekly, keeping her glance downward.

San Vicente said, “Well, after I show you escape is impossible, we’ll take you to the kitchen and you’ll get a good meal from old Sonja.”

Deleon interjected, “It might be best not to give her a tour, so that she doesn’t know her way around.”

“You think she can escape here?” San Vicente demanded angrily. “From Playa Rosalía? With my dogs? I think she should see one of her guards. I think it will take any idea of escape from her mind. Bring in Rex!” There was a moment’s pause and none of the men moved. San Vicente stared around angrily. “I said bring in the dog!”

Alejandro, a tall, muscular man who wore his black hair in a ponytail, stepped from behind Elizabeth and said, “He’s chained up, boss. Can’t nobody but you and the trainer loose him.” By his voice Elizabeth figured him to be the second one who had slapped the back of her head.

San Vicente laughed and walked swiftly out of the room. He came back in less than a minute with a large-boned brown Doberman. The dog’s ears were cropped to short, triangular points above its head. San Vicente signaled the dog with a hand gesture to stand beside the chair in which Elizabeth was seated. The dog obeyed. San Vicente made another hand signal and the dog sat on its haunches. San Vicente ordered Elizabeth, “Pet him!” Elizabeth looked at the dog and recognized that it had received training on par with police dogs, but she was nonetheless hesitant to touch the dog. It could easily take her hand off at the wrist. “Pet the dog!” San Vicente ordered.

“Pet the dog!” Alejandro reiterated and slapped the back of her head
again. The dog turned in a single movement and tensed to attack him. Although its teeth were bared, no sound issued from its mouth, for it had been taught to attack without warning.

Only San Vicente’s shouting “Sit, Rex! Sit!” prevented the dog from leaping on Alejandro. The dog swiveled and returned to sitting on its haunches. It awaited its next command. San Vicente laughed again and said, “You must be careful, Alejandro. Rex doesn’t like you and I’ve told you many times, do not make sudden moves around the dogs.”

San Vicente turned once more to Elizabeth and directed her to pet the dog. With great reluctance, she reached out and petted the dog’s head. “You see,” San Vicente said with a nod of his head, “the dog is well trained, eh? Come, let us go to where he is chained.” He patted his hand against his thigh and the dog went to heel by his side. Elizabeth was pulled erect and pushed to follow San Vicente through the door. She was taken into a long rectangular room with a cot and a telephone and a radio sitting beside a bureau. At the end of the room was the staircase leading up to the first floor. San Vicente took the Doberman over to the wall next to the staircase and chained the dog to the wall. He pointed to a painted line on the floor and told Elizabeth, “Stand there!” Elizabeth moved to the spot indicated. “You just petted him, no?” San Vicente asked. Elizabeth nodded her head meekly. San Vicente pointed at her and commanded, “Attack!” The dog hurled itself straight for Elizabeth’s throat.