With irritated energy suddenly needing spent, Eva reached into her purse and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. She’d just tapped out her smoke when Acatzalan passed her an uncomfortable glance.
“What?” she asked innocently.
“You’re not planning to light that in here, are you?”
Eva sighed. It occurred to her to light up just for spite. She’d tired of letting other people get the upper hand long ago. When she went out on her own, she intended her own to be the only hand on top. But the kid did just fly her down to
Mexico City
, no questions asked. A little gratitude on her part wouldn’t hurt.
“I just need something to hold,” she said irritably, securing the cigarette between her fingers and turning back to the city passing outside her window.
There was a mile of uneasy silence before she decided to lighten up. It wasn’t Acatzalan’s fault they were suddenly down in
Mexico
and as soon as they found her father, she fully intended to unload on Shaman Juan Joaquin Gaspar.
She reached for the radio to kill the silence, but quickly realized the futility in that. Surely it wouldn’t have hurt her to learn a little bit of Spanish, would it?
She lowered the volume to a subtle jabber and finally turned back to Acatzalan. “So,” she said, “how long have you been a New Ager?”
“Who says I am?” he asked indifferently.
“How else would you know my father?”
“Does a person have to be a New Ager to know your father?”
Eva shrugged. “According to him—yes. Besides, that nickname he’s given you, and your ineffective evasiveness, hasn’t convinced me otherwise.”
Acatzalan rolled his eyes. “I’m not being evasive. I’m just trying to keep a low profile, just the way Shaman Gaspar wants it.”
Eva grinned. “I see.”
He flashed a glance as if to challenge her disbelief. She certainly wasn’t trying to hide her doubts. When he turned back to the congested road his face dissolved into a surrendered expression.
“Look, it’s not like that. I’m training to become a journalist.”
Eva cocked an eyebrow. “A journalist? So what, you’re getting the inside scoop on secret religious societies?”
He took a double take. “You don’t have a very trusting nature, do you?”
“So sue me.”
He sighed. “I just need a little money to get through school and Shaman Gaspar needs someone to put his newsletters together. That’s all there is to it.”
“So you’re not an actual follower of my father’s lies then?”
“I’ve picked up on what the group is about, but no, I can’t say that I follow their beliefs.”
“I had you pegged as my father’s right-hand man.”
Acatzalan shrugged. “I think that’s the impression he wants everyone to have,” he admitted. “I’ve been privy to some things that he doesn’t even pass on to his followers. But there’s always been something that’s bothered me about him.”
“Do tell.”
“Well, I just can’t help this feeling that he’s hiding something from everyone. I think he’s holding something back.”
Eva didn’t respond to that. Her father had always been the secretive sort. He tended to have a wild imagination too.
“What about the nickname?” she asked, hoping Acatzalan wouldn’t pry her for her father’s secrets. He took the bait.
“Shaman Gaspar gave me the name so that I’d blend in—keep the New Agers from questioning who I was. They’re suspicious of outsiders, especially one following them with cameras and voice recorders.”
Eva studied him a moment and found his cocky exterior surprisingly transparent. There seemed to be a modest streak in him after all.
“I misjudged you then,” she said. “I took you for just another brainwashed New Ager. I guess there really are some smarts in that head of yours.”
Acatzalan gave her an uncertain grin.
“So does this mean we can drop this silly charade and start calling you by your real name?” she asked.
“You don’t even know my real name,” he taunted.
“Sure I do.”
The kid’s eyes snapped away from the road. Eva couldn’t help but laugh at the childish surprise on his face. For an instant, he even looked cute—hand caught in the cookie jar cute.
“You looked at my passport,” he guessed.
Eva shook her head. “Even easier than that. I saw your boarding pass.” She laughed again. “I have a son about your age. You can’t hide much from me, Derek Riesling.”
* * * *
Derek sighed. There was no sense in denying it. He’d been careless with his secret, but what difference did it make? It wasn’t as though Eva Gaspar was a devout New Ager ready to blow the whistle on his identity. And what was the worse that could happen if she was? An uncomfortable stir among the New Agers? It didn’t sound too earth-shattering when he thought about it that way.
“Fine. So you know my name,” he said.
“You sound disappointed.”
“Actually, I kinda got used to the anonymity of Acatzalan.”
Eva laughed, which had a deflating effect on Derek’s confidence. Something about her made him feel like a child. Children didn’t earn much respect and that bruised his ego. He didn’t like the feel of it one bit.
She sank back in her seat, her unlit cigarette still dangling between her fingers. She had a domineering air about her, the outspoken confidence of a forty-five-year-old woman who’d taken on the world and won. He suddenly found himself wondering what Lori would think of him taking this last minute run to
Mexico
with a woman like Eva. Secretly, he hoped she would be jealous.
“This whole nickname thing just seems absurd to me,” Eva continued. “If the New Agers want to play their games when they’re around each other, that’s fine. But in the real world, people go by real names, unless they have something to hide.”
Derek stopped listening as a news reporter began to chatter over the radio. He reached for the volume.
“What is it?”
“The news,” he said, turning up the radio.
Eva tisked. “I don’t know how you can follow all that gibberish. These people talk way too fast down here.”
Derek hushed her, listening intently to the radio. It was hard enough translating the flurry of Spanish without having to filter it through someone else’s ignorance. Eva held her tongue and returned to the passing scenery. She seemed to ignore the radio all together until three words spilled through the speakers.
Juan Joaquin Gaspar.
“They’re talking about my father?” she asked incredulously. Then, in a huff she threw herself into the back of her seat. “That’s just great. I wonder what the old fart did now.”
Derek leaned in closer to the radio, hanging on the reporter’s every word. His foot lifted off the accelerator.
“Well? What are they saying?”
“Just a minute.”
Eva huffed impatiently. “I bet he got arrested. That’s got to be it.”
When the newscaster cut away to an advertisement Derek pushed back into his seat and eyed the road ahead, his hands choking ten and two out of the wheel.
“So?” Eva pressed.
“We don’t have to go to the Agave Azul.”
“I knew it.” She slapped her leg in exasperation. “He started some mass demonstration somewhere and now he’s been arrested. I should have known he called me down here to post his stinking bail. Well, if he thinks I’m going to—”
“Shaman Gaspar isn’t in jail.”
That shut her up. Eva waited, her eyebrow cocked in irritation. Derek swallowed hard.
“He’s in the morgue.”
Acatzalan Returns
Diego crossed his feet atop his file-laden desk. He slipped the first folder off the stack and opened it in his lap with the relish of a reader cracking open a good book. The file felt good in his hands. The information inside was comforting. Even the digital photo of José Miguel Rodriguez paper-clipped inside was a welcome sight.
God it’s good to be back on narcotics!
He smiled at the pun of his own thought which brought memories of that blissful high he’d chased years ago. Now, he was finally back to chasing the cartels that readily served out those doses of nirvana—or at least that was the appearance he had to keep.
Diego was in a leisurely mood. He’d been refreshed with the best sleep he’d had in months and, now that the damned Equinox Killer was off his back, he could finally settle into an old familiar routine. Today he’d catch up on some cases. Read a few files. Maybe tomorrow he’d take command of his squad and lead them back into the field. After all, there was time to be made up for Zedilla.
He’d just absorbed himself into kilo-weights and marijuana when Escaban marched up to his desk in an all-too-familiar urgent way.
“Get your keys, Diego. Let’s go.”
Diego scowled, displeased with the sudden interruption. “What’s the hurry?” he asked. “The cantinas aren’t open yet.”
“Get your ass out of that chair and get moving.”
Diego slammed the file shut and jerked his feet off the desk. “I’m trying to catch up on some light reading if you don’t mind.”
Escaban’s husky frame pushed past his desk and continued marching toward the door with the purpose of a military commander. “I do mind,” he barked over his shoulder.
“Just where in the hell are we going?” Diego asked, retrieving his keys from his pocket and grudgingly following the regional director out the door.
“We’re going downtown. They found Gaspar.”
“
Gaspar?
” Diego was stunned. How was that possible?
Diego blinked beneath the glaring sunshine outside. Escaban’s pace quickened as they hit the sidewalk. Diego’s car was parked just ahead.
“If you have your killer, what do you need me for?”
“Gaspar’s not the Equinox Killer.”
Diego unlocked the car and they both slipped inside. “How do you know that?”
“Because the killer got him last night.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Diego groaned inwardly. He didn’t like where this was going. “So what’s the rush? He’s obviously not going anywhere.”
“We’re not going there for Gaspar,” Escaban explained. “The damn reporters must have paid the mortician off because the news just broke. Hell, the body’s not even cold.”
“Don’t tell me we’re going to help crowd control at the city morgue.”
“We’re going because the mortician just called. He says there’s two Americans there right now inquiring about Gaspar.”
“So?”