“And came back into the country…?”
“Right at three,” Archer said. “That gives us a full three hours in Acambaro, which is plenty. And we like to have the kids back in time to catch their regular bus home. Saves us and the parents a lot of headache.”
“Any complications at the border crossing coming back?”
Archer leaned back in his chair and spread his hands. “Neither time. In December, one of the officers stepped onto my bus…I was first in line, then the van, then the second bus. The customs guy looked at the kids all seriouslike for a couple of seconds, then said, ‘Welcome back.’ That was it. In May, we were just waved on through.”
“And you traveled as a group, both times? Two buses and the van.”
Archer nodded. “Both times. Well, in May, we didn’t need the van. Just the two buses.”
Estelle looked down at her notebook for a moment. “You were in Acambaro for about three hours, is that right?”
“Just about. In December, there’s lots of music and dancing with the kids. Then we give out the gifts, have a snack, and hit the road. During the May trip, it’s mostly a show put on by the kids at the Acambaro school. We have a picnic afterward, and that’s it.”
“You said that George Enriquez went on both trips, Mr. Archer?”
“Yes, he did. Same crew both times.”
“What about the year before that?”
“No, this was George’s first trip. Joe Tones has been going for a decade or more. I think this is Owen Frieberg’s…I don’t know, maybe fifth year?” Archer grinned ruefully. “You got to be careful when you let the school district find out that you’ve got a bus driver’s license. Once we’ve got our claws in you, it’s hard to escape.”
“In May, where did you park the buses when you got to the school in Acambaro?” Torrez said. “Right in front on the street, or in that space back by the gym?”
Archer looked puzzled. “The one bus-the one I was driving? We drove it around back, since we were the one with the heavy copier. That was the nearest point to their office, where it was going. The other bus just pulled up in the street, right at the curb.”
“And the van?”
“He went around back with me.”
“And the vehicles were parked there the whole time?”
“Well, the bus was. After they unloaded all the computers from the van-and I think they also had some of the old toner cartridges and stuff like that for the copier-George parked it back out on the street with the other bus.”
“Did Mr. Enriquez appear to enjoy himself?”
“I think he had a good time,” Archer said. “He seemed to have a real affection for the kids, you know? And he’s fluent in Spanish, so that helped. I noticed that he spent quite a bit of time talking with a couple of the little Indian children. Tarahumara, I think they are. They were kind of spooked by all the activity.”
“He was there the whole time?”
“That I couldn’t say, Estelle. Things get so hectic, with so much going on, the last thing I spend my time doing is trying to keep track of the adults. You know what I mean? I figure they can take care of themselves.” He leaned his arms on the table. “I was sorry to hear about the man’s death, guys. A real shock, you know? He’s done a lot for the community.”
Estelle nodded. “Yes, sir, he has.” She reached over and turned off the tape recorder. “May we have a list of the twenty-two youngsters who went on the trip?”
“Of course.” His expression became wary. “I hesitate a little bit with that. You can talk to me all day, if you want to, and to Barry Vasquez, if you like. But with the youngsters, it’s a little different. One of the school staff needs to be present for anything like that.” He paused. “And you know, the eighth-graders who went on the two trips last year are in ninth grade now, so they’re over at the high school. That shouldn’t be much of a problem, though. Can you tell me what you’re looking for? If I knew, maybe I could be of more help.”
Estelle glanced at Torrez, who nodded slightly. “Sir,” she said. “It’s a possibility that one or more of the students saw something that could assist us in this investigation. The adults are busy watching kids, and might not notice anything of interest beyond them. Kids see some interesting things, sometimes.”
Archer’s smile was tight-lipped. “But you don’t want to say just yet what those interesting things might be. Do I read that correctly?”
“Yes, you do.”
Archer pushed himself back from the table. “If you don’t have any more questions for me, let me get you that list. We’ll go from there.”
“This could be a real wild goose chase,” Torrez said quietly when Archer left the office.
“I hope so,” Estelle said.
“You’re planning to talk to all twenty-two kids?”
“If I have to.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Estelle knew that once planted and fed, the rumor grapevine grew at the speed of sound. With that in mind, she and Torrez elected to interview the students in school the following day, rather than in individual homes. Despite admonitions to keep the experience to themselves, it was a certainty that the students would talk with one another after the interviews-and that some would talk with parents when they arrived home from school late Thursday afternoon.
That gave Estelle a window of opportunity when any information that the students might possess would not be general knowledge in the community-one brief school day.
Six of the twenty-two students on the trip had been seventh-graders, and five of those had returned to Posadas for the following school year. The sixth had moved to San Diego.
Estelle met with the five, one at a time, in Tessa Dooley’s office at the middle school. Mrs. Dooley sat at the head of the conference table and greeted each student with an expression that was half glower and half affectionate empathy-an expression that told them they’d better provide answers, and fast.
By nine-thirty Thursday morning, Estelle had heard the same wandering, vague recitation of the Mexican experience: the embarrassed dancing, the gift giving, the food. For several of the students, the high point of the trip appeared to have been listening to their boombox headphones on the bus ride down and back.
All five remembered “those guys” from the chamber of commerce. Not one recalled a name. Two of the five students had no idea who school superintendent Glen Archer was-much to Mrs. Dooley’s exasperation-despite Archer’s appearance at the middle-school assembly just the day before.
One of the five, a slender little girl with enormous blue eyes and a mouthful of braces, recalled the poverty of the Acambaro area. What stuck in her memory was the lack of a sidewalk from the classroom building to the uncompleted gymnasium.
Estelle and the principal watched the last child slip out of the office. “Close the door behind you, dear,” Tessa Dooley said, and when the child left without latching it, the principal arose with a grunt and pushed the door closed herself.
“Impressive, don’t you think?” she said, the sarcasm heavy.
Estelle glanced up at Dooley as the principal maneuvered her way back to her place at the conference table. “I’m always amazed at what children see, or maybe I should say, how they see,” Estelle replied.
“It’s very different, that’s for sure. Maybe with a little prompting, they’d remember more, but it’s been a long time for them.” She flashed a quick smile. “By their standards, a long time. I wish I had gone along. Of course,” and she hunched forward into a self-deprecating shrug, “I probably would remember less than they did.”
Estelle reached across and turned off the tape recorder that had been nestled discreetly beside a large box of tissues, simply so that it hadn’t been the sole, intimidating object on the table.
“Wouldn’t it help if we knew what you were looking for?” Mrs. Dooley asked. “I feel like we’re stumbling around in the dark here.”
“I’m sorry it’s frustrating,” Estelle said, “but it’s important that the kids don’t pick up on a particular direction from us. They’re wonderfully adept at figuring out what adults want to know and bending their stories accordingly. I’m sure you know that better than I.”