“Clearly.”
“Now the question is, what do we do about it? Obviously we can’t tell the Mexican government officials to spray the fields or else. We must ask. Politely. That’s called negotiating.”
“And while these negotiations are taking place you want to avoid any international incidents.”
“Yes.”
“Such as might be caused by a prominent American citizen becoming a narcotics addict while confined in a Mexican jail unfairly if not illegally.”
Miss Eckert looked grim. “That’s what we want to avoid. Exactly.”
“So let’s you and I do a little negotiating of our own.”
“I would rather not.”
“The Mexican government would rather not destroy the poppy fields, and the United States government would rather they did.”
“Which government am I supposed to be?”
“Take your pick.”
“Swiss.”
“Ah, you do have a sense of humor, Miss Eckert. Swiss. Ha ha.”
“Ha ha,” Miss Eckert said. “What are your terms?”
“I’ll keep quiet about Lockwood, and you use some of your consular clout to find out if and when he was released from jail. Somebody must have a record of him — the state or local police, the jail officials, the immigration department, the coroner. You can open doors that are closed to me. So you open doors, I shut my mouth.” Aragon took another card from his wallet and printed on it the address of his office and the telephone number. “You can write to me here, or if you want to phone, leave a message for me any time. There’s an answering service after business hours.”
“The consul should be here instead of out chasing fish or whatever. I can’t decide something like this alone.”
“Scorpios usually make quick decisions.”
“That’s what you want, is it — a quick decision? All right, here it is. I’m not going to break down doors trying to find traces of some junkie.”
“You’re not negotiating, Miss Eckert.”
“I don’t have to,” Miss Eckert said. “I’m Swiss.”
He flew back to Santa Felicia that afternoon. He found his car at the airport where he’d left it, the hubcaps and radio antenna still in place, the windows and tires undamaged. Even the battery was in working order: the engine turned over after only three attempts. He took all this as a good omen.
He picked up a quarter-pounder and fries at a McDonald’s near the airport and ate them on the way home. It was ten o’clock when he called Gilly’s house.
Violet Smith answered. “Good evening. Praise the Lord.”
“Praise the Lord.”
“Who’s this?”
“Tom Aragon.”
“Oh. Wait till I get a pencil and paper. She’s not here. I’m supposed to write down whatever you say.”
“But I haven’t anything that important to—”
“Okay, I’m ready. You can say something.”
“Where is she?”
“Where... is... she.”
“You don’t have to write that down, for Pete’s sake. This is personal, between you and me, like ‘How are you.’ ”
“Asked... regarding... health.”
“Knock it off. All you have to write down is that I’m back in town and I’ll talk to her tomorrow morning. There’s nothing further to report, anyway.”
“You didn’t find Mr. Lockwood?”
“No.”
“I must admit that’s a load off my mind.”
“Why must you admit that?”
Violet Smith made a number of small peculiar noises that sounded as though she might be wrestling with her conscience. “I just better not speak too freely over the telephone. You never know who might be listening in.”
“Who else is there to listen in?”
“A new nurse, for one, Mrs. Morrison. She was hired so Reed could take a couple of days off this week, and Mrs. Decker decided to keep her on for a while until Reed’s disposition improves. She’s a nasty old thing, all starch and steel, not a human bone in her body.”
“If she’s listening in, she’s certainly getting an earful.”
“It won’t come as a surprise. I made my feelings toward her quite clear, especially after they gave her the guest room. It’s the best room in the house, a view of the ocean, a Beautyrest mattress and a pink velvet chaise. Pink velvet, and her an ordinary nurse.”
Aragon said, “Where did Mrs. Decker go?”
“To the movies with Reed. Reed told her if she didn’t get out of this house once in a while, she’d have a nervous breakdown. I felt like saying, maybe she already has one. But I didn’t. My car’s not paid for and my left back molar needs a new crown. There are also spiritual considerations.”
“What kind of spiritual considerations?”
“The church needs money. Did you hear a click on the line just then?”
“I accidentally touched the phone with my glass.”
“Your glass. What are you drinking?”
He lied a little. “Soda water.”
“Reed has been drinking hard liquor lately and far too much of it. His eyes get all bleary and he talks fresh to Mrs. Decker. If I talked fresh to her with bleary eyes, I wouldn’t get away with it, no sir. She’d up and—”
“Violet Smith.”
“—fire me like a shot. She allows Reed to—”
“Violet Smith, I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”
“What time is it?”
“A quarter after ten.”
“Went... to... bed... ten fifteen.”
Sixteen
“Well, here he is, our wandering boy, fresh from foreign soil.” Charity Nelson pushed back her orange wig so she could get a better view of him. “You’ve only been gone a week but I detect a certain new maturity about you, Aragon. What happened?”
“Nothing much.”
“Did you miss me?”
“I thought of you a few times.”
“I thought of you, too. Especially when the answering service woke me up at six thirty this morning to read me a night letter addressed to you.”
“A night letter?”
“From Rio Seco. Want me to read it to you? Better say yes, I took it down in my own version of shorthand.”
“Yes.”
“Please.”
“Please.”
“Please. Hasn’t that word got a nice ring to it? I can’t recall ever hearing it around this office before.”
“You’ve put a very funny act together, Miss Nelson.”
“There’s more.”
“Spare me. Double please.”
“Okay.” She consulted a piece of paper which she took from the top drawer of her desk. “It’s signed ‘Scorpio.’ That sounds like a code name. In fact, the whole thing sounds as though it might be in code. You’re not a spy, are you?”
“Yes.”
“No kidding. Whose side are you on?”
“What sides are there? Pick one and read the letter.”
“ ‘Swiss connection reports penetrating paper doors at the stone quarry’ — I think that’s what the operator said, ‘stone quarry.’ Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“ ‘Records indicate Byron James Lockwood was released three years ago by Magistrate Guadalupe Hernandez. Exact circumstances of Lockwood’s release unavailable and current whereabouts unknown. Hernandez contacted by phone but refused to give additional information. Home address, Camino de la Cima. Try Mordida.’ Who’s Mordida?”