“I think so.”
“Then let us proceed on our way.”
The superintendent was driving his personal car, a Toyota not much bigger than he was. He handled it as though it were his alter ego, with courteous attention and respect. Other motorists honked at him from behind, put their heads out windows to curse him as they passed, looked back and shook their fists. The superintendent didn’t let it bother him.
“Peasants,” he said amicably. “I save my wrath for more significant occasions. Besides, I have a full stomach. There is nothing more soothing than a good meal, isn’t that correct?”
“I don’t remember. I haven’t had one lately.”
“Try not to be waspish, Mr. Aragon. I am, after all, doing you a favor. You could have spent a week, even a month, searching for this girl, and I found her for you. You must learn the art of gratitude.”
“I don’t want to be grateful until I know what I’m being grateful for.”
They had reached the bridge. The superintendent was driving very slowly in spite of the pressure of traffic. “Let’s see now. It was right about here, from this spot, that your friend Harry Jenkins jumped. No manner of death is pleasant but it seems to me Jenkins picked, or was granted, one of the better ones, leaping out into the air like a bird, then dropping into oblivion. Magistrate Hernandez had no choice, no such beautiful moment of flying. It was quick, though. Others are not so lucky.”
She had put up a struggle.
For Tula, there’d been no easy bird flight, no sudden halt of the heart. Deep-purple bruises covered her face and arms and throat. A patch of her hair had been pulled out by the roots and was caught in the splinters of a shattered chair, like a thick black spiderweb. Two of her front teeth were missing and her neck was broken.
The room was like a cage for animals, but it smelled of people, of human wastes and wasting.
“She’s been dead since early this morning,” the superintendent said. “As is usual in a neighborhood like this, nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything. She was conducting her ordinary business. Only this one particular client wasn’t ordinary. He was — what would you call him in English?”
“Kinky.”
“So we have a dead whore, murdered by a kinky client. That certainly seems reasonable, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Whatever you say. I’d like to get out of here.”
“Why? You wanted to see her. Well, here she is, take a look... What’s the matter, do you feel squeamish?”
“Yes.”
“I knew you were the type. At least be glad you didn’t pay for a nice big dinner which you would only upchuck. As it is, you have nothing to upchuck.”
Aragon went outside and proved him wrong. The air was fresh, straight from the sea, but all he could smell was the little room and the dead girl and his own vomit.
The superintendent followed him out. “You’re becoming a problem, Mr. Aragon. Don’t I have enough trouble without a squeamish American on my hands?”
“I think it’s a touch of — it must be turista.”
“Nonsense. It’s murder. You are revolted at the sight of murdered girls. I too am revolted, being a man of sensitivity, but it is my profession to look at them. The eye, the digestive system, the mind, they all make the necessary adjustments. Death is a fact of life.”
Aragon leaned against the wall of the building, which was covered with graffiti, mainly in English. The first one he read when his eyes came back into focus was You were on Canit Camera dummy haha Speedo Martinelli Newark NJ USA.
“Are you feeling better, Mr. Aragon?”
“No.”
“You have stopped upchucking.”
“I ran out of chuck. I — may I go and sit in the car?”
“Very well. We can talk there.”
They returned to the superintendent’s Toyota. Even inside the car with the windows rolled up, Aragon could smell the cage that was Tula’s room, and with his eyes closed he could see the wall that had served as the community’s bulletin board: This a hell hol... Chinga tu madre... Viva Echeveria... Freddy from Chi... Hi Freddy... God Forgive all Sinners... Constancia 3349... Repent... Lolita está pinchincha!
“Three deaths,” the superintendent said. “And you appear to be the common denominator. You come to Rio Seco to talk to Jenkins and suddenly he is leaping from a bridge. You go away and come back, this time to see Magistrate Hernandez, and lo, he is stabbed by a burglar. You look for Tula Lopez and here she is, beaten and strangled.”
“I barely knew Jenkins, I never met Hernandez and I just saw Tula Lopez for the first time.”
“But someone knew all those people.”
“Yes.”
“Someone didn’t want any of them discussing him, perhaps telling you where he is. Would you call that a fair assumption?”
“Yes.”
“This Lockwood, we must find him.”
“Yes.”
“Because he is a murderer, a madman.”
Aragon stared, heavy-eyed, into the night. The Lockwood Gilly knew no longer existed. He had died somewhere in the years between Dreamboat and the Quarry, and a violent stranger now walked around in his body. “No. No, I can’t believe—”
“You must,” the superintendent said quietly. “I think it would be wise for you to leave Rio Seco as soon as possible. It is an ugly place to die, especially at this time of year. Spring would be better, when the flowers are in bloom after the winter rains. But one doesn’t have a choice of season when one is dealing with a madman. Lockwood doesn’t intend to let you find him. That surely is clear to you by now, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
“Naturally, you hate to fail in your mission and thus disappoint your client, but you’re young, you have much to live for. Are you married?”
“Yes.”
“Your wife is expecting you back?”
“Yes.”
“In a box?”
“If you’re trying to scare me, don’t bother. I’m already scared.”
Instinctively, he looked back over his shoulder. The streets were crowded. Rio Seco was opening up for the night.
“No, no,” the superintendent said. “Don’t look back. He’s not there. He hasn’t been following you. He’s been ahead of you, waiting behind every corner you turn.”
“How could he know what I was going to do?”
“I don’t mean to be unduly critical, Mr. Aragon, but your actions seem most predictable. That’s to say, you’re an amateur. Lockwood is a graduate of the Quarry.”
Lockwood had learned well — how to con a con man, how to stab as expertly as a surgeon, how to beat up women. Summa cum laude.
“I must return you to your hotel and get to work,” the superintendent said. “By the way, have you talked to your rich lady client since our last meeting?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t by any chance mention me as a likely prospect for her?”
“No.”
“No, of course not. The situation was too delicate. But now you may proceed with a clear conscience, since Lockwood is out of the picture and the situation is no longer delicate. There are a number of facts you might tell her about me which are perhaps not apparent on the surface. For instance, I have never once accepted a mordida, or at any rate nothing more than a few cases of liquor. That ought to impress her, yes?”
“Possibly.”
“I am a man of honor. I have all my own teeth. Also, I have an independent income, my mother gives me a small allowance. I wouldn’t want your client to think I was interested only in her money, when the truth is, I have a very romantic nature. Be sure to mention that.”
“I’ll mention it,” Aragon said. Gilly would need all the laughs she could get after she heard his report: Your precious B. J. is a nut who kills people, but there’s this other guy waiting in the wings with an allowance from his mother and a very romantic nature. How’s that for a joke, Gilly?