“All vehicles are stopped at the border, aren’t they?”
“The Tijuana-San Diego border is said to be the busiest in the world, 20,000,000 people a year. This averages out to 54,000 a day, but in actual fact weekday traffic is much lighter and weekend traffic much heavier. Between a Friday afternoon and a Sunday night three hundred thousand people or more travel between the two countries. Numbers alone present a very serious problem to law enforcement agencies. There are also other factors. Mexican laws differ from U.S. laws, enforcement in many areas is inconsistent, bribery of officials is a general practice, policemen are few and usually poorly trained.”
“How much chance did you figure you had of locating the missing men once they’d crossed the border into their own country?”
“When I started out I thought there was some chance. As time went on, it became obvious there wasn’t any. The reasons have been mentioned — generalized corruption, overcrowding and understaffing at the border, lack of training, discipline and morale among Mexican police officers. Such statements aren’t going to make me very popular among certain people, but facts must be faced. I’m not inventing anything in order to justify my own failure in this case.”
“Your candor is appreciated, Mr. Valenzuela.”
“Not by everybody.”
Valenzuela’s smile appeared and disappeared so fast that Ford wasn’t quite sure he’d seen it and not at all sure it had been a smile. Perhaps it was merely a grimace indicating a twinge of pain in the head or stomach or conscience.
“One more item of interest, Mr. Valenzuela. There’s been considerable talk about the blood found on the floor of the mess hall. Between the mess hall and the bunkhouse there’s an area of blacktop. Was any blood found on it?”
“No, sir.”
“Near it?”
“No, sir.”
“What about the bunkhouse?”
“It was a mess, as the photographs in the file clearly indicate, but there were no bloodstains.”
“Was it possible to determine if anything had been taken from the bunkhouse?”
“Not that night. The following day a careful examination was made with Mr. Estivar present and it was discovered that three blankets were missing from one of the bunks, a striped flannelette, more like a double sheet, and two brown wool, army surplus.”
“Did you connect the fact that no bloodstains were found outside the mess hall with the fact that three blankets were missing from the bunkhouse?”
“Yes, sir. It seemed reasonable to assume that Mr. Osborne’s body had been wrapped in the blankets before it was removed from the mess hall.”
“Why three blankets? Why not two? Or one?”
“One or two probably wouldn’t have been adequate,” Valenzuela said. “A young man of Mr. Osborne’s height and weight carries between six and a half and seven quarts of blood in his system. Even if as much as two quarts were found on the floor of the mess hall, there would have been enough left to cause a lot of trouble for the other men.”
“You mean the other two men who were involved in the fight?”
“Yes, sir— O, who left the fight early, and B, who lost a considerable amount of blood.”
“Your previous evidence indicated that both of these men were small.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you know Robert Osborne personally, Mr. Valenzuela?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How would you describe his physique?”
“He was tall, not heavy but well-muscled and strong.”
“Could two small men, both wounded, one of them quite badly, have been able to wrap Mr. Osborne’s body in blankets and carry it out to a vehicle?”
“I can’t give you a definite answer to that. Under special circumstances people can sometimes do things which ordinarily would be impossible for them.”
“Since you can’t give a definite answer, perhaps you will tell the court your opinion.”
“My opinion is that O, the man who was wounded slightly, went to get help from his friends.”
“And got it?”
“And got it.”
“Mr. Valenzuela, in California jurisprudence it is held that where absence from any cause other than death is inconsistent with the nature of the person absent, and the facts point to the reasonable conclusion that death has occurred, the court is justified in finding death as a fact. However, if the person at the time he was last seen was a fugitive from justice or was a bankrupt, or if from other causes it would be improbable that he would be heard from even if alive, then no inference of death will be drawn. That’s perfectly clear, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now as Mr. Osborne’s lawyer I can testify he was not a bankrupt. Was he a fugitive from justice, Mr. Valenzuela?”
“No, sir.”
“Was there, to your knowledge, any other cause, or causes, which would prevent Mr. Osborne from getting in touch with his relatives and friends?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“Can you think of any reason at all why an inference of death should not be drawn?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Valenzuela. I have no more questions.”
As Valenzuela left the stand the court clerk rose to announce the usual afternoon recess of fifteen minutes. Ford asked that it be extended by half an hour to let him prepare his summary, and after some discussion the extra time was granted.
The bailiff once again opened the doors. He was getting bored and weary. Dead people took up a great deal of his time.
Chapter Twelve
Like an animal that had sensed danger in its sleep, Mrs. Osborne awakened abruptly and completely. Her opening eyes were alert, ready to spot an enemy, her voice distinct, ready to challenge one: “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t answer your phone,” Devon said, turning from the window. “I came out to see why. The front door was unlocked, so I walked in.”
“To check up on me.”
“Yes.”
“As if I were some doddering old fool.”
“No. Mr. Ford suggested I find out why you didn’t return to court this afternoon. He thought he’d made it clear that you were expected to testify.”
“He made it quite clear.” Mrs. Osborne sat up on the bed, running her fingers along her chin and cheeks and forehead like a blind woman reacquainting herself with her own face. “I don’t always do what’s expected of me, especially when I think it’s wrong. I couldn’t stop the hearing but at least I could keep from playing a part in it.”
“And you feel that’s a victory?”
“It was the best I could do at the moment.”
“At the moment,” Devon repeated. “Then you have something else in mind?”
“Yes.”
“Such as a new reward?”
“So you saw the paper on my desk. Well, I was going to tell you anyway.” She stood up, holding the collar of the blue robe tight against her throat as if to protect a vulnerable place. “Naturally you disapprove. But it’s too late. I’ve already arranged for the first ad in the paper.”
“It seems like a useless gesture.”
“Ten thousand dollars is more than a gesture. It’s a good solid chunk of reality.”
“Only if it buys something,” Devon said. “And there’s nothing to buy. The other reward didn’t bring in a single usable piece of information.”
“This second one will be different. For instance, I’m going to arrange for a much wider distribution of reward posters. And the posters themselves will be redesigned. This time we’ll use at least two pictures of Robert, full face and profile — you can help me choose — and the wording will be kept very simple and direct so that the meaning will get across even in the smaller Mexican villages where hardly anyone is literate.” She let out a sudden little laugh, almost like a schoolgirl’s giggle. “Why, I feel better already just talking about it. It always cheers me up to take positive action on my own instead of waiting for other people to make the decisions. I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee to celebrate. You’ll have some, won’t you, dear?”