Olivia looked around the restaurant at the nearly empty booths, the brightly waxed linoleum, and the array of plants lining the window sills. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling messy, wondering why Isabella had insisted she wear it down.
Finally, she fixed on Isabella’s calm demeanor and steady eyes. "How do you do it?" Thinking of the flat darkness of the henchman's face, the lewd gleam in Vargas' eyes, sent a sliver of ice down her spine. A memory flashed through her mind, of Roger's small malevolent eyes roaming over her childish face and figure.
Isabella shrugged. "Did you notice the way Vargas ogled you?"
"How could I miss it?"
"I wanted you to wear that kind of dress on purpose."
Olivia frowned, recalling Isabella's insistence that she change into a specific dress – a white dress that was low cut and revealing – before they drove for the interview. She’d been so anxious about the meeting, she hadn’t questioned why.
"You're his type. I wanted you to look… virginal," Isabella explained. "I wanted to observe Vargas’ response to an attractive woman dressed like that, sexy and don’t-touch-me at the same time."
Understanding flooded Olivia.
"But that’s not all he reacted to," Isabella continued, motioning for the waitress to bring the menus. "You noticed his reaction to the negative suggestion about his mother?"
Olivia nodded and perused the menu.
When the server left, Isabella continued, "Vargas likes women to look slutty, but he wants them to be virginal like his mother."
"Saintly, like he considers her."
"Combine his obvious attraction to you with his adoration of his mother, well, that’s a classic Madonna-whore complex. He has fantasies that women are pure, but when he discovers otherwise, he unleashes his fury on them. He loves his mother, but can’t have sex with her."
Olivia wrinkled her nose.
"His dilemma is he can’t love the 'bad women,' the hookers he has sex with, so he turns his rage on them." She leaned back in the booth as the server refilled their coffee cups and left with their order. She grinned. "At least that's my working theory."
"I noticed something too," Olivia offered. "Did you see the sign he made when he spoke of his mother?"
"He crossed himself, which I expected because he had a Catholic upbringing."
Olivia shook her head. "What was important was that when he spoke the name of his mother, he made a movement as if he were going to genuflect."
"I thought only priests did that."
"It’s a sign of extreme reverence and devotion. Some parishioners used to genuflect when they passed the Eucharist or another holy emblem." Olivia leaned forward eagerly. "The point is that Vargas began a genuflection when you praised his mother, and then stopped. For Vargas to consider his mother a true holy woman, like the Blessed Virgin – " Olivia gestured with her palms up and left the implication hanging.
"Means he’s a fanatic," Isabella finished.
"He also made the sign of the cross to perfection, placing thumb, forefinger, and second finger together to symbolize the Trinity." Olivia demonstrated. "Keeping the two smaller fingers flat against the palm. That signifies both the human and divine incarnations of Christ."
"So Vargas knows his ritual," Isabella concluded. "I saw his lips moving too."
"I believe he was repeating the words of the sign, In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."
"In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit."
"Vargas understands more than a smattering of Latin and quite a bit about his religion."
"A religious extremist?"
"Shite Muslims, Khmer Rouge, tons of that kind of nut in history." Olivia smiled wryly. "Fanatical religious beliefs breed all kinds of maniacs." She reached for her purse, hesitated. "We both agree that Vargas is capable of a serious level of viciousness, that he has motivation, but you can't be thinking he's the Dead Language Killer."
Isabella shrugged."I don’t know. He’s such an evil bastard that I want to believe it. But I’m not sure he could control himself in such a calculated way. Vargas is hot-blooded and hot-tempered. He seems more likely to go berserk when provoked rather than murder someone coldly and methodically like Slater's UNSUB does."
"The crucified men and the women buried alive," Olivia said slowly, "that’s deliberate and calculated." A wave of light-headedness made her feel queasy and she recognized the first signs of delayed shock.
"I want her to pay for what she insinuated about my sainted mother," Vargas said, slipping into the back seat of the limousine while Santos held the door for him. Santos dismissed the driver and slid behind the wheel. All the way back to the mansion, he thought about how to make his boss see how foolish it would be to harm either of the two women. It was the ADA who had made the insult, but Santos knew it was the other one – the beautiful gringa – who had offended his boss the most. Because she was the one who looked like an angel.
Santos was certain the federal prosecutors could not make their case on the RICO charges, and the grand jury was unlikely to indict Vargas. His reach extended very far indeed, but one thing he could not do with impunity was murder officers of the court. Nor could he corrupt incorruptible persons such as the two women seemed to be. Jackson Holt and Sheriff Slater also were honorables hombres. And they were stubborn as well.
Santos did not fear anyone. He had lived too long in the barrio, had fought too hard in many quarters to allow fear more than a mild consideration. No, he did not fear either Sheriff Slater or this new man, Agent Holt. But Santos was un hombre practico, one who did not go against his enemy unnecessarily. However, his boss was not a practical man. For too long now Diego Vargas had allowed his brain to be ruled by his dick.
Santos pulled the long car into the turnaround in front of the wide steps leading to the double doors of Vargas’ palatial home. He gazed thoughtfully for a moment, assessing the way to approach Diego about the matter. As he jumped out of the car and leaned forward to open the door, he spoke to the councilman.
"Senor Vargas, you pay me very well for my services."
"That is true, Santos."
"For my attorney skills."
Vargas nodded. "As well as for my… other specialties."
Vargas’ face hardened. "Say what it is you wish to say, Santos. Do not waste my time beating about the bush."
Santos cleared his throat. "The two women, they should not be bothered."
"Humph. It was not your mother they insulted."
"Now is a dangerous time for you, el jefe. There will be plenty of time later to take care of these women, to pay them for the insult to your family."
"Do you promise me this, mi amigo?"
"Su prometo." Santos placed his hand over his heart. "I promise I will deliver the women to you. When the time is right. And in such a way that their bodies will never be found."
Vargas smiled slowly. "I should like to spend some time with the pale-faced woman before you take care of the matter, eh?"
He leaned forward to lay a hand on his bodyguard’s shoulder. "You have been with me a long time, Santos. You always know how to cheer me up." Vargas climbed from the cool, leather-seated interior as his houseman opened the front doors and stood waiting for him. "Much longer than anyone else." He lifted his chin toward the steps where the houseman stood patiently waiting for his employer. "And you always keep your promises."
Santos watched his boss climb the stone steps. For now he'd pacified Vargas, had held back his thirst for blood and violence, but Santos was certain Diego Vargas would quench his thirst with the innocent-looking el doctor sooner or later.