Before he could put a plan in motion, Connie Lascano walked into the clinic, wearing a plastic rain poncho in brilliant orange. She looked cheerful, like there wasn’t an impending hurricane or an unsolved murder.
“I came by to see if I could catch Elena,” she said. “I understand she is looking for me.”
Elena came out from the back room where she had gone to help Corazón. “There you are, Connie. I heard you were at one of the shelters, helping out. How are things going?”
“We are trying to secure the area and set up guards at the shelters. I was also trying to arrange a bodyguard for you. I hoped to have one in place by this afternoon, but all available personnel have been mobilized to help with the storm.”
“Can you come into the back?” Elena asked. “I wanted to share something with you.”
Connie Lascano liked to look for the best in everyone. Sometimes she wondered if she might be in the wrong profession. Take Elena Palomares, standing before her, relating her story about Rolando and his motorcycle buddies. Connie had seen those macho jokers cruising around town in their bright, shiny motorcycles. Now that Elena voiced her suspicion, Connie wondered about their source of income. She’d have them checked out.
She wanted to believe Elena. They had checked her record. Clean. She seemed to be what her degrees and profession said she was — a down-to-earth, intelligent, professional woman, willing to cooperate with the police investigation and report what she knew. She had a pleasant countenance and personality to boot. Why shouldn’t she be trusted? Because in Connie’s professional career she had seen the most upstanding citizens come out on the wrong side of the law. She would reserve final judgment till all the facts were in. But her gut feeling told her that Elena was in real danger for whatever the reasons.
Then Elena related the story of the creepy guy in the yellow car. The description set off red flags, confirming Connie’s gut feeling.
“You say he’s staying at the Marina Copan? I’ll have him picked up for questioning.” She turned to go as there wasn’t a minute to lose.
Elena held up her hand. “Wait. Have you identified the murdered man yet?”
“No, we have nothing on him, although we posted bulletins in-country and in all the neighboring countries in Central America. He may be part of an international ring of thieves I’ve been investigating. They’re a bunch we’ve had a tough time nailing.”
“What about the boy in the river. Do you know who he is?”
Connie shook her head. “We haven’t been able to get anyone to identify him. We need Miguel’s help.”
By the look on Elena’s face, Connie could tell she knew what had to be done. She had to tell Miguel about the death of the child.
Elena said, “I guess we have no other choice.”
“The child is in the morgue,” said Connie. “Can the two of you go with me now?”
Elena looked out the door at the pouring rain.
She was a beautiful, bright woman, thought Connie, and she hoped Elena wasn’t mixed up in any of this. But she had seen beautiful, bright women before who were as ruthless and deadly as the worst criminal.
“Do you have any more of those plastic ponchos?”
Connie smiled. “I bet Dominic has some. Let’s see.”
Sixteen
Jorge ditched the yellow car several blocks away from the hotel. That bitch might be on to him now, and this was a hot car. He didn’t need to be seen in it again. If she had just gotten into the car with the kid. Now he knew he had thrown the wrong kid into the river. Damn kids. How many were there anyway?
He put his jacket collar up and his head down as he walked in the rain. He wasn’t sure where he was going. He couldn’t chance going back to the hotel. Damn storm was complicating things.
If he could just find where she was going to ride out the storm with the kid ….
Damn that bitch.
Damn that little kid.
And damn this hurricane.
Dominic had the generator working, cots set up, water neatly stacked, and medicines accounted for by the time Elena and Miguel returned, dropped off in an Army truck. Bless you Connie Lascano, thought Dominic, for not letting them walk back on the streets alone. Little Miguel didn’t look happy.
“How’d it go?” he asked them.
“The boy,” said Elena, “was one of Miguel’s friends, not Gordo, but one of the other boys that sometimes hung out with them under the bridge. He drowned. The boy had abrasions that indicated his falling or being pushed into the river, maybe held down.”
Dominic hunkered down so that he could be eye level with Miguel, who still gripped Elena’s hand.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” he said. “You know you are safe here with us, don’t you?”
Miguel avoided Dominic’s eyes and cast his upon his sneakers.
Dominic gathered the boy into his arms and hugged him. Miguel’s small hand left Elena’s, and he wrapped his skinny arms around Dominic’s neck. He felt the child’s silent sobs against his neck and held him close. He thought of the child he would never hold, the one his cheating wife had denied him, the child who belonged to someone else. His bitterness had changed to sorrow, a sorrow that had taken up permanent residence in his heart.
Elena hunkered down and stroked Miguel’s hair. None of them spoke. Outside the wind howled in deadly earnest. When Miguel’s sobs quieted, Dominic released him, took out his handkerchief, dried Miguel’s eyes and wiped his nose.
“Hey,” Dominic said, “how about something to eat? One of the town ladies brought us some soup and pupusas. I can warm them on our burner in the kitchen. Probably there are cookies, too.”
Miguel sniffed and nodded his head. Dominic caught Elena’s gaze. They exchanged an unspoken understanding about Miguel, that whatever it took they would take care of him and protect him.
Miguel followed Dominic to the back. Elena took on the task of warming the food, while Dominic helped the boy change. Elena served the repast, and they sat together at the small clinic table.
“Elena,” Dominic said, “I think we should ride out the storm here at the clinic. We have cots and blankets, water and food. The building is sound. Then I can be here if anyone needs me.”
“I can help you, and we’ll know that Miguel is safe with us.”
“Then you’ll stay?”
“I will. I’d like that.” She smiled back at him, and he saw in her beautiful eyes and her easy smile a willingness that stirred unholy ideas in him.
“Then it’s settled.”
Elena finished and cleaned up the kitchen. She helped Miguel settle on a cot squeezed into one exam room. Dominic listened to her tell the child a story that sounded very much like Little Red Riding Hood, while he worked pulling cotton blankets from the storage bin. Miguel was soon asleep. Exhaustion had caught up with him.
“What’s next?” Elena asked, coming to see what he was doing in the main room.
“Here, have a bag of donated clothes. We need to sort them. Size them as best you can and arrange them on the shelves we have labeled.”
Elena threw herself into the task, humming a tuneless song as she worked. Dominic closed the windows in the back and secured the shudders. The clinic was solidly built of cinder block and cement and was surrounded by other similarly built structures. He wasn’t worried about the walls. It was the corrugated tin roof that might be a problem, if the wind were strong enough.
The rain kept switching directions and blowing into the clinic, so he pulled shut the big metal sliding panel that formed the wall of the clinic that faced the street. He opened the single door in the panel so that people would know they were open.