It was a well-cared-for corpse.
The shadows at the screen were steady now as the bikers watched from the safety of twenty feet and an outdoor breeze. The first intragastric balloon reached its liter limit. After the syringe's final stroke, Gustavo pushed the residual through the line, then pulled back on the plunger, creating a vacuum in the valve and sealing the balloon. Gently, he withdrew the tubing, leaving the freestanding balloon inside the stomach. Though obese corpses were difficult to work with, larger stomach capacity was required for the procedure, and abdominal fat would help disguise the distention.
He laid the corpse flat on its back. He embedded a hooked barb in the upper and lower gum line, then used a wire to cinch the mouth neatly closed. The chubby hands he positioned left over right, leaving the fingers slightly cupped.
Relieved and exhausted, he leaned over and kissed the girl's pale forehead.
Shirt up over his nose, Whelp entered and retrieved the final fill bag from the crate of tribal trinkets. For all their rough-and-tumble posturing, the bikers were feeble around cadavers. They were skilled at making corpses; they just couldn't stomach the extended aftermath. After all Gustavo's meticulous preparations, they'd mucked up the first three corpses on the other end, unable to cleanly incise the stomachs. He sincerely hoped that the new guy, with his much-ballyhooed blade skills, would prove a more effective craftsman.
Drops of sweat hung from the ends of Gustavo's hair. He rubbed his nose, and his fingers came away greasy. He scratched his arms-the imaginary bugs were back, just beneath the skin. "A taste?" he said in strong-accented English. "Just a taste?"
"Not yet." Toe-Tag stood behind Whelp, arms crossed.
Gustavo followed his gaze to the far side of the mortuary, taking in the enormous corpse lying humped and naked on the second embalming table.
The twin sister.
Gustavo's shoulders settled a few inches lower. He wiped his face on the inside collar of his scrub top and nodded a few times, sadly.
Taking the bag of Allah's Tears, he shuffled over to the second station and resumed his work.
Chapter 41
The school-bus yellow backhoe lurched, the boom lowering the bucket into the plot. A clank as the teeth struck casket. Tim turned away from the spotlights illuminating the dark cemetery, pressing the cell phone tightly to his ear.
What he heard was the unamused 2:00 A.M. voice of Jan Turaski, the LAX Customs resident-agent-in-charge who oversaw a joint task force that included Customs and Border Patrol inspectors. Tim had met her during his four months at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center; she'd been a field agent back then, on a cross-training stint.
"You'd better give me a damn good reason, Rack. Or tell me you're joking. I can smell the undue-hardship lawsuits already." She laughed, a single dead note. "I can't start popping coffin lids without some serious PC."
"I'm getting probable cause as we speak."
"If I'm gonna put my name out, I need it on my desk already."
"Then just hold all incoming caskets from Mexico. Cabo San Lucas in particular. Give me an hour."
"Without any hard evidence? Or a warrant? Not an easy PR move to slide past grieving families. Let alone my SAC."
A three-month maternity leave earlier in the year hadn't landed Jan in the graces of the special agent in charge running the field office downtown.
Behind Tim, Bear waved off the backhoe like an airplane marshaller gone mad. Four deputies with shovels descended into the plot. Clods of dirt flew.
"How about with a personal call from the marshal?" Tim offered.
"From the marshal? What are you into here?"
"More than a drug operation."
Jan made an exasperated noise, something like a growl. In the background Tim could hear the annoying Christmas Muzak piped through the airport terminal.
"One hour, Jan. Please."
A heavy sigh, then the sounds of Jan typing.
Zimmer walked by, and Tim covered the phone and said, "Has Haines reached the Cabo police yet?"
Zimmer said, "Last I checked in, he couldn't get anyone, but he'd left a few messages. Cabo, ya know? They're probably out arresting girls gone wild."
Jan came back on. "In the next hour, we've only got one inbound from Mexicali. So fine, I'll give you till three."
"And if a coffin comes in on that flight?" Tim asked.
"I'll call in the duty agents, persuade them to run behind schedule. The way they work, shouldn't be tough. But Mexico flights start rolling in early, and I'm not gonna have coffins piling up on the tarmac."
"Thank you. I'll see you in an hour."
"Bring me something concrete or don't bother," Jan said, and hung up.
Tim snapped his phone shut and inhaled deeply as the deputies hauled out the casket. Four grasped the swing bars, reverse pallbearers, and two tugged on a nylon strap looped under the fine wood. Maybeck's boot slipped, and he stumbled, a streak of mud across his thigh. The casket hit turf with a thud.
"Good thing we're doing the Feebs' job for them," Guerrera said.
"This is for our case," Tim said. "We follow the drugs to Den Laurey."
Aaronson, dressed ridiculously in pajama bottoms, a sweatshirt, and a corduroy blazer, tapped the casket's seam excitedly with a fingernail. "Lead lining is required for international transport aboard a common carrier. Lucky."
"Why?" Maybeck asked.
"Keeps the maggots out." Aaronson's face gleamed in the harsh spotlight. "Know what else is required for importing a body?"
"Uh, no."
"Embalming. That's more good news for the home team." Aaronson held up his palm, and Maybeck reluctantly gave him five before handing him a chisel and hammer.
Jennifer Villarosa's father had been exceedingly helpful. Despite being woken up Christmas night by Tim's knock on the door, he'd signed the documents for his daughter's body to be exhumed. Tim was relieved to proceed with the family's consent, glad to let the backup court order expire in Bear's glove box. Jennifer was their sole shot to corroborate Tim's theory; Lupe Sanchez had been cremated shortly after her return to the United States. No family members had showed up to claim her body-not a big surprise, given their illegal-alien status. Her occasional work as a cleaning lady hadn't left enough money to provide her with a burial. She'd been interred in a common plot with the ashes of the destitute and itinerant, a wretched homecoming from a free vacation that must have seemed to her heaven sent.
The task force had moved like a tornado since the revelation at the command post. Screeching tires, faxed pages, wake-up calls. Freed had pulled a rabbit out of the hat, backtracking the online promotion code Good Morning Vacations had used to book Villarosa's plane ticket, and hitting upon another girl killed on a Cabo trip. Maribel Andovar had suffered a fatal heart attack while sleeping in her beachside hotel. The cause of death was plausible because she was nearly 150 pounds overweight. She, too, had been shipped home through LAX and cremated. She hadn't shown up among the names Thomas had pulled for review because she'd lived in Kern County, north of their designated search area.