One Grave Less (11 page)

She turned her full attention to the way ahead. It was still dark under the canopy, though she was beginning to see flashes of emerald, glimpses of color yet to come. Never driving above fifteen miles per hour, she frequently checked the compass and the map in the dome light.

Rosetta busied herself sewing. Maria marveled at her ability to do it in the dark.

“What are you sewing?” she asked.

“Our money into our clothes. Some of it you can put down your top, but the rest I will hide in a lot of places. If we’re bushwhacked, maybe they won’t get all of it.”

“Bushwhacked?”

“It’s a movie word. I like it. It’s a holdup.”

“You like the movies?”

Rosetta nodded. “Mama and I watched a lot of movies. She got them in the mail. We watched them together, sometimes with popcorn. Do you know about Indiana Jones? He’s an archaeologist like you.”

“He’s more of a pothunter.”

“What’s a pothunter?”

“He’s someone who takes artifacts out of their context at a site.”

Rosetta looked sideways at her. “What does that mean?”

“Archaeologists want to find out about the people who lived in ancient ruins. To do that, we have to study artifacts—the things we dig up—in the place where they are found. Pothunters want the artifacts because they are valuable or pretty. They don’t care about what the things meant to the people who made them.”

“I’ll bet you are a lot of fun at the movies.”

Maria laughed. “I like movies. I just have issues with Indiana Jones being called an archaeologist.” She paused. “I did enjoy his movies, though. What else did you watch?”

Rosetta put down her sewing and counted on her fingers. “
The Little Mermaid
—that was my favorite. I liked
Cinderella
and
Snow White
.
E.T.
was a little scary, but fun. I liked
The Wizard of Oz
. We watched a lot of cowboys and Indians—they were old movies made in olden times.”

“All of those are good movies.”

“Mama likes science fiction. Do you?”

“Well, I like mysteries best. But I like adventures, too. I like movies about horses, and I’m a big fan of
Tarzan
.”

“
Tarzan
?”

“He was this guy raised by apes in the jungle. Swung on vines, ran with the wild animals. Cool guy.”

“You must be having a great time here.”

Maria laughed. Rosetta dug out some jerky and a canteen of water from her backpack and shared it with Maria. It was a good, much-needed meal. When Rosetta finished, she took up her sewing again.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Maria said after another long period of silence.

Rosetta looked up at her, needle in hand.

Maria smiled. “When you finish your project, of course. You said you have clothes for us?”

“I got you a skirt and a shirt like people here wear. You can put them over your jeans. You need to look a little more like you live here. That’s going to be hard. You’re tall.”

“You’ve made very detailed plans,” Maria said.

“I’ve been planning a long time. Like E.T., I want to go home.”

“Well, like E.T., if we can get our hands on a satellite phone, we can phone home. Maybe one of the villages we pass will have phone service of some kind. If not, the bigger towns and cities will.”

“Have you got a plan? Besides the train?”

“If the train doesn’t work out, I was hoping we might find some tourists. Right now, I don’t know exactly where we are in terms of civilization. Just our location in terms of the map.”

Rosetta made a face. “What do you mean? Are we lost?”

“No, not lost. I know the direction I want to go. I just don’t know when we will get to a town that has a place we can get help. Most of the places listed on the map seem to be villages. But one of them may have a mission. We have lots of possibilities. We will get home. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not. Mama said if you have a good plan and carry it out good, you can get what you want. Or something like that. She wasn’t talking to me when she said it and I was just a little kid. But I remember stuff. I remember her.”

Maria saw her grab the hem of her shirt and hold it in her fist. Strange gesture. Then she realized that Rosetta probably had sewn something up in it. Something that reminded her of her mother, of the home she’d never been to.

Maria’s main concern was getting across borders. Particularly into the United States. She had lost her passport in her effort to get away from her attackers, and Rosetta didn’t even have one. If she could get to a phone and call John, her boyfriend, or Diane Fallon, they could take care of the problem from their end. At some point soon, she would have to get Rosetta to talk about the man who took her. She had to know which embassy to trust. On the other hand, that was a long time ago and the man was probably long gone.

Rosetta finally put her sewing away and made herself comfortable on the seat. “Tell me a story,” she said.

Maria thought about the stories she knew. She knew a lot of Native American mythology, but she didn’t know how entertaining that would be for an eight-year-old.

“You heard of Harry Potter?” Maria asked.

“I’ve heard of him, but I don’t know his story.”

“I’ll tell it to you. We’ll start with
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.
”

Maria started the story in her half-croaked, half-whispered voice, of the little boy wizard who lived at number four Privet Drive. She glanced at Rosetta occasionally and watched her as she slowly began to struggle to keep her eyes open.

“I like this story,” she said. “I know what it’s like to live with people who don’t want you.”

Maria felt a tug at her heart. She had gotten as far in the story as the letters arriving when she heard the regular breathing of sleep.

Maria drove for four hours before she had to stop for a break. Rosetta was still asleep. She hated to wake her, but if she left Rosetta and she woke up before Maria returned, it would scare her. Maria guessed they were somewhere around sixty miles by way of the road from where she had been held captive. Still too close for her comfort.

The rain forest was an emerald green and the flora was gradually getting thicker. Several times she doubted the wisdom of her decision, particularly when she had to pick her way around a fallen tree. Once she got out to scout a few feet in front of them to make sure the ground was solid. The map indicated a swampy area nearby. They had been lucky so far. The way had been easier than she dared hope.

“Rosetta,” she whispered. She gently shook her.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“No, I just have to take a potty break. I didn’t want you to wake up and find me gone.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said. “I can help you find a good spot.”

Maria took some cloth she had cut from the bolt of material and a gun and let Rosetta lead her to a clearing of sorts away from the trees and they both relieved themselves. On their way back to the truck they heard a muffled thump. Through the trees, Maria saw the truck rock slightly. Someone had found them. She whispered for Maria to hide and she took out her gun.

Diane stared at the woman for several moments. She and David were not
allowed
to see Simone? Diane noticed that David, the professional pessimist that he was, believing that any bad thing that can happen will, did not look as surprised as she felt.

“May I ask why?” said Diane.

“How dare you! How dare you even come here.” The voice was behind them and sounded vaguely like Simone’s. “Leave us alone.”

Diane and David both turned in the direction of the voice. The nurse also turned, but in a different direction, and busied herself in a file drawer. Standing before them was an older version of Simone. Tall, slim, blond . . . obviously her mother. Two men stood beside and slightly behind her. One was Simone’s younger brother, whom Diane had met when he came to visit Simone in South America. He looked like his sister. Strong family genes at play. The other man had graying hair and a dignified air about him. Diane recognized him from a photograph. He was Simone’s father. As Diane recalled, Simone didn’t get along well with her mother and did not have her picture on display in her bedroom as she did her father’s and brother’s.

“What is this about?” asked Diane.

“Did you hear me? Leave or I’m calling security. This is your fault. And his.” The woman gave David a brief glare. “This is all your fault. Every bit of it.”

“Do you know why Simone came here?” said Diane.

“Chester, get the nurse to call security.”

“Eileen,” he said, in a resigned sort of way, but let whatever else he was going to say drop.

“Please,” Pieter, Simone’s brother, mouthed to Diane. Diane was inclined to fold her arms and stay, but however strange Simone’s family were acting, they were hurting. And they did have the right to bar anyone they wanted from seeing their daughter.

“Very well,” said Diane. “But please understand, we have no idea what this is about.”

She and David turned, walked out to David’s vehicle, and got in. David didn’t immediately start up the Land Rover, but sat quietly staring at the hospital.

“Last week I was a respectable member of the community,” said Diane, putting on her seat belt. “Today I’m a drug-dealing whore. What the hell is going on?”

David muttered something like, “I don’t know.” Diane knew him well enough to know he was working through the problem. As she complained about everything that was happening she stared at the dashboard, which looked like it could have come out of an airplane. She stopped abruptly.

“David, what is all this stuff on your dash?”

“This”—he pointed to a section of buttons and knobs—“detects bugs planted in or on my Rover.”

“You are kidding. Have you ever had your vehicle bugged?”

“No, but it would be too late if I waited until it became a problem,” he said.

“And this other stuff?” asked Diane.

“If you are going to make fun of everything, I’m not going to tell you. However, I will tell you that some of it can access my computer.”

“Really?”

“I have my little inventions I’m working on,” he said. “You know how I like to marry algorithms, databases, and gadgets together.” He paused for several moments. “I’ve been accused of dealing in drugs too. Martin Thormond got another call, this one about me. He tried to get the reporter, Brian Mathews, to be more forthcoming, but Mathews refused.”

“What is this about?” Diane asked again.

“It has something to do with Simone and what she was doing here,” he said.

Diane looked over at him. “Why? Because it’s happening at the same time, and you don’t like coincidences?”

“No, things happen to us on such a regular basis, we can’t rely on simple correlation to be particularly helpful.”

Diane smiled and started to disagree, but didn’t say anything.

“There’s an international news bit I read before we came over here. The executive director of World Accord International has gone on an extended vacation amid accusations of consorting with prostitutes.”

“But the executive director is Gregory Lincoln,” she said, staring at David. Gregory was their boss when they both worked at WAI, and a good friend.

“Yes. And our experience in South America connects all of us. Someone is trying to discredit and/or kill us.” He glanced at the hospital again. “And the big event in all our lives is the massacre.”

Diane was quiet for several moments.

“I know,” she said. “The bone we found in the backpack belonged to someone from the part of South America we . . . I thought it might be . . .” Diane couldn’t finish. She didn’t have to. David reached over and grabbed her hand and squeezed.

“What was it Simone said?” said David. “‘It was one of us.’ It’s been haunting me.”

“Me too. Look, we know for sure it was Ivan Santos who carried out the massacre. We know why he did it—to get back at us, to stop us. So what did she mean by ‘It was one of us’?” said Diane.

“We need to find out,” said David. “I’m going to call Gregory. In the meantime, we need to see Garnett. He can speak with Simone’s family and Simone herself if she is awake.”

“We couldn’t even find out how she is,” said Diane.

“Garnett can,” he said.

They drove to the police station and walked up to the chief of detectives’ office. Diane saw people taking surreptitious glances at her, some smirking.

Christ
.

Garnett’s office was not as ornate as Garnett himself. Not that he actually adorned himself, but he was a sharp dresser. He liked Italian suits and shoes and wore them well. His office, by contrast, was simply utilitarian. It was furnished with faux leather and chrome chairs, a metal desk, and a long maple-wood conference table. On the sand-colored walls he had hung his diplomas, awards, and a few photographs of him shaking hands with various politicians. He also had framed a few newspaper clippings of high-profile cases he had worked on.

Izzy Wallace, one of Diane’s crime scene crew, was with Garnett. They were going over a case that Izzy worked last week. They stood as Diane and David entered.

“The two of you have long faces,” said Izzy.

“We just came from the hospital,” said Diane.

“I hope Miss Brooks hasn’t taken a turn for the worst,” said Garnett, frowning.

“We don’t know,” said Diane.

Izzy and David pulled up a couple more chairs and they all sat down. Diane described the reception she and David had received.

“Neither of us knows what that’s about,” Diane said. “We were hoping you would find out.”

“I will be speaking with them this afternoon,” said Garnett. “That’s very peculiar. They actually barred you from seeing their daughter?”

“Yes,” said Diane. She paused a moment. “You may be able to get more out of speaking with Simone’s father and brother—alone.”