The Corpse with the Emerald Thumb (27 page)

I jumped up from the cushioned bench with a start. Of course! White roses, yellow roses, red roses, blood spatter, too much gas, the frozen horse, the flowers for four masses, and the Cheshire Cat.

It
couldn't
be! I was
sure
I knew who had killed Margarita, and why. Except it meant that they had to have been in two places at once. I was so close . . . but there seemed no way I could be right!
Damn and blast!

I LOOKED AT MY WATCH.
With the morning light streaming through the window of my cell, and rested eyes, I could make out that it was already gone 9:30
AM
. Obviously my wakeful dreaming had become a full night of sleeping dreams! No wonder everything had seemed so complex and detailed—I'd been asleep for hours.
Damn and blast!
I'd needed that time to think.

It dawned on me that the Federales should have already arrived. What was going on? I told myself that maybe the Mexican attitude toward timekeeping applied to the police force as well. Besides, it wasn't as though I was looking forward to their arrival. I needed to get to the washroom.

I popped a piece of gum into my mouth.
That's a bit fresher, but not much.

“Al. Al? Any chance of using the washroom, please?”

Al was outside my door immediately.
Good grief, he is always so stealthy!

“I wondered when you'd wake,” he said thickly. “Though I don't know how you could sleep at all. You and . . . 
that man
 . . . have no shame. You don't seem to feel the weight of your guilt at all.”

A riposte of any sort was beyond me, let alone one as acidic as I'd have liked, so I just contented myself with heading toward his bathroom as fast as I could.

When I was as cleaned up as I could be, I opened the bathroom door and said, “Is there any chance I could use the brush that's in my purse? And maybe the lipstick . . .” Al was about to explode, I could tell. “I don't want to use the lipstick to make myself look better. I don't think that's possible. But my lips have dried out, and they are cracking.” I licked them as I spoke. “It would help. Please?”

Al tutted loudly, slammed the bathroom door, and shouted, “Don't move!” as he stomped away.

What was I going to do? Where could I go? How would I get there? I looked at the woman in the mirror, and my mother looked back at me. I shook my head at my mirror-self. When had I become my mother's age? I didn't have my glasses on, but my eyes were rested enough that I could see many wrinkles. Most from laughter, some from frowning at students, or worrying over grading. Probably many of them from smoking too much for too long. As I chewed my nicotine gum and thought about how I yearned for Bud and I to be together, I promised my mirror-self that if we got out of this, I'd never smoke again, I'd stop drinking, and I'd lose fifty pounds. It would be a new beginning. I could do it.

Al knocked on the door and opened it a crack.
I wonder what he thinks I'm doing! He's not like a real cop at all.
“I'm passing things to you,” he announced. He handed me my hairbrush and my lipstick.

“Can I have my specs too, so I can see what I'm doing?” It seemed reasonable. I could hear Al rooting about in my purse, and my glasses appeared. “Thanks,” I said.

Five minutes was all it took, but I felt like a new person when I emerged—ready to face my accusers and the rest of the world. Which was just as well, because when Al and I walked back into the municipal hall, the
FOGTT
s were there.

“Good,” said Al, unsurprised. “You're early.”

I was puzzled. My watch had clearly said 9:50
AM
in the bathroom. If the Federales had been due at 9:00
AM
, what was it that the
FOGTT
s were early for? I couldn't help but speak up. “What's going on, Al? Why are these people here, and what's happened to the Federales? They should have been here nearly an hour ago. Are they not coming?”
I could hope.

“They have ten minutes yet,” said Al abruptly. “They'll be on time.”

Am I losing my mind?
“But my watch says it's 9:50.”

“Haven't you changed it?” interrupted Dorothea in her booming voice.

I knew I was in a terrible situation, but I wasn't going to take that from her. “Yes, Dorothea, I
have
changed my watch. I changed it on the airplane when we arrived in Puerto Vallarta. They announced the local time before we got off. We're two hours ahead of Vancouver here.”

“No, we're not,” the horrid woman snapped. “You don't know
anything
, do you? You come here, poking your nose into
our
business and doing
terrible
things, but you have
no idea.
” She puffed up her chest, encased this time in magenta, and said, “Here in Punta de las Rocas, we're in Nayarit. And Nayarit is an hour behind
PV
.
Everyone
knows that!”

I could see Ada and Frank Taylor
, and
Dean and Jean George, nodding in agreement with the annoying Dorothea. Greg ignored her. I sensed that something had happened between him and Dorothea—something had made him angry with her.
Not unusual, in all probability
.

At least now I understood why Dorothea had said that Margarita's murder had taken place at 11:00
AM
. I must have heard a clock from outside Nayarit chime twelve that day.

“
Whatever
the time, why are you all here?” I snapped out of my thoughts and asked an obvious, if somewhat rude-sounding, question.

“I invited them,” replied Al gruffly. “I want everyone who has been touched by the death of Margarita to be here when the Federales come to take him, and you, away.”
More like you want an audience so you can show off,
I thought.

“You can wait in your cell until the Federales arrive. I have put some bread and some coffee there for you. I must make myself ready.”

After Al locked me into my little room once again, I consumed my breakfast with gusto. Still glugging coffee I peered into the hall, where I could see Ada and Frank with their heads together. Poor things, they were obviously feeling very uncomfortable about the whole situation, and I wondered if they'd stick it out. Meanwhile, from my vantage point behind the grille, I could see Dean and Greg hauling chairs into a semicircle facing the end wall of the municipal hall. Ada shooed Frank away to help out, and sidled toward the door to my personal prison.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Not too bad, thank you, Ada,” was what I said.
How on earth do you think I'm doing?
was what I really felt like saying. But it wasn't poor Ada's fault that I was in this state. I couldn't take it out on her. That wasn't fair.

“I talked to Frank last night about whether we should get in touch with the Canadian embassy—or someone like that—about you being arrested. I even talked to my son about it, you know, on the internet. They both said I should leave it up to Al. But I'll do it if you like. I could go outside and phone them now. I put the number into my cell phone. Would you like me to do that?”

My heart softened even further toward the woman. “Let's see how things go. If I shout out to you for help as they drag me away, maybe you could make that call?”

Ada nodded and scuttled away. I wondered, just for a fleeting moment, if she was the operative in the area that Jack had referred to. He would likely know her, and if she was undercover, she was making a good job of it. I could tell from Ada's body language as she made her way back toward Frank that she hoped no one had seen her, but I also noted that Al's eagle eyes hadn't missed a thing. He cast a suspicious glance toward Ada as she began to help out with the chairs. While the seating arrangements were being made in the hall, as if for a civic meeting, the rest of the gang showed up. By the time the Federales arrived, everyone was there: the
FOGTT
s had been joined by Bob and Maria, Rutilio, Serena, and, of course, Miguel and Juan, who arrived together. Nobody looked as grim as the Federales.

I hadn't been sure what to expect. What I saw was an intimidating sight. As Al greeted their arrival by saluting and fussing about them, I could see him, more clearly than ever, as a relatively young man, with the softness and eagerness of the graduate student who loves art, literature, and poetry etched on his face. His federal colleagues, however, were a different breed altogether. Militaristic in appearance, they were dressed in black, wearing ball caps, Kevlar vests, and gun belts that dwarfed Al's. Several of them had automatic weapons slung over their shoulders as well as pistols in holsters. They were all business. Five of them surrounded a shorter man, who looked as dapper as he did forbidding in a more formal, but still highly militarized, uniform. If the number of gold stripes on his uniform, and the uprightness of his stance, were anything to go by, this man was pretty high up the food chain. I guessed he was in charge, and the way that Al, Miguel, and the other cops were deferring to him made that clear.

What was also clear was that Al was setting the stage in such a way that
he
would be the star. The body language among the Federales told me that they were being faced with a situation they had not expected. They'd marched through the main entrance to the municipal hall, so they hadn't seen Bud in his cell, and no one seemed to have noticed the room I was in, let alone me in it. Unfortunately I couldn't hear anything that was being said, because everyone was way down at the far end of the hall. I didn't have to wait long to know what was going to happen.

Al came to the door of my little room, unlocked it, and said pointedly, “They are here. Don't make a fuss, or they'll probably shoot you.”
Nice!

He put handcuffs on me, with my hands in front of my body, led me to a chair set to one side of the main group, and sat me down. Miguel was next to me, so close I could smell the tobacco on his clothes. I chewed my gum and wondered if I usually smelled that bad.

Al brought Bud from his cell. Upon Bud's arrival, two of the Federales stood beside him, one on either side, as he slumped onto a chair. Their automatic weapons were ready for action.

I looked at Bud, now no more than ten feet away from me. He looked awful. Al stood and cleared his throat. This was obviously an important moment for him, and he looked nervous. He began in Spanish, translating into English as he went.

He introduced the cop with all the braiding on his jacket as the man who'd been heading up the Rose Killer case. He also introduced the head guy's right-hand man, who looked pretty evil to me. Of all of them, he was the slyest looking. With this guy by his side, his boss could afford to sit and look imperious, which he did very well. The man with the most stripes was Captain Manuel Enrique Herrera Soto. The way Al introduced him made it quite clear that being a captain in the Federales was quite a different thing to being the captain in a tiny municipality
. Context!

Al's introductions were over, and he was about to begin his explanation of why Bud was the Rose Killer. For his own sake, as much as for Bud and myself, I decided to try to stop him.

Before Al could begin, I shouted, “Al, please don't. Don't do this. You've really got it all wrong, and I can prove it!”

All eyes turned to me. The Federales didn't know the story yet; they just saw me and Bud in handcuffs and presumably assumed that
we
were the Rose Killer. Why would they be there unless Al had promised them their man? Captain Soto ran his beady eyes over me, and I clearly heard his right-hand man say in Spanish, “She'll be able to live off her waistline for a while in prison,” as he smiled conspiratorially at his boss.

“I'm not listening to you anymore, Professor Morgan,” replied Al. As he used my professional title I saw a look of surprise cross Captain Soto's face.
Not expecting me to be a professor, were you?

I looked directly at Captain Soto and spoke to him in English. “Please Captain Soto. Captain Torres has misunderstood some facts, and I am sure I can explain everything to your satisfaction.”

Now everyone turned their attention to Captain Soto, a situation with which the man seemed perfectly comfortable. He didn't stand; he didn't need to. We were all waiting for him to speak. When he did, it was in a surprisingly deep voice for a man of his stature, and, even more surprisingly for some there, it was in very good, if heavily accented, English.

“I have been invited here by Captain Torres of the municipality of Punta de las Rocas with the promise that he can reveal the identity of the Rose Killer, as well as the person who killed a florist in this area and poisoned a local chef. I have set out early and have traveled many miles to listen to his evidence and to take charge of his prisoners. This is not a court of law. This is simply one officer being courteous to another, and allowing him some latitude to tell us how he arrived at his conclusions. I have been told that Captain Torres is interested in a career with the Federales. Let's see if he's up to it. You, Professor Morgan, will have your chance to tell your side of the case in a courtroom. Captain Torres, please continue. You may do so in English; as you can see, I speak it very well. I am sure that Professor Morgan will not interrupt you again.” His look told me it would be unwise of me to respond.

As motes of dust danced in the sunlight, and old wooden chairs creaked in the tense atmosphere, Al cleared his throat again and spoke. It quickly became clear that Al wasn't just bright, he was observant, logical, and ruthless.
Just what you want in a cop—but not one who's trying to put you in prison.

“This man,” Al waved toward Bud as he spoke, “was found with his hands around the throat of Margarita García Martinez on Sunday morning. I took him into custody, and he has remained here since, refusing to say one word. I have been able to use informal resources, without breaking any laws, sir,” he nodded at Captain Soto, “to discover that this man has entered Mexico on numerous occasions during the last year, using different names and passports. I have been able to find thirteen visits where he flew into Puerto Vallarta airport. Here are the dates, his aliases, and the countries of origin of the passports he used.” He approached Captain Soto, who motioned for his aide to take the paper Al was holding, which he did, passing it to his boss, who ran his eyes over it, his eyebrows rising by the second.