Tourist Trapped (14 page)

SEVENTEEN

Sunday December 13, Late Morning

“Lord knows what
our lobotomized lieutenant will tell Miriam and my dad,” Amanda said, sitting next to Cooper in the back of a taxi motoring through a residential area of downtown Cancun. She glanced out the back window. A kid on a motorbike followed by a few car lengths. No vans or sedans with tinted windows in view.

“They were pretty eager to meet up with Rodriguez. Poor Miriam,” Cooper said. “I wonder how she’ll handle the fact they’ve nothing more to tell her. A week into this fiasco and that damned report isn’t a sentence longer than the day we arrived.”

The cab pulled into to a neighborhood of tired, block-long buildings painted the colors of flesh or salmon, with little or no vegetation around them. The structures each housed about a dozen residences, some bearing black or white bars on the doors and windows. Subcompact cars sat in a handful of the tiny yards.

The only way to distinguish one narrow dwelling from the next was by a change in the building’s paint color or the level of care given to a patch of yard. One or two places boasted palm trees in front, a cluster of blooming plants erupted near the door of another. Many of the yards were merely lines of concrete blocks with narrow bands of burned up grass between them. Amanda said a quick prayer, thanking God for the abundance he’d given her.

They stopped in front of a place that stood out with its burnt orange façade and white-trimmed windows and bars. Two miniature trees and a couple of potted plants gave the home an inviting feel. A small Volkswagen covered most of the front yard. It was one of the few homes with an air conditioning unit jutting out of the smooth stucco wall.

They decided Cooper would hang back to avoid intimidation. Amanda followed the line of concrete squares up to the glass door and rang the doorbell.

A television played in the background and she heard movement. A woman pushed back the curtain on the door. “Quién eres?”

“Hola. Señora Hernandez? Me llamo Amanda Sloane. Habla inglés?”

“Poquito.”

Amanda held up the picture of Trent and Rebecca. “My, um, mi hermana, Rebecca, was with your husband—con su esposo—en el barco—on the boat—when they disappeared on their fishing trip last Sunday—Domingo. Can I talk to you?”

The squat, middle-aged woman sized her up, unlocked the door and slid out, shutting it behind her.

“Have you heard from Señor Hernandez?”

“No.” The woman kept her back against the wall, gripping the door handle.

“Has anyone seen the boat—el barco?”

“No.” She looked stressed but not overly upset for someone whose husband went missing a week ago.

“You called la policía on Monday—Lunes?”

“Sí.”

“Because he didn’t come home Sunday night?”

“Sí.” The woman swiped an errant strand of long dark hair off her forehead with pudgy fingers.

“Had he not come home any other time?”

“No.”

“What do you think happened?”

“No se.”

Something fell over in the house and Rosa squeezed the door handle. Her ample chest heaved, as if struggling with her bounty.

The woman would never make a living as a raconteur, although she might have potential as a mime. “Gracias, Señora Hernandez. Thank you for your time. I hope the police find your husband soon.”

Rosa slipped into the house and Amanda and Cooper loaded back into the waiting taxi. Amanda noticed the woman watching them from the door—and another set of eyes from a second floor window.

She nudged Cooper and he said, “Upstairs? I know.”

* * *

“I wonder how
your dad made it down here so quickly,” Chad said. “Who’d he bribe?”

“He usually keeps a few politicians in his back pocket. A throwback from his business days,” Amanda said.

Chad’s boss had decided on lunch at Carlos ‘n Charlie’s, another themed restaurant in Cancun that Trent and Rebecca had frequented. It reminded him of a more sedate version of Señor Frog’s, but with interchangeable waiters, from their bandannas and whistles to the clouds of testosterone emanating from each one.

Signs and memorabilia covered the restaurant’s walls, but no keisters mooned them from the ceiling. The pair rested their haunches at a table with an open air view of the action on Kukulcan Boulevard. On the way in, he spotted the nightclubs they had visited the previous day. People milled the streets, stopping at Starbuck’s, Hooters or Hard Rock Cafe.
Why visit Mexico?

They ordered a couple of Coronas while waiting for Don and Miriam. Her phone rang. “Hi Matt.” She mouthed “Sorry” to Chad. “We’re sitting down to lunch,” she said into the phone. “Since the catamaran trip on the first day, we’ve pretty much been laying around the resort, taking it easy.”

Huh?

“We’ll probably go snorkeling sometime this week—say, I should get going. It’s rude of me to spend time on the phone while sitting here with Lauren.” She blushed. “Love you too.” She ended the call.

“Your brand-new fiancé thinks you’re down here with your girlfriend instead of me?”

She nodded.

“Does he know about the kidnapping?”

“The last thing he needs to worry about is my family. He’s already overloaded with the primary a few months away. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. In a few days this will be old news; Rebecca and Trent will be safe and we’ll be back home, working on our caseload. So…what do you think?” Amanda said, scanning the menu.

“It’s up to you to decide if you want to lie to him.”

She slapped her menu closed. “No—about the person watching from upstairs.”

While Amanda had talked to Rosa Hernandez, Chad had noticed a slight, barely perceptible sway of the curtains on the second floor. He tried to casually snap a picture of the window on his cell phone, but somebody must have caught him because the curtains started swinging. At that point he ditched subtlety and took a series of pictures of the house and Rosa.

“It might have been our AWOL boat captain, or a thug sent to keep an eye on Señora Hernandez,” he said. “The upstairs lookout may have been the reason for her tight lipped responses.”

“Maybe I caught a glimpse of one of the thugs this morning.” She pulled out her phone and spun through the photos she had taken before breakfast, sharing the view with Chad. The snapshots of the hotel room didn’t offer much to go on. A back of a head in a baseball cap and something black seen between the balcony rails. Possibly surveillance equipment, but hard to tell.

Don and Miriam walked through the doorway. “Let’s keep quiet about the stalker.” Amanda slipped the phone into her bag and waved at the couple. Her dad looked angry enough to snack on firecrackers and Miriam reminded Chad of a deflated balloon.

“Mandy, Lieutenant Rodriguez told you that contacting this Hernandez woman was illegal,” Don said.

“I beg to differ, sir. He refused to give us her information,” Chad said. “I doubt if even Mexico carries a law on the books that bans the search for information or the freedom to walk up to a door and knock on it.”

Don’s stare didn’t waiver from his daughter’s face. “The lady called while we met with the officer and he said she was extremely upset. You need to back off; let the police do their work.”

“You plead and beg me to come down here to help find Rebecca because the police weren’t doing anything, and now you want me to let the police do their job?”

“I wanted you to keep after the police and make sure they focused on the case—not have you go off, half-cocked on your own. This is Mexico. If you’re not careful you’ll end up in trouble and get locked up for who-knows-how-long. Now that Miriam and I are here, why don’t you take a day or two of vacation and then head home? We can handle it.”

Amanda leveled a stare at her father that could burn through tungsten. “I have a caseload waiting for me in Chicago. Chad and I can head back and pack now.”

A startled Miriam searched the face of Don and then Amanda and Chad, her eyes brimming with desperation. She grabbed Amanda’s hand with hers. “I’m thankful for any help you can give us. Please don’t leave.”

Chad wrapped a firm arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “Miriam, we’re not going anywhere. Something serious is happening here and we’re getting to the bottom of it.”

“Thank you, Chad.” She lowered her bloodshot eyes and a weak smile crossed her face.

Amanda’s glare zeroed in on Chad’s retinas. “You’re calling the shots?”

“Buho’s, the phone call…I’m eradicating the option of regret,” Chad said. “You’re the champion of strategy. Remember the big picture.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Cooper,” she sputtered, but her eyes softened.

“All I can say is that I have one missing daughter and I’ll be damned if I’m going to risk losing another,” Don said.

The day’s studly waiter, Felipe, schmoozed with Amanda and Miriam, making the Mrs. Sloane blush. Maybe Donny wasn’t the most attentive husband?

Their boy toy left with the second half of the drink order and Amanda’s instructions to bring chips and guacamole.

“Cooper and I are wondering; how did you get down here so fast?”

“After we got the ransom call, we tore the house apart, hunting for Donny’s passport. We finally found it wedged behind the desk.” The circles around Miriam’s eyes looked darker and her eyes redder than when Chad had seen her in Florida. The tank top exposed her protruding collar bones, and her legs appeared too thin to hold her. If they didn’t find Rebecca soon, Miriam looked as if she would waste away until she floated off in a soft breeze.

She hugged her husband’s arm. “He insisted we catch the next plane, so here we are. I’m so glad I can help with the search—especially since the police said they don’t have any leads.”

“No local politician helped you out, Dad? No cashed-in favors?”

“Those days are over, Mandy. I’m now a happy retiree. I have better ways to spend my money than lining the pockets of some politico.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it—but back to the topic at hand. We determined that Trent booked a private deep sea fishing charter as the surprise,” Amanda said.

The waiter returned with the two drinks, followed by another waiter who prepared their dip of the Mexican gods tableside.

“How are you doing on amassing the money for the ransom?” Amanda said.

“My accountant’s working on it.” He pushed his glasses to the top of his head and rubbed his eyes. “It’s a lot of money.”

Felipe strutted back over to take their lunch order and Amanda handed him a picture. “Do you remember this couple eating here a few days ago? We think they came for dinner.”

“Where’d you get that?” Don said.

“Miriam gave me some snapshots at your house,” Chad said.

Don grabbed the photo out of the waiter’s hand. “That doesn’t look like something we had. Is that from down here? How did you get pictures of them down here?”

“We pulled images from the camera left in their room,” Chad said. “And from what I can tell, every establishment is willing to take your picture and then sell it back to you for a small fortune. Evidently Trent and Rebecca bought them from a few places. That’s why Amanda decided we should lunch here. To try to get some leads, Don, on your missing daughter. So, can we give the picture back to the nice young man?” He snatched the photo out of Don’s paw and handed it to the waiter.

“Yeah, I waited on them,” Felipe said. “She was pretty quiet for the first couple of drinks. He was loco from the moment he came in—not crazy bad, just loco. She watched him head off to the dance floor without her while they waited for their meal. But after they ate and had a few shots, she led the way.”

“Anything unusual?” Amanda said.

“He got pretty friendly with the other ladies while she sat alone at the table and tried to ignore him.”

“Didn’t the women get annoyed?” Chad said.

Felipe smiled at Amanda. “His first time to Cancun?” He pulled up a chair next to the table and rested his arm over Chad’s shoulder. The kid must have dipped himself in Aqua Velva.

“The ladies, mi amigo, are here to have fun. It’s Mexico, you know—what’s the saying? What happens in Cancun stays in Cancun. Lots of ladies send their men out deep sea fishing or to drive ATVs along the shore. Tired husbands mean freedom for the women and that’s why the ladies end up here. The problem with your dude, is that most guys trying to hitch up with the women don’t drag their wives along to watch.”

“Young man,” Don said, his face resembling a ripe tomato ready to burst. “My son-in-law isn’t some sort of—of gigolo. He’s an upstanding member of the community and treats my baby girl with love and respect.”

Amanda didn’t react to the “baby girl” comment, not even the flutter of an eyelid. She dipped a chip into the guacamole and tossed it in her mouth.

Good job, Boss.

“Lo siento, señor, I’m sorry, but I wanted to give an honest answer to the pretty señorita’s pregunta.”

Chad caught a twinkle in Amanda’s eye. She took the photo and said, “Muchas gracias, Señor Felipe. De acuerdo. Creo que Trent es un pendejo.”

The waiter burst out in laughter. “Señorita, I think I’m gonna like you. A lot.” He kissed her cheek.

“What did she say?” Don’s head swiveled, searching for answers from every face at the table.

“Why don’t we order so Felipe can get back to work?” Amanda said. She locked eyes with Chad and whispered, “Someone’s watching us again.”

* * *

“Let’s send Dad
and Miriam back to my room to rest while you and I book a boat,” Amanda said, standing with Cooper on the sidewalk outside of Carlos ‘n Charlie’s. The hot sun hung high in the sky, but a gentle wind kept it comfortable. She wondered if Rebecca and Trent felt the breeze, or if kidnappers held them below deck on the Ocean Fox, sweat-soaked in the stifling heat. Barely a hundred hours remained before the ransom deadline.

Her father paced in the restaurant’s doorway, waiting yet again for Miriam to return from the bathroom—either she had a bladder the size of a pea or his wife battled a digestive system in revolt.

Amanda and Cooper tried to figure out who had been watching them, to no avail. The eyes followed their movements, but remained hidden in the kaleidoscope of humanity encompassing Cancun.