For most of this evening, Duncan had been listening to the laugh track on a string of TV situation comedies. Now, when he heard the doorbell and the husband telling the wife to answer it, he activated a bank of tape recorders and lowered the volume of the transmitter in the living room, at the same time raising the volume of the transmitter in the front hallway.
Duncan understood Spanish. It was one of the reasons that he’d been assigned to this house, and right from the start of the conversation, he felt charged. Because right from the start, the stranger, who said his name was Jeff Walker, asked about Juana Mendez. Baby, we are in business now, Duncan thought. We are finally getting some action. While he eagerly listened and adjusted dials and made sure that the tape machines were recording every word, he simultaneously pushed a button on his cellular telephone. The number he needed to call had been programmed into the phone.
“You know my daughter?” Mrs. Mendez was saying in Spanish.
The man who called himself Jeff Walker was explaining that he’d known Juana in the military, at Fort Sam Houston.
With the cellular phone pressed against his left ear, Duncan heard it buzz.
The man who called himself Jeff Walker was talking about a dog that Juana Mendez had owned. Whoever this guy was, he certainly seemed to know her.
The cellular phone buzzed a second time.
Now Jeff Walker was carrying on about how Juana had bragged about her mother’s chicken fajitas.
You’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you, buddy? Duncan thought.
Abruptly someone answered the phone, a smooth male voice absorbing the cellular static. “Tucker here.”
“This is Bradley. I think we’ve got ignition.”
5
“Why didn’t Juana bring me to the house?” Continuing to use Spanish, Buchanan repeated the question that Juana’s mother had asked him. “You know, I wondered that myself. I think it was because she wasn’t sure if you and your husband would approve.”
Buchanan was taking a big chance here, but he had to do something to distract her from her suspicion. Something was wrong, and he didn’t know what, but he thought if he put her on the defensive about one thing, she might open up about other things.
“Why wouldn’t we approve?” Juana’s mother asked. Her dark eyes flashed with barely controlled indignation. “Because you’re white? That’s crazy. Half my husband’s employees are white. Many of Juana’s high school friends were white. Juana knows we’re not prejudiced.”
“I’m sorry. That isn’t what I meant. I didn’t intend to insult you. Juana told me-in fact, she emphasized-that you didn’t have any objection if she dated someone who wasn’t Hispanic.”
“Then why wouldn’t we have approved of you?” Juana’s mother’s dark eyes flashed again.
“Because I’m not Catholic.”
“. . Oh.” The woman’s voice dropped.
“Juana said you’d told her many times that was one thing you expected of her. . that if she got serious about a man, he would have to be a Catholic. . because you wanted to be certain that your grandchildren would be raised in the Church.”
“Yes.” Juana’s mother swallowed. “That is true. I told her that often. Apparently, you do know her well.”
In the background, a man’s gruff voice interrupted. “Anita, who are you talking to? What’s taking you so long?”
Juana’s mother glanced down the hallway toward the entrance to the living room. “Wait here,” she told Buchanan and closed the door.
Feeling exposed, Buchanan heard muffled words.
Juana’s mother returned. “Please, come in.”
She didn’t sound happy about the invitation, though, and she didn’t look happy as she locked the door behind them and escorted Buchanan into the living room.
It was connected via an archway to the kitchen, and immediately Buchanan smelled the lingering fragrance of oil, spices, onions, and peppers from dinner. The room had too much furniture, mostly padded chairs and various wooden tables. A crucifix hung on the wall. A short, heavy-chested, fiftyish man with pitch-black hair and darker eyes than his wife sat in a LaZ-Boy recliner. His face was round but craggy. He wore work shoes and a blue coverall that had a patch-MENDEZ MECHANICS. Buchanan remembered that Juana had told him about the six garages her father owned throughout the city. The man was smoking a cigar and holding a bottle of Corona beer.
“Who are you?” It was difficult to hear him because of the laughter from the television.
“As I told your wife, my name is. .”
“Yes. Jeff Walker. Who are you? ”
Buchanan frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
Juana’s mother fidgeted.
“I’m a friend of your daughter,” Buchanan said.
“So you claim.” The man looked nervous. “When is her birthday?”
“Why on earth would. .?”
“Just answer the question. If you’re as good a friend as you say, you’ll know when she has her birthday.”. .
“Well?”
“As I recall, it’s in May. The tenth.” Buchanan remembered it because six years previously he and Juana had started working together in May. Under the pretense of being husband and wife in New Orleans, they’d made a big deal about her birthday on the tenth.
“Anybody could look that up in a file. Does she have any allergies?”
“Senor Mendez, what’s this about? I haven’t seen her in several years. It’s very hard to remember if. .”
“That’s what I thought.”
“But I recall she had a problem with cilantro. That always surprised me, her being allergic to an herb that’s used so often in Hispanic cooking.”
“Birthmarks?”
“This is. .”
“Answer the question.”
“There’s a scar on the back of her right leg, up high, near her hip. She said she got it when she was a kid, climbing over a barbed-wire fence. What’s next? Are you going to ask me how I saw the scar? I think I made a mistake. I think I shouldn’t have come here. I think I should have gone to some of Juana’s friends to see if they knew where I could find her.”
As Buchanan turned toward the door, Juana’s mother said sharply, “Pedro.”
“Wait,” the father said. “Please. If you’re truly a friend of my daughter, stay.”
Buchanan studied him, then nodded.
“I asked you those questions because. .” Pedro seemed in turmoil. “You’re the fourth friend of Juana to ask where she was in the past two weeks.”
Buchanan didn’t show his surprise. “The fourth. .?”
“Is she in trouble?” Anita’s voice was taut with anxiety.
“Like you, each of them was white,” Pedro said. “Each was male. Each hadn’t seen her in several years. But unlike you, they didn’t have any personal knowledge about her. One of them claimed that he’d served with her at Fort Bragg. But Juana was never assigned to Fort Bragg.”
That was wrong, Buchanan knew. Although Juana’s cover military assignment had been at Fort Sam Houston, her actual assignment had been through Fort Bragg. But her parents would never have known that because Juana would never have broken cover to tell them. So they naturally thought that the man who had claimed to be Juana’s friend was lying when he claimed that he’d known Juana at Bragg. Quite the contrary: The man was telling a version of the truth. Whoever he was, he knew Juana’s background in detail. But he had made a mistake in assuming that her parents would also know it.
Juana’s father continued. “Another supposed friend claimed that he had known Juana at college here in San Antonio. When I asked which one, he looked confused. He didn’t seem to know that she had transferred from Our Lady of the Lake University to St. Mary’s University. Anyone who knew her well would have known that information.”