“Odd that he didn’t use it this time-what happened certainly qualifies as an emergency. You all meet at the church every time?”
“Yes.”
A handy cover, she thought. “But he knew about Joe and Lucinda. He knew right where they lived. Explain that to me.”
“There had been some talk about the good fortune that has been enjoyed recently,” Anselmo said. “It is not a secret that Joe and Lucinda won a state lottery, and then twice more from some sweepstakes thing, something through the mail. I don’t know the details. But I do know that they have been most generous to the parish. Both before but especially now. I have no doubt that the young men knew of this good fortune-after all, they had the opportunity to speak with them at the church.”
“That didn’t make you just a little nervous, Father?”
“Should it?” Anselmo looked genuinely puzzled.
Surely you can’t be that naive, Estelle thought. “Ynostroza may have been after money, then.”
“But I can’t believe it would have been robbery,” Anselmo said. “I don’t know young Ricardo well, but there was nothing to make me believe that he might…”
“Maybe just a little panhandling,” Estelle said.
“You’re jumping to unwarranted conclusions,” Anselmo said, and he abruptly changed tack. “I think he would want to inform the relatives. Such a sad thing,” the priest said. He thrust both hands in his pockets. “Felix was married, you know. Three little ones.”
“And Ynostroza?”
“Unmarried.”
“Father, what we do know is that Ynostroza didn’t approach the Bacas’ home in a straightforward manner. I can’t believe that he didn’t know where Betty lived, but he didn’t stop there to use her phone. Something about his behavior prompted Betty to remain in her home when he walked by on the lane. He didn’t call them first. He didn’t simply walk to the front door.”
“Ah,” Anselmo said, “but with police cars converging from all directions, what else would you expect?”
“You heard about that, then.”
“Yes.”
“The grapevine is most efficient, Father.”
“Well, it’s no grapevine. Betty called me. She said that she had called you when Ricardo walked by. She said that he seemed distraught.”
“Sin duda. That’s what I’m saying, Father. And yet she didn’t speak with him when she had the chance.”
Anselmo shrugged. “She is home by herself. Perhaps she felt uneasy.”
“That’s possible. So tell me, Father Anselmo,” Estelle said. “How are the arrangements made?”
“Arrangements?”
“Ynostroza tells me that they started work Monday afternoon, so they traveled through Regál perhaps Sunday? Did they meet at the church on Sunday, perhaps after mass? How was that arranged? You talked with the men down in Tres Santos? Is that where you organize the groups? Or in Buenaventura?”
“Must I tell you all this?”
“Father,” Estelle said, unable to keep the impatience out of her voice, “I don’t know what you want from me. If you’re imagining that we might release Ricardo Ynostroza to you, you’re mistaken. I can’t do that. If you imagine that somehow I can smooth the way for you, for what you’re doing, you’re mistaken.”
“This young man has committed no crime.”
“Ah, well…we might debate that all evening. He’s certainly in violation of immigration law. You’re in violation of immigration law, Father. I don’t know what you’re doing, but I can guess. The church is a perfect sanctuary, and it apparently works well for the illegals to mix in with the congregation. That’s really just one step above using the unlocked church as a stopover at night-that’s been going on for two hundred years.”
She paused, watching his face in the glare of the streetlight. He didn’t respond to her comments, and she said, “Is another group coming in during the anniversary celebration tomorrow? Are you bringing some of them north from Tres Santos after your mass there?”
“Can you imagine being married seventy-five years?” Anselmo said. “Remarkable.”
She laughed gently at his evasion.
“You must feel some sympathy for these people, Estelle. After all…”
“Of course I do. Some. That doesn’t mean I’m going to invent my own private version of the law, Father. I’m not in a position to do that. I’m not going to work at cross-purposes to what other agencies are trying to accomplish.”
“And what are they trying to accomplish?” he asked, and then immediately held up a hand. “No, please. I promised no debate, and I apologize for putting you in that position. I’m sorry.”
“Father, let me tell you what I am going to do,” Estelle said. “If during the course of our investigation we find that Ricardo Ynostroza has committed no crime other than his illegal entry into this country-if neither the D.A. nor the Catron County officials want to press charges of any kind-then he will be turned over to Immigration for processing back across the border in a normal fashion. We had word that there is a problem with car theft in Buenaventura-maybe that’s more of a misunderstanding than a crime. Whether the authorities there will pursue that, I don’t know. That’s Ricardo’s problem.”
“I can ask no more, I suppose.”
“You can always ask, Father,” she said with a smile. “I’m sure Bobby will agree that’s the most expeditious route. It’s really the only one open to us.”
“Have you discussed any of…of this…with the sheriff?”
“My suspicions about what you’re doing, Father? No. But Bobby isn’t stupid, and he knows this county and these people just as well as I do, perhaps better in some ways. I’m fairly sure he knows what’s going on.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me.”
Estelle pushed herself away from the car. “You know as well as I do that the legislature is trying to find some kind of solution to this immigration mess.”
“No doubt more fence,” the priest said, interrupting her.
“Well, no doubt. But maybe more than that, with some time. So what I’m asking is that you just stop. You’ve got a group coming tomorrow, I’m guessing. Call it off.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Of course you can. You don’t want a confrontation with authorities at the church.”
“Is that what you’re promising?”
“Don’t put me in that position, Father. Don’t put us in that position. Don’t put your congregation in that position. Am I going to tip off Immigration? No. But they have their own sources, believe me. So for now, just stop.”
The priest glanced at his watch, and Estelle pondered how much to press him.
“You bring in small groups,” she said. “These are workers who for whatever reason can’t find proper documentation, I assume.”
“That is correct. They want only work. They have little or no money, and they are willing to work hard. I know each one of them.”
“You don’t drive across the border with six of them stuffed in the trunk of your wonderful car, Father. How do they reach the church?” He didn’t respond and she shook her head in resignation. “Up through the rocks of the San Cristóbals to skirt the fence is foolish, Father. Especially at night.” And then a walk through the village, she thought, with a rendezvous at the iglesia. The whole village would know, and the whole village had to agree to be closemouthed, otherwise the plan wouldn’t work. She wondered if Serafina Roybal was serving tea at this very moment to weary hikers. A little village could protect its secrets easily.
“Father,” Estelle said, taking a step toward the house. “You do what you think is right. We will do the same.”
“Always,” Anselmo said. “I’m sorry about all of this.”