Grave Secrets

A visit to the Zone 1 family planning or APROFAM clinic had produced zilch. Ditto for a private clinic, Mujeres por Mujeres. Though reluctant, the doctor on call, Maria Zuckerman, had agreed to check her patient database. She found two Eduardos, Margarita and Clara, both in their thirties. No Lucy Gerardi, Claudia de la Alda, or Chantale Specter. If any of the missing women had made an appointment or been examined by a doctor, she’d done so using a false name.

Big surprise.

Galiano also learned that nonappearances at the clinic raised no flags. Many patients booked, then failed to show up. Some came once or twice, then vanished. Many were in the age range of the lady in the tank. Many were pregnant. With no picture or descriptive information, Dr. Zuckerman refused to allow her staff to be “bothered” with questioning.

Galiano had requested a list of everyone who’d phoned or been seen over the past year. As expected, Zuckerman had refused, citing patient confidentiality. Galiano intended to pursue a court order when more descriptors were available.

I swished and spat, feeling another wave of guilt. If I’d done a better prelim at the tank, we’d have more descriptors.

I’d asked Galiano about the attack on Carlos and Molly. He’d heard about the shooting, but knew little since the investigation was being handled in Sololá. He’d promised to find out what he could.

I pumped cream onto my palm and spread it over my face.

We’d also talked about Andrew Ryan. I’d told Galiano about Ryan’s work with the SQ. He’d shared new tales from their bad-boy years together.

As he was leaving, Galiano told me that his partner would be visiting the Eduardos and De la Aldas in the morning, and he’d be calling on the Gerardis and Specters. Given the discovery at the Paraíso, they felt Sunday visits were warranted. I asked to be included.

Wouldn’t be dangerous, I argued, and an outsider’s eye might even be useful. Though skeptical, he agreed.

I clicked off the light, opened the windows as far as they would go, set the alarm, and climbed into bed.

It seemed hours that I listened to traffic and hotel noises and watched the curtains fill and deflate. I finally fell asleep with my head under the pillow. I dreamed of Ryan and Galiano partying in the Maritimes.

Galiano picked me up at eight. Same greeting. Same shades.

Over a quick breakfast, he told me he intended to put pressure on Mario Gerardi, Lucy’s older brother.

“Why Mario?” I asked.

“Bad vibes.”

“Groovy.” I hadn’t heard about vibes since the Beach Boys faded.

“Something about the kid bothers me.”

“His socks?”

“Sometimes you go with your gut.”

I couldn’t disagree with that.

“What does Mario do?”

“As little as he can.”

“Is he a student?”

“Physics degree, Princeton.” Galiano scooped the last of his eggs and beans onto a tortilla.

“So the boy’s no dummy. What’s he doing now?”

“Probably working out alternatives to Planck’s Constant.”

“Detective Galiano knows quantum theory. Impressive.”

“Mario is rich, good-looking, a regular Gatsby with the ladies.”

“Detective Galiano knows literature. Next category. How about ‘Why doesn’t Bat like young Mario?’”

“It’s his socks.”

“Curious that Lucy and Chantale Specter disappeared at virtually the same time.”

“More than curious.”

Ignoring my protest, Galiano snatched and paid the check, then we headed toward Zone 10.

Creeping with the slowly moving log jam on Avenida la Reforma, we sat for a full ten minutes by the Botanical Gardens of San Carlos University. In my mind’s eye I saw Lucy Gerardi walking down that sidewalk, long dark hair framing her face. I wondered about that day.

Why did she go to the gardens? To meet someone? To study? To dream girl dreams she’d never realize?

Were hers the bones Díaz had taken from me? I turned from the window, feeling guilty again.

“Why are we seeing the Gerardis first?”

“Señora Specter is not an early riser.”

I must have looked surprised.

“I believe in holding firm on the big issues and letting the little ones slide. If her ladyship likes to sleep, let her. Besides, I want to get to the Gerardis while Papa’s still there.”

Just past the American embassy, Galiano turned onto a narrow, tree-shaded street and pulled to the curb. I got out and waited while he answered a call. The May sun felt warm on my head.

Had Lucy gone to the gardens because it was a sunny day? To feed the squirrels? To watch birds? To wander without purpose and observe what was there? To be alone with all the possibilities of youth?

The Gerardi residence was centered within manicured hedges surrounding a manicured lawn. A flagstone path led from the sidewalk to the front door. Brightly colored flowers lined both edges of the walkway, and crowded gardens wrapped around the house foundation.

A driveway, complete with Mercedes 500 S and Jeep Grand Cherokee, ran along the right side of the property. Chain-link fencing formed a small enclosure on the left. Inside the fence, a schnauzer the size of a woodchuck raced from end to end, barking frantically.