The Witness, page 26
part #1 of Felipe Santos Series
She kept walking, slowing her pace, trying not to panic. If the girl was watching her, then she could not be the only one. There would be others, ones that she had not noticed. She did not know the area well, not enough to try and lose the girl on the backstreets. She cursed herself for throwing out her SIM card before she had bought a replacement, rendering her cell phone useless.
The bus station loomed ahead. Adonia could go inside, but she would still have to wait to board her bus. The girl would know she was headed to Oaxaca and whilst she spent six hours on the bus, the people who wanted to know her whereabouts would have plenty of time to arrange a surprise for her upon her arrival.
She could not ask anyone for help. What could she say? That a young girl was following her? They would laugh and send her away. Adonia’s pulse was fast as she paused at the pedestrian crossing. The girl was still level with her. She wondered if she would wait for her as she crossed the road.
The lights changed and people surged forward across the road. The little girl lingered near the crossing. The lights started flashing, warning they were about to change again.
She made a split-second decision.
Just as the lights changed, Adonia turned on her heel and took off down the street back the way she had just walked. The little girl looked surprised, but Adonia did not turn around to see if she followed. At least she could not cross the busy road until the lights changed.
Adonia turned down a side street and ran flat-out until she reached another main road. She took a right and slowed to a walk, panting hard. A few pedestrians glanced at her with concern when she stopped for a second and doubled over to catch her breath.
She walked on, glancing over her shoulder, but there was no sign of the girl. She knew that did not mean she was in the clear or that she was safe. Anybody on the street could be watching her.
Her options were few. She thought about the bus to Oaxaca. She could not take it. It was too risky to return to the Eastern Bus Station. She had wasted money on her ticket. She could not afford another mistake. She thought about Victor. This was no game, this was life or death.
She went into another store, anxious to get off the street, and found a payphone at the back. The cashier checked her out, leant on the counter, looking bored. He winked, but she ignored him. There were no customers, only her, and yet she was less afraid of him than the danger outside on the street.
Her fingers shook as she dialled directory assist.
“I need to speak to a detective,” she said firmly. “The one investigating Victor Govea’s murder.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Felipe knocked once on the door and entered the interview room. Henrique was a step behind him. In a chair at the table, their missing witness sat pale-faced and shivering. She had a cup of coffee in front of her. A duffel bag was on the floor behind her. She wore skin-tight jeans and a sleeveless red tube top. Hoops hung from her earlobes and her curly hair was loose.
“I’m Subinspector Felipe Mendoza Santos,” Felipe introduced himself, offering his hand to her. Adonia rose to her feet and shook it, then Henrique’s. “This is my partner, Henrique Benitez.”
Felipe gestured for her to sit. He knew she must be anxious. Felipe had been contacted about a call from a payphone from someone claiming to be the missing witness. He had spoken to her, confirmed that it was her, and sent for a squad car to pick her up and bring her in.
“Thanks for coming, Adonia,” Felipe said.
He did not chastise her for not coming forward sooner. He knew that she had her reasons and he could not blame her, thinking of Constanza, probably arriving at the airport now to fly out of the state.
“You’re safe here,” he said, though he knew it was unlikely to comfort her. “If you don’t mind, we have a few questions for you.”
Adonia appeared tense, but she nodded.
“If you keep me safe, then I’ll answer whatever questions you have,” she said.
“We went through Victor Govea’s phone records,” Felipe said. “Your number was there multiple times. How did you know him?”
Adonia sighed.
“He was my father,” she admitted. “My mother never told him about me. He left Oaxaca and got married in Mexico City. She never tried to contact him. When she passed away last year, she told me about him. I decided to track him down.”
She paused, collecting herself. Felipe imagined the young woman’s grief, having lost her mother and now her father so soon after reconnecting with him.
“He was a nice man,” Adonia said. “We met a few times. It’s hard to make up for twenty years of not knowing each other, but we were making some progress. He said he was going to tell his wife. I suppose he was nervous. I was too. I didn’t want to cause any problems, to come between anyone.”
“On the night that Teo Silva was murdered,” Felipe said, “You were on the platform. Did you -”
“I didn’t follow them there, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Adonia said quickly. “It was a coincidence. I was as surprised as Victor was when we saw each other. I’d just been, erm, working.”
Felipe did not ask what line of work, already knowing from her file.
“I was going home,” she continued. “When I saw them, I panicked. I almost walked over to them, not thinking, but Victor shook his head. I stopped myself. Thankfully his wife didn’t notice.”
“You saw Teo Silva get shot,” Felipe said. It was not a question.
“Yes,” Adonia nodded. She looked down at the table. Her hands lay on the table, palms up. She looked ashamed. “I’m sorry I left. I panicked. The thought of getting involved, of talking with the policía, giving statements. I felt bad for leaving, but then I saw the news and I thought that perhaps I made the right call, keeping my name out.”
“Why did you get in touch now then?” Felipe asked her. “You said you were being followed?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she said honestly, with a shrug. “Victor gave me some money yesterday to get out of town. He didn’t want me in danger. I guess someone followed him, because I got followed home when I left. I packed a bag and did a runner, stayed at a motel last night. I was supposed to get a bus back home to Oaxaca, but I was being followed. I can’t run. I can’t afford to. I need your help.”
Felipe exchanged a look with Henrique. He saw the concern, the sympathy, that matched his own.
“One of my colleagues, Luisa, is securing a safe house for you to stay at,” Felipe told her. He had arranged it with Luisa whilst he waited for the policías to collect Adonia. “You’ll be safe there, until we’ve apprehended the man responsible for these killings.”
“Gracias,” Adonia said. She blinked away tears. “I mean it. Muchas gracias.”
There was a knock on the door. Adonia looked weary. The door opened and Luisa joined them.
“It’s all arranged,” she said, talking to Felipe. “When you’re ready, let me know.”
“We’re done here,” he told her. He introduced Adonia and Luisa, and they shook hands.
Adonia picked up her bag and followed Luisa out. She hesitated in the doorway, turning back to where remained sitting at the table.
“Did Victor suffer?” she asked. Her voice was quiet. “The news said it was in a fire. A gas explosion, or something like that. I don’t want to think that he died like that.”
Felipe shook his head.
“We’ve had some preliminary reports back,” he told her. “Your father and his wife were both killed with single gunshots to the head, before the fire was started. They died quickly. They wouldn’t have suffered, wouldn’t have been in pain.”
He did not mention that they may have been beaten, possibly tortured, beforehand. Felipe did not have those answers himself yet. Adonia looked relieved at his words.
“Gracias,” she said. She smiled, wiping at her eyes. Luisa gave her a tissue.
Whilst Adonia composed herself, Luisa nodded almost imperceptibly at Felipe. He understood the meaning behind her gesture. She was confirming that she had managed to secure the safe house in secret. She had worked alone, had not asked her superiors or shared the information with anyone within her department at the Prosecutor’s Office.
Felipe had sworn her to secrecy. If somebody was in the cartel’s pocket, then he could not trust anyone in that department. He did not want Adonia’s safety put at risk. The only three people who knew about Adonia’s identity and why she was being housed at the safe house were himself, Henrique and Luisa. The policías that would transport and guard her were in the dark about her connection to Los Sanguinitos and the murders of witnesses.
“Take care,” Felipe said, as Adonia readied herself.
Luisa gestured for her to follow, and they went down the corridor to the car that would whisk her off to safety.
Felipe breathed out with relief. He realised he had been tensed the whole time he had waited for Adonia to be collected and brought here. He had feared that Apollo would snatch her just moments before she was safe.
Constanza would now be at the airport. Perhaps she would be boarding her plane to La Paz. She was safe. Pia had saved herself, was in Texas with her son, far from the troubles of her fellow witnesses in the capital.
Now the only witness who remained without protection was Chance.
Felipe wondered if Henrique was right, that he was safe only because he was American. If Apollo realised that the other witnesses were out of reach, would he let that stop him going after the American? Felipe did not believe it would. He imagined that Apollo cared little for the citizenship of his victims. He had perhaps saved him for last, but with nobody else, perhaps that time had come.
Felipe slid his phone out of his pocket as he went upstairs to his desk, dialling Chance’s number.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
The clouds were beginning to part, letting the sun dry the puddles on the street and warm the air as Chance walked out of the entrance to his hotel. He stopped on the pavement and lit his cigarette. An older couple stood a short distance away, chatting and smoking. They nodded at him and smiled, recognising him from breakfast.
Chance had been staying here for weeks now. He was a familiar face to other guests and to the staff. He smiled and waved back to the couple, then walked slowly a short distance from the hotel entrance. The street that the hotel was on was always quiet. A few cars were parked across the street, where a vacant block stood empty, cordoned off by wooden boards.
He took a long drag on his cigarette and let the smoke drift up into the grey sky. His skin was warm now that the sun had come out. The floor was still wet, and the air still held a dampness that made him shiver. He wore grey tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt, and his flip-flops squelched through the puddles as he reached the end of the short block.
He was spending a lazy day in his suite. The weather had been bad, and he wanted to stay in bed and watch movies and catch up with some work. He had an assignment and some coursework that needed doing, though his attention span for studying had varied. He thought of Felipe. He wanted to see him tonight, but he knew that he was more likely to be left disappointed should he invite him over.
He felt for his phone in his trouser pockets, but he had left it upstairs. He would message Felipe when he got back to his room and invite him over. They messaged frequently, when Felipe was not at work.
He was fast starting to have feelings for him, and Chance knew that he should not let himself fall too hard for him. He had a fiancé. Bill was working hard in Brazil, expecting him to visit soon, and besides, Felipe lived in Mexico and Chance lived in the States. Long distance relationships never worked. Chance had heard that saying enough times to believe it must be true.
He wondered what would happen between him and Bill now that they too lived in different countries. Felipe would be closer in Mexico than Bill would be all the way down in Brazil.
Chance tried not to think about it. He did not want to lose Bill, but they had gradually seemed to drift apart, both emotionally and now physically. He had thought that going down and staying with him in Sao Paolo would reconnect them, but he wondered now if he would not rather spend the weeks with Felipe in Mexico City instead.
No, he reminded himself. That was crazy. This was a holiday fling, at most. Nothing more.
He took a long, final drag on his cigarette and turned around to walk back to the hotel entrance. He flicked the butt into a puddle and heard it sizzle satisfyingly. He walked past the entrance to the underground car park, reminded of Felipe and their first night together.
Tyres screeched somewhere behind him. Traffic accidents were common everywhere, and so Chance paid it no attention. A car door slammed. Trainers splashed through puddles. He heard heavy breathing right behind him, turned in time to see the barrel of a gun pointed at him.
“Don’t scream, don’t shout, don’t say a word,” the man said. “Just do as I say, okay, Chance?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Felipe tried not to think about Chance. He had called twice and got no response. He had messaged earlier in the morning to tell him he was having a day in bed, and Felipe tried not to imagine that perhaps Chance had taken someone else into his bed with him. Perhaps he had got bored and decided to have a hook-up. It was not unheard of. Plenty of people used those apps in Mexico City, and he was sure that Chance could find plenty of guys who would want to meet him.
He forced the dark imaginings from his mind. He was being stupid. Chance was probably taking a shower or having a cigarette. Anyway, he thought, he was engaged. Felipe had no right to feel jealous that Chance might be with someone else.
At his desk, Felipe checked his emails. He was surprised to find an email back from someone connected to the task force that investigated desertions from the army to the cartels. Juan Lopez. His rank and title were not given. His reply just gave a phone number, asking him to call.
Felipe snatched up his desk phone and dialled.
“Lopez,” a gruff man’s voice answered on the first ring.
“This is Subinspector Felipe Mendoza Santos. I received your email, señor, and -”
“Oh, it’s you,” Lopez said. “Very well. You called quickly. Eager.”
“You asked me to call you, about the email I sent,” Felipe reminded him. “I was asking about three commandos who deserted the army.”
“Yes, well, I couldn’t give that information over email,” Lopez said. “You’re lucky I got in touch at all. Before I answer any questions, where did you get this list?”
Felipe hesitated. He did not want to land Luisa in trouble.
“I can’t divulge that,” Felipe said.
Lopez’s breathing was loud down the line. He did not speak a while. When he did, his voice was rough.
“Very well. Wherever you got it from, you’ve made a mistake,” Lopez told him. Felipe felt his heart sinking down into his stomach. Lopez went on. “Two of those three names did not desert the army. Now what I tell you goes no further. Confidential. You understand?”
“Sí, señor,” Felipe managed. He was holding his breath.
“Jose Luis Martinez is still with the army. He went undercover to infiltrate a cartel and gather intel on a new trafficking route into the States,” Lopez said, his voice gravelly and low. “Francisco Perez was given a dishonourable discharge, he didn’t desert. The cartels wouldn’t have wanted him. He was hospitalised shortly afterwards and has been in a secure mental-health facility for the last few years. You can imagine why the army was not keen to publicise this.”
“What about Jesus Morales Ortiz?” Felipe asked.
He remembered the name from his files. He was a high-ranking member of Los Sanguinitos. He had thought the man was too high profile to be Apollo. He was known to policía. He did not live in the shadows.
“Sí, he deserted,” Lopez said. “But he’s not your man, Santos. I can’t give you any more than that. I’m sorry, Subinspector.”
“Gracias, señor,” Felipe said.
He was disappointed. How was it possible that none of the names were Apollo? Had Luisa made a mistake going through her files at the Prosecutor’s Office? Had someone in her department vanished some of the files so that Apollo’s true identity could never be found?
“Do you have anything that could help me?” Felipe asked. The man was on a Task Force whose sole responsibility was tracking the men who deserted for the cartels. If anyone had the answers, it was him. “I just need a name.”
“I can’t give you names,” Lopez said quietly. “I can just give you some advice.”
“Okay,” Felipe murmured, breathless.
“Be careful,” Lopez said. His voice was quiet, and Felipe had to strain to hear him over the crackle in the line. “This is a sensitive subject. The task force isn’t what you think it is. Don’t try to look for answers here. You’re entering dangerous territory. Out of your depth. Watch your back, Santos. Stop looking, if you know what’s good for you. Trust nobody. Good luck.”
Before Felipe could say anything, the line went dead.
He dropped the phone back into its cradle. He did not know what to make of Lopez or the exchange. He was left with more questions than answers. Jose Luis Martinez had not deserted, was still loyal to the army. Francisco Perez was in a secure facility. The only name that remained on his list was Jesus Morales Ortiz, who he had not fingered for Apollo, and Lopez had dismissed.
He was at a loss as to what to do now. He thought about the task force. Lopez had told him it was not what he thought it was. What was that supposed to mean? Were they as corrupt as he suspected the Prosecutor’s Office was?
Any thoughts were disturbed when the radio on his belt crackled. He heard Henrique’s do the same. Felipe responded and held his breath. He felt tension engulf him. Something was wrong. He knew it.
His fears were confirmed. There had been a kidnapping in Buenavista. A receptionist at the hotel had called it in. First responders had attended and had requested back-up.
