“I’ll call from my cell with the number blocked,” said Lucia.
The phone only rang twice before an angry voice began shouting at the other end. Lucia ended the call at once, and Evelyn sighed with relief. The only person who could answer on that number was Frankie’s mother. If she was with him, Evelyn could relax; the boy would be well looked after.
“Come on, Evelyn, you must have some idea of how that woman’s body ended up in the car trunk,” said Richard.
“No. The Lexus belongs to my boss, Mr. Leroy.”
“He must be searching for his car.”
“He’s in Florida. He’s supposed to come back tomorrow.”
“Do you think he could have had something to do with this?”
“Yes.”
“In other words, you think he could have killed that woman,” Richard insisted.
“When Mr. Leroy gets angry, he’s like a devil . . . ,” said the young Guatemalan, bursting into tears.
“Let her calm down,” Lucia told Richard.
“You realize we can’t go to the police now, don’t you, Lucia? How would we explain that we lied to the patrolman?”
“Forget the police for the moment!”
“My mistake was calling you, Lucia. If I’d known this girl had a dead body hanging over her I would have gone to the police right away,” said Richard, more pensive than angry. He served Lucia more coffee. “Milk?”
“Black and no sugar.”
“Shit, what a mess we’ve got ourselves into!”
“These things happen in life, Richard.”
“Not in mine.”
“Yes, I’ve realized that. But see how life refuses to leave us in peace? Sooner or later it catches up with us.”
“The girl will have to take her dead body elsewhere.”
“You tell her,” said Lucia, pointing to Evelyn, who was sobbing silently.
“What are you thinking of doing?” Richard asked the girl.
Evelyn shrugged sorrowfully, mumbling excuses for having gotten them into trouble.
“You have to do something,” Richard insisted, without great conviction.
Lucia tugged at his sleeve and led him over to the piano, away from Evelyn.
“The first thing is to dispose of the evidence,” she said in a low voice. “Before we do anything else.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We’ve got to get rid of the car and the body.”
“You’re mad!” he exclaimed.
“You’re involved in this too, Richard.”
“I am?”
“Yes, from the moment you opened the door to Evelyn last night and then called me. We have to decide where we’re going to dump the body.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. How can you even think of such a crazy idea?”
“Look, Richard: Evelyn can’t go back to her employers’ house, and she can’t go to the police either. Do you want her to drive around everywhere with a dead body in somebody else’s car? For how long?”
“I’m sure all this can be sorted out.”
“With the police? No way.”
“Let’s drive the car to another neighborhood, and that’ll be that.”
“It would be found at once, Richard. Evelyn needs time to get to somewhere safe. I suppose you’ve realized how terrified she is. She knows more than she’s telling us. I think she has a very specific fear of her employer, that Mr. Leroy. She suspects he killed that woman and is coming after her. He knows she took the Lexus and won’t let her escape.”
“If that’s so, we’re in danger too.”
“No one suspects she is with us. Let’s drive the car as far away as possible.”
“That would make us accomplices!”
“We already are, but if we do things properly no one will know. They can’t connect us to any of this, not even to Evelyn. The snow is a blessing, and we have to take advantage of it while it lasts. We have to leave today.”
“Where to?”
“How should I know, Richard! Think of something. We have to head for somewhere cold so that the body doesn’t start to smell.”
AFTER RETURNING TO THE KITCHEN, they drank coffee while considering the possibilities. They did not consult Evelyn Ortega, who sat watching them timidly. She had dried her tears but had slipped back into the mute attitude of someone who has never had any control over what happens in her life. Lucia suggested that the farther away they went, the greater the probability they would emerge unscathed from this adventure.
“I once went to Niagara Falls and crossed the border into Canada without showing any documents. And they didn’t search the car.”
“That must have been fifteen years ago. Nowadays they always ask to see your passport.”
“We could reach Canada in no time, then abandon the car in a wood; they have lots of woods up there.”
“They can also identify the car in Canada, Lucia. It’s not the far side of the moon.”
“By the way, we need to identify the victim. We can’t abandon her somewhere without at least knowing who she is.”
“Why?” asked a perplexed Richard.
“Out of respect. We’re going to have to take another look in the trunk, and it’s better we do so now, before there are people out and about,” Lucia decided.
They almost dragged Evelyn out of the house and had to push her over to the car.
“Do you know her?” Richard asked, after he had untied the belt and shone the flashlight into the trunk.
He had to repeat the question three times before Evelyn dared open her eyes. She was trembling, overwhelmed by that same atavistic terror she had felt by the bridge in her village, a terror that had been lurking in the shadows throughout the eight years that followed, so searing that it was as if the livid, bloody body of her brother Gregorio were present right there on that street.
“Make an effort, Evelyn. It’s really important we know who this woman is,” Lucia insisted.
“It’s Miss Kathryn,” the young woman finally murmured. “Kathryn Brown . . .”
Lucia and Richard quickly retied the lid of the trunk closed and made their way back to the house.
“Who is Kathryn?” Richard asked Evelyn.
“Frankie’s physical therapist; she used to come every Monday and Thursday. She taught me exercises for the boy.”
“That means she was someone who was known in the house. What did you say your employers’ names were?”
“Cheryl and Frank Leroy.”
“And it looks as though Frank Leroy is responsible for—”
“Why do you think that, Richard? We can’t assume anything without proof,” said Lucia.
“If that woman had died a natural death she would not be in the trunk of Frank Leroy’s car.”
“It could have been an accident.”
“Yes, like she stuck her head in the trunk, wrapped the rug around her, the lid closed on top of her, she starved to death, and no one noticed. Not very probable. No doubt about it, Lucia: someone killed her, and was planning to get rid of the body when the snow was cleared. By now he must be wondering what the hell happened to his car and his dead body.”
“Come on, Evelyn, think about it: how do you guess that young woman ended up in the trunk of the Lexus?” Lucia asked her.
“I don’t know . . .”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“She used to come on Mondays and Thursdays,” Evelyn repeated.