The nun started to shake her head. “I’m sorry—”
Maria stepped between them. “With respect, my sister’s family would want me to check her belongings. We hope to find Sarai quickly, without involving the police.”
“Solamente tú,” the nun said, and let Maria in.
Only you.
“Get a recent photograph,” Ian called after her.
She nodded her agreement.
Then Ian was left outside, where he could guard the front entrance. He stood under the shade of a tree he couldn’t identify and listened to the buzz of insects. It was hot and humid, so the lush leaves overhead made little difference to his physical comfort. Clouds gathered in the distance, threatening a summer storm.
Maria emerged from the gate fifteen minutes later. Her eyes danced with excitement as she walked toward him. She was so vibrant, so eager to help others, so willing to take risks. It made her beautiful. It made him ache for her.
It made him crazy.
He took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions. When he stepped out from under the tree, she handed him a folded piece of paper, warm from her palm. He couldn’t smell the river on her skin anymore. Her hair was dry now, like black corn silk.
The paper was a torn-out page from a yearbook. Sarai Tomás was in the bottom row, between two other girls. Her head was turned to the side, and a cascade of dark curls obscured part of her face. It wasn’t the best photo for identification purposes, but ICE might be able to enhance it. He tucked it into his pocket as they approached his rental car.
“That’s the only photo I could find,” she said.
He opened the passenger door for her and then climbed behind the wheel. “Were there any clues in her room?”
“I didn’t see anything, so I went to the cafeteria to talk to the other girls. They said she doesn’t have a boyfriend or relatives who visit. She didn’t mention leaving, but she’d been very secretive lately.” Maria touched a fingertip to her cheek. “Oh, and she has a cellphone. She always kept it hidden from the nuns, and she didn’t give out the number.”
He regarded her with appreciation. She’d managed to gain entrance, get a photo, and interview the other students. “Nice work, Detective.”
Maria beamed with pride. “You can give me a…?cómo se dice?” She held her hand against her chest. “A star.”
He’d rather give her something else. “A badge.”
“A badge. Eso.”
“Why don’t I buy you lunch instead?”
She pointed him toward a small café that served sandwiches and fruit drinks. It was modern, air-conditioned, and crowded with patrons. Better yet, it had wireless service. He sent a text to LaGuardia and requested further orders. Maria tackled her torta with gusto and watched him closely. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak.
“I’ll take you home,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “But we have not found her.”
He shrugged, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. If he had been calling the shots, he wouldn’t have given up after such a perfunctory search. Then again, he wouldn’t be on this chickenshit assignment so far away from the real action, either. He’d be combing the streets in TJ, because that was surely where Armando Villarreal was dying like a smashed cockroach.
“I think we should check La Bestia,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s the freight train. People ride it when they don’t have money or papers.”
He’d seen video footage of the train, loaded with passengers. “You don’t think she has ID?”
“All secondary students have ID,” she said, finishing her sandwich. “She might be reluctant to use hers if she thinks someone is looking for her.”
Ian knew the basics of traveling in Mexico. He’d spent two months here on a backpacking trip when he was nineteen. You couldn’t buy a long-distance bus ticket without ID. There were no passenger trains, and soldiers patrolled the bus routes.
It was more likely that Sarai had taken the bus and left the city hours ago. Even so, Ian’s cop instincts were triggered by the idea of this alternative route. He wanted to find Sarai, and impress LaGuardia by thinking outside of the box.
“Where are the tracks?”
Maria smiled at him, revealing a crooked incisor on the left side of her mouth. This slight imperfection gave her a foxy, mischievous look that had always appealed to him. “There is a camp near the tracks on the outskirts of town. Passengers gather there to jump on board.”
“How do you know that?”
She didn’t answer.
“You rode it?”
“No,” she said, sipping her melon juice. “It is too dangerous for a girl alone.”
“Sarai is a girl alone.”
“Yes, but she is worried about her father dying. I told her he was badly hurt.”
Sarai was Ian’s only link to Villarreal, and she was on the move. She might be heading to a safe house or prearranged rendezvous point. Villarreal was the kind of man who would plan for trouble. Ian sent another text to LaGuardia, mentioning the camp.
LaGuardia offered a terse response: Check it out.
He put his phone away, pleased with the response. “What did the letter say?”
“Armando’s letter? I don’t know.”
“You didn’t read it?”
“No.”
He shook his head in disbelief. Of course she hadn’t read it. That would have been impolite. “The letter might have included some instructions or the name of a trusted contact.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because I saw her face when she read it. She looked sad and lost. If anything, he told her not to leave the school.”
“And yet, she did the opposite.”
She shrugged. “This is the way of teenagers, no?”
He pondered that for a moment. He hadn’t been a rebellious teen, probably because his mother hadn’t been a responsible parent. Her addiction had prevented him from having a typical childhood. “Was it your way?”
“No. I was eighteen when I left, and I did not sneak out como un ladrón.”
Like a thief.
“What was your impression of Armando’s daughter?”
“She’s small and pretty. Not like him. But she has his eyes.”
“Dark?”