He told them there was someone who could find the girl: an ex-cop. He told them that if this individual was still alive after the trouble heād had with his own team, heād be just the man for the job. Heād survived assignments like this oneāwhere a death wish was more of an asset than deductive skillsāseveral times already. He told them that if this man was still alive, which wasnāt entirely unlikely, they might find him in one of the next states over, Veracruz or San Luis PotosĆ. Every so often an informant would claim to have seen him on the highway heading into La Eternidad. According to these reports, he said, the individual in question still drives a white car. He settles in at a certain restaurant down near the breakwater for a few hours, chats with the owners, sees to his business, and heads back the way he came. No one knows where he goes. Others say heās always in and out of town and might be mixed up in smuggling, but I donāt think so, vouched consul Don Williams. He always kept on the right side of the law. You might even have hired him at some point, Mr. De LeĆ³n. In any event, if this guy does happen to still be alive, heād be just the man for the job. Mr. De LeĆ³n asked what the individualās name was and the consul replied, āCarlos TreviƱo.ā āDonāt know him,ā the magnate snapped. He prided himself on knowing each of his employees, and TreviƱo had never been on his payroll. āI donāt know him and the name doesnāt ring a bell. I wonāt risk it. I canāt take the chance heās working for them.ā āTreviƱo would never work for a criminal,ā the gringo insisted. āNot knowingly, at least. Unlike most people in this city.ā He was interrupted by a loud crack. āWhat was that?ā the consul asked, while Mr. De LeĆ³nās bodyguards craned their necks like two dogs sniffing out danger. āIt sounded like it came from nearby,ā the consul insisted, but neither the woman nor the men at the table budged. The sound of gunshotsāa single round or a hail of bulletsāor a grenade blast in the distance as night fell had become a part of life around the port, no more unusual than the words extortion and kidnapping. Noticing the consulās anxiety, ValentĆn Bustamante, a.k.a. the Bus, the head of Mr. De LeĆ³nās security detail, stepped onto the terrace to have a look through the magnateās telescope. A fat man with a skinny mustache, he moved his six-foot-three frame with an agility unimaginable for someone his size, as if gravity didnāt exist, and pointed the instrument at the next neighborhood over. Hunched over like that, his round face and childlike features accented by his ridiculous facial hair, he almost looked like someone who wouldnāt hurt a fly. Which was true, as long as that fly was under three feet tall and posed no threat to Mr. De LeĆ³n. Meanwhile, Rodolfo Moreno Valleāsecond in command of the magnateās security detail and as serious as a heart attack with his bushy eyebrows, goatee, cowboy boots, and black leather jacketāwalked over to cover his associateās position next to the door and stood there with his arms crossed. For a few seconds, the rustling of the palm trees was the only sound. A northern wind was blowing in, one of those that haunt the Gulf and can hang around for ten or twelve hours, knocking down trees and old houses. The gale reached out to stir up a handful of paper napkins next to the coffeepot with the tips of its fingers; for a moment, the napkins seemed to come to life, as if they were trying to transmit a message. The meeting was being held in Mr. De LeĆ³nās mansion, one of the biggest in the luxe portside neighborhood next to a valley of slums on this side of the river. It was a three-story abode inspired by Californiaās Spanish colonial revivals, with huge picture windows and terraces adorned with wrought iron and carved stone, in a gated community complete with a small golf course, swimming pool, and a natural spring. All this, of course, could be seen only if you made it past the walled perimeter accented by flowering vines and bodyguards. The windows looked out over the lagoonāwithout question the most beautiful stretch of La Eternidadās portābut no one was there to talk about beauty. āWhy play dumb?ā Mr. De LeĆ³nās wife asked. She was a tall, prickly blonde used to getting her way: an overbearing woman who was still in shape at forty-five thanks in large part to her bad temper. āGo talk to the three bosses, offer them some cash, and put an end to this.ā āThat would put your daughter at enormous risk,ā the consul objected. āIf they donāt realize sheās disappeared, thatās one advantage we have. We need to find another way.ā āWell, the two of you seem pretty relaxed,ā she snapped. āI canāt even imagine what Cristina must be going through right now, kidnapped and terrorized by those animals.ā
PART ONE
The Mysteries of La Eternidad
1
The consul looked at his watch. It was true: thirty-six hours had passed since the girl disappeared, and every minute that went by made it seem less likely theyād find her alive.
A truckās brakes screeched on a nearby street. The consul looked Mr. De LeĆ³n squarely in the eye.
āWe donāt have time to waste. Instead of waiting for them to contact us, send a specialist in to find her. One who wonāt raise suspicions. The detective Iām recommending is fearless and discreet. He could run an investigation and come up with a strategy for getting her back. He knows the area and has a team, or at least he did a few months ago. Heās brilliant, the type who can handle any situation. He could get himself out of a whaleās belly if he needed to.ā
A shadow fell across Mr. De LeĆ³nās face.
āAnd why should I hire this guy, when I have an army of bodyguards at my disposal?ā he said, gesturing toward the most threatening member of his security detail, the man with the goatee. āMorenoās an ace with this kind of mission; he was trained by the German military. Why would I hire someone I know nothing about?ā
The consul, aware that the businessman was a two-hundredpound bundle of nerves, replied as diplomatically as possible: āIām afraid your bodyguards wouldnāt be able to infiltrate their ranks without being detected, Rafael, especially not the ones you trust most. Whoever got close enough to kidnap your daughter must have been studying your security for months. As for La Eternidadās police and military, I wouldnāt recommend calling them in on this. The police would sell their souls to the devil if he was the highest bidder, and the military depends on the politicians. And you know who they work for. This guy was the best detective the port had seen in years. He was the one who caught the Chainsaw Killer.ā
The businessmanās wife eyed him suspiciously.
āThe Chainsaw Killer? The one who murdered those girls?ā They were talking about a maniac who kidnapped young women from different parts of the city and tortured them. āThat doesnāt mean a thing,ā she went on. āEveryone knows the guy they caught was just a scapegoat.ā
āPrecisely,ā said the consul. āThe man officially accused of the crimes is innocent, but the detective Iāve been telling you about caught the real killer and ended up in hot water with his colleagues because of it.ā
Mr. De LeĆ³n looked up when he heard this, intrigued. The case had been big news around the Gulf of Mexico because of the criminalās extraordinary cruelty, because of how hard it had been to find him, and, above all, because of the scandal that erupted when word got out theyād let the maniac walk while an innocent man rotted away in a jail cell.
āThat was a long time ago,ā thundered the businessman. āIf heās as good as you say, why hasnāt anyone heard of him? Shouldnāt he be famous by now?ā
āA good detective doesnāt get famous,ā said the consul.
āWill you vouch for him?ā the magnate asked.
The consul cleared his throat.
āListen, Iām not saying heās squeaky-clean. Heās probably taken a bribe or two, like everyone at police headquarters. But in the Chainsaw Killer case, he was the only ranking officer who actually tried to catch the criminal, even if his enemies say he was only in it for the reward. You know how things are here. But as long as he was on the force, he always collaborated with the consulate and with me directly, to the extent permitted by Mexican law, of course. He kept it on the straight and narrow. Thatās why he only lasted four years on the job. TreviƱoās one of the few honest people Iāve met in the Gulf.ā Noticing the silence this last remark provoked across the table, he added, āAn honest man whoād be worthy of a position in your familyās company.ā
Mr. De LeĆ³n and his wife nodded, as if appeased, and the consul made a note in some corner of his brain to show more respect in the future.
The door to the terrace opened again and the fat man with the absurd mustache walked back into the room, wrapping up a conversation on his walkie-talkie with, āAffirmative.ā He installed himself next to Mr. De LeĆ³n and didnāt say a word until the consul asked him, āWhatās going on out there?ā
āThereās activity in Colonia Pescadores. La Cuarentaās thugs. Itās the weekend, they must be off their asses. I also hear the boy hasnāt come to yet, but weāre keeping an eye on him.ā
He was talking about Cristinaās boyfriend, who was still in the hospital. Mr. De LeĆ³n turned crimson with rage.
āI told you to leave him alone!ā
āIt was my idea,ā interrupted the consul. āI didnāt want to take any chances. Weāre watching him as a precaution.ā
It wasnāt likely the boyfriend would ever speak again, but the consul desperately wanted to hear what he had to say since he was the only witness to what happened. Sitting there, a balding old man with a potbelly, dressed in a plaid shirt and construction boots, he didnāt look like much. But heād been the consul to the United States there in La Eternidad for more than ten years and was one of the people who knew the most about crime in the region. To his friends, he was Don Williams; to Chief Margarito and company, he was Our Consul, if they were on good terms, and That Asshole Don Williams, if they felt heād stuck his nose in above his pay grade in La Eternidad. There was no doubt in Mr. De LeĆ³nās mind that if there was a security expert in La Eternidad, the gringo was it. The minute he heard theyād found Cristinaās car and that her boyfriend, Alberto Perkins, was in critical condition, he chose Williams to lead the investigation ...
Citation styles for Don't Send Flowers
APA 6 Citation
Solares, M. (2019). Donāt Send Flowers ([edition unavailable]). Grove Press UK. Retrieved from https://www.perlego.com/book/3523748 (Original work published 2019)
Chicago Citation
Solares, Martin. (2019) 2019. Donāt Send Flowers. [Edition unavailable]. Grove Press UK. https://www.perlego.com/book/3523748.
Harvard Citation
Solares, M. (2019) Donāt Send Flowers. [edition unavailable]. Grove Press UK. Available at: https://www.perlego.com/book/3523748 (Accessed: 15 June 2024).
MLA 7 Citation
Solares, Martin. Donāt Send Flowers. [edition unavailable]. Grove Press UK, 2019. Web. 15 June 2024.