Wolf in the Shadows Read online

  Navarro stepped out onto the terrace, shutting the door behind her. She crossed to the wall where there was a space between the glass baffles and leaned forward, palms braced on top of it, head thrown back as she breathed the fresh night air. I scanned the rest of the house. Jaime’s window was dark now, no one moved in the other lighted frames. Navarro remained by the wall.

  It was a chance that might never present itself again.

  I slid back, rolled over, reached into my bag for the .45. Shoved it into the rear of my waistband, then went around the pongas on my hands and knees, heading up the beach toward the northern end of Fontes’s property. When I got there, I began to angle in gradually, keeping an eye on the terrace. Navarro still stood alone by the wall, illuminated by the outdoor lights, head hanging down now.

  Looking at me?

  I stopped, watched. No, she was merely relaxing tense neck muscles.

  Rock protruded from the sand next to the terrace’s concrete foundation, and the land angled up along its side, where It was flanked by cacti. I moved slowly toward it, scanning the slope and beach, listening for the slightest sound or movement. When I reached the edge of the foundation, I glanced up at where Navarro stood. I could make out only the shape of her head, now turned toward the sea.

  On hands and knees I began scaling the slope. The sand that overlaid the rock made it slow going. Hard to gain a foothold, a handhold. Hard to keep from sending a shower of telltale pebbles skittering down behind me. Finally I reached the place where the terrace wall butted into the hillside. The glass baffles didn’t quite meet the house; there was a two-foot space through which I could climb onto the terrace. I covered my hands with the long sleeves of Hy’s sweater, gritted my teeth, and moved into the thick stand of cactus.

  Spines pierced my jeans. I covered my face with my sweater-swathed hands and peered between them. A barrel cactus took painful hold of my right arm; I moved my left hand to free it and suffered a painful swat. Finally I yanked the sleeve loose, tearing the wool and rustling the plants around me. Plunged forward and crouched by the wall.

  No footsteps on the terrace. No call of inquiry.

  After a bit I stood and peeked over the wall. Navarro was still looking out to sea; I was well outside her peripheral vision. I placed my hands on top of the wall and hoisted myself up. Rolled onto it and swung my legs over, ready to drop. Took the gun from my waistband. Slipped down to the terrace floor and stood with feet wide apart, gun extended in front of me.

  Navarro’s head jerked. She started to turn.

  “Don’t move,” I said softly, “and don’t make a sound.”

  She froze.

  “I have a gun aimed at your back. Step to your right until you touch the side wall.”

  She moved as I’d told her, stiffly.

  “Now step back this way.”

  She backed up, eyes straight ahead. A cool woman, Navarro.

  “Good,” I said, moving forward and patting her pockets for weapons.

  “What do you want?” Her English was more heavily accented than I’d expected, although by no means broken or ungrammatical. Its strong Hispanic undertone was the reason Hy had taken her for a Mexican national when she’d called with the ransom demands.

  “To give you some news—about Stan.”

  “Stan! What—”

  “It’s okay to turn around now. Do it slowly.”

  She did, eyes moving swiftly from my face to the gun. Now lines of strain cut furrows beside her mouth and eyes; she looked years older than she had through my telephoto lens the night before.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m working for RKI.”

  Quick intake of breath.

  “I know all about the kidnapping, how you and Stan and Diane planned it.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I saw Diane at the hospital in San Diego this afternoon.”

  “Diane! That can’t be. Gilbert said …”

  “Said what?”

  “She’s dead,”

  “No, she’s in critical condition, but she’ll recover.”

  “Gilbert said she died on the way to Ensenada.”

  “She was stabilized at the trauma unit there and flown to San Diego. It was Fontes’s efforts that made it possible for her to leave Baja without being questioned about the shooting.”

  “Oh, God!” Navarro put her hands over her face, fingers pressing hard against her eyes.

  I asked, “Who shot Diane?”

  She shook her head.

  “You don’t know?”

  Silence.

  “There’s no point in concealing what went on down here.”

  No reply.

  I said, “I saw Stan in San Diego on Thursday.”

  “You couldn’t have. Stan’s in Mexico City—” She bit her lips, pressed them together.

  “Have you talked with him?”

  “… No.”

  “Then how do you know he’s really there?”

  “Gilbert said—”

  “Just as he said Diane had died.”

  Navarro took her hands from her face and studied me. She seemed to be weighing what I’d told her. “All right, where in San Diego did you see Stan?”

  “The county morgue. He’s dead. He’s been dead since Sunday night when he tried to pick up the letter of credit. Marty Salazar shot him.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Navarro’s reaction wasn’t what I’d expected. Just a slight hesitation before she said, “You’re lying.”

  “I have an eyewitness to the shooting. He’s down on the beach.” Somewhere down there, and probably panicked at finding me gone. “And the San Diego police have made a positive I.D. on Stan’s body. They’ve been trying to contact you since shortly after you came down here.”

  She studied my face, her expression giving no clue as to what she was thinking.

  I reached into my pocket and took out a slip of paper on which I’d written Gary Viner’s name and phone number. “This is the detective in charge of the case. He’ll confirm.”

  “It’s a setup.”

  “You don’t really believe that.“

  Her eyes moved to the paper. She bit her lip again, then reached for it. “I’ll call him. Wait here.”

  Such bravado in spite of the gun I held both impressed and amused me. “No, that’s not how it works.”

  “How, then?” Impatient now to get on with it.

  “We’ll go over the wall the way I came. Down the beach to the access point, where I have a car equipped with a cellular phone. You’ll call Viner from there.”

  Navarro crossed her arms. “How do I know—”

  “You don’t. But you have no choice, do you?”

  She shivered slightly, glanced at the door to the house.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  She went ahead of me, crossing the wall clumsily, wincing when the cactus spines raked her skin. I had to give her credit: she never once cried out. When we were past them, I motioned for her to start down the slope. We descended and moved up the beach in tandem, keeping clear of what light the windows of the neighboring villas cast on the sand. Finally we reached the path to the parking area.

  The Seville sat alone where Hy and I had left it. I urged Navarro toward it, then realized he had the keys. Why the hell hadn’t I—

  “Jesus, McCone, I can’t turn my back on you for a minute!” Hy’s head appeared from where he crouched on the other side of the car. Nodding, he said, “Ms. Navarro.”

  Navarro recognized him and stiffened.

  “The eyewitness I mentioned,” I told her. “I believe you’ve met.” To him I added, “She’s decided to call Lieutenant Viner.”

  “Smart choice.” He tossed me the car keys, held open the passenger’s door, and motioned her inside; shut it and leaned against it. I got into the driver’s seat, flicked on the electrical system, and lowered the passenger-side window so Hy could hear. Holding the phone up so Navarro could see I was dialing the number on the
paper she clutched, I made the call and handed the receiver to her.

  Navarro pressed it to her ear. After a few seconds her eyes grew wide and her fingers tensed; she asked the SDPD operator for Viner’s extension. Identified herself and listened.

  “I see. … Yes. … I’ll …” She glanced at the gun I held. “I don’t know exactly when I’ll return to California, but I’ll be in touch with you.”

  Viner spoke some more.

  “Yes, she’s here.” Navarro handed the phone to me.

  “McCone, what the hell is going on?” Gary demanded.

  “I told you I’d have Ms. Navarro contact you. And I—”

  “I’m tired of this runaround. I want you in my office—”

  “I’ll see you in less than twelve hours.” Saying it gave me a rush of confidence. Maybe saying it would make it so.…

  “What time?”

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  “McCone—”

  I was tired of arguing with him, so I broke the connection. When I glanced at Hy, he looked amused.

  Navarro sat with her head down, hands twisted in her lap, still clutching the slip of paper. “It’s true,” she said, a desolate note underscoring her words.

  “It’s true.”

  She raised her head, turned to look at Hy. “You were there with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  He squatted beside the car, described the scene more tersely than he had to me. Navarro listened silently, flinching when he got to the part about Stan being shot.

  After Hy finished I said, “Everything’s coming unraveled, Ann. You’d better cooperate with us.”

  No reply.

  “You’re in very big trouble,” I added. “Kidnapping, accessory to transporting a kidnap victim over an international boundary. If Mourning dies, it’s special circumstances—carries the death penalty.”

  When she still didn’t say anything, Hy asked, “Where’s Fontes?”

  “… He flew to Mexico City with the letter of credit late this afternoon. He was going to … He said he was going to meet Stan there and put the L.C. through in the morning. Then they’d come back here to divide the money. But now I know that Stan’s—” She shook her head.

  “What about Timothy?”

  “At the villa. They’ve kept him doped up since … since this morning.”

  Hy said, “You know they’re going to kill him.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be that way!”

  He gave her a skeptical look, but didn’t comment.

  I said, “You also must realize what Fontes and Salazar plan for you.”

  Navarro still didn’t want to believe what was happening. She put out her hands, fending off reality. “How do I know any of what you say is the truth?”

  “You talked to Viner. That wasn’t a setup.”

  “But about Diane—how do I know she’s really alive?”

  I picked up the phone and held it out to her. “Call Cabrillo Hospital in San Diego. Ask for a report on her condition. When I saw her earlier, she was critical but stable. She was even able to talk with me for a while.”

  Navarro looked at the phone but didn’t take it. “Okay, maybe that’s so. But if Fontes is going to kill me and keep all the money, why did he send Diane back to the States? He could’ve just let her die.”

  “Her continued existence, as well as Tim’s, is insurance that he’ll get the money. He won’t know for sure that you’ve been straight with him until the L.C. clears. If anything goes wrong in Mexico City, he’s got the ammunition to force you to cooperate. Diane’s a co-conspirator; Tim’s a victim. They could testify against you.”

  “But he’s treated me like a business associate, a guest in his home. He hasn’t restricted me in any way.”

  “Of course not. He doesn’t want you to suspect what he plans to do. He’d probably have let you go on believing you were to get your share of the money right up till the end. But finally the time would have come for him to dispose of his liabilities—namely Tim, Diane, and you. Easy to get rid of you and Tim, and Diane wouldn’t be that much of a problem. If I could get to her in the hospital, so can Salazar or one of Fontes’s people.”

  Panic seeped into her eyes as she finally accepted reality. “I can’t go back to that house!”

  “Well, where do you expect to go?” Hy gestured at the darkness around us.

  Her gaze moved from me to him, pleading.

  “No,” he said, “we’re not going to help you.”

  “Unless you help us,” I added.

  Silence. Hy’s eyes met mine. We waited.

  “All right,” Navarro said heavily. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Help us get Mourning out of there.”

  “That’s impossible. You’d have to get past Salazar, Jaime, and Gilbert’s bodyguard.”

  “Two bodyguards,” Hy corrected her. “Fontes has two.” Obviously Tomás or someone else at the riverbed had been able to help him.

  “One’s with him in Mexico City.”

  “Okay,” I said, “we’re dealing with the one bodyguard, Salazar, and Jaime. Anybody else on the premises?”

  “The cook and the maid don’t live in. The maid brought some ice into the living room about half an hour before I came outside; she said they were both going home.”

  “What about the bartender?”

  “Just somebody who comes in when Fontes has people over.”

  “Salazar didn’t bring anybody with him but Jaime?”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay, give us some idea of the layout of the villa—where Mourning’s being held, where everybody else is sleeping.”

  Navarro began to talk, describing the rooms and various locations. She and Salazar were in the wing that looked like a bell tower; the others were in the shorter wing at the opposite end of the house. Mourning’s room was on the ground floor between those of the bodyguards, while Jaime slept directly upstairs.

  Hy asked, “Is there a security system?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “And have all the others gone to bed?”

  “I think so, but you never know with Salazar. He prowls.”

  Hy’s mouth twisted wryly and he touched his left arm. “I’m painfully aware of that.” He glanced across Navarro at me. “I’d better check it out with the camera.”

  “Okay.” I watched him move toward the path to the beach.

  His departure made Navarro nervous, as if she feared me more than him. She looked away to her right, shredding what remained of the slip of paper with Viner’s number on it. When I used the automatic controls to raise her window and lock her door, she started.

  I asked, “Will Salazar go looking for you if he finds you’re not where he left you?”

  “I doubt it. So long as my car’s still there, he’ll think I’ve gone to bed.”

  “Will he check your room?”

  “It wouldn’t do him any good. I’ve kept it locked the whole time I’ve been here, even when I wasn’t in there.” She reached into her pocket and showed me a key.

  “Just how doped up is Tim?”

  She considered. “He was mobile, but pretty spaced out earlier today. They probably knocked him out for the night, though.”

  I tried to picture rescuing a heavily drugged man from the guarded house. A seemingly impossible task. And then there was the problem of moving him across the border once we got to Tijuana. The coyote, Al Mojas, might balk at the increased danger. I supposed we could hole up somewhere in the border city, make our move the next night when Mourning would be more alert, but I didn’t like that, either. Every additional minute we spent in Baja could be fatal.

  Of course, there was La Procuraduría de Protección al Turista—the Attorney General for the Protection of the Tourist. Wasn’t that the agency all the guidebooks told you to contact if you had legal trouble down here? Oh, sure. La Procuraduría probably lived in Fontes’s hip pocket; Gilbert would be wa
iting on its doorstep to welcome us. Besides, Mexico’s judicial system operates on the Napoleonic Code: you’re guilty until proven innocent. And we were about to be guilty as hell of breaking into Fontes’s villa.

  To take my mind off all the possible pitfalls, I decided to clear up some details that had been bothering me. I asked Navarro, “You were holding Tim at your house near Blossom Hill?”

  “… Yes. We didn’t … treat him badly.”

  Even though you intended to kill him later. “How did Fontes figure out where he was?”

  “Diane let it slip. She drinks, and when she drinks, she talks too much.”

  “Didn’t it make you suspicious of Fontes’s intentions when Jaime brought Tim here last night?”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “You’ve been under surveillance for quite some time now.”

  “Oh. Well … yes, at first I wondered, but then Gilbert took me aside and explained that he felt it’d be safer for all of us to be down here in Baja. He pays protection to the federal police, you see. It made sense, and besides, I’d been worried about Tim. He was alone with nobody to look after him. At first I planned only to stay down here the one night.”

  “What explanation did Fontes give you for having the L.C.?”

  “He told me that a few years ago, before Stan and I were married, Stan got into big-time financial trouble and borrowed heavily from him to bail himself out. The note had come due, so Stan gave Fontes the L.C. as security against his being repaid out of our share of the proceeds. It surprised me, but I figured Stan knew what he was doing. I was the only one who could activate the process of drawing on it, through my contact at Colores.”

  “Had Stan ever mentioned this financial problem to you?”

  “No.”

  “Or the outstanding loan?”

  “No.”

  “Had he ever even mentioned knowing Gilbert Fontes?”

  She shook her head, eyes turned down.

  “ And you—a smart businesswoman—bought the whole story, just like that?”