Broken Lullaby Page 7

  “Mitch has been here all morning, unofficially. We’re really hoping we can tie the unidentified male from the case he worked on six months ago to Alma and—” Ruth’s phone vibrated and she left the room without finishing her sentence.

  Mitch paced the length of the small waiting room, talking, then hung up and turned to her.

  He told her that when Alma had been discovered by two men out panning for gold near one of the mining camps in the Lower Sonoran Desert, she’d been overheated. For the last two days, the hospital’s main goal had been to reduce her core body temperature. He also told her that the children taken during the last three years had all been Hispanic except one. Then Mitch confirmed that Alma, who looked like a young girl herself, had indeed given birth within the last few months.

  “She opened her eyes at 10:00 p.m. last night,” Ruth said as she re-entered the waiting room, snapping her cell shut and motioning for them all to follow her down the short hallway. “She looked around the room, saw the officer on guard and promptly closed her eyes again. The guard thought she’d done it on purpose.”

  “That’s exactly what I would have done given the same circumstances,” Mary whispered, as Ruth stopped and nodded at Rico, who opened the door to let them into room fourteen.

  Ruth took the chair by the bed, opened her notebook and quickly started writing. Rico moved his chair just inside the door. Mitch glanced at the clock. It was almost noon now. Surely, Alma was awake.

  Mary glanced at Justin who was nodding his head to the beat of a song they couldn’t hear. Mitch touched the boy’s shoulder. He pulled the earbuds out and pocketed them. The room was small, with two beds, two televisions and a big dry erase board that identified Alma’s nurse as James, her doctor as Fletcher and Ruth as the person to call in case of emergency.

  The second bed was empty. Alma lay in the bed closest to the door. Even with all the room traffic, she didn’t open her eyes.

  “Hey,” Justin said, moving to the hospital bed. “Remember me? I’m Justin. Mom found you at our used car lot. We tried to help you get away.”

  Alma moaned and her eyelids flickered. Her breathing relaxed.

  “This isn’t my first time in this hospital. I was born here. Sure is a tiny place.”

  Alma opened her eyes.

  Mitch took a step toward the girl, but Ruth stopped him by saying under her breath, “Remember, Mitch, you’re not officially involved.” She carefully, quietly, scooted her chair away from the bed, trying to appear unobtrusive, letting Justin have the dominant position, and asked, “Alma, how are you feeling?”

  Alma quickly closed her eyes. Frustration washed over Mitch. His hands clenched.

  “Alma,” Ruth tried again.

  Mary stood, walked over and gently touched Alma’s cheek. “You gave us quite a scare. I’ve been kicking myself ever since I helped you run. Dummy me. I forgot how hot it gets here. Justin and I didn’t get to unpack that day. The police kept searching for you and questioning us. We wound up spending the night with my brother and his family in Gila City. Do you have family there?”

  Alma didn’t move.

  Mary continued, “What a homecoming. It’s been almost three years since I last saw my brother Eric. I ran away, see. My husband got in some trouble and I was afraid Justin would be taken away from me. My late husband managed the used car lot where you were hiding. I inherited it, which is why we stopped there and ended up finding you.”

  Mitch started to move closer to the bed. If he was reading Alma’s body language correctly, Mary was getting through. Ruth gracefully stopped him again with just the right placement of her foot. Mary glared at Ruth and then Mitch warning them with a look to give them space.

  “It was our first day back,” Mary continued. “When we pulled up to the cabin, my brother was supposed to hand over a key and help us unload the U-Haul. They had no idea you were in the back of my car and I wasn’t going to tell them. But then they mentioned the missing baby.”

  “Missing baby?” Alma opened her eyes.

  Mitch stepped over Ruth’s foot and edged closer to the bed. Then he caught Mary’s scent, all sunshine and peaches. It gave him pause and before he could regroup, Mary began talking again. “Yes, they were looking for little José Santos, the baby we know you saw at the festival. Now he is missing, and his mother wants him back. Do you know anything? Can you help?”

  “¡No puedo encontrar hasta mi propio bebé!” she cried.

  “English, speak in English,” Ruth urged.

  Mitch glanced over at Rico. He left his chair and came to stand at the foot of the bed. “She said she can’t even find her own baby.”

  Her words explained a lot. She must have been taking a thorough look at little José to make sure he wasn’t her own missing son.

  “Tell us about your baby, Alma,” Mitch said. “I promise you that while we look for José we’ll look for…?”

  “Tomás,” Alma said, her voice croaky and weak. She cleared her throat and when she spoke again, her voice strengthened. “My son’s name is Tomás.”

  One of the machines hooked up to Alma beeped. It wasn’t but a moment before the doctor came in and shooed everyone except Ruth out. Mitch looked at his watch. He needed to make a phone call.

  For the past three days he’d been trying to get the crooked border patrol officer, Darryl Farr, to agree to speak to him. So far, Farr had refused, and with the virtual handcuff of temporary leave restraining him, Mitch didn’t dare visit the prison. At the trial two months ago Farr claimed to be working alone. Mitch didn’t believe him, not then and certainly not now. Farr also claimed not to know any of the illegals he’d been helping across. Now that Mitch was so close to getting an ID on the dead man, Farr might be willing to talk a bit more about who he worked with and why.

  It was too much of a coincidence, a dead illegal’s widow showing up months later, scared of the law and looking for a missing husband and a missing baby.

  Especially when hers wasn’t the only baby they were looking for.

  EIGHT

  While the doctor visited Alma, Mary took Justin down to the cafeteria. The hospital’s cafeteria would never earn a mention from Gourmet magazine, but for two hungry people it would do. Justin had a burrito, then two and finally three, warmed up in an ancient microwave. Mary nibbled on a ham and cheese sandwich and tried not to dwell on Alma’s trouble.

  Mitch finally came in. He poured himself a cup of coffee, paid for it and sat down at their table. His every move radiated unleashed exasperation, exasperation that he tried to cover but couldn’t—at least not from Mary.

  “So what do you think?” Mary asked, but he didn’t have time to answer before Ruth came to take them back to Alma’s room.

  Alma was sitting up now. A tray of food was in front of her and she tried to smile at Mary. She did smile at Justin.

  “We’re glad you’re feeling better,” Justin said awkwardly. He then looked at her tray of food and made a face. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Maybe,” she said carefully.

  Rico spoke up, “Miss Alma, we’re hoping you have information about the abduction of Jo—”

  “I am Senora Fuentes. I am a married woman. My husband, Leandro Fuentes, crossed the border a few months ago. He is missing.” She looked at Mitch. “Like my own son is missing.”

  “What do you mean, your son is missing?” Rico asked.

  Alma teared up and one of the monitors beeped. After a moment a nurse came in, pushed on a button a few times and said, “If her blood pressure gets any higher, I’m kicking you all out. I don’t care how many badges are in this room. Don’t upset her.”

  Mitch came to stand by Mary. She felt the warmth of his body. The man had charisma. She almost moved, but she’d always been taught that when somebody invaded your space uninvited, moving only showed weakness.

  She’d surrendered her space to Eddie. She wouldn’t make that mistake again, so she stood her ground, surprised to find herself relaxing as Mitch start
ed speaking.

  “Alma, you approached Angelina and her son at the festival last Sunday because you recognized that the baby was about your son’s age. Right?”

  Alma nodded.

  “How long have you been looking for your baby?”

  Alma pushed herself up even more and Mary’s respect grew. When it came to her baby, Alma did not want to be considered a child. She would assert herself as a woman. She asked, “What day is today?”

  “Monday,” Ruth supplied.

  It took a moment for Alma to tabulate, but finally she stated, “Today would be eleven days.”

  Softly, but with the same serious tone Alma used, Mitch asked, “Who took your baby? Do you know?”

  Alma shot a questioning look at Mary. “You need to tell them, Alma. What’s important is getting Tomás back, and you can’t do it on your own.”

  Alma nodded. “I will tell everything.” Then, in a strong voice she began her story. It only took Mary a few moments to realize that Alma didn’t intend to answer the question Who took your baby? directly. No, Alma was starting at the beginning, leaving out nothing, not her inner thoughts, not her terror. When she slipped into Spanish, Rico filled in.

  “The top of my head was hot, so hot, I remember, and it hurt to walk,” Alma said. Her eyes hardened and her hands clenched into balls. “My stepfather has been crossing the border off and on for years. He said, ‘Se hace más resistente,’ it’s getting tougher. This time, just in case it got even tougher next time, he brought us. He was afraid that he might get separated from my mother.”

  Romantic, yes, thought Mary, realistic, no.

  “Plus, there was nothing left for us in Mexico. My stepfather lost my father’s ranch, even my father’s belongings. It all happened so fast. My stepfather said America’s a promised land, like in the Bible. I did not believe him. I know the Bible. I know the Promised Land is where you make it. It is where God is. My stepfather, he does not know God. I do. My husband, my baby, my family, my faith, they are the Promised Land. But Leandro went missing and my stepfather promised we would find Leandro. I so wanted to believe him. When we came to America, my brother and me would work, Mama would watch the baby and we would all look for Leandro.”

  Ruth was scribbling a mile a minute. Rico had taken out a recorder and Mary wondered if he was supposed to ask permission. Justin edged closer to Rico, fascinated with the tape recorder. Mitch leaned forward. He hung on every word. He didn’t need a recorder. Alma’s eyes were locked on his as she continued.

  “Something did not feel right, even from the time we set out. The only thing that kept me going, kept me from falling, was the weight of Tomás. That last hour, he was not awake but not asleep, either. I had him under a blanket, trying to keep the sun from burning his precious skin. But, it made Tomás hot and uncomfortable, so he was restless. I was hot and uncomfortable, restless, too. Yet, I had prayer. I was so full of hope that Leandro would be just across the border and that the United States was really worth this miserable experience. And the whole time we were walking, my stepfather kept saying we would have a much better life. That is what he said.”

  “What is your stepfather’s name?” Ruth asked.

  “Roberto Herrara.” Alma shook her head. “He married my mama three years ago. I have no respect for him. It only took Roberto two years to spend all my mama’s money. And he is mean. I hurried up and married Leandro. I tell mama to leave Roberto, bring my little brother and come live with me.

  “But Mama would not come to live with me. She believed she had to stay with her husband, even if he was mean. About that time, Roberto started crossing the border a lot. He took our furniture and said he was using it to pay our passage. I said good riddance. I hoped he would take our furniture and disappear.

  “But my mama did not say that. She say, ‘Alma, no, él intent.’ He is trying. I would say, ‘Trying to what?’ And Mama had no answer except that for the last two years, whenever he came back from crossing the border, he would have money. More money than furniture or cows would bring.”

  Ruth inched her chair forward. “How did your mother meet Herrara? And where?”

  “Mama went to a wedding in the next village. Roberto was a friend of the groom’s parents. He sang at the wedding. He sang to my mama. Then, for the next few months, every time he came to visit his friend, he visited my mama. He painted the hallway, fixed some steps. He called himself a jack of all trades. We all liked him. He changed right after she married him.”

  “What does your stepfather look like?”

  “He is younger than my papa, but he is lazy. When I last saw him, he wore his hair long, in a ponytail. It was turning gray, and he did not wash it. When he stood, he was tall, but he walked with a stoop. The only thing nice about him was his voice. His voice was very deep, very rich. I think Mama thought that anyone who could sing like he did had to be a good person.”

  Alma was looking at Mary so she missed the shadow that momentarily darkened Mitch’s face, but Mary caught it out of the corner of her eye. Mary wondered what he was thinking, what information he was hiding.

  “I had a worthy papa,” Alma went on. “Nothing like Roberto. My real papa, he was a successful rancher. He smiled all the time. He made our ranch the biggest in the town and the most successful. We always had enough and then some. Papa shared with everyone. Everyone was loyal to Papa. Papa, too, dreamed of crossing the border. Seems like everyone I knew, except me and Mama, dreamed about crossing the border. Me? I was happy in our little town. But Papa, he kept trying to arrange legal immigration papers. He was sure it would happen. For five summers he hired a private teacher to come and teach me and my brother English. My papa learned, too. He made us read books in English, watch English television. He dreamed big.”

  Her eyes turned thoughtful. “Mama said she could not learn English. And even knowing she would be in a place where few understood her and she understood few, she was willing to risk meeting the border patrol and cross the border to help me find Leandro. The crossing was hard on her. Always the coyotes were screaming, Andole! Pronto!

  “I remember thinking, ‘What right did these men have to yell at her to hurry?’ They did not yell at me, not like at her. They wanted me to be careful, to keep the baby out of the sun, to nurse the baby. Always something. I have never been so miserable, scared and angry. But I did not cry. Tears would bring the coyotes. The way they looked at me was frightening.”

  Alma started getting upset again. Mary glanced at the monitor above Alma’s head. Mitch didn’t seem to notice, but Rico did and said, “We can take a break if you like, Alma.”

  She shook her head. “I want to tell this. I want Tomás found. I want my mother and brother found and away from that man. I do not care what happens to me.”

  Her hands were still clenched so tightly that Mary could see her knuckles whiten, but still Alma went on.

  “When we got near Yuma, Arizona, we all sat down, put our socks over our shoes and tried not to leave footprints. I wondered if this Yuma existed. It was loco, paying three thousand dollars each to leave home and travel toward…what? Roberto always changed the subject when I asked him where he’d gotten the money for our crossing, where we would live in the U.S. and how we would begin to look for Leandro.

  “I kept shifting Tomás from one arm to the other because both my arms were hurting. My mama, she was about twenty steps behind. Her hair was damp. She was hunched over with every step and she was as bright red as I had ever seen, but still Mama kept putting one step in front of the other. If Mama could do it, so could I.

  “I needed a drink of water and I figured I knew how the rich man in the Bible felt. The one in the book of Luke, the one who asked for the beggar Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool his tongue because he was in such agony from the fire. I was also feeling such agony. And then I heard ‘Estamos aqui!’ We’re here and saw the road. There were three trucks and more men. Mama stumbled and fell. Jaime, my little brother, ran back to help. He
looked excited. At that moment, I think he believed in Roberto’s promised land. I feel bad now because maybe I almost did, too.

  “We rushed, about thirty of us—men, women and children—toward the trucks. Roberto said that one would head for California, one for New Mexico and the other would stay here in Arizona. We would stay in Arizona because that is where Roberto said he had last seen Leandro. The coyotes were laughing as they loaded the trucks. I shifted Tomás to my other arm and tried to help Jaime hurry with Mama. I really wanted to run, to get to a truck and get away from the sun. I wanted cold water, life-giving water. I would bathe Tomás in it.

  “One of the engines started. California was loading its people into the back of a truck with no windows, no ventilation I could see. A few immigrants complained. They were told go or stay. They had paid their money, they were in the U.S. and the coyotes were done. New Mexico left next. That left Arizona and only my family.

  “I was not impressed by this Arizona so far. Mama got in the back of the truck first, helped by Roberto. Jaime jumped in next. He reached down to take the baby and one of the coyotes said, ‘Esto es el tiempo’ It is time.

  “I thought it meant time to go,” Alma croaked.

  The monitor beeped, and Rico dropped his recorder. Mitch remained focused. It was his strength that Alma was drawing on now.

  All Mary had to offer was the gift of empathy.

  She crouched next to the bed and took Alma’s hand and crooned, “It will be all right.”

  Alma squeezed Mary’s hand and this time Mary got the smile, but Mitch got Alma’s attention. Mary had to give Alma credit. Once she decided to talk, she had a lot to say.

  “The coyote who had spent the most time yelling at me to hurry up, to be careful, to stop talking, to nurse the baby, stepped up and held out his arms. He held out his arms! And before I could react, before I even realized what was really happening, Roberto took Tomás. Instead of passing the baby up to Jaime, he handed the baby over to the coyote.”