Lives Undone Page 9

  "Sounds simple enough. And these lines here?"

  "Don't worry about them for now. In a real game the court is divided into areas and all that. Just be careful — the ball can come at you really hard."

  "According to physics, if we don't throw it hard, it won't come back that hard,” James observed.

  Diego only smiled with something of a glint in his eyes before he served. The ball sounded like a gunshot as it hit the wall and flew at James. His instinct took over, and he caught it with the basket, throwing it back.

  "Good," Diego said. He caught the ball on the rebound and threw it again with greater force.

  James was able to catch it and return it to the wall more softly. Diego, however, increased the force with which he played, belying his assurance that this was just an exercise. At that speed, the ball acquired an almost deadly power.

  Diego threw it against the side walls, stepping in front of James. After twenty minutes, the leather on the ball burst and Diego tossed it aside, getting a new one from the box outside. James glanced back at the gallery, and Pete made a motion with his arm, urging him to be more aggressive.

  Hadn't Pete just told him not to show off?

  But Diego had returned and already thrown a ball against the wall with full force. It came hurtling toward James, who had to duck.

  "Point for me," Diego said.

  Is that how you want to play, you little shit?

  In the wilderness, small victories or defeats often meant the difference between life and death. One didn't climb a frozen mountain, run in a desert for days looking for food or fight off predators without entering survival mode. It was an instinct that was hard to turn off.

  Or perhaps Pete was right, and James just didn't like to lose.

  The serve was his, and he threw the ball with all his might against the wall. It hit Diego's basket with a dry thud, pushing his arm backwards. Diego hurled it back fast, but James' blood was up, and he now matched every one of his opponent's pitches with equal or superior force.

  Diego tried to block him, so that he couldn't catch the ball or had to throw it with little room to maneuver, but James slipped out of the way, leaving Diego breathless and confused until he began losing. His smile had disappeared by match point: James had the advantage.

  It was Diego's serve, and James sidestepped him, touching the wall to their left with his foot and catching a ball that Diego had sent flying high. He threw it back with an added push from his body.

  The ball returned to Diego with the speed of a bullet. He moved away, flattening himself against the wall. Game over.

  Pete clapped, and Diego wiped the sweat from his brow with a sleeve. "Well done." He wagged his finger at James. "Are you sure you haven't played before?"

  James wished he had a more gracious expression to glue on his face; he couldn’t help a bit of a gloat. They shook hands before moving on to the changing room.

  "Go England!" Pete muttered, joining James outside. "I enjoyed that after all. And I'm leaving."

  He handed the bag to James and waved to Diego.

  In the changing room Diego seemed to have recovered from his loss and told the attendant, "Dale dos toallas al señor."

  Taking the towels the man offered, James undressed and walked to the showers. He stepped under a jet of water, letting it run over him. Diego opened the nozzle two showers away, but James realized that he was turning one way and another to throw quick looks at him; not the glances a man might throw at another to measure himself against a potential rival; not the frank stare of men who could stand naked and uninterested in each other's body. These were greedy, furtive looks.

  James stood naked, facing Diego, as he rubbed himself dry.

  "It was a good game," Diego said, staring at the tiles in front of him. "The ball almost never touched the floor, did you notice?"

  "Isn't it supposed to go like that?”

  Diego's gaze swept over James' chest and belly before he averted his eyes. "I need to bring you into the team, you will do even better when you’ve played with us a while."

  Smiling, James wiped his neck. Diego's dark eyes flickered like a fire being lit. He averted them again. Wrapping the towel around his waist, James walked back to the bench to get clean clothes from his bag.

  Diego followed, and as James put on his jeans, he pointed at a scar on his side. "That wasn't appendicitis, was it?"

  "Knife."

  "Really?" Diego laughed in disbelief. "Did it hurt?"

  "Burned a bit."

  "A bit? Wow. And this?"

  He took a step forward and his finger hovered above another scar on James' shoulder.

  "That was just a thorn. Big one."

  Diego’s hand wavered, then retreated. "I have to get the clothes in my locker. See you outside for a drink?" He squeezed James’ shoulder as he walked away. "You did incredibly well. Me tienes que dar la revancha!"

  James waited for him outside; Diego emerged with his hair smoothly brushed, wearing sunglasses. "Come and meet my father and my grandfather."

  I might as well, James thought. I might as well meet the whole damned family.

  The two Aguirres, Eduardo the grandfather and Miguel the father, were sitting in the manicured garden beneath a tree in flower. Eduardo's round belly was moving in laughter at something his son had said. He was a small man with a passing resemblance to a garden gnome. Miguel was more than a head taller than his father and sat in expensive lounge trousers and a spotless striped shirt. He stood as they approached while the old man, who had a cane next to him, stayed in his seat.

  Diego spoke in Spanish. "This is James St. Bryce, papá, abuelo."

  Miguel shook James' hand. "I went to the estate of a St. Bryce family once, in the south of England," Miguel said as they took their seats. "Any relation to you?”

  "Deerholt, maybe?"

  "That's it."

  "That's home."

  "We could only walk around the woods, but it was very nice," Miguel told his father. "There were lots of deer there still."

  "I like your country," Eduardo told James politely. "But I'm glad your Spanish is good, because I have a terrible accent in English. I get tired when I have to speak it.”

  "James speaks Castilian,” Diego observed.

  "People are scared of that lisp here," Miguel said affably.

  "Five hundred years later?" James asked.

  "Los españoles son muy tajantes," Eduardo said, widening his eyes. "The Spaniards sound forceful, and we Mexicans are always so sweet. Ahorita, ahoritita, mañanita ..."

  "I think I've already shocked some people by not being formal enough."

  "In Mexico extreme formality usually hides a desire for violence," Miguel said. "Have you heard the expression, 'Te matan por nada'?"

  They'll kill you for nothing. James had heard it from Pete, in a bullring — as Lee sat next to the man who kept throwing him looks. He didn't like hearing the phrase again from Miguel in that well-groomed garden.

  "James lived part of his life in the wilderness, abuelo. With tribes."

  Diego spoke loudly and slowly, as if his grandfather were a child. Eduardo, however, didn't seem to mind. He put his lips together to give a whistle of surprise, "Oh, really? In the wild, just like that?"

  "Part of the time."

  "Have you ever lived with a tribe that has cows?"

  Miguel laughed. "My father only cares about cattle."

  "I lived with the Maasai for a while," James said. "They're cattle breeders. They don’t have as much cattle as they used to, though."

  "Why not?"

  "They don't have as much land anymore. And not the right land."

  "That's a pity." Eduardo looked around at the other tables and shook his head at the people staring at their phones. "Sometimes all this progress is nothing, you know."

  It was Diego's turn to laugh. "Abuelo, your grandfather also thought the world was ending when you were my age."

  "The world was ending when I was your age. That's when t
he Beatles showed up."

  The men around the table had a good laugh at this and Eduardo leaned toward James. "I will be eighty years old next week. Then I will retire from the senate, and I'll only stay up in my ranch." His old eyes lit up. "The Maasai, aren't they the ones that make a hole in the neck of the cow to drink the blood?"

  "Yes, they do that."

  Eduardo laughed once more, patting James' hand. "You're invited to my party. Diego, put him on the list. Then you'll see my cattle, and you'll tell me if I'm doing better than the Maasai."

  James wondered what the old man would think of the modern world, if he knew the truth about his grandson. What would Miguel Aguirre think, as he smiled with steel behind urbane eyes?

  You poor bastard, James thought, looking at Diego.

  SIXTEEN

  The terrace wrapped around the two apartments, and it was divided by a fence. The brothers had put a gate on the fence to be able to go back and forth more freely.

  Lee was not often invited over to David’s, not even when Luz was there. She had, however, used a clay mold to make a copy of the key to the gate, and could move between the two terraces. David wanted a lot less servants at his apartment than Diego — probably so that he could prepare his heroin hits, enjoy the highs and ride out the lows without being observed.

  But since Quinn had told her that Luz’s phone was next door, Lee had been more interested in David's safe than in Diego's. Perhaps David had only taken the phone away, as he had threatened to do — it was the latest iPhone, and Luz's bill had been connected to his account. He was such a little shit, it wouldn't be surprising if he hadn’t even left her a phone as a present.

  But why was he answering her messages?

  To keep Lee (and maybe others) from bothering him about the way he had dumped Luz? To keep anyone from judging him?

  David wouldn't care about being judged for dumping a girl like Luz. Then why was he answering her messages? It could only be to stop people from asking where she was.

  Lee hadn't told James anything else about Luz because she only had budding suspicions, not facts. He had never met Luz; he might dismiss the story of her disappearance until Lee had more proof. And maybe there was nothing fishy at all, but Lee’s gut still nagged her.

  It nagged her until Diego went next door. It was less risky for her to slip into David's apartment through the terrace when they were there, stoned. David’s apartment would fill with staff cleaning and preparing food for him whenever he wasn’t there.

  The brothers were asleep on David’s bed with a lamp forming star-shaped lights on the wall. A rectangle of burnt aluminum paper and a silver tube lay between them. Lee moved silently to David's office and plucked the camera from its hiding place. She had already watched him type the combination and now used it to open the safe: there were four iPhones inside.

  She grabbed the first one and turned it on. It was locked by a password. She did the same to all the other phones, and all were locked.

  Damn, if she could only take them away with her, Quinn would break the codes — but David might immediately notice they were gone, just as Diego would have noticed the absence of his iPad.

  They were iPhones for women, all the cases in the same champagne color. Nothing else inside the safe was of any interest, except a dose of heroin that could kill an elephant and would probably last them a while.

  Shutting the safe, Lee moved back toward the bedroom on naked feet and again watched the brothers. David slept with his mouth open, his face as rosy as a kid's. Why did he have those phones?

  Was he answering all the messages they received?

  Back at Diego's apartment, Lee thought of the careful way he had lined up the phones inside the safe and shuddered. Her own phone, which she had left in silent mode, lit up with a message and she almost jumped. It was from James: Can you come? Need to talk to you. Not over the phone.

  Will be there in half an hour, she texted back.

  When she got to the house in Condesa, James was in the garden. Mexico was the country of surprises: one could cross a narrow house and find a breathtaking garden like his, stuck between high walls. James waited for her among exotic plants and wildflowers, framed by two palm trees.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  He motioned for her to sit next to him. By his expression, it was obvious that he hadn't asked her there to play.

  "I know what's up with Diego and his iPad," he said. "He's probably looking at photos of men."

  Lee blinked. "He's gay?"

  "Yes. He’s covering it up with you."

  She sat back. "How do you know?"

  "Met him at his club and was in the shower with him."

  "What?"

  "That came out wrong. We played Jai Alai at his club, and in the locker room it was clear that he was looking at me."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I provoked him to almost make a move, but he backed away at the last moment. I'm not sure he has ever crossed the line and actually been with another man, but I'm beyond sure that he wants to."

  “Do you think it would be such a shock here?”

  "It’s a shock to conservative parents anywhere. There are gays who are out and proud in Mexico, but I don't think that poor bloke would in a million years admit it to his family." James shrugged. "It's horrible to have to lie your whole life — but Diego will probably stay in denial.”

  Lee sat back, thinking of all the signs she had ignored that would confirm that Diego’s secret was nothing beyond homosexuality. "He should go live somewhere else, away from his parents."

  "Can you imagine him telling that father or mother that he's giving up the family business? I think they'd figure out the truth and cut him off."

  "You're right.” She scoffed. “His brother is a disgusting piece of crap, but I’m sure even he would be horrified at the thought that Diego likes men.”

  “He’s looking at gay porn on his iPad, erasing the history all the time and keeping it in the safe anyway. That's how paranoid he is.”

  “Will you tell him what you know?"

  "I think he knows I know. And I need no proof, because he's a coward."

  "He's a coward but there is something remotely decent about him," Lee said pensively. "I think that even if he has a video of Caitlin, he wouldn't use it."

  "OK, no need to become a fan." James leaned forward and placed his hands on her waist, caressing it. "The point is, the horrible thing I asked you to do is over."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. Will you forgive me?"

  "I forgave you long ago, James, if you've forgiven me."

  "You know I have. I only want you not to run away again without telling me." His eyes searched her face for a moment, and he smiled. "Actually, I don't care if you do. You know I'll find you, and I'll make you sorry."

  There was an icy feeling in her belly, about different things. About four phones lined up in a safe, about Diego, about James.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "You'd get tired."

  "Of what? Finding you?"

  She nodded, and his gaze sharpened.

  "You're thinking of bolting, are you?"

  Lee looked at his hands, which had fallen on her thighs. "No."

  "Then go break up with Diego and get your things. I love Mexico, but it's time we got out."

  "Not yet.” She looked up. "There's something I haven't told you — about the girl, David's girlfriend."

  "The one you were trying to text in Cuernavaca?"

  "Yes. She disappeared."

  "What do you mean 'disappeared'?"

  "She went north to the grandfather's ranch with them and never came back."

  He frowned. "And what did they say?"

  "Diego told me David dumped her."

  "Well, there you go."

  "But he has her phone."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because he has been answering the messages I sent to her."

  It was his turn to sit back. "And how do you know
that?"

  "Quinn — my … friend, you know — told me the phone was right next door while I was receiving texts from her."

  "Still relying on your friend? Anyway, Maybe David was trying not to seem like an insensitive shit who dumps girls?"

  "There's more."

  "Ah,” he said tonelessly. “I thought there might be."

  "He has a bunch of iPhones, different models but all for women, in his safe. And you'll say that he's an insensitive shit who takes back the presents he gives, but then why not recycle the phone and give it to the next girl?"

  James was strangely still. "I'm sure you have a theory."

  "He's answering messages in all of them. For all the girls."

  "But that would mean he did something to them."

  She nodded. "I think he has."

  "So you think several girls could disappear and no one would be looking for them — knowing that they were all David's girlfriends?"

  "Four girls like them could disappear, and no one would care."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Four poor girls."

  Standing abruptly, James walked away from her toward the edge of the garden. It was as if he were gathering patience enough to say, "Lee, try not to let your experience cloud your vision. David is a rich wanker who dumps his girlfriends and keeps the phones he gave them, that's all.”

  "Keeps them in a safe — why?" Lee also stood. "Answers the messages from one of them — why? Don't you see, he's been answering them all, to keep the families at bay. To keep them thinking the girls are somewhere when they're actually—”

  "Dead? Oh, come on!" James cried. "He’s not a serial killer!”

  Lee shook her head slowly, crossing her arms. "If even one white, middle-class girl had disappeared like Luz did, there would be police all over this. Instead, there has been nothing in the press, even though the magazines are constantly writing about David and Diego."

  "Do you know for a fact that she didn't go home to her family?"

  "She didn't. She would have called me, texted me from her real new phone."

  "I think you're not considering how difficult it would be for someone like David Aguirre to go around murdering girls. He'd have a lot to lose."

  "He doesn't think anyone can touch him,” Lee insisted passionately. “He doesn't think anyone will ever care about these girls or find out. He is stupid, vain and on heroin — which tends to distort reality even more."