Grave Secrets

“Ariel himself. Told Gutiérrez he’d screwed up, suggested a rosary and confession.”

“Jesus.”

“I don’t think the big guy got involved.”

“Have you found anything to link Gutiérrez to Patricia Eduardo?”

“Nada.”

“To the Paraíso?”

“Not yet. We’ll be working those angles a lot harder now.”

I thought a moment.

“The hair links Patricia to the Specter cat.”

“We’re working that, too.”

“Ryan’s doing some digging on the ambassador.”

“I asked him to, but I’m not optimistic.”

“Diplomatic firewall?”

“Like penetrating the CIA.”

After a silence, Galiano said, “Ryan’s keeping us in the loop on Nordstern.”

“We’ll know more when we go through his notes.”

“Hernández and I confiscated a laptop when we tossed his room at the Todos Santos.”

“Anything useful?”

“Let you know when we crack the password.”

“Ryan’s pretty good at that. Listen, Galiano. I want to help.”

“I would like that.” I heard him draw a deep breath. When he spoke again his voice sounded huskier. “These deaths haunt me, Tempe. Claudia. Patricia. These girls were the age of my son, Alejandro. That is not an age to die.”

“Díaz will be livid if he hears about the CT scans.”

“We’ll get him a snow cone.” The melancholy was gone.

“I’m finished here. It’s time to refocus on Chupan Ya. If I can also help nail Patricia Eduardo’s killer, I’ll die a happy woman.”

“Not on my patch.”

“Deal.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” he asked.

“What’s that?”

“The perp’s full name.”

It took me a moment.

“Miguel Angel Gutiérrez,” I said.

“A guilt-ridden id can break your balls.”

I finished my reports on the shrunken head and the dismembered torso, and informed LaManche of my plans to return to Guatemala. He told me to be safe, wished me well.

Ryan arrived as I was finalizing arrangements with Delta Airlines. He waited while I requested an aisle seat, then pried the receiver from my hand.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Comment ça va?”

I grabbed for the phone. My phone. Ryan stepped back and smiled.

“Mais, oui,” he purred. “But I speak English.”

I curled my fingers in a “gimme” gesture. Ryan reached out and wrapped his free hand around mine.

“Not really. But your job, now that’s difficult,” he said, voice oozing sympathy. “I couldn’t begin to keep all those flights and timetables straight.”

Unbelievable. The guy was turning the charm on a reservation agent in suburban Atlanta! My eyeballs rolled almost a full three-sixty.

“Montreal.”

And the bimbo was asking his whereabouts.

“You’re right. It’s not that far at all.”

Yanking my hand free, I slumped back in my chair, picked up a pen, and began sliding it end to end through my fingers.

“Do you think you could squeeze me onto that same flight Dr. Brennan just booked, chère ?”

I stopped in mid-slide.

“Lieutenant-détective Andrew Ryan.”

Pause.

“Provincial police.”

I heard a distant, metallic voice as Ryan shifted the phone to his other ear.

“You learn to live with the danger.”

I nearly gagged.

After a pause,

“Fantastique.”

What was fantastic?

“That would be terrific.”

What would be terrific?

“No problem at all. Dr. Brennan knows I’m a tall boy. She won’t mind a middle seat.”

I sat forward.

“Dr. Brennan will mind a middle seat.”

Ryan waved a hand at me. I threw the pen. He batted it down.

“Six foot two.”

Eyes of blue. I knew her reply without having to hear it.

“Yes, I guess they are.” Humble laugh.

This was absurd.

“Really? I don’t want you breaking rules on my account.”

Long pause.

“Two A and Two B through to G City. You’re amazing.”

Pause.

“I owe you, Nickie Edwards.”

Pause.

“You do that.”

Ryan handed me the receiver. I cradled it without comment.

“No need to thank me,” he said.

“Thank you?”

“We’re riding up front.”

“I’ll send Nickie a Hallmark.”

“I didn’t ask for special treatment.”

“I guess Nickie was overwhelmed by your French magnetism.”

“I guess.”

“Is Nickie going to knit you a sweater for those cool Guatemalan nights?”

“Think I can get through to her again?” Ryan leaned on the arm of my chair and reached for the phone. I held him off with a hand to the chest.

“You could have her traced,” I suggested icily.

He shook his head. “Abuse of the badge.”

“Not to worry. Nickie will be calling once she’s finished the Teach Yourself French tapes.”

“Think she’d FedEx the sweater ahead?”

I shoved. Ryan righted himself, but did not open the distance between us.

“Are we going to continue this little tête-à-tête, or are you going to tell me why you booked a flight to Guatemala City?”

“Quickest way to get there.”

“Ryan—”

“You’re not delighted at the prospect of my company? You’re breaking my heart.” He placed both hands over the injured organ.

“You are not going to Guatemala to please me.”

“I would.” The choirboy smile.

“Do you intend to tell me why?”

Ryan ticked off points on his fingers. “Uno: Olaf Nordstern was killed in Montreal shortly after arriving from Guatemala. Dos: Nordstern’s assassin carried a Guatemalan passport. Tres: André Specter, Canadian ambassador to Guatemala and citizen of our fair city, is currently the subject of discreet inquiry.”