The Mexico Run (19 page)

    I don't know what time I finally passed out, but the therapy apparently worked, because I didn't wake up until the knock came on my door some time late the following morning. Half awake, I turned over and looked at the wristwatch on the table beside the bed. It was exactly eleven thirty-five.

    I called out, "One minute please," and I staggered into the bathroom and threw some cold water on my face. I had fallen asleep without undressing. Going to the door, I called out, "Who is it?"

    Instead of a reply, there was a second knock.

    I wasn't surprised when I opened the door to find Captain Hernando Morales on the other side. If he was nervous, he didn't show it. He still wore the same hundred and fifty dollar silk suit, the gold, wire-rimmed glasses, and there was a straw panama tilted to one side of his head. He wasn't smiling.

    He wasn't alone either. Behind him were two policemen in uniform. For several moments he just looked at me, and then he spoke in a soft, insinuating voice.

    "I have heard of your tragedy, senor," he said. "I have come to offer my condolences."

    I wanted to choke, but I managed to get the words out. "Come in," I said. "Thank you for coming."

    He turned then, apparently secure in the Knowledge that I was not going to be violent, and with a nod dismissed his two bodyguards. They wandered down the hall, but I noticed that they didn't leave the area.

    A moment later he was in the room, and I had closed the door. We sat down in the twin chairs next to the window.

    "A tragedy," he said. "I can't express to you how sad I feel."

    "I am sure you do, captain," I said. "I feel sad myself."

    "If there's anything I can do…"

    "Sharon is dead," I said. "As soon as they release her body, I will see that she is properly buried. She has no family, as far as I know."

    "In that case," he said, "I don't believe it will be necessary to inform the American consulate, and you can probably make all the proper arrangements here in Ensenada."

    I nodded. "I will make the arrangements. But at the moment, Sharon is not the problem. The problem is a man named Angel Cortillo, who is being held for her murder."

    "Yes, so I understand."

    "Cortillo did not murder the girl, captain," I said.

    He looked at me coldly. "He didn't?"

    "I want him released," I said.

    Captain Morales shrugged. "A large request, senor."

    "I need Angel Cortillo," I said. "He is important to my plans. May I say, captain, to our plans."

    He hesitated a moment, while I lighted a cigarette, and then looked me straight in the eye.

    "You're wrong, Senor Johns," he said. "Angel Cortillo is not important to our plans. I think it is time I explained something to you. I was aware of the way you operated. I was aware of the fact that Cortillo transferred the cargo from his vessel to a second vessel, which you were probably on. I can now tell you something that you didn't know.

    "You were observed by one of our patrol planes in Mexican water. I assume it was you. It was a boat that made a rendezvous with Cortillo's vessel. The government is fully aware of what took place. It was a clever operation, but it wasn't clever enough. It will not work a second time. As a result, I must inform you that Angel Cortillo is not important to any future operation."

    "He is important to me," I said.

    "I'm glad you feel that way, Senor Johns. And now I will tell you something. He is also important to me."

    "Just what do you mean by that, captain?"

    "I will give it to you simply and clearly, Senor Johns. I think you are a very clever man. You conceived of a brilliant plan, but it wasn't quite brilliant enough. It worked once, but it won't work a second time. That, however, doesn't mean that we cannot continue to do business."

    "Perhaps you'd better explain, captain."

    "You came down here to smuggle marijuana into the States," Captain Morales said. "You're willing to take certain calculated risks. I admire your audacity, and I even admire the cleverness of your plan, although, as I say, it was doomed from the start to fail eventually. You make one major error, however. You're taking risks, gigantic risks, for a relatively small margin of profit. Marijuana is something for schoolboys to deal in. Let them move it across the border in their campers, or charter their small planes, or whatever they care to use. Let them make their relatively small profits. There are other commodities that bring much higher profits, and I'm in a position, as I was in the position in our previous deal, to make certain contacts for you, whereby the risks you take will pay off many times better than the ones you took in dealing in marijuana."

    I stared at him for several moments. I was beginning to get the idea. Finally I said, "I gather, captain, that you're talking about hard drugs: heroin, cocaine, opium."

    "That is exactly what I'm talking about," he said.

    "Let me make something clear to you, captain," I said. "On marijuana I was willing to go along. I don't consider it a particularly dangerous drug, and I was prepared to take certain chances to make a profit. When it comes to the hard stuff, I'm afraid you'll have to leave me out of it."

    He stood up then, turned his back, and spoke very softly.

    "I'm afraid you don't quite understand me, senor. I. don't believe you really want to-be left out of it. You see, you have certain stakes here in Mexico."

    "Certain stakes? Perhaps you'd better explain yourself, captain."

    He turned back,and looked me straight in the face.

    "You have a friend who's going to face a charge of first-degree murder. It's a clear-cut case. Fortunately, up to this point, this friend of yours has not been charged. There's been no publicity. The public is not aware of the crime. And it may just be possible that he could, as you say in the States, beat the rap."

    "He will beat the rap," I said. "You know and I know that he is innocent."

    Captain Morales shrugged. "Innocent? What establishes innocence?

    "You might be willing to throw your friend Angel Cortillo to the wolves in order to ensure your own safety, but I think there's something you're forgetting. You are in Mexico. When I came here I was accompanied by two policemen, who are still outside waiting. The murder of the girl who posed as your wife has not been solved completely. Even with the detention of your friend, Angel Cortillo, I understand the police believe there's a possibility that you yourself could have been involved in the crime. There are several unusual coincidences that they would like to have explained.

    "Why did you happen to leave town when you did, to return to the States? Why didn't you take the girl with you? How did Angel Cortillo happen to meet her? Is it just remotely possible-and please forgive me, for this is not my own suspicion, I am thinking the way the other officials might think-is it just possible that you wanted to get rid of this girl? That she was some sort or albatross around your neck, and that your friend, your very good friend from-long ago, was willing to do you a small favor?"

    The picture was becoming clear. I began to understand what it was all about.

    I looked up at him and I forced a thin smile. "You must find it very difficult enlisting mules, captain," I said.

    "Difficult to enlist runners who have imagination, intelligence, courage, and whom I would have a reason to trust completely. I feel, Senor Johns, in view of the current situation, I can completely trust you. As you say, your friend Angel Cortillo is a man that you have known a long time and that you would like to see free. It is quite possible, if things work out the way I would like them to, that he may not be charged. He will, of course, be held for a certain length of time, but the situation could be made quite comfortable for him. And in the meantime, you and I might find it profitable to cooperate on further ventures. I want you to think it over. I'm going to leave now and I will be back in a day or two. I. would suggest that you stay here. You have certain things to do, I'm sure, before you might wish to return to the States."

    I stood up then, finding it very hard to keep my hands off him. "Yes," I said, "I have certain things to do. I have to bury a girl, a girl that some sadistic bastard brutally murdered."

    He walked to the door and put his hand on the knob and turned once again.

    "I'll see to it that your friend is transferred to a more comfortable cell," he said. "I understand he received some medical attention last night for the injuries he suffered when he resisted arrest. He'll be taken care of. You may see him again in a day or two, and I think you'll find him in much better condition. In the meantime, Senor Johns, think over what I've talked to you about, and I will be in touch with you very shortly."

    The door slammed behind his back.

    I was about to get up and snap the lock after him, but as I reached the door, it again opened. Captain Morales poked his head in and said, "By the way, call off your lawyer. You will be wasting your money. A lawyer can do no good at all in this case and can only cause trouble. If we find we really have to bring a charge against your friend, you may be sure that it will stick. The intercession of an attorney could only mean that we would be forced to move immediately against him. I think you had better plan to talk to Angel Cortillo some time tomorrow. I think if you explain the situation, this man, understanding Mexican police procedures, will be able to give you some very excellent advice. So that you may both speak freely to each other, I will see that arrangements are made for you to see him in complete privacy. Let us say around four o'clock tomorrow afternoon, if that will be satisfactory."

    "That will be satisfactory," I said.

    "And think over what we have talked about. Think it over very, very seriously."

    He started to close the door and again turned and spoke.

    "And by the way, an elderly couple has checked in at the Del Rey Hotel in town. Their name is Hutchinson, and they are from somewhere in the middle west. Iowa, I believe. They're driving a blue Buick station wagon. I believe the man is a retired college professor and his wife is a partial invalid. I think it would be an excellent idea if you were to casually arrange to meet them. They are very friendly, outgoing people, and love to talk with strangers."

    I looked at him curiously. "Is there anything in particular we should talk about?"

    He smiled. "Nothing in particular. I just feel that they would appreciate it if someone paid them a little attention, a courtesy. You just might discuss things in general. The friendliness of the natives in Mexico. Sort of gain their confidence. You won't have too much time, as I understand they will be returning to the States sometime toward the middle of next week."

    I started to ask another question, but he sort of half shook his head and smiled again and then closed the door for the last time.

    

    

    I did not, of course, look up the Hutchinsons that afternoon, or the next day either. I had other things on my mind. I did, however, give them more than a passing thought.

    It first occurred to me that they could be involved in some way with Captain Hernando Morales, but then I more or less had to dismiss that idea in view of his description of them. I couldn't exactly imagine a retired college professor with an invalid wife being involved in a smuggling operation. There was no doubt, however, that my captain had a good reason for wanting me to make their acquaintance. But it would have to wait.

    There were arrangements to be made about Sharon, other things that demanded my immediate attention. I realized that Morales' advice about calling off the lawyer was probably valid. Forcing the hand of the law would mean an immediate murder indictment, which considering the available evidence, would be fatal for Angel at this point.

    I called the doctor who had attended Angel and asked about his condition.

    "The man has taken a beating. A beating that very well could have killed a lesser man. Even plastic surgery will never do much for his face. He has a concussion, but he is conscious. He has suffered several broken ribs, and I wouldn't be surprised if his kidneys have been damaged. He should be in a hospital, but at the moment, that apparently is impossible. In the meantime, I've done what I can for him. He is under heavy sedation and is resting well. I understand that he has been transferred out of the cell in which you found him and is in a clean bed in a private room. He lost a considerable amount of blood, and I've arranged to give him a transfusion early this afternoon."

    "Do you think he will be up to having a visitor? Will he be capable of talking?"

    "He will probably be conscious, but how coherent he will be I am unable to tell you at this time. As I say, the man has taken a lot of punishment. You may have a little difficulty understanding him because of the condition of his mouth, but assuming there are no complications as a result of the concussion, he should be coherent."

    I thanked him and told him to bill me at La Casa Pacifica.

    That afternoon, at four o'clock, I was again at the city jail, and apparently I was expected.

    They had him in a room on the second floor, a bare, white-washed room containing nothing but a single bed, a chair and a wash basin. At least there were clean sheets on the bed, and he was fully awake when I was admitted into the room. His face was covered with bandages, but one eye was open and I knew that he recognized me the minute I pulled a chair over to the side of the bed.

    The turnkey who had let me in locked the door behind me. There was a plastic bottle on a hook beside the bed. A tube led from it to an incision in Angel Cortillo's right arm, and I realized that he was being fed intravenously.