World Press Alliance? She read his card, looked around her desk sadly as if searching for a response, then said, Yes, please sit down. I will call someone.
She spoke softly into the phone as he went to the waiting area and sat in a thick-cushioned leather chair. To one side, a large window offered views of the bay and planes landing at Santos Dumont Airport. Down the hall, he saw a room with files.
This way, Mr. Gannon, please. The receptionist led him to a door bearing the nameplate, Drake Stinson, then opened it for him.
Jack Gannon? A tall, silver-haired, well-built man in his late fifties stood. He wore a tailored suit and a smile as he crushed Gannons hand in his. Drake Stinson, Im here by way of Washington, D.C. Always nice to see a fellow countryman-too bad about the circumstances. Have a seat. Are you hearing anything new on the investigation?
Only that the victims names have been released. You know we lost two of our bureau people.
Yes, terrible. Stinson handed Gannon his card, and Gannon glimpsed Stinsons title: special international counsel. What were they doing there? Anything to do with the press reports that this was an execution in a drug war with the Colombians? Did your agency have an inside scoop?
Gannon cautioned himself.
He was not there to reveal information, but to obtain it.
No, we think Gabriela Rosa and Marcelo Verde just happened to be at the Cafe Amaldo for lunch. Its a short walk from our bureau.
I see, Stinson said, and I think that is how we lost Maria. She was at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Which is why Im here. Gannon opened his notebook and pen.
A hint of unease flickered across Stinsons eyes.
Were profiling the victims, Gannon said, and I was hoping you could tell me about Maria Santo.
The firm wont comment other than to say we are saddened by this horrible event and our thoughts go to the families of the victims.
Cant you elaborate? Both of our organizations lost people here. Can you tell me the kind of person she was?
Stinson shook his head.
Why not? You lost an employee-why not offer a few compassionate words to let people know just what kind of innocent person was murdered here?
I cant. Stinson paused. Would you consider going off the record?
Whats the information?
I have your word you will not attribute what Im going to tell you to this firm in any way?
Go ahead.
This is terrible to say but Maria was going to be let go.
Why?
We think she was stealing files. One of the other girls saw her leave with case files in her bag and thats a firing offence.
Which files? Which case?
Im not certain.
Any idea why she was stealing files?
Who knows? Maybe she had thoughts of selling them to narco terrorists, corporate competitors of our clients, other law firms that were opposing us on cases?
Would she want to go to the press about anything?
Stinson took a moment to assess the question.
Youre talking about the coincidence of Maria and your people being there at the same time?
Just trying to get a sense of the files.
Stinson shook his head.
No, our files are legal mumbo jumbo, nothing newsworthy.
I thought you didnt know which case she was taking files from?
I dont, but I know the type of cases we handle and its really all contractual stuff.
Contractual stuff-that is of interest to narco terrorists? You said she couldve wanted to sell the files to narco terrorists.
Look, the files contain personal information on some wealthy clients. Hostage-taking for ransom is a business down here. Bottom line-we really dont know why she would be taking files, Stinson said. She had a rough up-bringing in one of the gang-controlled favelas. Shed been with us less than a year. Came to us through a temporary placement service, the Rio Sol Employment Agency. I hope this helps you understand our position. Stinson stood. And on behalf of the firm, our condolences for the loss your news organization suffered.
Gannon finished making notes and stood.
Thank you. Yes, this helps.
Were clear on quoting me then? Stinson went to the door.
Right. Gannon tucked his notebook in his jacket. Im curious, how did you come from Washington to be- Gannon glanced at Stinsons card -special international counsel for this firm?
Me? Stinson smiled. Im from Connecticut-Hartford. I went to Yale, practiced in D.C. a lifetime ago. Dry government stuff, then I retired. Then my wife passed away. I couldnt stand living alone. Submitted my CV to a global headhunting firm, got back into the game with a job here where the weather suits me. Coming from Buffalo, youd know about winter weather.
Gannon stopped.
Stinson smiled.
I checked you out online when we saw you on the Rio news channels. You used to write for the Buffalo Sentinel before you joined WPA. You were nominated for a Pulitzer. Interesting what you can find out about people on the Internet, dont you think?
Yes.
Afterward, as he descended in the elevator, Gannon tapped his notebook to his leg trying to decide how much of what Stinson had told him was a twisted version of the truth and how much was a flat-out lie.
In his taxi back to the bureau, he unfolded the blood-stained pages from the files Maria Santo had shown to Gabriela.
Theres a story here, he told himself, looking off to the favelas blanketing the hillsides around Rio de Janeiro.
15
Big Cloud, Wyoming
It was not the same house.
How could it be?
Three days after Emma had left with Joe and Tyler for a picnic by the Grizzly Tooth River, shed returned home without them. Their ranch-style bungalow stood empty in the Bluffs, a suburb at Big Clouds edge.
Emma stared at it from the car.
Aunt Marsha squeezed her hand and hugged her tight as Uncle Ned eased the airport rental into the driveway. They sat without speaking for a long time.
Its going to be hard, dear. Her aunt smiled.
Emma nodded.
Uncle Ned fumbled with the house keys, the new ones hed had cut at Gortens Hardware. Her aunt and uncle didnt want her using the blood-speckled, scorched keys recovered from the SUV.
The door opened and Emma caught her breath.
A breeze tortured her with familiar smells: Joes cologne and Tylers sweetness. But theyre not here. She inched into the kitchen expecting the floor to collapse and drop her into a pit. She steadied herself.
Their last moments together had been frozen in time.
Here was Joes favorite coffee mug in the sink, the chipped one from Treeline Timber. Hed gulped one last cup before theyd left for the picnic. Emma traced its rim with her fingertips. And here was Tylers ring-toss game, the bright colored plastic donuts hed played with before shed bundled him up for the trip. Emma had piled the rings on the counter, on top of the flyer shed pulled from their mailbox.
Shed noted the sale on something they needed. She couldnt remember what.
How was she to know these would be the last moments of her happiness?
Her hands were shaking.
Easy, honey. Uncle Ned helped her to the sofa. Aunt Marsha got her a glass of water and pills rattling in a plastic bottle.
The doctor said these would help, Emma.
No pills now.
Emma finished the water and sat motionless for a long time, listening to the clock ticking above the mantel, before she found herself walking through her home, room by room, expecting Joe and Tyler to be there.
Wanting them to be there.
Aching for them to be there as she touched Joes work shirts and thrust her face into Tylers blanket, muffling her screams. Bring them back. Please bring them back. She lay down on Joes side of the bed and questioned the distant snow-capped mountains.
Why was God punishing her again? What had she done?
The afternoon blurred into a flow of friends bearing salads, sandwiches and condolences, mourners in their Sunday best, smelling of perfume, mouthwash and alcohol. They touched her shoulder, kissed her cheek and embraced her, whispering words of sympathy and scripture.
The men huddled in corners, spoke in low tones about Joe, Tyler and the damned shame of it all, while the women collected around Emma. These were people descended from pioneer stock, people who endured.
Emma loved them for what they had done for her.
But by early evening, after the majority of her visitors had left, she couldnt remember a single word or face. A few of the women stayed behind and cleaned up. By nightfall the only people who remained were her aunt, uncle and her friend, Judy Mitchell, who taught at Emmas school.
Sweetheart, her aunt said, Judys already helped us start with some of the arrangements.
Arrangements?
For the funerals, Em, Judy said. Tomorrow well go with you to help finalize things.
Emma was numb.
That night while Uncle Ned and Aunt Marsha slept in the spare bedroom, Emma lay alone in her bed for hours.
She didnt move.
She didnt breathe, as agony and darkness swallowed her.
Do something.
She went to Joes side of the closet and pulled out his heavy flannel shirt. The blue-and-black plaid one he wore to work each day. She slipped it on. Then she took Joes pillow, their bedspread and went to Tylers room. She stood before his empty crib. It glowed in the pure moonlight and she reached in for his stuffed bear.
She lay on the floor, pulling Joes big shirt tight, feeling his warmth, his arms around her. Crushing Tylers bear to her face, she swore she could feel his tender cheek against hers. And in the furthest corner of her heart, Emma found a pinpoint of light.
Hang on, she told herself. Hang on.
The next day Emma, her aunt, her uncle and Judy Mitchell arrived at the Fenlon-Wilter Funeral Home, a grand Victorian mansion built in the late 1800s by a mining millionaire before it was sold during the Depression.
Emma carried a small travel bag with the clothes shed picked for Joe: faded jeans and a T-shirt, the clothes he loved. Whatever you do, Em, dont bury me in a damned suit. I hate them, hed joked to her one night.
But she knew hed meant it.
Emma also brought Tylers shoes, which had been deemed his only remains and were to be placed in Tylers casket. She hadnt slept and didnt hear what the funeral director was saying.
This is not real. I am not here. This isnt happening.
Emmas aunt, uncle and Judy guided her with decisions, showed her where to sign.
The funeral home had deep-pile carpet that absorbed sound as they moved to the viewing room where Emma agreed to a dark oak casket for Joe. She then heard the gentle strains of a harp wafting through hidden speakers as the director led them upstairs to the childrens viewing room.