CHAPTER ONE

Shortly before midnight on a warm July night, Commander José Cortez, Head of the Homicide Division of the Tlaxcala State Police, sat on his balcony overlooking the city, wishing away the next few days until a certain American Airlines flight landed in Mexico City.
    A late August breeze wafted across the hillside next to his apartment, warming the naight air as he sipped a shot glass of tequila spritzed with lime juice. Lights from the zócalo, the city's central plaza, sparkled in the distance like diamonds in a black velvet sky, reminding Cortez how much he loved this jewel of a city in the heart of Mexico's central plain.
     The city's rich history, its tragic beauty and its complicated people had stolen his heart, though he loathed the poverty and crime that seemed to accompany every facet of modernization, crime that kept him employed.
     Unlike his colleagues, he didn't need the work. He came from a wealthy family and had received a number of offers after he left the priesthood. Police work was his first choice. The job provided an opportunity to serve the people in an occupation he loved, rather than one his parents dictated. 
     Other of his acquaintance saw his choice differently. A penance, they said, for leaving the church and marrying a nun, a marriage that lasted less than a year due to a tragic traffic accident that took her life. Punishment from God, the priests said.
     That was eight years ago. A lot had happened since, including another woman in his life, the one on his mind this night, the flying back to Mexico next week, a week of long drawn-out days spent marking time. 
     Mariachi music rang out from his cell phone, jarring him from his reveries. He reached for the leather holder, reluctant to hear about another nighttime murder. Calls at this housr usually originiated from his office, but Caller ID told him otherwise.
     “Bueno.” 
     “Pepe,” a female voice sobbed.  Not the voice he missed so badly.
     “¿Carla? ”  His sister.
     “Sí, Pepe.”  He wondered if she had another argument with her husband Hector.
     “What’s wrong, Carlita?  Why are you so upset?”
     “Pepe, it’s Marlina.  She’s been kidnapped.  Manuel called us a few minutes ago.  He’s afraid to go to the police because the kidnappers threatened to kill her if he contacted them.  He thought you might be able to help. I’m so worried about her.  She and I have had our differences over the years, but she is my sister-in-law and I love her.  Hector is as upset as Manuel.  He’s close to his sister despite their age difference.”
     “Tell my Hector to stay calm.  When did this happen?”  Cortez turned his thoughts to Marlina Gutierrez, his brother-in-law's half-sister. She and her husband Manuel had a troubled marriage from the start.  Twenty years younger than her husband, Marlina was also his polar opposite. The couple reminded Cortez of an English saying he once heard -- before marriage, opposites attract, after marriage, opposites attack. He hoped their arguments hadn't gotten out of hand. Manuel had a dangerous side.  
     “Manuel said Marlina left the house early this evening to go shopping and never returned,” Carla explained.  “That’s the last time anyone saw her.”
     “And Manuel hasn’t contacted the police?”
     “No, Pepe, he’s afraid someone in the police might be involved.”
     “When did he hear from the kidnappers?”
     “They phoned fifteen minutes ago.”
     “Did they let him talk to her?”
     “I don’t know.  I don’t think so.  He was so distraught we could hardly understand him.  I know kidnapping isn’t under your jurisdiction, but can you please help?”
     “Yes, I have some friends in AFI . . .”
     “Oh no, not Ahfee,” Carla wailed.  “It’s the federales he’s worried about.” 
    AFI, the Agencia Federal de Investigación, was one of Mexico's two federal police forces, the other being the Federal Preventive Police (PFP), a heavily armed federal gendarme.
     “If anyone from the federal police is involved,” Cortez said, “it’s more likely the PFP and not AFI, but I wouldn’t suspect even them.  Police involvement in kidnappings hasn’t been a problem in Tlaxcala as it's been in other States, at least not since the cleanup a couple of years ago.  Did Manuel say whether the kidnapper telephoned him on his cell phone or his landline?”
     “His landline.”
     “Okay, calm down and call Manuel back on his cell.  Tell him to come to my apartment.  The kidnappers may have a tail on him so he should be cautious.  I’ll need to talk with him and I don’t want him  going to my office.  Instruct him to drive to the zócalo, park on the southeast side of the square and walk up to my apartment from there.  It's important he arrive here without being seen. I’ll give Morelos a call so we keep this official.  Once Manuel arrives, I'll find out what he knows and take it from there."
     “Thank you Pepe, I knew you would help us.”
     "I'll do what I can. Try to stay calm."

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