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The First Friday in July
Chapter One
The
phone call about the murder arrived in the middle of the Comandante's
third English lesson with American anthropologist Anna Merino.
Commander Cortez, Head of Homicide Investigations for the Tlaxcala
State Police, reached across the conference table and picked up the
handset.
"Bueno. Sí." A frown creased his forehead. "Un
momento." Holding his hand over the receiver, he shrugged
apologetically. "Excuse me, Maestra, I need to take this call in the
other room. I'll be right back."
"No problem, Commander," Anna
said, making the switch from thinking in English to speaking Spanish.
They reserved English for lessons, the time when Anna saw the Commander
in a different light, lacking his usual self-confidence.
She
crossed her fingers the phone message wouldn't call him out on a murder
case since she'd worked hard planning today's lesson on English verbs.
They'd barely moved beyond to be before his landline rang.
They
were also scheduled for lunch together today a respite in what had been
a tedious couple of weeks for Anna. The stress of prying into people's
personal lives in the rural village of Cuamantla, her fieldwork site,
drained her despite the villagers' willingness to tolerate her endless
questions with their usual grace. The weekly trips to the city of
Tlaxcala provided a much needed break in routine.
The large
expanse of glass on one wall of the headquarters conference room
afforded a view of the Commander's private office, where Cortez pace
the room phone in hand. Occasionally he would stop to jot a few notes.
This isn't looking good for our lesson, or for lunch, she thought.
Cortez
replaced the receiver and took a long breath before returning to the
conference room. "I'm sorry, Maestra, but we'll have to cancel our
lesson for today." He sounded disappointed. "There's been a death at
one of the hotels in the central plaza. According to the manager an
American is involved, which means I might need some help translating.
Would you mind accompanying me?"
"A death?"
"A
homicide, I'm afraid. If you'd rather not I'll understand. I don't want
to bring back bad memories, but I could use your language skills."
If
she helped out, maybe he could finish up by lunchtime. She checked her
watch. Barely mid-morning and she was starving already. But did she
want to get mixed up in another murder investigation? An alarm sounded
inside Anna's head. She'd first met Cortez as a result of filming
Cuamantla's Cinco de Mayo fiesta where she'd inadvertently also filmed
a murderer. Not an experience she wished to re-live.
This is
different, she told herself, trying to ignore the warning bells in her
brain. The victim is a stranger and all I have to do is translate. A
calming thought if she could hang onto it. "Of course I'll help,
Commander," she heard herself say as she tried to match his
imperturbable demeanor despite her initial moments of anxiety.
"Bueno.
I need to check in with my men before I leave," Cortez said, holding
the conference room door open while Anna reached under the table
struggling to grab her backpack.
She leaned against the wall
outside the conference room as Cortez hurried down the long corridor
adjusting the cuffs on his immaculate white shirt. He could have
stepped from the pages of GQ, she thought, thanks to a tidy inheritance
that supplemented his modest government salary.
Leading cynics
in the department reminded each other he could afford to be an honest
cop. Cortez ignored the gossip, but when the rumors reached Anna's ears
she could barely control her outrage. "An easy excuse for their own
misdeeds, if you ask me," she told her friend Miguel Menéndez, Director
of Cuamantla's afternoon primary school.
"More likely, sour
grapes," he replied, changing the subject. Cortez was a sore point
between them since Miguel insisted on mistaking the Commander's
interest in English lessons for an interest in her.
She and
Miguel had worked together over the past nine months, some of which
included assisting Cortez with the Cuamantla murder investigation.
Their relationship had grown a little closer than Anna intended in the
weeks before Miguel left for Spain. The surprise of his summer study
fellowship and his quick departure left their relationship in a state
of limbo, adding to Anna's mixed feelings about her involvement with
him.
She checked her watch again, noticing the frayed band.
Would Cortez ever wear a Timex? And what was keeping him, anyway? As
the minutes ticked by she continued to rationalize her decision to
involve herself in another murder investigation. Observing Mexican law
enforcement in action no doubt would benefit her research, provide a
deeper understanding of Mexican culture.
Besides, she was
accompanying Cortez to a hotel in the middle of the city. What could be
safer? A persuasive argument, she thought, as Cortez appeared around
the corner slipping his arms into the sleeves of his light suit jacket.
"Are we ready?"
"Ready,"
she replied, tossing her backpack over her shoulder and following
Cortez as he held the outside door open with his foot, his relaxed
manner belying the nature of the task ahead.
They might have
been leaving on a date. Except this was a date with murder, Anna
thought, as she and Cortez emerged from the dark hallway into
Tlaxcala's dazzling morning sun.
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