quickly, she stepped inside. Her pulse continued to race, though, and just to be on the safe side, she called out, feeling silly all the same. “Hello? Is anyone here?” She switched to Spanish. “La policía está aquí,” she warned in a loud voice. “Me entiende?” The police are here. Do you understand me?
The only answer was silence, so she closed the door behind her. Listening closely, she stood immobile and waited. She heard no soft footfalls, no stealthy departure, no hint of anyone’s presence. Finally, after a few more minutes of listening to her heart pound, she accepted what the stillness told her. She was alone.
Still spooked in spite of herself, she grabbed the wooden cane resting by the front door. She’d discovered it in one of the closets after moving in, and the heavy silver top, shaped like a bird’s head, had kept her from throwing it away. She’d check out the house just to make sure. With the walking stick in hand, she went into every room. Nothing was disturbed or missing. By the time she made the tour—living room, dining room, kitchen, then upstairs into the two bedrooms and the bath—she’d convinced herself everything was fine. Of course, someone could have circled behind her to hide, but why would someone even be there? A thief would run.
She went back downstairs and into the kitchen, and that was when she realized she’d forgotten the maid’s room. A tiny closet-size area with a separate bath, it had a door to the patio at the rear of the house. She gripped the handle of the cane and tiptoed to the closed door beside the refrigerator. Taking a deep breath, she twisted the handle and pushed open the door.
The room was empty. And the door leading outside was locked. Emma let out her breath in a whoosh and leaned against the wall, her legs suddenly trembling now that her foolish search was over.
There was no one inside the house. She was fine. She was safe. She’d simply left the gate unlocked, her mind on something else. Like Raul Santos.
She gave a shaky laugh and turned to go upstairs and shower. Just for good measure, she took the cane with her.
Over the running water, she never heard the back door close.
BY FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Emma was exhausted. The week had been a hard one, and she was looking forward to the end of it, despite the fact that on Saturday she had another party to go to. This one, a charity event, was out in the country at a club the expatriates favored called La Sierra. She didn’t want to attend any more than she’d wanted to attend the last event, but business was business. Reina had told her William Kelman would be there, and that was all it took. He had yet to come into the bank. If Emma had to woo him some more to obtain his account, then she’d do it. She didn’t have the luxury of being proud and hadn’t in quite some time.
She spent the morning doing paperwork, her only interruption coming when her phone rang at close to one. She picked it up and answered.
“You have a call from the States,” Felicity said. “A Mr. Leonard F. Davis III. Are you available?”
It took Emma a minute to recognize the name, but when she did, her throat went tight. “Put him through,” she said.
The minute she said hello, Leon said excitedly, “This guy is something, Emma, the guy you asked me to look up. How’d you hook up with—”
She made her voice as businesslike as possible as she interrupted him and halted the flow of words. “Mr. Davis! What a surprise. I thought you were going to e-mail me this information.” She glanced toward her open office door nervously. “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”
“I was gonna mail you, but when I saw this, I had to make it direct. I’m calling on my lunch break. I don’t know what kind of bank you’re working for now, but this guy’s not like the customers we used to get here.”
“What do you mean?” she asked calmly.
“Well, for one thing, he’s into some serious money. Real serious. Most people don’t carry six figures in their local checking accounts, right? Out there in El Paso, he’s run more than that through on several occasions, some of it cash.”
Cash deposits of more than ten thousand dollars were always scrutinized. It meant tons of paperwork and hassle, but the banks complied; they had to or risk more than they wanted if the deposits were ever questioned.
“Did they check out?”
“All the forms were fine. Nothing fishy on the surface.”
As quietly as possible, Emma leaned forward in her chair, the phone in her hand. Felicity was at her desk, and as Emma watched, the secretary rose, picked up her coffee cup and walked across the reception area to the small kitchen that was concealed behind a screen.
“Could you find addresses for him?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, but…” His voice trailed off. She could hear the sound of paper being shuffled, then he spoke again. “There’s something weird about it, though. He lived in Washington, just like you said, but there’s a five-year gap.”
Emma waited for him to explain, but he said nothing more. “A gap? What do you mean?”
“I mean a gap. The guy just disappeared for five years. He lived at 1019 Oak Cypress Drive for seven years, Unit 302C. Took the paper, subscribed to magazines, had a credit card, then everything stopped. It was like he flew to the moon or something. Five years later he resurfaced.”
“That’s crazy. Are you sure you looked—”
“I checked everything. Nothing got past me, okay?”
Emma bit her tongue. She’d forgotten how defensive Leon was. “And you did a great job, I’m sure. I just don’t understand, that’s all.” She peered through her office door and caught Felicity going out into the hallway. She was heading for the main section of the bank, probably the offices out front. A new vice president had just been hired, and Emma had heard the secretaries giggling and talking about the man. Seeing the woman leave, Emma felt a moment’s relief and spoke again.
“What do you think the gap means?”
“I don’t know, unless…”
He didn’t say more, so she pressed him. “Unless what?”
“Well, he did live in Washington. Worked at a big law firm there—”
“He’s an attorney?”
“Yeah, passed the bar first time he took it, no problem.” His voice went up a notch. “But listen, Em, maybe that was a cover, you know? Maybe he’s one of the alphabet men.”
“Speak English,” she said impatiently. “What are saying?”
“He could be a spook. CIA or FBI. Maybe even DEA, since he was in El Paso, too.”
She’d considered every possibility, but not this one. She was skeptical. “That seems a little farfetched, Leon. And it wouldn’t explain the money. Lawyers do okay, but not that well, and government employees certainly don’t make that kind of money.” Except for William Kelman, she thought unexpectedly.
“Maybe it wasn’t from a payroll. Maybe he funneled it for someone.”
She spoke again, this time almost to herself. “There’s got to be another explanation. I can’t buy this one.”
