Dragon Fruit Page 7

  ‘No problem, Ms Brill. I’m enjoying your garden.’

  She inclined her head, and her curly bob swung forward jauntily. ‘Yes. It is lovely, isn’t it? I’m so busy, you know, I never have time to enjoy it.’

  Eric jumped up as we entered the office. Greco began a growl but cut it short when his mistress raised a warning hand.

  ‘Can I do something for you, Staffen?’ Eric asked.

  ‘You can take Greco back to the house, Eric, and lock him in his kennel. You know he doesn’t belong out at this time of the day. Then run down to the post office with the mail and check the box.’ She hadn’t bothered to look at her assistant.

  ‘Jack wanted Greco out. But sure, I’ll put him away.’ Eric moved quickly, with deference. I almost expected him to tug on his forelock. Yet there was also a hint of something sullen in his voice.

  ‘Come through please, Miss Zarlin.’ Brill slipped a small keychain from her slacks pocket. She walked up to a door in the wall behind the desk, inserted the key in the lock and pushed the door open. So she didn’t entirely trust the help. I couldn’t say I blamed her.

  The office was small but not claustrophobic. There were windows on two walls, and a large skylight poured a wavering rectangle of light down on the rosewood desk. A matching rosewood credenza stretched along one wall, and above the credenza hung fifty or sixty framed portrait photos arranged in three rows. Each photo was of an infant or a child.

  Staffen Brill took the desk chair and offered me the visitor’s chair with a wave. ‘I apologize for the dog. Did Greco threaten you?’

  ‘You could say that. Or maybe it’s just his way of saying hello.’

  It was a weak joke, and Staffen Brill didn’t smile. ‘Greco belongs to my husband. He’s meant to be kenneled during the day.’

  ‘The dog or your husband?’

  To her credit, Staffen Brill smiled a little this time. When she did so, the invisible wires in her face ratcheted tight. ‘My husband is very security-conscious. I’m afraid both his work, and mine, can be adversarial at times.’

  ‘In your case, do you mean divorce work?’ I nodded at the photos on the wall. ‘You seem to have also arranged many adoptions.’

  She hooked an auburn curl behind her ear. Staffen Brill presented a mixed message: her face was stressed and severe, but her hair was positively wanton.

  ‘I balance one with the other, I like to think. I counter the destruction of broken families with the creation of viable new ones.’

  Oh my. Staffen Brill seemed to see herself as some kind of goddess, holding sway over mortal lives.

  ‘And are all those pictures of children you’ve arranged adoptions for?’

  ‘Yes.’ The wires pulled and she smiled again. ‘When I started my practice, I dealt exclusively with divorce. But frankly, it was depressing work, day in and day out. Each year now, divorce comprises a smaller percentage of what I do.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t feel I was doing any real good, you know?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I had the feeling this was an oft-repeated recitation.

  ‘I just sort of fell into adoption work. A couple I knew couldn’t conceive, and they didn’t fit the rigid requirements of the agencies. Thank God, I was able to help them. First they adopted a little boy, and then two years later, a girl. Not every adoption is perfect, you understand. There are just too many variables and unknowns. But that first case, I’d have to say it was ordained.’

  ‘It sounds like satisfying work.’ And it did. So why was I feeling provoked? My own problem, maybe. Did I always have to suspect that something was going on behind the painted screen?

  ‘Oh, it is satisfying. But after a number of years, I started to reconsider. You see, I am the first to admit it: a private adoption is not cheap. By and large, my clients are quite well-to-do.’ Staffen Brill folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward. ‘So, I decided I needed to do more.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘The Center to Halt Illegal Adoption – CHIA – was already in existence. But it was poorly run. Frankly, the organization was a disgrace.’

  ‘So you stepped in to help. Very admirable.’ I hadn’t intended to sound anything but positive, yet somehow a whiff of sarcasm clung to my words. Luckily, Ms Brill didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘I’ve done what I can. Of course it’s never enough, just a drop in the bucket. But we try. We have speakers, and an active publicity team. I’ve been president of CHIA for three years running, but I plan to pass that on next year. I intend to always be active, of course, behind the scenes.’ She held up a hand, palm outward.

  ‘I’m sorry. Once I get started on this subject, it’s hard for me to stop. How can I help you, Ms Zarlin?’

  ‘To start with, I want you to know I’m a private investigator.’ Most often, that confession caused people to clam up. But Staffen Brill inclined her head and nodded. I guessed she already knew.

  ‘And the thing is, I’ve been hired to locate a little girl who was smuggled in from Mexico.’

  ‘I see. And do I understand you believe this child is part of some illegal adoption arrangement?’

  ‘It’s a shot in the dark, I admit.’ How much should I say, I wondered, even to the above-reproach Ms Brill? ‘Did you read in the paper about the panga boat, the one that was found last week down on the beach below More Mesa?’

  ‘I did read about that. They think the boat was used to transport marijuana. How does that relate to our conversation?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’ I hesitated, then decided to press on. ‘What the newspaper article didn’t say is that there are indications a little girl was in the boat, too. And now she’s disappeared.’

  ‘Unconscionable.’ Staffen Brill’s mouth tightened, and she flushed. ‘It doesn’t sound as if this has anything to do with adoption, but even so, imagine! A child, traveling alone in a drug smuggling boat. Have the police intervened?’

  At Brill’s mention of the police, I realized I’d made a mistake. I shouldn’t have mentioned Rosie. Now, I would have to say more than I liked.

  ‘The police don’t know anything about this. In fact, her mother is desperate to find her. But it’s best that the authorities aren’t involved.’

  ‘I’d be inclined to say the mother has forfeited her rights to the child, wouldn’t you?’ Staffen Brill tightened her lips and studied the desktop. ‘What is the mother’s name?’

  I’d taken one ill-considered step, and wasn’t about to take another. Staffen Brill might decide to take what she saw as the high road and report what I’d just told her to the cops.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not free to divulge her identity. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course.’ Brill rose to her feet and went to a window. Her back was to me when she continued. ‘So. You went to the women priests and told them about this, and they suggested you come to me. Did they say why?’

  ‘They said you were an expert in illegal adoption and might have some advice.’

  ‘I see. Well, it’s a very sad story, and I can’t blame you for coming here. But I’ve never heard of anything remotely like this. And as I’ve said, from the scant information you’ve given me, I can’t see what it has to do with illegal adoption. Now, I’m going to say something distasteful, but true.’ As she turned to me, Staffen Brill smoothed the collar of her silk blouse.

  ‘In my experience, Hispanic children – as I understand it, that’s what we are talking about here – are not so easy to place. Racism is fading, perhaps, but prospective parents still tend to be wealthy and white. They want children who look as if they could be their own. I am afraid there just aren’t too many Brangelinas out there, you see.’

  ‘The little girl is a sweetheart. I’m pretty sure—’

  ‘You asked for my opinion.’ Brill’s voice had taken on a sharp edge. ‘I will say it again: I am certain this has nothing to do with adoption. Now, it is true, children are on occasion brought into the U.S. for illegal adoption purposes, most often from Central America. B
ut it’s highly unlikely such a child would come into this country in a fishing boat.’

  Staffen Brill returned to her chair, sat down, and positioned her manicured hands on the arms. ‘I’m sorry to say this, Ms Zarlin. But I suspect your client may not be telling the truth.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Have you considered the possibility that she may be attempting to steal the child herself? Perhaps her husband is the sole legal guardian, for example.’

  ‘It’s possible, I suppose. But her emotion, her panic and fear, it’s all real.’

  ‘Oh, mothers can be terribly emotional, sorrowful. And it’s all very touching, until you press them and learn the full truth. Sometimes the mothers that seem the most perfect are in fact child abusers. The worst of the worst.’

  The desk phone buzzed like a trapped fly. Brill picked up the receiver and listened.

  ‘No, we’re done here, Jack. You can come in.’ She got to her feet, and the door opened.

  A florid, stocky man in tennis whites entered the room. His glance lasered in on me for a split second. Then he turned away.

  ‘Jack dear, this is Jaymie Zarlin. Ms Zarlin, my husband, Jack Morehead.’

  The man nodded in my direction but didn’t look at me again. ‘Did you take care of that matter we were talking about, Staffen? I’m busy the rest of the afternoon.’

  ‘Lupe took care of it, Jack.’ Staffen Brill turned to me. ‘Now Ms Zaren, was there anything else?’

  ‘It’s Zarlin. And no, that’s all I can think of.’ My time, apparently, had come to an end. I was about as interesting as yesterday’s garbage. Even so, I noticed Jack Morehead took a sharp second look at me as I walked out the door.

  Instead of driving straight back out, I decided to indulge my curiosity. I turned left out of the parking area and headed farther north up the private road. On my right I passed a tennis court backed by a tight row of Italian cypresses.

  Two men, both in late middle age, were bashing the ball at one another. A third stood in the shade and drank from a fluorescent green bottle.

  As I drove past, one of the players lumbered to the net and slammed an air shot against the black-painted cyclone fence at the far end. His opponent roared in triumph or pain – it was hard to know which. He sounded like an arthritic bull.

  A hundred yards on, the private road came to a dead end. When I drove back down the road, I saw Eric standing beside the court. He was watching the two men, who were thrashing it out from the baselines now.

  Eric turned at the sound of the Camino and stared at me. When I put my hand out the window and waved, the errand boy leaned forward and spat on the ground.

  SEVEN

  I drove off the estate, then followed Via Tranquila as it wound through rolling hills verdant with green grass and live oaks festooned with fresh growth. At a bend in the road I pulled over and shut off the motor.

  ‘Fuck,’ I said aloud. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’

  I rested my forehead on the steering wheel and shut my eyes. This little jaunt had yielded nothing. I was scampering in a hamster wheel, going through the motions.

  I made myself think about Rosie. A bright little button. I could not imagine the fear she must be feeling. I understood Chucha’s panic, though, and knew I was avoiding her, trying to stay away from her scalding pain.

  What was I accomplishing? Nothing. I was wandering on a whim because I couldn’t figure out any of it, for the life of me. In spite of—

  ‘License, Miss.’

  I lifted my head. A private security guard looked down at me through the open window. The guy looked as if he hit the bottle hard every night after work, but he was sober now.

  ‘My what? You’re no cop.’

  His eyes wandered over the Camino’s interior, in which I’d mounted an assemblage of empty water bottles, back copies of the Independent, and a layer of Dexter’s hair. Hey, art is in the eye of the beholder.

  ‘You’re trespassing.’ The security guy’s face was blank. ‘Only Las Palmas Drive is public. This here is a private road, and you aren’t a resident of Hope Ranch.’

  I was ripe for a fight. My frustration required venting. ‘But I am a citizen of California. And the last I heard, we hadn’t instituted pass laws. At least, not yet.’

  ‘Your license, lady. Or I make a citizen’s arrest.’

  I stared at the guy in disbelief. ‘I’m a private investigator, bud. And I’m here on business.’ I decided I’d better pull strings. ‘I’m here in this neck of the woods because I have an appointment with Staffen Brill. Ms Brill is the owner of Agua Azul, by the way. I’ve got her number – feel free to give her a call.’

  His chin had a stubborn set to it, and he seemed very sure of himself. ‘You have an appointment – or you had an appointment?’

  Had an appointment? How would this guy know that? Had someone at Agua Azul phoned him and told him to escort me off the premises? Of course they had.

  ‘Have or had. Does it matter? I’m here on business. I’ve been here plenty of times, and this is the first time anybody’s ever taken the slightest interest in me.’ I thought I had him backing up, just a little. ‘Did somebody call you, make a complaint? What, I don’t look rich enough? Not driving a Lexus, is that the deal?’

  He batted a hand, as if my words were pesky flies. ‘Look, lady. Do us both a favor, all right? Don’t argue. Move on.’

  I drove out of Hope Ranch and pulled over at the top of Marina Drive. My little confrontation with the security guy had me feeling much better. Now I just needed to quit feeling so defeated about the case.

  I switched off the engine, relaxed down in the seat, and gazed out to the islands. I needed to cogitate. There was a way into this investigation – I was certain of it. I just had to discover the open sesame. Once I’d found my way in, I was sure I’d find a way out.

  ‘I asked you to come in, Chucha, because I want to prepare you for what we’re going to do next.’

  She leaned forward in the garden chair and looked at me in alarm. ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘Nothing bad.’ I rested my hand on her wrist for a moment. ‘Gabi’s made flyers with Rosie’s picture on them. They’re going up around town, especially in the Hispanic neighborhoods along Milpas and the west side. I wanted you to know.’

  ‘Whatever you think’s the best thing to do. But I’m getting scared, Jaymie. I’m worried that too much time’s passed.’

  ‘Hang in there, Chucha. I know it’s tough.’ I’d decided not to tell Chucha about Darren and what he’d observed. I felt cruel, withholding hopeful information from her, but it was just too tenuous. After all, Darren had schizophrenia, and he hallucinated. I couldn’t raise Chucha’s hopes based on what he may or may not have heard in the middle of the night.

  The sun shone down on us, but there was a chill in the air. Chucha wrapped her black sweater close over her chest. ‘Rosie’s out there somewhere. I know it. But that’s … that’s scary too, in a different way.’ Her gold-brown eyes met my own. ‘I can’t even think about it.’

  ‘Don’t. It won’t help to worry.’ I didn’t want her to start focusing on all the ugly things that could be happening to her daughter. That would drive her to distraction for sure. I would try to put a positive spin on the situation.

  ‘Let’s concentrate on moving forward, Chucha. This may seem random, putting out flyers, but it makes sense. It’s possible one of the pangeros ran off with Rosie, thinking he was saving her from something. So there’s a chance somebody in town has seen her or has even been taking care of her.’ This sounded logical. I’d almost convinced myself.

  ‘Yeah, I can see that. I’m glad you told me about the flyers. I guess I would of freaked if I saw one and you hadn’t warned me. Is your phone number on it?’

  ‘The office number, and our address. They’re going up thisafternoon.’

  ‘Can you give me a stack? I could help.’

  ‘I’d rather not. I want you to stay out of sight, in case
the cops are watching.’ Which I figured they’d be doing soon, if they weren’t already.

  She nodded, then rubbed her forehead. ‘What else can we do?’

  It was decent of Chucha to say ‘we.’ This was my job, and so far I hadn’t accomplished a thing. ‘Stay optimistic. It’s hard, but can you do that?’

  ‘I’ll try.’ Chucha got to her feet and walked over to the bougainvillea draping the block wall. A few radiant pink flowers had opened their papery bracts. She picked one and began to peel off the bracts, dropping them to the ground.

  ‘You wonder, right?’ She glanced back at me. ‘I mean, you wonder how somebody like me got in this situation.’

  Chucha loved her daughter with a passion. But the six-foot-plus woman with a five o’clock shadow did not fit the image of the motherly sort. ‘You told me you hooked up with a girl in your village. Unless it’s pertinent to the case, Chucha, that’s all I need to know.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s pertinent. I don’t know anything anymore. But I want you to understand.’ Chucha reached to her head, pushed her fingertips back at the hairline, and lifted.

  I tried not to gape. Chucha sat down in the lawn chair and placed the wig in her lap.

  Before me sat a handsome young man in his mid-twenties. His black hair was shaved close to his skull. Without the wig, Chucha’s high cheekbones and curved nose stood out.

  ‘Your daughter looks like you, all right.’

  Chucha gave a shadow of a smile.

  ‘How did it happen, then? Only if you want to tell me.’

  ‘I haven’t had the operation on the bottom, not yet. Only the top.’ Chucha shrugged. ‘But that’s not what you mean, right?’

  ‘Correct.’ But that was part of what I’d wondered, yes. This was new territory for me. I felt I was on a risky path and needed to choose my words with care. I didn’t want to hurt Chucha, or to shut her up if she wanted to talk.