August 22, 2004, 9:05 P.M.
Buddy Mozel's face was twisted and scarred by years of plastic surgery. His skin was shiny, pulled tight on his forehead. One eye and cheekbone was higher than the other. Age had not been kind to him. What hair he had left was pure white, thin wisps exposing scars on his skull, and his eyebrows were nonexistent. His once regal Roman nose was crooked and tiny spider web veins had risen near the surface of his skin, a purple roadmap that reached under both eyes and vanished in the glare of the single overhead light. An ornately carved cane bearing a lion's head on the handle supported his skinny frame. But, for Jordan, there was no mistaking Buddy Mozel's presence or his stature. Buddy's shoulders were squared, though thinner, and he was dressed in fine casual clothes, navy blue slacks and a blue and white striped oxford shirt.
“It's been a long time, Jordan,” Buddy Mozel said, extending his hand.
Jordan had to duck inside the small travel trailer. He tilted his head, shook Buddy's hand, and tried to restrain the look of shock that must have been on his face. “Yes, it has.”
The trailer was a typical weekend camper, and Jordan suspected it was José's year-round home, but he didn't know that for sure. It was probably less than twenty feet long with a low rounded ceiling covered with blonde wood. The front room, if it could be called that, consisted of two bench seats with a small table that folded down between them. The seats, covered with fading orange flowery upholstery, could be converted into a bed. A small sink, along with a dorm-sized refrigerator and a hot plate, rounded out the tiny kitchen. Beyond the kitchen, the camper held a tiny bathroom and a bedroom big enough for a twin-size mattress. There were a few personal effects in the trailer. A collection of votive candles with religious figures sat on the counter next to the hot plate along with another plastic Jesus, sitting in a chair with lambs at His feet.
Buddy sat down on one of the bench seats and motioned for Jordan to sit. José closed the door and remained standing, looking outside.
The windows were open and a small metal fan circulated warm muggy air. Tree frogs and crickets sang outside. Somewhere in the distance a great horned owl hooted forcefully, celebrating darkness, starting the night's hunt.
Jordan sat down and adjusted the .38 so he could be comfortable. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked.
“Go right ahead,” Buddy said.
“You should let me look at your wound, Señor Jordan,” José said, stepping away from the window next to the door.
“I'm fine.” The bleeding had subsided, but the pain remained. The right side of his shirt was covered in dried blood.
“Are you sure?”
Jordan lit a cigarette and put his hand out to stop José. “Seriously, I'm all right.”
José nodded and returned to his post next to the door.
Jordan turned his attention back to Buddy Mozel, still a little unsettled by his appearance. Buddy had been a handsome man. Not only because he had money for nice clothes and fancy cars, but his genes had all cooperated and joined together to form that special kind of physical magnetism that attracted both men and women—albeit on different levels. The accident had butchered what nature created, and it was obvious there was not a man on earth who could restore nature's original creation. To see Buddy as a shadow of his former self saddened Jordan, regardless of his feelings toward the SunRipe owner—though he had always been much more forgiving of the man than Spider had been.
Buddy sighed and looked down at the table. “I never meant for it to come to this,” he said softly, almost a whisper.
“Holister's dead,” Jordan said.
Buddy shook his head. “I know.”
“So is Louella Canberry.”
Buddy looked up. His eyes were red. Jordan couldn't tell if Buddy was about to cry or if it was a normal condition. “When did that happen?” Buddy asked.
“A little while ago. I walked into the station. She was sitting at her desk with a bullet in her forehead. Hogue's there now.” Jordan took a drag off the cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray on the table.
The old man looked Jordan directly in the eye. “I didn't have anything to do with this. You realize that, don't you?”
Jordan didn't acknowledge Buddy's denial, but he didn't break eye contact. “Dylan Kirsch is missing. Along with his mother, Ginny.”
José stood motionless. He looked like a statue guarding the door.
“I can offer you little information about what's going on now. That is not why I wanted to see you. I'm afraid I won't be much help,” Buddy said.
“I'm not so sure about that. Sheriff Hogue is convinced I shot Holister, or at the very least, that I had something to do with it. My house, Kitty's house, burned down, and he suspects me for that, too. He just got done searching the tavern. And if I were a betting man, he's pegged me for Louella Canberry's murder, too. He put an APB on me. You can call him off. I didn't have anything to do with any of this, either.”
“I have little influence over Bill Hogue these days.”
Jordan didn't believe it.
“Hogue is a persistent man, Jordan,” Buddy continued. “And sly as a fox. Don't believe everything you see with him. Of course, it would be easier if you would just turn yourself in.”
“I'll ask for Hogue's help when the time is right.”
Buddy nodded. One eyelid seemed to be frozen, never opening or closing. “I don't know who killed Holister.”
“Why do you think he was killed?”
Buddy took a deep breath. “He stopped by the house the morning he was shot. He showed me a letter and a St. Christopher's medal that belonged to Esperanza. I knew nothing about it then—or that the bones had been exposed. But as soon as I saw that medal I feared it was just beginning. Holister never gave up on that case. I think he had some new information, he implied as much, but did not share it with me. My relationship with Holister has had many faces.”
Jordan thought back and remembered noticing the gates to the mansion being open. But Holister did not tell him that he had been to Buddy Mozel's or talked to him. He had to wonder why. “So the medal really did belong to Esperanza?”
“Yes.”
“You're certain?”
“Positive.”
Jordan had never doubted the St. Christopher's medal belonged to Esperanza, but he had been curious where it came from, especially once he learned the bones at the pond did not belong to Tito Cordova.
“Did you know about the bodies buried at the pond?”
“Of course,” Buddy said, glancing at José. “But not always.” A sad look crossed his face, which was hard to read. “I am an old man, Jordan. I have made many mistakes. You have to understand the times, the nature of my business. Things were different in the old days.”
Jordan wasn't convinced that “things” had changed all that much. The Mexicans were still commodities, cheap labor to bring in the crop and process the tomatoes. Living conditions were still virtually the same as they were twenty years ago—only now, Buddy exerted more control over them. No, he didn't understand the nature of Buddy's business. He had never wanted to.
“Holister thought the bones belonged to Tito Cordova. Did he tell you that?”
“No. Like I said, he hadn't found them yet. He only had the letter. I would have told him that that was impossible, though, if I'd had the chance. There is no way Tito Cordova was buried at the pond.”
“Why is that, Buddy?”
“Because José took him to Mexico.”
Jordan stared across the table. Buddy's face showed no emotion.
“The day Tito disappeared, Esperanza went to Holister,” Buddy said. “Your grandmother, Kitty, had discovered who Tito's father was, and Esperanza was afraid she was going to lose her son. Kitty had warned her to leave Dukaine, but she wouldn't. Her life was here. With me.”
“I'm a little confused,” Jordan said. “Are you Tito's father?”
Buddy Mozel shook his head. “I wish I was.” He drew in another deep breath of muggy air. “You need to understand a few things. I have no children. It is impossible. I have always been sterile. I am the last of the Mozels. My relationship with Esperanza goes back a long way. Her mother worked for my mother. She was very much like the sister I never had, as much as that was possible. Later in life, I made sure she was taken care of, but could not do that directly because we had become closer than brother and sister. Like the rest of us, Esperanza made her share of mistakes. The rumors were nearly true. I loved Esperanza, but we could never be together. Not like normal people.”
“Tito was her mistake.” Jordan looked up at José, who had not moved.
“Yes. Kitty took care of a lot of things for me. I know you may find that hard to believe, but I was bound by tradition, by culture, and by my own ignorance and pride. Your grandmother was a forceful woman, and would do whatever it took to see that the migrants received good care. She felt I could always do more. And maybe she was right. But like I said, my business is a difficult one.”
“Is Tito Cordova still alive?” Jordan asked.
“I do not know. The day he disappeared, José went searching for him and found him at Longer's Pond, discarded like a pile of trash. He was barely alive. I felt it best that we get Tito away from here as quickly as possible. We told no one that he was found. It seemed more important to keep him safe. Another of my many mistakes. It was very difficult to watch Esperanza in such pain, and I had planned on telling her where Tito was once José returned. But it was too late by then.”
A tear slid out of the corner of Buddy's right eye, the most functional of the two.
Jordan's mind was racing, filling in the blanks of Buddy's story with the story Spider had told him.
“For years after, I sent money to the orphanage that we put Tito in. The stories died away, and the boy was forgotten, not mentioned. But when Tito was a teenager he ran away from the orphanage, and we have no idea what happened to him from there. So, yes, he may be alive. Esperanza told me she gave him her St. Christopher's medal to protect him—but it had failed. When Holister brought it to me, I feared Tito had returned. A grown man seeking revenge.” Buddy's shoulders sagged, and he lowered his head. “I wouldn't blame him.”
Silence engulfed the small camper. Finally, Jordan told Buddy and José what Spider had told him about the day Tito disappeared.
“We suspected it was one of the Kirschs,” Buddy said. “I'd fired Ed's father a few months before, but we could never prove anything. Holister suspected as much, too, for a long time. Not long after Tito was taken Lee Kirsch ran off with another woman, so his involvement was always an unanswered question.”
“So you don't know if Lee Kirsch had Ed take Tito?”
“No. But like I said, I think Holister found some new information. I think he finally discovered who Tito's father truly was. There was no way he could ask Esperanza. But he always felt that was the missing link. If he could find out who the father was, then he'd know who took Tito. Or at least, knowing what you know now, who had Ed Kirsch abduct him.”
Jordan sat back in the seat and tried to remember the last time that he and Holister discussed the Cordova case. It had been nearly a year ago, last November. Holister hadn't hinted to him that he was on to something new. Maybe something had come along recently—but still, Jordan couldn't remember anything. All he remembered about the conversation was that Holister seemed focused on the days after the search ended. Specifically, the day Esperanza Cordova walked into the police station, put a gun to her head, and pulled the trigger.
“Do you know who Tito's father was?”
Buddy nodded yes. “It may be difficult for you to know.”
Jordan exhaled deeply. “It was Big Joe, wasn't it?”
Buddy nodded again. “Yes,” he whispered.
Jordan let the information swirl around his head for a second. He was suddenly very cold. A thousand more questions jumped into his mind, but he held back and waited for Buddy to finish.
“Big Joe made sure he had an alibi for the entire time the abduction took place. He was with your mother. He was very vocal about it to everyone. There is no one in this town that doesn't know how he feels about Mexicans or the plant. He even helped in the search. And, there was no link between Lee Kirsch and your father that we knew of. Until now, knowing that Spider was with Ed,” Buddy said.
“But Kitty knew. You knew. How come you didn't tell Holister?”
“After Esperanza killed herself, it didn't seem to matter. What good would it have done to bring Tito back here? He was safe. Cared for. Your parents were in the midst of getting a divorce. Your mother had found out, of course. She was very angry at Kitty for not telling her sooner. But I think that wound was beginning to heal before the . . .”
“. . . Accident,” Jordan said.
“Yes. That night forced the memory of Tito even further into the past. I was trying to rescue your mother from your father. I feared for her safety. The loss of Esperanza was difficult for me. I felt I had pulled the trigger. If I had told her the truth, she would still be alive. Your mother and I had always been friends, and we sought solace in each other's company. Our lives were in the midst of tragedy, so we had something in common.”
“You and my mother were having an affair?”
“Hardly. I was in no shape to love anyone. Neither was she. But your mother had a big heart. Something she got from her mother. Her life with your father was not what she had expected it to be. She was trapped with two young boys and little skill to survive other than to come to work for me, which she would not do. She would have survived though—she was a strong woman. She just could not break away from Joe McManus as easily as she thought she could. She was afraid of him. Even I could not promise her safety from him. I was a fool to go to the tavern that night. But I only know that now, twenty years later. I didn't want to be alone, and she had asked me to come.”
Jordan thought of Ginny—trapped too, like his mother, in a marriage that did not turn out like she thought it would. A marriage based on fear. The cold chills had gone away and he felt confined, trapped inside the tiny trailer. He needed to get out of there and find Ginny and Dylan. If it wasn't already too late.
“In a matter of a few months,” Buddy continued. “I was responsible for killing the two women in my life I truly loved, Jordan. I am sorry.” His shoulders collapsed. He put his head on the table and began to sob.
Jordan was stiff with rage and confusion. He still had a lot of questions. But there were some answers forming in his mind. He looked to José who was still standing by the door rigidly. He noticed a cell phone attached to his belt.
“Can I borrow your phone, José?”
José nodded and handed it to him.
Jordan punched in the number to Spider's cell phone. Spider answered immediately.
“Where in the fuck are you?” Jordan asked.
“Looking for you,” Spider said.
“Bullshit. Where'd you go? You left me stranded, motherfucker.”
“I went to get Charlie. I figured you needed another set of legs. I was tired of sitting around not being able to help.”
Jordan bit his lip. He didn't know whether to believe Spider or not.
“Look, man,” Spider said. “There are cops everywhere. Hogue was at the tavern serving the search warrant and he got called across the street. Somebody killed Louella Canberry.”
“I know. I found her.”
“Charlie and me hauled ass out of there. Anyway, we just followed Ed Kirsch. He's at the SunRipe plant.”
“Where are you at?” Jordan asked.
“In the parking lot at the liquor store, across from the plant,” Spider said.
“All right. Stay there. I'll be there in a few minutes.”
“I'm not a killer, Jordan,” Spider said.
“Just stay there.”
Jordan flipped off the phone and handed it back to José. “We need to go,” he said.
Buddy Mozel did not move from the table. He had quit crying. His face was ashen and gray. The plastic Jesus stared down compassionately at the withered old man as he prayed to die.