Randy White - Tampa Burn

Pilar turned to him, her expression soft, private; an expression that seemed to share uncertainty. Once upon a time, she’d exchanged such looks with me.

“I agree,” she said. “But I can’t think straight. Since I found Laken’s bed empty, I’ve been in shock. So I’m trusting in you to help me understand this. Jorge is shrewd, that much I can tell you. He wouldn’t have chosen Lourdes to abduct Laken if he didn’t have a plan.”

She hesitated, seemed to wince with distaste before she added, “Our police dug out a little more information on him.” She leaned and, from her purse, she took a manila envelope, then handed it to me.

“In the files, they found old photos taken of Lourdes when he was a teen. They were part of his medical records when he was in the burn ward of the indigents’ hospital in Managua. They’re the only known photos of him without a mask or a scarf over his face. I can’t stand to look at them again. Even be in the same room when they’re out, so I’ll go outside for some air while you look.”

When the screen door had closed behind Pilar, I removed two glossy black-and-white photos and handed one to Tomlinson. One was a close-up of Prax Lourdes’ face. The other was a wider head-and-shoulders shot.

He had suffered second- and third-degree burns over most of his face. In medical terms, a third-degree burn is called a “full-thickness” burn because the outer layer of skin is destroyed along with the entire layer beneath. Often, there is also damage to subcutaneous tissue, muscle, and bone. Lourdes had been burned to the bone on the right cheek area, much of his chin, and on the top of his head. The man’s mouth was a wedge of skeletal teeth that suggested a dental schematic-something to be used in medical schools, like a cadaver.

Tomlinson whistled softly and said, “I guess I should feel sorry for him. But I get such a bad vibe, man…”

I said, “Pilar said the Nicaraguan authorities had a warrant out for this guy’s arrest, but never caught him. How can you not find someone with a face like this?”

I looked at Tomlinson. “Does that make any sense to you? He was sentenced to time in an insane asylum, then to die by firing squad, yet he somehow manages to blend in with the general population? How? ”

Tomlinson shrugged.

I slid the photograph I was holding back into the envelope. “At least now I understand why he wears the mask.”

“Fast forward. I’ll tell you when to stop,” I said.

Several short sections of the video interested me. The first was the silence that was punctuated by the bird’s call: a hushed, two-toned whistle that was distinctive.

Pilar had returned. We listened to it several times before I turned to her. “Do you recognize the bird?”

At first, she seemed puzzled, but now her expression brightened. “Nine or ten times I’ve watched this nightmare, and I completely missed it. A quetzal bird. It’s singing in the background. Maybe it’s because I’ve forgotten how rare they are in other countries.”

To Tomlinson, I said, “The quetzal is a really beautiful green bird with a long tail. You find it in the high mountains, the cloud forests-only in Central America.”

He said, “I know, I know, I saw one once. A bird with, like, these emerald crystals for feathers. I love the way your brain is working today, Dr. Ford. A little bird could tell us something. It’s already telling us they’re still in the mountains. And it might tell us more.”

I said, “Some birds are time specific.”

“The time of the day or night when they sing, you mean?”

“Exactly. Let me check my library. While I do, find the section where the camera gets a clear shot at the lamp beside the bed. There’s a moth on the lampshade. See if you can freeze it and zoom in.”

I returned a few minutes later with my Field Guide to the Birds of Mexico and Central America, along with Daniel Janzen’s Costa Rican Natural History -an excellent primer on the flora and fauna of the region.

I read silently from both books before saying, “The male quetzal begins a round of territorial calling just before dawn. He usually calls until a couple of hours after dawn, then goes silent during the day. So there you go. It does tell us something. It suggests this video was shot in the morning. Probably very early morning, because the window blinds don’t seem to be that bright. Not much light at all.”

To Pilar, I said, “Lake was abducted late Wednesday night or early Thursday morning of last week.”

“Yes.”

“What time did they find the package outside the convent gate?”

Sounding eager, as if a bulb had just gone on in her brain, she replied, “I see where you’re going with this. It was around ten A.M. on Thursday. The same day the newspaper he was holding was published.”

“Do you have any idea what time the Latin edition of the Miami Herald arrives in Masagua City?”

“It comes on the first direct from Miami. A LACSA flight that arrives at the international airport at seven-twenty A.M. I’ve flown it enough, I should know.”

“This time of year, sunrise in Florida is around six-forty. In Central America-”

“We’re an hour earlier. We don’t use daylight savings time. But sunrise is nearly an hour later because of the volcanic peaks to the east.”

I said, “I remember it being about a forty-minute drive from the airport to downtown Masagua City. I’m talking about how long it took the kidnappers to drive from the airport to the convent, and deliver the package after shooting the video.”

She replied, “About forty-five minutes if it’s early in the morning, because the traffic’s light, yes. Sometimes an hour.”

“Your people found the package around ten, but it could have been dropped off an hour or even two hours before.”

Pilar nodded.

Looking at the screen, Tomlinson interrupted, saying, “O.K., here’s the moth.” Then he turned his blue, weary prophet’s eyes on me. “A very savvy piece of reasoning, Doc. I certainly wouldn’t have caught it. Mind if I try to nail it to the wall? To make sure I’m thinking independently and not just following your lead?”

“Go right ahead.”

“O.K. First, let me verify something before I try to distill this little gem into a couple of sentences. Pilar, am I correct in assuming that Masagua City is high enough in the cloud forest that you might hear quetzal birds?”

“We hear them often. It’s the only capital city in Central America where the bird is found.”

“Do you know of any other airports that are at an elevation high enough to find quetzals?”

“No. None.”

“Are there any other major cities at a similar elevation where the Herald is delivered early in the morning?”

Pilar said, “All the major cities in Central America get the Miami Herald, but only Masagua is high enough.”

Tomlinson was twisting a frazzled end of his hair, concentrating. “Then here’s what we know: This video was shot within a few minutes’ walking or driving distance of the international airport in Masagua. The room has to be nearby because the time window is so damn narrow. They buy the paper in or near the airport, return to the room, and start the camera going while it’s still early enough for a quetzal to be calling. Unless the bird’s behaving unusually-which birds sometimes do. Even so, it seems a reasonable conclusion.”

I said, “That’s the way I read it. I think the data’s strong enough to hold up. I think we can say with some certainty that slightly more than four days ago, Lake was being held in a building that was within a few minutes of the international airport in Masagua.”

Tomlinson added, “They also have to be in a structure near trees, don’t forget. Almost certainly tall trees. A cloud forest bird? A combination like that-all near an airport?” He sighed, pained by what we’d discovered. “Even stoned out of my gourd, if I’d had half an hour, even I coulda found him.”