Kathy Reichs - Grave Secrets

Were hers the bones Díaz had taken from me? I turned from the window, feeling guilty again.

“Why are we seeing the Gerardis first?”

“Señora Specter is not an early riser.”

I must have looked surprised.

“I believe in holding firm on the big issues and letting the little ones slide. If her ladyship likes to sleep, let her. Besides, I want to get to the Gerardis while Papa’s still there.”

Just past the American embassy, Galiano turned onto a narrow, tree-shaded street and pulled to the curb. I got out and waited while he answered a call. The May sun felt warm on my head.

Had Lucy gone to the gardens because it was a sunny day? To feed the squirrels? To watch birds? To wander without purpose and observe what was there? To be alone with all the possibilities of youth?

The Gerardi residence was centered within manicured hedges surrounding a manicured lawn. A flagstone path led from the sidewalk to the front door. Brightly colored flowers lined both edges of the walkway, and crowded gardens wrapped around the house foundation.

A driveway, complete with Mercedes 500 S and Jeep Grand Cherokee, ran along the right side of the property. Chain-link fencing formed a small enclosure on the left. Inside the fence, a schnauzer the size of a woodchuck raced from end to end, barking frantically.

“I guess that would pass for the dog,” Galiano said, pressing the bell.

The door was answered by a tall, gaunt man with silver hair and black-rimmed glasses. He wore a dark suit, blazing white shirt, and yellow silk tie. I wondered what calling required such formality on a Sunday morning.

“Buenos días, Señor Gerardi.” Galiano.

Gerardi’s chin raised slightly, then his eyes shifted to me.

“Dr. Brennan is the anthropologist helping on your daughter’s case.”

Gerardi stepped back, indicating that we could enter, and led us down a polished tile corridor to a paneled study. Beshir carpet. Burled walnut desk. Big-ticket collectibles aesthetically positioned on mahogany shelves. Whatever Gerardi did, it paid well.

We’d hardly crossed the threshold when a woman appeared in the doorway. She was overweight, with hair the color of dead leaves.

“Buenos días, Señora Gerardi,” Galiano greeted her.

Señora Gerardi regarded him with fear and revulsion, as she might a scorpion in the bathroom sink.

Gerardi spoke to his wife in full-throttle Spanish that was lost on me. When she started to reply, he cut her off.

“Por favor, Edwina!”

Señora Gerardi clutched one hand with the other, reversed grip, reversed again, knuckles bulging white under flaky, pink skin. Indecision battled in her eyes, and for a moment, I thought she would object. Instead, she bit down on her lower lip and withdrew.

Señor Gerardi gestured at two leather chairs facing the desk.

“Please.”

I sat. The leather had the smell of a new Jag. Or what I imagined the scent of a new Jag would be, having never ridden in one.

Galiano remained standing. So did Gerardi.

“Unless you have news, this session is pointless.” Gerardi held both arms rigid at his sides.

“How ’bout a skeleton?” The tone told me Galiano was coiled.

Our host showed no reaction.

“Would Lucy have had reason to be in Zone One?” Galiano asked.

“I made clear in my statements that my daughter did not frequent public places. She went—” His lips pursed, relaxed. “She goes to school, to church, and to our club.”

“Have you remembered the names of any friends she might have mentioned? Fellow students?”

“I have already answered that question. My daughter is not a frivolous young woman.”

“Was Lucy close to Chantale Specter?”

“They saw each other occasionally.”

“What did they do together?”

“This is all in my statement.”

“Humor me.”

“They studied, watched movies, swam, played tennis. The ambassador and I belong to the same private club.”

“Where is your son, Señor Gerardi?”

“Mario is taking a golf lesson.”

“Uh. Huh. Did Chantale Specter spend time in your home?”

“Let me clarify something for you. Regardless of her father’s position, I did not encourage my daughter’s relationship with the Specter girl.”

“Why was that?”

Gerardi hesitated a moment.

“Chantale Specter is a confused young woman.”

“Confused?”

“I do not feel she is a good influence for my daughter.”

“What about boys?”

“I do not allow my daughter to date.”

“I imagine she was ecstatic about that.”

“My daughter does not question my rules.”

I folded my hands in my lap, looked at them. Lucy, I thought. Your daughter’s name is Lucy, you cold, arrogant prick.

“Yes.” Galiano grinned cynically. “Anything else you might have remembered since our last conversation?”

“I know nothing more than what you know. I made that clear on the phone.”

“And I made clear that I wanted to talk to Mario today.”

“These lessons are scheduled weeks in advance.”

“Wouldn’t want to compromise the boy’s chip shot.”

Gerardi fought to suppress a twitch of anger.

“Frankly, Detective, I had hoped for progress by now. This affair has been dragging on for over four months. The strain is unbearably difficult for my wife and son. This recent attack on our pets was barbarous.” Allusion to hair sample collection by the police, I presumed.

Galiano made a clicking sound with his mouth. “I’ll talk to the schnauzer.”

“Don’t patronize me, Detective.”

Galiano leaned across the desk and brought his face to within inches of Gerardi’s.

“Don’t underestimate me, señor.”

Galiano stepped back.

“I will find Lucy,” he said, regarding our host coolly. “With or without your cooperation.”

“I have cooperated fully, Detective, and I resent your implication. No one is more concerned about my daughter than I.”

A clock bonged somewhere outside the room. For the full ten count no one spoke. Galiano broke the silence.

“I keep getting caught up in one thought this morning.”

Gerardi’s face was a closed door.

“I tell you a skeleton surfaced and you show about as much interest as you would in a weather report.”

“I assume that if this skeleton has relevance to my daughter’s disappearance you will say that.” A red wash was spreading upward from Gerardi’s perfectly white collar.

“Seems you’ve also assumed a lot about your daughter’s life.”

“ Is this person you’ve found my daughter?” Gerardi’s upper lip was white with anger.

Galiano did not reply.

“Obviously you do not know.”

My face felt hot with embarrassment. Correct, Mr. Gerardi. Because I was queasy and intimidated by pink spectacles.

Gerardi aligned his vertebrae even straighter than they had been. “I think it’s time you leave my home.”

“Buenos días, Señor Gerardi.” Galiano nodded to me “Regresaré.” I’ll be back.

He strode toward the door.

I rose and followed.

“¡Hijo de la gran puta!” Galiano reached out and twisted a knob on the police scanner. The static receded to a sputter.

“Tell me what you really think of him.”

“He’s a pompous, overbearing, self-righteous ass.”

“Don’t hold back.”

“What sort of parent sees adolescent friendship as frivolity?” Galiano’s voice dripped disdain.

“My thought exactly. What does Daddy do to afford the Mercedes and Beshir?”

“Gerardi and his brother own the largest auto dealership in Guatemala.”

We were in the car, heading toward the ambassador’s residence.