Forced Disappearance Page 4

  Yet every time Miranda asked for specifics about his vacation, the energy in the room shifted. Something there, she thought. But no matter how hard she pushed, the three people in the room stuck to their story.

  When the time came to leave for the airport, Cesar Montilla showed her out, walking with her to the bank of elevators. He’d founded the company with Oscar Danning right after they’d finished college. They’d been like brothers.

  The man had to be at least fifty, but he looked younger, had plenty of energy in his steps to complement his swarthy good looks. He aged like a movie star, the graying at his temples making him look only more handsome.

  He remained somber as they walked. “I think Glenn . . . something bad might have happened to him. Of course, Gloria doesn’t want to face the possibility.” He pressed his narrow lips together. “When the boy married my only daughter, my Victoria—” He paused. “But even after the divorce, Glenn was like a son to me.” He gave a pained sigh.

  He shook his head, his shoulders drooping. “I think the best thing would be to have him declared dead, if you can’t find any proof for the opposite. Gloria has problems with her heart. The prolonged stress of not knowing is killing her, whether she shows it or not. The uncertainty has to stop. She needs to be allowed to grieve and move on to acceptance.”

  The thought that Glenn might have had an accident or been killed spread like an ache in Miranda’s chest. Yet, as an investigator, she had to be realistic. Body Retrieval. She hated the term already. We’ll see about that.

  She stepped onto the elevator, but held the door open. “Do you still have contacts in Venezuela?”

  According to her file, Cesar had been born there, relocated to the US for his education, then decided to stay and take up US citizenship.

  His expression darkened. “My family had holdings in the oil business. In 1976, while I was studying here, the government nationalized the oil industry, confiscated our properties and wells.” He cleared his throat. “My father committed suicide. My mother died of a broken heart the year after. I have not been back since her funeral. I am American.”

  “So no contacts?”

  “None.”

  Miranda nodded. She could understand why he wouldn’t be a fan of the current Venezuelan government.

  She glanced toward the glass doors of the meeting room where Tyler and Gloria were talking, their faces tense, as if they were fighting over something.

  Those two had the most to gain financially from Glenn’s death, but she couldn’t picture either of them going against family. And yet . . . they did wait a good long time before asking the government for help. And they were hiding something.

  But sticking around here to find out what they were concealing seemed a less effective course of action than going to where Glenn had disappeared and trying to track him there. Time was of the essence.

  Miranda drove to the airport, then took the fourteen-hour flight to Caracas—with a brief layover in Mexico City—and had time to sleep as well as review the case materials one more time.

  She didn’t push away the memories that rushed her. Anything she knew about Glenn could be helpful to the investigation. She lay back in her seat and closed her eyes, went back to the days she hadn’t allowed herself to think about in the past ten years.

  Glenn had been such a geek when she’d met him. Brilliant. Absentminded, yet with ingrained manners. He’d be solving problems in his head, not even knowing what hallway he was walking down, but opening doors for girls on reflex. Unfailingly polite, but barely looking at the opposite sex.

  Then he’d looked at her.

  “Do you think I could—” He’d hesitated, the two of them alone late at night in the lab.

  She’d been working on a scientific paper for publication, and she’d thought he was about to ask whether she’d be willing to add his name to the credits. He had contributed.

  Instead, he’d said, “Would you mind if I touched your breasts?”

  She’d almost smacked him with a dial caliper. Why did he have to be like the fraternity idiots who bugged her?

  But he’d seemed so pained and earnest. “For experimental reasons. I’ve never done this. I want to know how it works.”

  Okay, she’d understood that. She’d had the same interest in the mechanics of sex, and the same lack of data that could be called remotely empirical.

  So data gathering they did. That night, and for many nights after.

  The plane’s engines a dull hum around her, suddenly it seemed no time had passed at all, and she could remember everything, the sensations, his scent, his voice that had a way of sending tingles through her.

  Body Retrieval. The words sliced into her like bayonets.

  Her eyes popped open. No.

  She filled her lungs. “All right, Glenn,” she whispered under her breath. “Please, be alive. I’m coming.”

  Elaine had booked her into an inexpensive tourist hotel in the vicinity of the Marriott, where Glenn had a room for his stay. Perfectly sufficient, since Miranda didn’t plan on spending a lot of time in her room. She cleaned up, then headed out. She drove through the crowded city, to the police headquarters on Calle la Lagunita.

  While she’d been in the air, Elaine had made an appointment for Miranda with the police captain. Captain Ferdinand Renzo—a man in his mid-fifties, stocky as a powder keg, his thinning hair in an optimistic comb-over, his lips topped with a jaunty mustache—received her in his utilitarian office. He wore a green dress uniform decorated with a plethora of colorful medals.

  To impress her?

  She’d be impressed if he had some solid clues for her, Miranda thought as she greeted him.

  “Señorita Soto, welcome to Venezuela!” He gave a smarmy smile as wide as his lips would stretch, and pumped her hand with a little too much enthusiasm. “Please. Take a seat.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “I’m glad you came so I can assure you in person that Mr. Danning is perfectly well.” He puffed out his chest, looking thoroughly pleased.

  “He is?” Excitement buzzed through her. “Did he return to his hotel?” She hadn’t gone to the Marriott yet. She wanted to check in with the police first. Why hadn’t anybody called her?

  “We believe he’s taken a private yacht to the islands. Venezuela offers magnificent opportunities for fun and relaxation, but tourists, they don’t want to miss Aruba and Bonaire. You know how Americans travel. A different country every day. No slowdown, eh? No siesta in your country? Maybe you can get rest and relaxation while you’re here. Caracas is the most wonderful country in the world.”

  “About Mr. Danning—”

  “You must go up in the Teleférico. We have the largest cable car in the world.” The captain brimmed with pride. “You can see everything from up there. You’ll be gliding along with the angels.”

  He patted his mustache. “I’ll assign an escort to you, so you will not be inconvenienced in any way. You will be taken to our Museo de Arte Contemporáneo. And you must see the Catedral Metropolitana de Caracas.”

  “Do you know what island Mr. Danning is on exactly?”

  He kept the smile. “I cannot be sure.” He shrugged. “I’m sure Mr. Danning will go home in due time. He’s having too much fun. That is all.”

  “Do you have the name of the yacht he rented? The name of the rental company?”

  “I’m not certain. But there is nothing to worry about, Señorita Soto. Tourists, they move around. They get drunk, they fall in love with a pretty girl, lose track of time. People in Venezuela have fun.”

  He was pushing the happy, all-is-well vibe so hard it made her head hurt.

  “Do you have any tangible proof that Mr. Danning is still alive?”

  “Of course he is.” The smile stayed, but the look in his eyes hardened.

  “What actual proof is there? If s
omebody has seen him, I’d like to talk to that person. How do I know that he hasn’t been kidnapped or killed?”

  The man’s smile disappeared in a flash. “Our investigators have investigated.”

  “And what have they found?”

  “They found that there’s nothing to worry about, Señorita Soto. Venezuela is a very safe country. Foreign tourists don’t disappear here.”

  In the interest of preserving goodwill, she didn’t point out that Glenn Danning obviously had. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ask around.”

  “Mr. Danning is fine. He’s on vacation.” His voice held force now, all humor gone from his face.

  She drew a slow breath. She couldn’t afford to make local law enforcement an enemy on day one. Since a significant amount of the country’s revenue came from tourism, their reluctance to admit any problems was understandable. In hindsight, suggesting that Glenn might have been killed here was probably not the best approach.

  “I’m sure Mr. Danning is well and enjoying your beautiful country, as you said. I just need to catch up with him for a moment so his family can stop worrying.”

  The man watched her for a long second before he nodded. “Very well. One of my officers will assist you.”

  Someone to keep an eye on her and stop her from discovering anything that would reflect poorly on the country. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I insist.” He reached for the phone, but the door opened before he could have dialed, and the most gorgeous man Miranda had ever seen stepped inside.

  He was about six inches taller than she, midnight hair, midnight eyes, even teeth shining out of his tanned face. His smile was positively dazzling, his shoulders wide, his waist trim. Bad-boy sheriff.

  The newcomer swept his dark gaze over her, then he nodded to the captain, who suddenly looked like he had indigestion.

  The captain stood. “Excuse me, señorita.”

  He stomped to the door and stepped outside with the man. She could hear a muffled argument, the voices too low to make out any words, especially with her rusty Spanish.

  At least a dozen minutes passed before the men came back in. She noted the barely visible bulge under the new guy’s dark suit, a firearm in a shoulder holster. A detective?

  She received an answer to her question the next second.

  “Señorita Miranda Soto, may I introduce Señor Roberto Falcón, investigator. Señor Falcón will be your escort while you are in Caracas.”

  The captain was smiling again, but she had the distinct feeling Falcón hadn’t been his pick. If not his, then whose? Probably somebody higher up the chain of command. News of her presence here seemed to have spread through the ranks pretty fast.

  As much as they downplayed it, the disappearance of an American millionaire had to be a big deal. They weren’t going to be able to sweep something like this under the rug. The story would come out sooner or later, and if Glenn had been murdered, it would hurt tourism, possibly even trade. Other major corporations might be more reluctant to send their employees to Caracas, less likely to set up offices here.

  Unlike the captain’s, Falcón’s smiles seemed genuine as he escorted her out.

  “I’m very glad to make your acquaintance, señorita. Where would you like to go first?” He gave her his full attention and then some, all smiles, all smooth gentlemanly manners, his dark gaze never leaving her face.

  All that dazzling male perfection threw her off stride for a moment, not that she was going to show it. She squared her shoulders. “The Marriott is the last place Danning was seen alive.”

  “Why don’t I drive? My car has a siren. Very useful for cutting through Caracas traffic,” he suggested.

  She wasn’t crazy about a babysitter, but sirens would be nice. And Falcón had authority in the city. If he asked the questions, they might actually get answers. Having him on her side could turn out to be a good thing. “I would appreciate that, Señor Falcón.”

  “Please, call me Roberto.”

  When he smiled like that, she felt honest-to-goodness flutters she didn’t want to deal with. “Miranda.”

  The smile widened as he stared at her. “You are so beautiful, you could be Venezuelan.”

  She was pretty sure that was a compliment. “The captain seems to think Mr. Danning might have taken a boat to the islands,” she said as they got into his car.

  He drove a black Mercedes instead of a police cruiser, the siren built into the dashboard up front by the window. Pretty fancy car. He must be fairly high up the food chain himself. Maybe that bode well for her. Maybe she’d been assigned the best of the best, the Caracas police wanting to show off.

  The motor purred to life under his hand. “He’s been missing for a month from what I understand?”

  “Yes.” She was relieved that Roberto was familiar with the case. “Have you investigated his disappearance?”

  “I only received the case files last night.”

  After Elaine had called down to make appointments for her? “May I see them?”

  “Of course. I’m here to assist you in any way I can. I’ll make sure you receive full copies.”

  “Muchas gracias.” So far, she couldn’t complain about cooperation. “So you’re with the Cuerpo de Investigaciones Científicas, Penales y Criminalísticas?”

  He flashed an approving look. “You’ve done your homework.”

  She liked to do things right. She’d spent an hour or so on the plane researching Venezuelan law enforcement, split across various police agencies, which seemed pretty chaotic to her American sensibilities.

  In addition to the Cuerpo de Investigaciones, they had the newly founded National Police. The National Guard was also part of law enforcement, reporting to the Ministry of Defense. Then DISIP, Venezuela’s CIA.

  Each of the country’s twenty-three states also had its own police force. Law enforcement had vast overlaps and blind spots—a decentralized mess wrought with corruption, as far as she could tell at first glance, but she wasn’t going to worry about that until she had to. For now, she had to deal with only Caracas.

  “Where do you think Danning is?” she asked.

  He didn’t hesitate. He gave it to her straight. “Dead.”

  She filled her lungs.

  Body Retrieval. That seemed to be the consensus—except for the police captain, who sounded like he worked for the tourist board. Her heart tripped. Glenn and she hadn’t been close in years. And even back when they’d been together, she’d known that they were all wrong for each other. She’d been the one to end the relationship.

  But she had missed the friendship. She wanted to find him alive. She needed to find him alive. Maybe because she’d left him. She owed him something. If she found him, it’d be one debt in her life she could consider paid. God knew, she could do precious little about the others.

  “If he was alive,” Roberto said, “there would have been some indication. A ransom note if he’d been kidnapped. I’m afraid something bad has happened to him.”

  At least, Roberto wasn’t scared of hard answers, she thought, and said, “The captain seems convinced of the opposite.”

  He flashed a sardonic smile. “The captain is proud of his city and the job his men do here. He’s not going to admit to crime against tourists without a body. And even then, he’s likely to say Danning had too much to drink, tripped, and broke his neck when he fell.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  He thought for a moment. “Danning has a large fortune in the US. He’s been rich all his life. A man like that doesn’t run off to be poor. If we’re looking at murder, the two most basic reasons are love or money.”

  She’d considered both on the plane. “He’s not attached at the moment. He has an ex-wife, but they divorced amicably five years ago. I don’t see her putting a hit on him suddenly.” Especially since Victoria was
wealthy in her own right, happily married with kids.

  “Which leaves money. As you said, he’s worth millions. People have killed for less.”

  “Or he could have been the victim of random violence in Caracas.” Her least favorite option. Random crime was always the most difficult to investigate.

  Roberto nodded, then pulled over since they’d arrived at the Marriott. A flash of his badge and they were interviewing hotel management in minutes. His smooth translating made sure that all her questions were answered.

  He even gained them access to Glenn’s room, which was little help, considering that several guests had stayed there since. But they found the housekeeper who’d cleaned the room after Glenn, a nervous immigrant from Guyana.

  “Everything was normal while señor was here. He wasn’t messy,” the girl said in rapid Spanish. “But he left his things behind. He didn’t come back.”

  On their way back down from the room, Miranda asked to see the manager again.

  “What happened to Mr. Danning’s belongings?”

  “Just clothes. One of the investigators the family sent returned them to the United States.”

  She wished they’d told her. There might have been a clue there, although the private eyes had found nothing, apparently, or it would have been included in their reports. Still, she made a mental note to call the family when she returned to her hotel.

  “Where to next?” Roberto asked once they were in the elevator, on their way down.

  She pulled up Glenn’s bank statement on her phone. “His credit card was last charged the day he disappeared. No boat rental charges. He last used the card at a restaurant. I’d like to retrace his steps.”

  “As you wish.” Roberto held the door open for her.

  Then he drove her to all the places Glenn visited on March first. Lunch in the industrial district, coffee in a little coffee shop on the edge of an upscale housing development. Nothing on the main tourist drag.

  “Why don’t you let me invite you to lunch, and we can get to know each other a little better?” Roberto suggested when they headed off to the restaurant where Glenn had dinner.