Still, the situation intrigued me. My mind was already coming up with possible ways we could set and spring the trap without triggering more murders.
“Okay,” I said at last. “We’re in. But we’re going to need every bit of support you can give us. No matter what we ask for, Mickey.”
“Done,” he said. “Whatever you need, Jack.”
Chapter 30
PRIVATE’S JET, A Gulfstream G550, began its descent into Guadalajara around eleven thirty that morning. It had taken Justine and Emilio Cruz just shy of three hours and twenty minutes to make the journey.
Twenty-nine, with a dark, sleek ponytail and a clean-shaven face, Cruz was a former California Golden Gloves middleweight champion and special investigator with the state’s Department of Justice. He’d joined Private two years prior, and had proved an exceptional detective.
Justine felt as if she couldn’t have had any better partner on this trip. She spoke Spanish well, but not fluently. Cruz was fluent. More, he was the kind of guy who saw things that others did not. In some ways, he was almost as good at spotting clues and irregularities as Jack was.
Indeed, for the past ten m
inutes Jack had been the subject of conversation, as he often was when two or more members of Private were together out of their boss’s presence.
“I know you got problems with him, but the dude’s inspiring, all there is to it,” Cruz said. “Jack gets his teeth into something, never lets go.”
“True,” Justine said. “It’s his greatest gift. But he’s got all these walls up around him, never letting you know exactly what he’s feeling. What’s with that?”
Justine was trained as a psychologist, and Jack’s unwillingness to reveal his inner emotions had played a critical role in the end of their short-lived intimate relationship. She figured Cruz, as a male, might shed light on this aspect of Jack’s personality.
But Cruz shifted uncomfortably, said, “Follow the Dodgers much?”
“Rarely, and only when it’s necessary.”
“Right, which is exactly how I am with all this inner navel stuff,” Cruz said. “I know you’re brilliant at what you do, and I’m not criticizing your profession. Well, maybe a little. But after a while, you know, I find it better to face in one direction, in front of you, just let the past lay and get on with it, right?”
“But some people don’t know how to get on with it,” Justine protested.
“Like a lot of Dodgers fans,” Cruz said.
Before she could reply, the pilot came on, told them to bring their seats upright for landing.
Inside the terminal, an immigration officer noted they’d arrived on a jet owned by Private.
“That’s right,” Cruz said. “We’re here to look for several missing persons.”
“Who are these peoples?” the officer asked.
“We’re not free to say,” Justine said. “It’s confusing. We don’t even really know if they are missing, just that we got a report that two of them were seen here in Guadalajara recently.”
The officer had stared at them stone-faced for several moments, and then asked, “How long you stay?”
“Long as it takes to convince ourselves whether they’re here or not.”
“How many peoples are missing?”
“Five,” Justine said. “A family. Americans.”
“And you think they was kidnapped here?”
“Or came here without telling anyone. We don’t know,” Justine said. “We’re here to try and find out.”
The officer gave them that stone-faced expression again, then stamped their passports and said, “Enjoy your stay in México, señor, señora.”
Chapter 31