Where There's Smoke

Dr. Soto regarded her in stunned surprise, but he said nothing.

“When my husband was taken, she was killed in the gunfire. She was buried here. My government, and several Montesangren regimes, have ignored my repeated requests to have her remains exhumed and sent to the United States. I’m here to do it myself. But I don’t know where she’s buried.”

Far down the corridor, rubber-soled shoes were squeaking on the vinyl floors. The clatter of metal servers and china announced that the dinner carts had arrived. But in this cubbyhole office next to the emergency exit door there was nothing but silence.

Finally the doctor cleared his throat. “You have my deepest sympathy. You’re to be admired for undertaking such a dangerous mission. But I am at a complete loss. How would I know where your daughter is buried?”

“You signed her death certificate.” Lara moved closer to him. Key tensed and reached for his weapon, but her quick glance ordered him not to interfere. “Do you remember the incident?”

“Naturally.”

“Her name was Ashley Ann Porter. She died on March fourth of that year, just hours before the revolution was officially declared.”

“I remember distinctly when your daughter was killed and your husband taken captive. You, too, were injured.”

“Then you must remember signing Ashley’s death certificate and releasing her body for burial.”

Sweat had popped out over his face. He was a stout man, solidly built, shorter than she. His face was square, with a broad, flat nose indicative of some Indian blood in his lineage. His hands looked too large and blunt to perform surgery, although Father Geraldo had said that he was well respected as a surgeon.

“Regrettably, I do not remember signing such a document.”

She uttered a despairing cry. “You must!”

“Please understand,” he said hastily, “those hours and days following the ambassador’s abduction were the most turbulent in this country’s history. There were hundreds of casualties. Our president and his family barely escaped with their lives. Anyone who had served his administration in any capacity was publicly executed. The streets ran with blood.”

Lara had read the newspaper accounts from her hospital bed in Miami. She didn’t doubt the accuracy of the doctor’s description of the chaos.

Speaking for the first time since the doctor’s arrival, Key was more skeptical. “You don’t remember one little Anglo girl among all those other corpses?”

Soto shook his bald head. “I am sorry, señor. I know it comes as a disappointment.”

Lara took several deep breaths to fortify herself, then extended her right hand to him. “Thank you, Dr. Soto. I apologize for the theatrical way in which we approached you.”

“I understand the necessity for caution. Your husband was unpopular with the rebels who are now in power.”

“My husband represented the United States, and they had taken a position that favored President Escávez. Randall was only doing his job.”

“I understand,” Soto said quietly. “Nevertheless, I can almost guarantee that the families and friends of men who were tortured and killed by Escávez’s henchmen will not be so generous in their thinking.”

“Can we trust you to keep your mouth shut about this?” Key asked abruptly.

“Por supuesto. I would not betray you.”

“If you do, you’ll regret it.”

Father Geraldo stepped between them. “I think we’d better leave Dr. Soto to his duties.”

“Yes,” Lara agreed. “There’s no point in involving you further.”

Father Geraldo gave the doctor his blessing and asked forgiveness for tricking him. Dr. Soto assured the priest that he understood. As Lara moved toward the door, Soto laid a hand on her arm. “I am sorry, Señora Porter. I wish I could have been of more help. Buena suerte.”

“Muchas gracias.”

Replacing the scarf over her head, she followed Father Geraldo from the doctor’s office. Key brought up the rear as the priest led them out the way they had come in, through a wing of the hospital that had been closed because the unstable government could no longer afford to keep it open. He knew the layout of the hospital very well, having spent years visiting sick parishioners there.

They emerged undetected. Lara was surprised to see that darkness had fallen while they’d been inside. Not that she cared whether it was daylight or dark. She could barely muster the energy to place one foot in front of the other and probably would have stopped dead in her tracks if Key hadn’t herded her along.

After having her hopes raised by the discovery of Ashley’s death certificate, the outcome of her meeting with Dr. Soto was a crushing disappointment. Fate had trampled her, and she lacked the initiative to continue.