And then she sees a picture of a beautiful, gleaming white building: the Templo Mormón on Calle Paraguay. Sara’s heart races. This is the building where the picture was taken. Erica Rentería, with her white blouse and pleated black skirt and demure white socks, was going in or coming out of the temple when she posed for the photograph. Sara feels sure of it.
On the website for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Ciudad Juárez, she finds the name and number for a mission president and his wife.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice answers.
“Yes. Hello. Is this Mrs. Mirabiles?”
“Yes,” the woman replies tentatively.
“My name is Sara Zapata. I’m a reporter for El Sol. I’m trying to reach the family of Erica Rentería. I believe her family attends your temple.”
Silence.
“Hello. Hello?”
“Are you calling about Joselito?”
“Who?”
“Joselito Rentería. Manuel and Rosa’s son.”
“Erica’s brother?” Sara says, guessing.
“Are you a friend of Erica’s?” The woman’s voice brightens.
“Yes.” She is a friend of Erica’s, in a way. “Who am I speaking with?”
“This is Hortencia Mirabiles, President Mirabiles’s wife. My husband is at the hospital with Manuel and Rosa. People have been calling us to see how Joselito is doing since Rosa and Manuel don’t have a telephone.”
“Did something happen to Joselito?”
Mrs. Mirabiles pauses. “You better talk to my husband. Do you have a pen? I will give you his cell phone number. He’s at General Hospital with Mr. and Mrs. Rentería.”
Sara writes down the number. “Can you tell me what happened?”
No answer. The woman is gone.
Sara has the horrible feeling that whatever happened to Joselito is connected to Linda. She starts to call Mr. Mirabiles, then stops. She grabs her cell phone, sticks it in the small backpack she uses as a purse, and heads to the coffee shop down the street. After her sleepless night, she needs something more powerful than El Sol’s cheap coffee.
Thinking about last night reminds her of Emiliano. He was already gone when she got up this morning. Something heavy must have been on his mind to make him read Papá’s letters. Sara decides that tonight, she will tell Emiliano everything that’s happening with her. Maybe he will tell her what’s happening with him in return.
She orders a café con leche and sits down with it at an empty table close to the bathroom. She dials the number that Mrs. Mirabiles gave her on the phone.
“Hello, this is Alberto Mirabiles. Who is this?” The man’s voice is barely audible, as if he is whispering.
“It’s Sara Zapata from El Sol. Your wife gave me your number. I called her about Erica Rentería, but then she said that something happened to Erica’s brother.”
“Yes.” He says it as if he already knows the reason for her call.
“Is Joselito all right? Your wife told me you were at the hospital because of him.”
“No. He’s not all right. Did you get the cell phone?”
“What cell phone?” But she doesn’t really have to ask. Her beating heart tells her exactly what cell phone he is referring to.
Silence.
“Mr. Mirabiles, are you still there?”
“Is this your own private phone?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t talk to you here. I will call you back at this number in ten minutes.”
Sara sits there for a few moments trying to make sense of it all. There is no question now that the threatening e-mail, the missing envelope, and the picture of Erica and the bald man are all related. For the first time, she feels scared, truly scared. More than anything, it’s the fear she heard in Mr. Mirabiles’s voice that frightens her. He wasn’t whispering because he was in the hospital. He was speaking softly because he did not want to be heard. He hung up so he could find a place to talk without being watched, and he thinks watchers are everywhere.
When the phone rings and she picks it up, she notices sweat on the palm of her hand.
Mr. Mirabiles speaks in a low, clear tone. “Listen carefully. This will be the only time that I will talk to you. Don’t call me at home or on my cell anymore and don’t try to see or get in touch with any member of the Rentería family. I am telling you this not only because I’m afraid for my family but also for Manuel and Rosa and their other son and … for you and your family. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Sara clears her throat. “I’m listening.”
“I’m going to tell you all I know and then I’m going to hang up. No questions or interruptions, please. I am calling you from a phone in someone’s office here at the hospital. I only have two or three minutes. If the owner of the office comes in, I’ll hang up.”
“Okay.”
“After I hang up, please erase the call you made to my cell a few minutes ago.”
“Okay.”
Mr. Mirabiles inhales deeply and exhales. Then he begins slowly, as if he expects her to write down his words. Sara searches in her backpack and finds a small notebook and a pen.
“Last Thursday, early in the morning, Joselito happened to be coming home from work when he saw a young man put a package in front of the Renterías’ front door. Then the young man walked to the corner, where he got on a scooter and rode away. Joselito recognized the young man because he used to go to our temple. The package was a box of the kind laundries use for clean shirts. Hidden among many pages of newspaper there was a cell phone and a napkin. The napkin had a message that says, more or less—I’m trying to remember the exact words—‘I’m alive. Don’t know where. Like a ranch. Airplanes fly real close. My friend says to give the phone to Sara Zapata at El Sol. Don’t tell anyone else. Not even the police. I love you.’ I might have mixed up the order or left out a few words, but that was generally what was written on the napkin. Manuel recognized Erica’s handwriting. You can see the place in the napkin where his tears fell. Erica had been gone for two months.
“That day, around noon, Manuel and Rosa came to my house. We talked about it and decided not to involve the police, as Erica had requested. There must be a reason she said that, right? All we could do is what she asked and send the package to you. Around eight p.m., Joselito took an envelope with the cell phone and napkin to El Sol. We waited until after the newspaper was closed because we were afraid. The owner of the cell phone might be watching Erica’s family or watching El Sol. We thought dropping it in the mail slot was best. You’d get it first thing on Friday.”
“Just the cell phone and the napkin? That’s all that was in the envelope?” Sara asks.
“Why are you asking? Didn’t you get it?”
“I never got the envelope. It was taken from my desk Friday morning before I could open it. Someone at El Sol wanted to make sure I didn’t get it. Please tell me everything you know. It’s our only chance of finding Erica.”
There is a long pause. Mr. Mirabiles begins to speak again, slowly and with difficulty, like someone whose mouth has gone dry. “The only thing in the envelope besides the cell phone and Erica’s note was a letter to you from Mr. and Mrs. Rentería, explaining how they got the package and pleading with you to find Erica.”