“When I was a child.” Ulises scratched his chin and spoke to the detective with that same slightly foolish tone.
Inés walked into the room and placed his cup on the coffee table. Then she put her hands behind her back.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked in a demure, soft voice.
“One moment, please,” Ulises told her, and turned to the detective, sounding more curious than irritated, a tremulous, bland smile spreading across his face. “Sir, can I ask what this is about?”
“It’s about a nasty fellow who tried to scam a widow. He ran out of town with her money and made a fool out of her. In his hotel room, he left a few things, including these,” the detective said, and he reached intohis jacket pocket and produced the two postcards. “Do you recognize the address?”
Ulises held a postcard with both hands, the bland smile remaining in place. “Yes, it’s mine. Where did you find it? Someone stole these and a wristwatch from the guesthouse where I used to live.”
“When was this?”
“Gee, I don’t know. A while back. I lived in a rooming house in Iztapalapa, back in Mexico City, that must have been…oh, four years. Did you find the watch? It was a nice watch, with a brown leather strap.”
The detective frowned. No doubt he was still making a mental tally in his mind, trying to figure out if the well-dressed man from Jalisco with a mustache could be this young fellow in rumpled trousers.
He has no photo,Ulises thought.He has no photo and a different name, and I have a plausible explanation.
“We don’t have the watch. Tell me, have you ever met someone called Leonardo Lagos?”
“It doesn’t ring a bell. Is that the man you’re looking for? The guesthouse where I lived was awfully large, and it was full of bachelors moving in and out. You know how the city is, it’s busy, busy. I like it much better here. For one, you don’t have to worry about pickpockets and folks going into your room to steal your belongings. My lord, I can’t believe someone stole these,” he said, shaking his head. He looked up at the investigator. “You’ll allow me to keep them, won’t you?”
“Maybe. I’ve been asking around town about you, Mr. Linares. You haven’t lived long in Puerco Ahogado, they say. You’re a bit of a stranger around these parts, aren’t you?”
“I suppose so,” he said, and although he felt an awful, cold dread in the pit of his stomach, he kept his face bland and his tone neutral. He looked, he hoped, like an insignificant boy who couldn’t carry a conversation to save his life, and who would be scammed rather than ever be able to scam anyone.
“And no one can really vouch for you in this town because of that. Noone could say, for example, if you hadn’t been in Jalisco before coming here.”
“I told you, I don’t know anything about Jalisco.”
“Mr. Lagos was courting himself a rich widow in Jalisco in December of last year. It was a whirlwind courtship, you know? Would people say your recent marriage was a whirlwind courtship?”
“It’s not a crime to fall in love, is it? Look, if you want to see some form of identification, I have it,” he said. He added a note of irritation to his voice and stared at the man, but he kept his mouth weak and trembling, as though he might burst into tears if he was accused of any misdeed.
All the while he pictured the sons of the widow Aguirre greeting him with pistols as he stepped out in handcuffs at a rail station, yet even if this private detective had figured him for a criminal, he was no real cop, and so Ulises forced himself to maintain the façade of a slightly miffed but not terribly concerned citizen.
The detective let out an annoyed sigh that hinted at wasted time and dead ends. “You can keep the postcards,” he said. He stood up. “Have a good day.”
“Very well. Inés, can you see Mr. Contreras out? And maybe you can bring me the paper afterward?” he asked.
“Of course. Follow me, Mr. Contreras,” she said.
They stepped out of the room. He practically jumped out of his chair when they reached the hallway. The muscles in his body had been as tight as springs and he needed the release the movement brought him. He took a deep breath.
He gave it a few seconds and then quietly headed down the way they went, careful not to be seen. He could hear them talking in the foyer. He peeked around the corner. Inés had fetched the detective’s hat and was handing it to him.
“Sir, I wanted to tell you something, only I need you to promise you won’t repeat it,” Inés said.
“What is it?” the detective replied.
“Mr. Linares lied to you back there.”
He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut and leaned against the wall, but remained quiet while his heart pounded in his chest.
She spoke again, her voice hesitant. “When he married my aunt…it wasn’t a whirlwind courtship. They’ve known each other for three years now. She’d visit him in Mexico City, but she didn’t tell anyone in town about it. They were secretly engaged for a while. She was supposed to be in mourning after her father died, and this is a small town. You must understand, my aunt is a proper woman, she’s not a floozy. But it wouldn’t look proper.”
Inés paused dramatically, then her voice became more plaintive when she spoke again.
