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"Do we know where that call came from?" Munz asked, looking over Castillo's shoulder. Castillo turned and saw that the Navy commander who had spoken to Munz earlier had come up.
"The truck driver, mi coronel," the commander said.
"Where is he? Get him over here."
When two Naval Prefecture policemen started to hustle the truck driver, a burly, visibly nervous man in his late forties, over toward them, Munz signaled them to stop and walked over to them. The ambassador, Castillo, Darby, and the driver followed. The Navy officer started to, but was ordered with a wave of Munz's hand to stay where he was. Then Munz dismissed the policemen with an impatient wave of his fingers.
"Would you please tell us what you know of this, senor?" Munz asked.
The man nodded, and then turned and gestured toward the street.
"I was coming down Edison," the truck driver began, "toward Jorge Newbery, when I saw the woman. She was staggering in the street. I thought she was drunk."
He stopped, having considered that he might have said something he should not have said.
I don't think he knows who Munz is, beyond being someone of importance to the other police, but he's afraid of him.
"And?" Munz prodded.
"I felt sorry for her and stopped," the driver said, not too convincingly, and then added, "She was in the middle of the street, and I didn't want to run over her."
He waited for a response.
"And?" Munz prodded again.
"So I got out of my truck and she sort of dragged me in here," the driver said. "And I saw the taxi, what was in it-they were both dead-and I got on my phone and called-"
There seemed to be more flashing red-and-blue lights, and now sirens. Castillo saw that a little convoy had been formed and was apparently waiting for the ambulance. Then the flashing lights on the ambulance began to blaze, and its siren started s
creaming. It backed up, and then left the building. A policeman directed it into the column of lined-up vehicles. Castillo saw that the embassy car had been placed into the convoy behind the ambulance.
Then the whole convoy took off.
When the sound of the sirens had diminished to the point where he could be heard, Munz again said, "And?"
"Yes, sir," the truck driver said. "The lady fell down."
"What?"
"She fell down," the truck driver said. "She didn't pass out, but she couldn't stand up and she didn't understand what I was saying to her."
"What were you saying to her?"
"That the police were coming, and it would be better if she got out of the middle of the street. I tried to pick her up, but she screamed, so I just waited."
"And what happened between then and when the policeman came?"
"Nothing," the truck driver said, and then corrected himself: "What happened was she crawled out of the street-maybe she wanted to go back to the taxicab-"
"Maybe?"
"She was only as far as the curb when the policeman came," the truck driver said. "He said to leave her where she was, and he went and looked into the cab, and came out with the man's wallet-"
"How much money, would you say, was in the wallet?" Munz interrupted.
"I didn't see any money," the truck driver said. "And then he called for an ambulance and an officer, and picked her up and put her in the front seat of the police car. And he told me that the man in the back was a norteamericano diplomat, and to leave my truck where it was, and we waited for the others."
"Who came first?" Munz asked.
