Not too many, Williams thought triumphantly. Not too many at all.
The next seven days were some of the most frustrating in Derek Williams’ life. Having raised the Clancys’ hopes, not to mention relieved them of another three thousand dollars they could ill afford, he’d hoped to get back to them with an imminent breakthrough. Instead he quickly learned that getting anything done in Mexico City was like trying to run a marathon with your sneakers dipped in treacle. It was a mystery to Williams how anybody did business here, never mind amassed the sort of fortunes that men like Luis Rodriguez seemed to have conjured out of thin air.
Rodriguez was frustration number one. Robin Hood he may be, but he was also literally impossible to get to. Not difficult – Williams was used to difficult. Impossible. A wall of receptionists, secretaries, and secretaries’ secretaries were in place to deny access to the great man, both in person and on the phone. Emails were returned by faceless minions, and phone calls transferred and transferred and transferred again until the would-be caller lost the will to live.
Williams had tried showing up at Rodriguez’s offices, hoping to ‘doorstep’ him there as he came in or out, but a small army of machine-gun-toting goons soon dissuaded him from that approach. As for Rodriguez’s home, that had no doorstep, only a long, winding drive behind reinforced steel gates, another set of goons and the less than reassuring sound of Dobermans barking hungrily somewhere inside the grounds.
Meanwhile, researching car ownership records here was not a simple matter of calling the DMV as it was back home. Williams was sure there must be some old Mexican saying that people were taught at birth, that translated to something like ‘Why keep a record when you can not keep a record?’
Infuriatingly, he assumed that Valentina Baden’s charity must already have at least some of this information. But as they’d chosen not to share it with the Clancys, for reasons best known to themselves, and had steadfastly refused to return a single of Williams’ calls, he was left trying to reinvent the wheel.
He used the wasted hours of waiting for someone to get back to him to do some research into Luis Rodriguez, everybody’s favorite billionaire and a local legend for his generosity, down-to-earth manner, and support for
any and all causes that helped the city’s poor.
‘I came from these streets. I know these streets,’ Rodriguez had told an interviewer from La Jornada last year in a piece Williams had now read at least a dozen times: ‘Some people don’t like that I give money to the police. But we need the police. They are the front line in the war on drugs, and no one should doubt that this is a war.’
Yeah, thought Williams. It’s a war all right. Problem is that half of the local police are really spies for the other side.
‘That’s why I also give to rehabilitation centers,’ Rodriguez went on. ‘I lost my own sister to drugs. So I make a point of employing recovering addicts in my businesses. I am not a political man. I am a compassionate man.’
The interview was a bit too ‘Pharisees in the temple’ for Williams’ taste. A bit too ‘look at me, I’m such a great guy’. A puff piece, basically. But the numbers bore Rodriguez’s boasting out. The man really had given away a boat-load of money to good causes, especially ones related to fighting drugs. He could be something of a player when it came to women, but that only seemed to add luster to his legend. The poor of Mexico City worshipped him and it wasn’t too hard to see why.
It was a Wednesday when Williams finally got his opening, accosting Luis Rodriguez as he emerged from his regular weekly session with a chiropractor.
‘I’m investigating the disappearance of a young American girl,’ Williams gabbled breathlessly as the lone bodyguard Rodriguez had brought with him leapt out of his car and started barreling towards him. ‘I only need a minute of your time, sir. I believe one of your business associates may have known her. Her name was Charlotte Clancy.’
Just as the bodyguard was about to body-slam him to the floor, Williams saw Luis Rodriguez raise his hand, stopping the man dead, like a remote-controlled toy. For the first time, Rodriguez looked at Williams directly.
‘Charlotte? Carlotta,’ he mused. ‘That was my sister’s name. You’re looking for an associate of mine, you say?’
‘Yes, sir, that’s right. An American. He may be a financier or a lawyer. And I believe he drives a racing green Jaguar sports car.’
Rodriguez frowned. ‘No one’s leaping to mind. But I work with a lot of American lawyers, Mr …?’
‘Williams. Derek Williams.’
They shook hands.
‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come to my offices on Colonia del Valle tonight around six. I’ll have my secretary look into it for you in the meantime. Maybe between us we can come up with a name for you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Rodriguez,’ Williams said sincerely. After all the fruitless phone calls, the days and days of waiting, he had a result at last. ‘I’ll be there.’
At six o’clock on the nose, Williams presented himself at the reception desk on the ground floor of Luis Rodriguez’s offices on Colonia del Valle. He’d shaved, showered and changed into a pale linen suit for the meeting, and was looking his spruced best as he sauntered across the marble-floored lobby.
It was hard not to feel excited to be here.
This was it, at long last. This was the turning point in the case.
Of course, he had yet to prove that Charlotte Clancy’s lover had had a hand in her disappearance, and what Williams now felt quite certain was her death. But once he knew who the man was, he could start building a case against him. At a minimum he’d have something concrete to report to Charlotte’s poor parents, even if it wasn’t good news.
‘I’m here to see Luis Rodriguez.’ He handed the receptionist his card. ‘He’s expecting me.’
The girl smiled and picked up the telephone. After a brief conversation in Spanish she replaced the receiver and looked up at Williams.
‘Are you certain the meeting was today, Mr Williams?’ she asked politely. ‘It doesn’t seem to be in Mr Rodriguez’s calendar.’
Williams stiffened. Here we go again.