Second Love by Gould Judith

Author:Gould, Judith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder, hong kong, caribbean, widow, airline crash, chinese triad, hotel empire
Publisher: Renaissance Literary & Talent

'Criminal charges! Goddamn criminal charges!' Hunt Winslow roared, jumping angrily to his feet and brandishing the official letter in his hand.

Shaking his interpreter's hand off his arm, he glared down at the chief of police in outrage. Whoever still thought policemen south of the border were fat and slothful had obviously never crossed swords with Fernando Davalos Zuniga. The man's imperviousness to pleas, threats, and bribes, combined with his impeccable, starched tan uniform, neatly trimmed little mustache, steel-rimmed glasses with round lenses, and a propensity for going by the book, only added to Hunt's anxiety and annoyance at all things Mexican.

Whatever had happened, he wondered nostalgically, to the good old days when you could at least count on the insufferably torpid, greasy- fingered local authorities with their attitudes of manana, manana, everything being able to wait until manana—but who nevertheless snapped to whenever they heard the unmistakable rustle of yanqui greenbacks?

Gone the way of the Edsel, Hunt told himself, with an inner sigh. This new breed of dedicated young law enforcement professionals, a group to which Chief Zuniga obviously belonged, not only proved that the policia could be above such schemes as petty racketeering and extortion but made it clear that any attempt at bribery would result in the appropriate judicial action.

Pox on all civil servants! Hunt cursed silently, the heat of his anger causing him to forget, momentarily, that as a state senator back in California, he fell into that very same category.

'As I have told you repeatedly,' he enunciated icily, speaking slowly for the sake of the official interpreter, although why one should be necessary, since the chief of police could speak perfectly adequate English, was beyond him, 'the boy has only turned fourteen.'

'Catorce,' the interpreter concluded.

'Fourteen!' Hunt emphasized, with an accusatory stare.

'Catorce!'

Unperturbed, Fernando Davalos Zuniga, slight, fastidious, and not about to let some well-dressed gringo politico stomp on his turf, sat back and politely offered Hunt a cigarette.

'Thanks, but no thanks,' Hunt said, pulling a grimace of distaste.

Shrugging, Chief Zuniga selected a cigarette in that delicate manner peculiar to many Latin Americans and lit it. He drew the smoke deep into his lungs and exhaled. 'Please, senor.' He gestured. 'Do continue.'

Hunt smiled, but it was a mirthless smile. 'It would seem obvious,' he said coldly, 'that just by looking at the child, anyone in his right mind would realize he is not your average teenager. My God'—he rested one hand flat on the desk and leaned forward—'surely even you have heard of Down's syndrome!'

Chief Zuniga smoked in stony-faced silence.

'The poor child can barely communicate, let alone commit the crime of which he's accused! But all that aside, this document'—Hunt waved it and tossed it on the desk with a flourish—'signed by the governor of this state of Oaxaca, clearly states that Kevin Whitman is to be released. At once!'

'Si, senor.' Chief Zuniga puffed delicately on his cigarette. 'That is what it says.'

'Then what, for the love of God, is the holdup?'

The chief sighed out smoke and tapped a length of ash into a scallop shell.

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