The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [57]
“I understand,” I said, caught a little off guard by his abruptness. “But your name came up in conversation recently, and I thought it might be good to get to know each other.”
“What conversation?”
“A conversation with a friend,” I said, wondering why he seemed so edgy. “Relax, please. There’s nothing to worry about.”
The waitress approached with a tired smile to pour coffee and take our orders. Gallegos asked for an egg-white omelet. I stuck to coffee and toast. He glanced left and right as she walked away and then hunched forward.
“It was an assistant to the ambassador who told me you wanted to meet,” he whispered. “My colleagues are aware that you work with some very influential people.” He rubbed the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand together to indicate the type of influence he was talking about. “Everyone at the embassy is a patriot, but I’m instructed to tell you that if you’re interested in information, certain arrangements could be made.”
It was a pitch I’d heard a hundred times before. The energy business is the sleaziest corner of the financial universe—guys in my line of work get hit up for bribes the way investment bankers get leaned on to buy program ads for charity galas. The surprise was how uncomfortable Gallegos seemed delivering it. He had a death grip on the fork in his left hand, and I could feel the table vibrating as one or both of his legs shook. My snap read was that he was a mild-mannered, midlevel diplomat a few years away from his pension, and deeply unhappy to find himself so far outside his comfort zone.
“Listen,” I said, as soothingly as I could manage. “Let me apologize. I’m not trying to get you involved in anything you don’t want to be involved in. And I’m not here to ask questions about Venezuela’s oil industry.”
“Then what?”
Reggie’s caution regardless, I wasn’t about to be coy.
“Your former brother-in-law, Carlos Munoz. I’m hoping you can tell me more about him.”
Gallegos looked blank for a few seconds and then shook his head.
“I have nothing to say.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a private matter.”
He’d already solicited money once. My immediate reaction was to ask if a cash payment would make him feel better about sharing, but I sensed it would be a mistake. I noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring. I took my wallet from my jacket and opened it to a photograph.
“This is a picture of my son, Kyle. Seven years ago, the very same night that your brother-in-law was murdered, Kyle was kidnapped. He’s never been found.”
Gallegos flinched, murmuring something in Spanish. I caught the word Dios. He was a parent himself; I could tell.
“I need your help,” I said. “Please.”
“I don’t understand what you want from me,” he answered, sounding shaken.
“The police have information that suggests my son might have been in your car the night he disappeared. They say you’d lent the car to your brother-in-law.”
Gallegos’s face hardened.
“The police think Carlos had something to do with your son’s disappearance?”
“Their best guess is that the people who stole the car from Carlos might have been involved.”
It wasn’t quite the denial it sounded like, but fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice.
“The police are fools,” he spat bitterly. “I wouldn’t believe anything they tell you.”
“What makes you say that?”
He sipped from his coffee cup and then sighed.
“Because they got everything wrong. Carlos was not the victim of a random crime. He was deliberately murdered.”
I blinked. It wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting. I was torn between a sudden hope that I was about to learn something important and a fear that Gallegos was delusional.
“Murdered by whom?”
He touched the picture in the open wallet I’d set down on the table.
“Everything I tell you is between us. You have to swear it on your son.”
“Between us and the policeman I’m working with, a detective named Reggie Kinnard. He’s a good cop. I trust him. Nothing you tell me will go any further without your permission. I swear.”
He hesitated, and I was afraid I’d put him off.