Forced Disappearance by Dana Marton Read Free Book Online Page A

difficult to investigate.
    Roberto nodded, then pulled over since they’d arrived at the Marriott. A flash of his badge and they were interviewing hotel management in minutes. His smooth translating made sure that all her questions were answered.
    He even gained them access to Glenn’s room, which was little help, considering that several guests had stayed there since. But they found the housekeeper who’d cleaned the room after Glenn, a nervous immigrant from Guyana.
    “Everything was normal while señor was here. He wasn’t messy,” the girl said in rapid Spanish. “But he left his things behind. He didn’t come back.”
    On their way back down from the room, Miranda asked to see the manager again.
    “What happened to Mr. Danning’s belongings?”
    “Just clothes. One of the investigators the family sent returned them to the United States.”
    She wished they’d told her. There might have been a clue there, although the private eyes had found nothing, apparently, or it would have been included in their reports. Still, she made a mental note to call the family when she returned to her hotel.
    “Where to next?” Roberto asked once they were in the elevator, on their way down.
    She pulled up Glenn’s bank statement on her phone. “His credit card was last charged the day he disappeared. No boat rental charges. He last used the card at a restaurant. I’d like to retrace his steps.”
    “As you wish.” Roberto held the door open for her.
    Then he drove her to all the places Glenn visited on March first. Lunch in the industrial district, coffee in a little coffee shop on the edge of an upscale housing development. Nothing on the main tourist drag.
    “Why don’t you let me invite you to lunch, and we can get to know each other a little better?” Roberto suggested when they headed off to the restaurant where Glenn had dinner.
    She had no idea if he was flirting or just being a Latin male. The culture—including what was considered professional and what wasn’t, how men and women related to each other—was different here.
    First and foremost, she didn’t want to give offense. She was hungry. Lunch sounded reasonable at two p.m. And the truth was, she wouldn’t have minded learning more about him.
    They found the restaurant, in the business district, without trouble: Especiero—a modern space with a gleaming open kitchen. Miranda showed Glenn’s photo to the waitstaff. The hostess and one of the waiters remembered him, but both said he left without incident.
    After a pleasant meal, on their way out, Miranda stopped to talk to a beggar by the curb who was missing both ears. She tried not to stare as she flashed the photo and asked the man in her best broken Spanish whether he’d seen the person in the picture. The beggar shook his head. Miranda dropped a few bolívars into his tin cup anyway.
    “That’s pretty useless,” Roberto commented as he held his car’s door open for her. Since he had a special sticker on the windshield, he’d been able to pull over right in front of the restaurant and park by the curb. “The beggars rotate around.”
    He seemed to be right. Even as Miranda slipped in on the passenger side, the man she’d just talked to tucked his cardboard sign under his arm and shuffled away.
    “What do you think happened to his ears?”
    “Probably a conflict with one of the crime lords who run the slums.”
    “Do you think Glenn could have ended up in the slums? Kidnapped?”
    “You would have received a ransom note by now. Slum violence usually stays in the slums. Danning’s disappearance has none of the earmarks. We have no indication that he went anywhere near the lawless areas.”
    “How lawless?”
    “Cops don’t go in there. If the government wants something, they do a military-style invasion, with troops. The level of violence . . .” He shrugged. “V enezuela has one tenth of the population of the US and twenty thousand violent deaths every year. In the slums, if you