17 Stone Angels Read Online Free Page B

attend an important reunion of the Anglo-Argentine Cultural Society. Fortunato shut the door after him and sat down alone with La Doctora. He wanted to find out what suspicions she entertained about the case.
    â€œDoctora Fowler,” he began, “something I want to say from the start. I know that your training is in human rights, and, while I know that those issues are extremely important, especially with our recent history here in Argentina, I don’t feel that we’re dealing here with a human rights violation. Our indications are that this is a simple criminal case. Is there something that makes you think otherwise?”
    â€œI think it’s always better to begin without preconceptions,” she said a little too crisply. She seemed to regret her brusqueness and flashed an apologetic smile, then opened a notebook and glanced quickly at a few pages of notes. “I’d like to go over briefly some of the details of the case, Comisario Fortunato. When the family was contacted by the US consulate it was told that Waterbury’s death was considered a suicide.”
    â€œI think that was a confusion, perhaps because the cause of death was identified by the mortuary as a shot to the head. I remind you that it happened on a weekend, when I have my days off, and I think that Sub-Comisario Alper, who was on duty at that time, unfortunately didn’t communicate clearly.”
    She pursued the theme. “I was told the body had several other bullet wounds and was discovered in a burning car. It seems a little bit demanding of Sub-Comisario Alper to expect a man to shoot himself several times, get out of his car, set it on fire, then get back in, put on handcuffs and shoot himself in the head with a second gun.” She softened the implications with a little shrug. “Wouldn’t you say so?”
    Her attack on the most obvious flaw in the investigation unsettled Fortunato a bit, but could not disturb his tranquil exterior. “Doctora Fowler, of course the confusion of suicide was an error in communication either on the part of Sub-Comisario Alper or by the embassy staff, and I apologize for the anguish that must have added for the family.”
    She reached absently for her gold necklace and twined it between her fingers for a moment. “After that, at the family’s request, the embassy made some inquiries and was told that it was a suspected drug-related homicide. Even though the family informed them that Robert Waterbury had no criminal record and no history of drug use.” Her voice became at once accusatory and tentative. “Why did the investigation stop with that conclusion?”
    Fortunato cleared his throat. He meant to say that it would be logical for a man to conceal drug use from his family, but the inquisition of La Doctora’s silence sent him off track. He remembered Domingo sprinkling the chalks in the back seat and Vasquez, with his goatee and his earrings, cursing at Waterbury’s twitching body. The victim’s last silent plea for help. “It seems . . .” A few seconds passed, but the room—usually so fertile with such answers—was still empty. “Forgive me, Doctora Fowler. At the time of this investigation my wife was dying of cancer and perhaps I delegated more than I should have. I am to blame.” Fortunato hadn’t expected to use that excuse; it had floated up by itself, out of character, but its effect wrote itself instantly on Athena Fowler’s face. Her features softened and she seemed lost for a moment. “I’m very sorry, Comisario Fortunato. When did she pass away?”
    â€œThree weeks ago.” He looked away from her. So strange to confess it toher like this. He barely mentioned Marcela’s death to anyone else. Her next words caught him off guard.
    â€œI know how difficult it is. My father died six weeks ago of cancer.” She pulled the chain from beneath her blouse and showed him a gold