Chapter 20: The Border
Francesca arrived at the border exhausted and afraid. Reeling between thoughts of horror and sadness she ruminated on what she would tell the police. One story she devised, was that she purchased the car in Ensenada because it was cheaper in Mexico. But the authorities would want to see a bill of sale.
Every story she contemplated, she came up with two or three reasons why it wasn't believable. After agonizing over the lie, she settled on telling the truth. Remembering what Abuela said.
Speak the truth unless you are dealing with witches or spirits. Witches only understand stronger magic and walking spirits know only deception and death.
At the border, many cars waited to cross. Tractor trailers brimming with produce and domestic pickups full of migrant workers all waited their turn. Three police cars attempted passage through the congestion by sounding their sirens and inching their way through the traffic. In an obvious attempt to locate someone, police on foot are inspecting cars before they reach the terminal. Francesca moved forward without incident and told herself to be brave. Reaching the terminal, she played nonchalant and steadied herself to answer any questions. A strangely familiar face greeted her.
"Citizen of what country miss?"
"USA." she replied.
"How long was your stay in Mexico?"
" Three, maybe four days.
"Was it three or four?"
"I arrived Sunday, what day is it today? I kind of lost track of time."
"Today is Wednesday, Miss. What was the purpose of your stay in Mexico?
"I visited family she replied.
"Family?"
"Yes, my Uncle and his family"
"Identification please."
Francesca handed the young man her passport and nervously waited for him to hand it back.
"Francesca Da Rimini?"
"Yes"
Francesca Da Rimini from Lompoc?
"Yes, do I know you? She apprehensively asked.
Miss Da Rimini, Its just standard procedure. Do you have anything to declare?"
Francesca peered at the man's name badge.
E. Gomez.
You resemble someone from my high-school. She muttered.
You must be mistaken. Youre free to go!
Francesca pulled away from the terminal without being questioned about the car. She thanked her patron saint Francis and promised to frequent the Mission more often and offer her services with the children.
Before reaching the US demarcation line, without warning a Mexican police car pulled alongside and waved her to stop. Her fear of Mexican police prevented her from stopping, so she drove on. The police cruiser to her left sped up and blocked her forward progress, just yards before US territory. Both officers exited the car and walked swiftly toward her. A male officer pointed his firearm at her and commanded her to exit the vehicle. Francesca, fearing for her life stared ahead, motionless with both hands planted firmly on the steering wheel. The female officer approached the car and told her no harm would come to her, but she must exit the car. Francesca exited, and the female officer handcuffed her and led her to their police cruiser.
"Why are you doing this? asked Francesca.
The female officer escorted her to the cruiser and said.
"You are being charged with the murder of a Mexican citizen."
"Murder? I didn't murder anybody, it was self-defense!
The female officer opened the door and gracefully placed Francesca in the back seat. The male officer turned in his seat and hissed a reply to her plea.
A bullet to the brain at close range isn't self-defense Miss Rimini!
"How do you know my name?
" Your luggage." he replied.
"My luggage?"
"The luggage you left after you shot Senor Mendez".
"No? Thats not true. He was murdered by the police! she exclaimed.
Thats a pretty serious charge. You can tell it to the magistrate tomorrow morning he exhorted.
Francesca sobbed and put her face in her hands, thinking the truth would not help her now. There were many holes in the truth and not even Saint Francis could help her now.
Emilio watched as Francesca was led away by the police. His immediate superior at US customs would most certainly give him a mention in the morning meeting tomorrow and possibly a commendation for excellent border screening. It was just his good fortune, that Francesca drove up to his cubicle. He instantly recognized Francesca as a Goleta High schoolmate and pressed the alert signal that lit his station as suspicious entry.
Mostly, it was the birthmark on her wrist and hand that confirmed his belief. He vividly remembered the last time he saw her. It was Robby Delgado's house, just before his turn.