“Why would the URNG want to prove they were not involved? That Toledo was a mass murderer. It was right to kill him.”

I shrugged. “I do not know much about what goes on in Guatemala these days. They just said it was a political thing.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know anything about that either. She just said she was with them.”

“Did she say that to you?”

“No. In the videos.”

“And did she seem like the kind of person who might join the URNG?”

“Even for the sake of justice, I never understood how a woman could leave a fine husband that way, and most of all her daughter. It was a real mystery. Still, they say Alejandra’s father was among the hundreds Señior Toledo caused to disappear. And they say he stole a lot of money from the people of our country. I suppose it is possible such things could have been be a burden on her mind until the desire for blood became even greater than her love as a wife and mother. I have heard of such people for whom revenge is like a drug, and heaven knows we have a lot of mothers here who prefer drugs to their own children. Now if you will excuse me…”

“Certainly. And I thank you for the information. But if I may ask just one more thing?”

“Yes?”

“Can you think of anyone who might know more about Alejandra or Emilio? Anyone I could ask?”

“Try La Sociedad Guatemalteca Benevolencia, on West Eighth. Some people over there think she is a hero. Especially the angry ones. And there are many angry ones over there.”

17

Back outside, it seemed the Escalade strategy was working, since the vehicle remained untouched. I got in and drove over to West Eighth.

On many of the street corners along the way, I saw small groups of young men standing around in shorts that hung to their knees and sports jerseys with the number eighteen, more evidence of the 18th Street Gang’s presence. They were one of the most vicious gangs in the city. Clearly they controlled the neighborhood. I wondered if it had been that way when Alejandra Delarosa lived there with her husband and daughter.

I thought it was a little strange that a woman who had found a job as a wealthy man’s administrative assistant would remain in that neighborhood. Surely between Alejandra and her husband, Emilio, they made enough to live in a safer place. I wondered if there had been a kind of penance to her choice. Maybe she had been ashamed to move up in the world. Maybe she had stayed there as a show of solidarity with her people. It seemed like the kind of thing a zealot capable of kidnapping and murder in the name of a cause might do.

The Guatemalan Benevolence Society was in a two-story, tan stucco building one block away from MacArthur Park. The storefront glass was obscured on the inside by a massive Guatemalan flag composed of two vertical sky-blue bars separated by a central vertical white bar. In the center of the white bar was a crest or coat of arms, with some rifles, swords, laurel, or olive leaves, and a colorful bird, which I had learned somewhere the Guatemalans called a “quetzal.” Beside the storefront glass was a single door. I opened it and entered.

Inside I found a room lit by bare lightbulbs suspended on long wires from a high ceiling. Here and there were tables of various sizes surrounded by folding chairs. Most of the tables were empty, but a few old men sat around a couple of them, playing dominoes.

Since I saw no sign of an office, I approached the nearest group of domino players. They all smiled and said hello. I returned their greetings in Spanish. “Would it be too distracting if I asked you men some questions?”

“It would be the most exciting thing to happen here all day,” said an old man in a Milan flattop straw hat. “I am Filipe, and this is Antonio and Jorge, and this is the other Jorge.”

“I am looking into the Arturo Toledo murder. Anybody here remember that?”

“Are you with the police?”

“No. I am looking into it privately. Do you remember anything about it?”

“Of course,” said the other Jorge. “That Doña Elena. Ay, what I would do for a few hours alone with her.”

“A few seconds should be enough in your case, old man,” said Filipe.

Even the other Jorge laughed.

Smiling, I said, “Did any of you know Alejandra Delarosa?”

Felipe said, “Everybody knows La Alejandra.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“She is La Alejandra.”

“I am sorry, but I do not understand.”

“‘La Alejandra,’” he said. “It means ‘defender of the people.’ ”

“I see. Like Alexander the Great.”

“Except more greater.”

“Do all of you think of her that way?”

Everybody nodded.

“Because she killed Toledo?”

The one called Antonio said, “May he rest in hell.” Then he leaned to one side and pretended to spit on the ground.

The first Jorge laid a domino on the table.

“Do you mind if I watch you play?”

Felipe shrugged expansively. “If you are so bored that such a thing seems like a good idea, go ahead.”

I pulled a chair over from a nearby table and sat. The men resumed their play. I pretended to be interested while I thought about what they had already said. “Everyone knows La Alejandra. She is La Alejandra.” They spoke of her as if she were still a member of the community, an esteemed neighbor. I thought that was interesting.

After a few minutes I said, “Why do you think she only took two hundred thousand dollars?”

They looked at one another with smiles. “That,” said old Filipe, “is only what they told the people on the television.”

“You think she took more?”

Everybody nodded. “Much more,” said Felipe.

“What makes you think that?”

“Look around yourself. Could all of this be purchased for two hundred thousand dollars?”

“Felipe,” said Antonio. “You talk too much.”

I glanced around the room. With its bare walls, concrete floor, and naked lightbulbs, I thought perhaps it could indeed be purchased for two hundred thousand, especially in that neighborhood. But the old men were clearly proud of their surroundings, so I kept that opinion to myself.

“Are you saying Alejandra bought this place?”

“Perhaps Antonio is right,” replied Felipe. “I should just play dominoes.”

The old men were clearly proud of the Delarosa woman. They reminded me of a few people I had met who dropped Haley’s name whenever possible, even though they barely knew her. I decided maybe I could play on their pride a little.

I said, “I understand. She is a murderer after all. Some things are too shameful to discuss.”

“Shameful!” said Felipe. All the old men glared at me. “La Alejandra is forever clothed with honor.”

“Please forgive my ignorance. I misunderstood.”

“Indeed you did. La Alejandra has done great things for her people in exile. She repaired the roof over at Our Lady of the Sacred Heart. She supports this place of sanctuary and the food bank and the legal resource center and the South Alvarado Free Clinic. And the most important thing of all, she took vengeance for the disappeared. And you sit there and speak of shame.”

“Truly, I had no idea.”

“Obviously not. Who are you, anyway? If you are La Migra, you have come to the wrong place. Everybody here is an American now.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I am just a guy who heard about what happened, and I always wondered what became of her.”

“That is something you will never know. No person in the barrio would betray her.”