I interrupted. “You keep saying ‘they.’ Was there someone in addition to Alejandra Delarosa?”

“There were men. I never saw their faces.”

“How many?”

“I never saw more than two at a time, but there might have been more outside the room. Maybe they rotated in and out. I couldn’t tell because they all wore masks.”

“And Alejandra Delarosa? Did she wear a mask?”

“Only when she was in the videos. There was no point in it the rest of the time. She knew I’d recognize her anyway.”

“How would you have known it was her?”

“She worked for Arturo for more than a year. I know her voice. The way she walks.”

“The way she walks?”

Doña Elena stood up and walked to the glass and back. Whereas before she had moved with great grace, now she seemed to lunge ahead, as if her feet hurt. “Like that,” she said. “I always wondered if she had bunions or something, but I never asked.” She sat back down.

Of course I knew the real reason Alejandra Delarosa never wore a mask. She hadn’t planned to let Doña Elena live. But there was no reason to explain that, so instead I said, “The things they made you read, were they handwritten?”

“They were printed out on paper, what I was supposed to say, what she was supposed to say, with my name and hers, except of course they called her ‘Comrade X.’ It was like a regular script.”

“That’s strange.”

“Not really. That Alejandra wants to be an actor. I always thought that was why she went to work for Arturo, to get close to me. She wanted me to help her get good parts, the little gold digger.”

I thought Doña Elena was probably just telling herself what she wanted to hear. A woman whose career had been built on her sex appeal might have more difficulty than most with the notion that her husband had bestowed his affections elsewhere. The theory that Delarosa planned to murder Toledo from the start made much more sense to me. But it was remotely possible Delarosa had wanted to get close to Doña Elena. And although it probably had nothing to do with Delarosa’s relationship with the URNG, at least the fact that Delarosa thought of herself as an actor was new information.

I said, “Did you help her get parts?”

“A couple of walk-ons, sure. I know how it feels to want it so bad, and I felt sorry for her. But she isn’t good enough for lines.”

“In the videos on the Internet, was that her standing behind you, in the uniform holding the gun?”

“That’s right.” Doña Elena picked up a small plastic box and pushed a button on it, then said, “I’ll just get Olivia in here for more wine.”

“The Delarosa woman is from Guatemala, isn’t she?”

“Of course. She’s from Cobán.”

“You husband, Arturo, was also from there, wasn’t he?”

“He was the mayor.”

“I’m sorry to have to say this, but I’ve heard he stole a lot of money from the people there.”

“That’s Communist propaganda. Arturo had very little money. He did his best to serve his people, right up until the moment the Communists drove him out.”

“I’ve also heard Alejandra Delarosa thinks your husband was responsible for her father’s death.”

“She did say that, but it wasn’t true. I mean, it may be true her father was among the disappeared, but Arturo certainly had nothing to do with that. He was a dear, gentle man. I kept trying to tell her that the whole time we were up there in that little shack, but she would never listen.”

I thought back to what I had learned during my two tours in Guatemala. I had my doubts that the mayor of a sizable town during the troubles there could have been a gentle man. But again, no good would come from saying so.

“When you were Alejandra’s prisoner, did you really think she’d shoot you?”

Doña Elena looked surprised. “You do know she murdered Arturo right in front of me?”

“I didn’t realize you saw her do it.”

“Yes. Right in front of me. As soon as she saw he had the money.”

“How did you escape?”

Olivia Soto entered the room, carrying a bottle. She said, “More Chablis?”

“Yes, dear,” said Doña Elena.

I watched the younger woman as she served Doña Elena. When she turned to me, I said, “No more for me, thanks. I have to drive.”

Olivia gave me a little smile, and again I felt honored just to witness the event. She was remarkably beautiful. But I sensed the same distance I used to feel around the beautiful people at Haley’s parties. It was as if I were watching the woman’s actions on a screen. Compared to Haley, every other woman lived in only two dimensions.

When Olivia had left the room, Doña Elena said, “Alejandra put the gun to my head right after she shot Arturo, but it didn’t work.”

“The gun misfired?”

“Is that the word? Yes, it misfired. So I fought with her and managed to take it away from her. I used it like a club, and I hit her and she ran.”

“You were still chained to the floor when this happened?”

“No, she had unchained me. I don’t know why.”

“She didn’t say?”

“No.”

“Did she unchain you before or after she murdered your husband?”

“It was before, I think.”

“Where were the other ones? The men?”

“I don’t know.”

“They made you say they were with the URNG. Did you believe that?”

“Of course.”

“Why, ‘of course’?”

“I heard them talking about la revolución.” Doña Elena spoke the Spanish words with a mocking tone. “Always la revolución this and la revolución that, as if their little war was all that matters.”

“Could that have been an act?”

“Why would they put on an act?”

“I don’t know. But you’re sure they were authentic?”

“Oh yes. Everything was very authentic. Including poor Arturo’s brains on the wall.”

She was obviously drunk. I said, “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head while taking a long drink of wine. She swallowed, put the empty glass down on the table, and said, “It doesn’t matter. I just want her caught. Do you think you can do that?”

“There’s a chance.”

A deep voice from behind me said, “Semper Fi, right, Gunny?”

I turned to see a man entering the room. He was almost as tall as I was, but not as wide through the shoulders. Still, he wore his suit very well. As he approached, he extended his hand but kept his elbow tucked against his side to make me do most of the reaching. It was an old trick, a way of saying, “I can make you come to me.” I didn’t mind. He was a United States congressman, after all.

“Hector Montes,” he said. “And you must be Gunnery Sergeant Malcolm Cutter of the United States Marine Corps.”

“I haven’t been a marine for a while, sir,” I said. I didn’t mention that I had been a private on the day they discharged me. I figured the congressman had looked into me and knew all about it.

“Nonsense. Once a marine, always a marine. Isn’t that what they say?”

“Something like that.”

I watched as he bent to kiss Doña Elena’s cheek, then said, “Hello, my love.” He turned to me without waiting for a reply. “It was quite a surprise to hear from my old friend Simon earlier. How’s old Simon doing?”

“He’s well, I think. How do you two know each other?”

The congressman flashed a set of thousand-watt teeth. “Oh, I think we’d better let Simon explain all that. He tells me you’re investigating poor Arturo’s murder?”

“Yes, sir. Mrs. Montes and I were just discussing it.”

“That’s fine. We’re both happy to help in any way we can, aren’t we, my love?”

“Of course,” said Doña Elena.

“Have a seat, Cutter. Have a seat.”

He settled in next to Doña Elena, leaning back against the cushions and crossing one impeccably garbed knee over the other before draping an arm across the back of the sofa behind his wife. There was something possessive about the gesture, as if he were staking a claim. The two of them looked too perfect somehow, as if they were posing for a publicity still. I got the impression that the only thing holding them together was the mutual gravity of their fame, wealth, and power.