Buck must find two missing college students Ch.8

Russian serfs harvesting wheat for their noble landowner.

ENCOMIENDA


Chapter 8



I picked up sandwiches from a fast-food franchise and a couple beers and cokes from a convenience store and returned to the motel. On the table in my room, I wrote notes about the day’s events, and then I speculated on what may have happened to the boys. Were they in the car when it went into the canal? If they weren’t, what had happened to them? Had someone hijacked the car and left them dead elsewhere? Was the body in the canal the hijacker, who had lost control and gone into the canal? If the boys had been in the car when it went into the canal, where are they now? Could the bodies have been eaten by alligators and turtles and fish? That doesn’t seem plausible and not have any bones or skulls left in the canal. If they had survived the crash, could they have gotten out of the canal and wandered off and met some worse fate afterwards? Who was the third body and did he have anything to do with their disappearance? I need more data.

Iris ate her sandwich, drank the cokes and did some school work.

After I had drunk one of the beers – as often happens with alcohol and me – I began to grow sentimental and called Cyndi’s telephone number. I didn’t know if she would be there or not. She picked up on the fifth ring and said, “Hello.”

Was there ever a sweeter voice! I said, “Hi, sweetie.”

She hesitated several seconds and then said, “Buck?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Just a beer.”

“With you, that’s enough.”

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m doing some research, working on that article for the criminology journal. What’re you up to?”

“I’m in Naples, working on a case.”

“What’s this one?”

“Two missing college students.”

“Having any luck?”

“Some. We found the car they were driving, but no bodies.”

“Well, Buck, it’s good to hear from you, but I need to get back to work. The deadline is coming up fast.”

“Good hearing your voice.”

“Yours, too. Glad you’re all right.”

“Ok, talk to you later.”

“Sure. Ciao.”

I opened the second beer and sat in a chair by the bed.

I turned on the television, found the History Channel and settled into watching a program about Catherine the Great, Czarina of the Russian Empire. I’ve always loved history and its larger than life people. One fact that I hadn’t known about Russia was that Russian peasants had been free until Catherine’s reign. Wherever they settled and farmed was their land, but they could pick up and move whenever they wanted. Catherine perceived that as detrimental to the economy of the country, so she outlawed that practice. Thenceforth, peasants were tied to the land they were on and could not leave without the consent of the noble who owned the land. They had to supply the landowner with labor to raise cash crops and livestock or to work mines, and they could till a limited amount for themselves. That scheme seemed familiar to me.

Iris had fallen asleep. I went over and pulled the covers over her. I had forgotten to make her call her mother, but maybe she had called her earlier when I was doing something. I climbed into bed.

When I fell asleep I dreamed that snow covered the frozen land. I was dressed in fur from head to toe but I was still cold. I was scrambling over snow-covered hills and someone was chasing me, yelling “Come back! Come back!” The voice sounded like Cyndi’s.

I awakened in the middle of the night to find that I had left the air conditioner on maximum, so I staggered up and turned it down, drank a glass of water and fell back on the bed.

I awakened at eight the next morning, showered, shaved and called Lieutenant Suarez. He said, “Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”

“Meet me at the Denny’s on the highway. You know where it is?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it.”

“Half an hour?”

“Sure.”

Once again, I left Iris sleeping. If her mother was a late riser, Iris had inherited the gene for sleeping in.

Suarez was at the restaurant when I arrived, ensconced in a booth near the front window. Freshly shaved and groomed, he looked five years younger than yesterday. He waved me over. “So, how are you?”

“You’re cheerful. You must have had your coffee already.”

“The pot is here. Pour yourself a cup.”

I did. “What’d you find yesterday?”

“Ok, here’s what we know so far. First, we recovered parts of another body, been in the water a long time, probably female. Curious, huh? Second, the male corpse had been dead only a day or two, so it had no involvement with your guys. Third, we found blue paint on the driver-side door, so it’s possible the boys were bumped into the railing rather than just lost control. We are, of course, looking into that. We’re checking local auto body shops to see who, if anyone, brought in a blue vehicle to get painted in the past month. Fourth, damage inside indicates the boys got tossed around pretty good; chances are very good that they were dazed and banged up when they got out. Fifth, no sign of the boys now, but today, some helicopters and swamp buggies are going to search around behind the canal, see if they wandered off that way. That’s it so far.”

“Can I get a copy of your report?”

“Sure.”

“Who were those other two bodies?”

“You think it’s important?”

“I don’t want to let anything slip by.”

“We have no names, but more than likely both the man and the woman were Mexican migrant workers. There’re tens of thousands of them in Immokalee this time of year. It’s not unusual for one or two a week to get drunk and fall into a canal. Sometimes they get out; sometimes they don’t.”

“Are there migrant camps near that canal?”

“Not real close. Maybe ten or fifteen miles.”

“That’s quite a drunk walk to the canal.”

“It happens.”

“Are autopsies being done?”

“Yeah, eventually, but they’d be at the tail end of the queue, since we don’t know that they’re connected to a crime.”

“What kinds of crops? What kinds of farms?”

“Tomatoes, peppers, beans, cucumbers, squash. There are a few private farmers but most of the farms are run by agribusiness companies.”

“How about illegal crops?”

“You mean marijuana? Yeah, we’ve busted a few of those, but they don’t last long. The DEA has too many spies in the sky. Oh, I see what you’re getting at. The boys may have stumbled onto an illegal operation and gotten silenced. I doubt that. Most of the marijuana growers around here have been local, small-time operators, not connected to combines or cartels. They’d rather cut and run than kill someone.”

“Could you call someone, see if any are currently functioning, just to be sure?”

“I can do that.”

“Last, the road to the Seminole lands – it’s about five miles south of Immokalee, isn’t it?”

“Right. You going out there?”

“Yeah, I know someone that I haven’t seen in a while. Thought I’d pay him a visit.”

End of Chapter 8
 
Yes, the Russians had their own encomienda system that enslaved the peasants to the nobility, and it was decreed by their monarch just as the Spanish had done.
 
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