Death of a Siren Page 10

  My heart started beating again as I took the launch’s lines and secured them to the dock. I straightened up and looked at Ana.

  “Of course he’s not here,” she continued, “not among civilized people. The sargento is a vile spider who spins webs of steel and traps the innocent in them. And when I saw you in Wreck Bay you didn’t look happy to be one of those he’s trapped.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  She held out a small, white canvas seabag. I took it, and she jumped over onto the dock, then said something in Spanish to Roberto. Her launch captain and bodyguard nodded and smiled as he shut down the diesel engine. Damn it, I thought, I’m going to have to concentrate on learning Spanish. It was bad enough being “the Dutchman” in New York, isolated and ignored. It was proving intolerable here.

  When we reached the houses, all remained as quiet as it had been before. Not even the finches were screeching. Ana stood a moment, deep in thought, then looked at the now-vanishing sun. “Is this where the party is?” she demanded in a loud voice. Then, with a mischievous smile, she started pounding on the door to Carla and Gregor’s house. “The Echeverrías will be here any minute.”

  “Ana,” shouted Carla from inside. The door flew open, and the hostess appeared with her husband following. “Welcome, welcome. Put your bag inside and let’s get started.”

  The last guests, Héctor and Luz Echeverría, arrived with a basket of fruit from their farm a mile or so inland and a sixteen-year-old daughter named Alicia, who brought a twinkle to Rojas’s eyes. By now, Roberto had demolished a beer and headed off to spend the night with friends on the other side of the bay.

  We settled around a sort of picnic table set in the middle of the platform. “Have you learned anything about who did those terrible murders?” asked Luz Echeverría. Since she spoke no English, Rojas was translating.

  “No,” I admitted, “and I’m beginning to wonder if anybody cares.”

  “I doubt anybody cares about the woman and the two men, unless they owed money to somebody, but we don’t like that sort of thing happening. It makes us worry.”

  I’d been wrong, I thought. Not because anybody cared about the victims but because the killing itself upset the islanders. The sane ones, anyway. “I wish I knew more,” I answered lamely. “I really wish I did.”

  “Anyway,” added Héctor Echeverría almost cheerfully, “these murders may be the least of our problems. If the generals manage to overthrow the president we’ll see big changes, even out here. And if the generals prove to be as incompetent as they have in the past, we’ll all end up citizens of Peru, not that their generals are any smarter.”

  “What about the war in Europe?” asked Luz. “You all know so much more about such things than we do.”

  “I think that depends on what the United States does,” offered Kaspar. “What do you think, Fred?”

  I wanted to say that I was just a dumb New York cop, but I didn’t. I’d made it through high school—in fact I was one of the few in my graduating class who had the faintest idea where Ecuador was—but I knew very little about politics. Not even station house politics, as it had turned out. “I think we’ll get involved, just like the last war. President Roosevelt hates Hitler.”

  “But what about the people?” continued Luz. “You’re German, aren’t you? Aren’t many Americans German?”

  I had to think a moment to explain something I’d never tried to explain before. “There are some American Nazi groups, and they’re damned noisy, but most German Americans are in America because they, or their parents or grandparents, didn’t want to be in Germany. Like the Herzogs. As for the rest, it’s all very far away. They don’t want to get involved. They’ve got enough problems right at home.”

  Despite the wind, the night was warm, and we’d all had more than a few beers. “Like some of the Herzogs,” grumbled Kaspar in a loud voice.

  Gregor spun and looked at him intently, almost threateningly. Kaspar glowered back at his older brother. “Albrecht didn’t go to the mainland on business; he left to go back to Germany. He decided there’s no money to be made here, but he thinks there is back there. The fool thinks Hitler is saving the place.”

  Gregor leaned back and sighed. “It’s true. Our brother is something of an embarrassment to us right now.”

  An awkward silence settled over the party until Ana, a determined expression on her face, stood abruptly. “Stop torturing yourselves. It’s Saturday night and it’s dinnertime, so clear those bottles off the table.”

  The dinner was, for me, both foreign and delicious: strips of fried iguana, not the fishy-tasting, black marine iguanas but the delicately flavored, camouflage-skinned land iguanas; several kinds of beans; potatoes and tomatoes; a goat stew seasoned to taste almost like lamb; and a slightly tart wine made from cactus flower fruit. By the time we reached dessert—homemade cheese and a selection of both tropical and temperate fruits from the Echeverrías’ farm—any discomfort caused by the memory of Albrecht’s perfidious behavior had evaporated.

  Even before the table had been completely cleared, Kaspar, who had an excellent voice, launched into several German songs, most of which I knew. Héctor replied with several Spanish songs, none of which I knew, although all the Herzogs did. Carla then pulled out her accordion and all hell broke loose as she squeezed the opening notes of a polka. Everybody, both German and Ecuadorean, knew how to polka, and everybody was determined to prove it with everybody else’s spouse or date. It took Rojas a few minutes to screw up his nerve, but by the end of the second dance he and Alicia were spinning their way around the house, laughing all the way.

  What a strange sight we’d be, I thought in an alcohol-induced flight of fancy, to a person in an airplane above us. Not that I’d ever been in one. A circle of torchlight filled with twisting bodies and swirling dresses and loud singing in Spanish, German, and even a little English.

  “Ana,” said Carla in a dreamy voice as she allowed herself a short break, “what are they wearing now in New York?” Karen, Luz, and Alicia all leaned forward to listen.

  “Women are cutting their hair shorter, and some of their everyday outfits are pretty exciting. They look like the sort of thing we might wear for Carnival.”

  “I’ll visit New York some day.”

  “You’ll find parts of it ugly, just like parts of Naples and Quito. You’ll find the rest busy, too busy. There’s little beauty there, but a lot is always going on. And there’s even more talking and running around than doing.”

  “Much is happening here, too,” mumbled Héctor, thinking perhaps of the agricultural experiments he’d joined Don Vicente de Guzmán in conducting.

  By midnight, the rigors of life in Las Encantadas had combined with the food, drink, singing, and dancing to exhaust everybody, leaving Ana and me slouched over the table, side by side, staring out into the pitch-black bay.

  “How did you like going to college in New York?” I asked, hoping to keep my new sense of intimacy with her from blowing away in the breeze.

  “I liked it. Most of it. There was so much to see and learn. But there were things I really hated. Some of the people, like all the witless boys with too much money and too few manners. The ones who liked to call me ‘Banana Princess.’”

  I took a deep breath. “Sergeant López insists on calling me ‘Fritz.’”

  “Does that irritate you?”

  “Yes. It’s like the Irish calling me ‘the Dutchman.’ It’s not usually intended to be nice.”

  “López is dangerous. He doesn’t bother us, but many people are afraid of him. Do your best to get away from him.”

  “He was born here, wasn’t he? He said he left and came back almost thirty years later.”

  “According to Roberto, López’s father was a former prisoner, like Roberto. The father was killed in a fight and the mother took him to the mainland, and nobody heard anything about him until he returned. The man who was governor then immediately made him his police chief, and every other governor
since has done the same. He’s become very powerful. I think it has something to do with who he knows ashore, in Quito.”

  “Do you plan to go back to New York?” I asked, hoping to escape from López’s world and return to Ana’s.

  “Someday, I’m sure, to visit. Probably on business. Papa has all sorts of plans for me, but then he has all sorts of plans for everything. Ecuador is a very old country, but it’s also a very new land. Of course you’ll go back to New York after you finish seeing the world. Will the police rehire you?”

  I took another deep breath. “When I finish seeing the world, I just might go back. But remember, the New York I knew is probably very different from the New York you knew—dances and clean-cut college boys.”

  “They weren’t as clean-cut as they looked. But I do understand you saw parts I never did and never want to.”

  We sat in silence a few moments, the awareness of her faint smell and gentle breathing overwhelming me. I leaned over to kiss her, but she gently placed her index finger between our lips. “I want to be a modern woman, Fred. I will be a modern woman, but you must remember that I was born into hundreds of years of traditions and rules.”

  I sighed and leaned back. It was as if Roberto was standing right behind me.

  “I like you very much, and I’m very afraid for you. This business with López is especially worrisome.” Then, I could have sworn she ruffled my hair gently with her fingertips, only to look away when I turned toward her.

  I reviewed with her the details of my investigation so far and my growing suspicion that the murders were just a sideshow, that something more important was in the works.

  “You’re right that very few people care who killed those three, but there’s so much going on that you don’t know about. There’s no way you can know if the murders are important for some other reason. Few, if any, of the Galapaguinos understand it either. Germany, Peru, the politicians squabbling while the big foreign companies build their oil and mining concessions. Even in Quito very little is clear, not even to those directly involved. They’re shadows fighting shadows. Who, for example, does López really work for?”

  “The governor.”

  “Eduardo, the governor, is a decent young guy, but he’s also a pitiful fool. He should be back in Quito where his mind might survive. They sent him here because everybody trusts him to do nothing that will threaten them. López takes his orders directly from somebody in Quito. You can bet on that.”

  “Who?”

  “It could be a hundred different people on a dozen different sides. I’m not sure how to find out without spending months there. Not even Papa knows for sure who is who these days, and he knows everybody. We’re a very old family.”

  “You’re not being very encouraging.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. What do you plan to do next?”

  “I’m going to see the cook, Elías, again. And Sofía, the maid. I want to know where Ritter and Ernst were when their mistress was killed.”

  “That makes sense. I hope you want my opinion.”

  “I do. After I talk to the cook and the maid, I plan to track down Becker and find out exactly how he fits in, no matter what López says.”

  “I’ve met him. He’s very German, very stiff and arrogant. He’s also very handsome in a German way. But he’s not as handsome as you.”

  López wasn’t the only person in my life skilled at spinning webs, I thought as I listened to her. “Who is he? What’s he doing here? I’ve seen him once, but he did all the talking and didn’t tell me anything. He looks very military.”

  “He tells people he’s a businessman looking for new opportunities. I think he’s probably a Nazi, whether or not he’s really a businessman.”

  “He sounded that way to me. Why’s López discouraging me from looking for him while the commandant says he wants to know about him?”

  “Will you let me help you find out? I’m a Galapaguina, part time anyway, and people sometimes tell me things they might not tell you.”

  “You’re also the daughter of a powerful landowner. Some people don’t like telling things to daughters like that.”

  “None of us is perfect.”

  “You keep telling me how dangerous all this is, and you’re right. I don’t want to be doing it. If I could I’d run like hell right now. Why should I let you get involved?”

  “All I’ll do is listen carefully to what people tell me.”

  You and Rojas, I thought. Both listening carefully.

  13

  Dawn must have broken the next morning, but neither I nor any of the others at the party were in any position to swear to it. The first sign of life, after the slow opening of my eyes, was Ana stepping out of Kaspar’s house to wash at the sink out back. As she returned to the house she glanced at me lying under a makeshift tent rigged next to the house, and waved. I slid off the cushions I’d been resting on and looked up. It was near noon. My head was pounding, and my mouth was as dry as the Galápagos coast. Then I noticed Don Vicente’s launch chugging across the harbor, sharp white waves forming along each of its bows.

  I dragged myself to my feet and waited. Ana soon reappeared, carrying her bag, with Carla beside her. Both were laughing. Neither looked any the worse for wear. Carla glanced at me with a wicked smile. She then said something in staccato Spanish to Ana, who glanced at me again, laughed, then replied, again in Spanish. I looked around for Rojas, hoping he was nearby to tell me what they’d said. He wasn’t.

  Roberto had already maneuvered the launch alongside the dock when we reached it. “I’ve had a wonderful time, Carla,” said Ana as she let me help her aboard. “I’ll host the next party.” Then, still holding my arm, she pulled me closer and kissed me on the cheek. “I meant everything I said, Fred. Come visit us soon.” She stepped back, nodded to Roberto, and the launch pulled away from the dock and headed out to the open ocean.

  “Well, Fred,” said Carla, “you’ve made a real impression on that girl.”

  Ana’s kiss was the high point of the day for me. We all managed to choke down a late brunch of fruit, bread, and some leftover stew, then retreated into the shade to continue recuperating. At some point in the afternoon the Echeverrías dragged themselves off to go home. Finally, around four, I decided I’d be able to tolerate a beer. After the second, I began to feel almost human, and by dinner it seemed as if we all would live.

  “You plan to visit Blackwater tomorrow?” asked Gregor between mouthfuls of fish and corn.

  “Yes, to see the cook again. He knows much more than he told me. And I want to find the maid. One of them must know where Ritter and Ernst were when the baroness was killed.”

  “If you see Piers Hanson, be careful with him.”

  “He does have a temper, but he was civil enough to me last time.” But not to the little kid, I thought. The one he’d stoned.

  “Do you know what happened to his first wife, the one before Christina, back in Norway?”

  The question caught me off guard. I hadn’t realized Christina was Piers’s second wife. “No, do you?”

  “Nobody does. Not even Olaf, or so he says. They say she just disappeared.”

  “What happened to Christina?”

  “She’s OK,” Carla assured me. “I saw her walk aboard the Guayaquil boat.”

  “You find that Becker fellow and get him out of our islands,” exploded Karen, completely out of the blue.

  “Do you know him? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “No, I don’t know him, but I know he’s a Nazi, and he’s here to kill a man.”

  “What?”

  “Karen!” sighed Gregor.

  “Seven or eight years ago,” Karen continued, undeterred, “a high-ranking Nazi official was killed in Munich by a Communist. Or so they say. The official was a close friend of Hitler, and the killer escaped and now lives somewhere here. Becker has been sent to find and kill him. Ask the Crazy German.”

  “Fred,” said Gregor, “Karen’s been carried away by t
his story for some time. The Crazy German got his name because he is.”

  “He may be, but I believe him,” insisted Karen.

  “Who is this fellow?” I asked.

  “He’s an old man who lives by himself in the forest several miles inland from Wreck Bay.”

  “Maybe I should talk to him.”

  “Only if you have nothing better to do.”

  I decided to think about it and, in the meantime, to enhance my cure by going for a swim. The swim did wonders and after another beer I pronounced myself cured. And ready for bed.

  The next morning when the gunboat arrived, Rojas and I thanked Carla and Gregor for a wonderful visit and jumped aboard. The skipper must have had a good weekend too, because his normal resentful frown was replaced with a wide smile. Maybe I had one fewer enemy than I did a few days before.

  About an hour after leaving Navy Bay, we came across two fishing boats tied together, drifting out in the middle of nowhere. The skipper took the gunboat alongside to make sure they weren’t in trouble. They weren’t. The fishermen were just chatting, sipping warm beers and taking a break. Piers Hanson had told the truth about at least one thing—the Galapaguinos fished how, where, and when they felt like it.

  When we arrived at Blackwater Bay, Elías wasn’t hard to find. Even before the gunboat had landed on the beach, we could see and hear him. He was circling Piers Hanson with a knife in his hand, screaming, according to Rojas, that he hated all Germans and was going to cut off Hanson’s testicles and then kill him. Hanson, who also had a knife, was shouting that Elías was a filthy pig, and worse. A small crowd of Ecuadoreans had gathered around the two brawlers. According to my assistant, all were rooting for Elías.

  Elías looked handy with a knife, but so did Hanson. I didn’t want the cook hacked to pieces before I could talk to him, so I grabbed an oar from the sailor who’d rowed us in. Holding it beside me, I mingled with the crowd. The cook and the Norwegian were so focused on each other that neither noticed me.