Death of a Siren Page 12

  The commandant smiled grimly. “The governor’s life was in Quito, and he was stuck out here. His career was in danger, and he is known to have been melancholic all his life. I also think he resented the power Sergeant López has acquired over the years. But to answer your real question, I have seen no suggestion that he was taking bribes or betraying the Republic or doing anything else dishonorable. It is always possible that I have not seen everything I should. I would be saddened and surprised, but not angry with you, if you come across something I don’t know.”

  “Did he have any business interests out here?”

  “His only interest was in going home.”

  “Any love interests?”

  The commandant laughed. “No. Everybody would have known if he did. There is little privacy here.”

  When we returned to the office, Rojas and I found Ana still sitting behind the desk while Don Vicente paced back and forth. “What did he want?” asked Ana.

  “Same as before. He wants me to find out what Becker’s doing.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No, and I’m not even sure at this point where to start looking. I saw him here, in Wreck Bay, a few days ago, and nobody admits to having seen him since. But López may be willing to help me find him now that I know Becker was with the baroness the night she was killed.”

  “Really? How do you know that?”

  “Because he was seen there,” I explained, wondering if maybe I was talking too much.

  “Maybe we should talk to the Crazy German,” offered Rojas. “Señora Herzog said she thinks he might know something about Becker.”

  I looked at the seaman, then at Ana.

  “It’s a starting point,” she agreed. “He may know something useful about Becker. You just said you don’t know where to start.”

  Don Vicente, who’d stopped pacing and was perched on the corner of the desk with his arms folded, suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “That man is truly insane,” he said.

  “But not really dangerous,” insisted Ana. “I know where he lives. He’s hard to find. I’ll take you there.”

  Don Vicente’s expression changed from discomfort to outright concern as he stared at his daughter. “How do you know that?”

  “Roberto and I get around, usually on some business for you.”

  Don Vicente grunted. Serves him right, I thought, for raising her to be a modern woman. I wondered what her mother thought of it all. “Thanks,” I finally said, “but not today. I think I’d better find López and tell him about Becker’s connection to the murders.”

  “That’s very wise, Fred,” said Don Vicente before Ana could say another word. “I understand that the commandant wants you to locate this German, but you must understand that his may not be the last word out here. López has powerful backers in Quito, and the navy may not be the most powerful force there. Come, Ana, perhaps we should get home.”

  At first Ana looked as if she was going to argue, but then she thought better of it. “Radio me when you want to go see the Crazy German. Roberto can bring me to Wreck Bay.”

  Don Vicente smiled slightly and shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t a shrug of defeat but one of acceptance and even satisfaction. He’d set out to raise his daughter to standards that differed from those of his class. And he’d succeeded. Now all he had to do was worry that he might have made a mistake. Or gone too far. “I’m very serious, Fred, when I say I hope you’ll come visit us soon,” he said as he offered his hand. “My wife will find you charming, and I think you’ll find our plantation of great interest.”

  I watched them walk out the door toward the pier. “Seaman Rojas,” I asked, “is there a telephone line from here to the ice factory?”

  “Yes, sir, one of the few on the island.”

  “Good. I want to call Sergeant López and arrange to meet with him.”

  My aide led me back to the vestibule where one extension of the island’s very limited telephone system sat on the desk. Rojas placed the call, listened a moment, then said gracias and hung up. “The sergeant’s not there, sir. He delivered the governor’s body and then left, and they don’t know where he went.”

  “He’s probably headed back here,” I reasoned. “We’ll wait for him.”

  15

  Two hours later López still hadn’t appeared and, sitting in a more or less enclosed room, I was very aware of how much I smelled. “Rojas, we both could use a bath and a change of clothes, so I am going out to my boat and you may wish to use the facilities here.”

  “I’m sure you’re welcome to use our showers, sir.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll return to Pegasus. You come out in two hours so we can plan our next move. And find a few beers to bring along. Here’s some money.”

  Rojas took the money, and I walked down to the pier and jumped into my dinghy just as the sun started to kiss the horizon. There was nothing wrong with the navy’s showers—a little old and moldy, perhaps—but I wanted some privacy. It may sound ridiculous to complain about a lack of privacy in a sparsely populated assemblage of volcanic rocks in the middle of nowhere, but the commandant was right. Between López, the commandant, and some of the stranger residents, I was beginning to feel as closed in as I had on that steaming July evening in Hell’s Kitchen.

  I reached Pegasus, stripped, and jumped over the side with what was left of my saltwater soap, in a hurry to complete the job before the sun totally disappeared. Although I hadn’t yet spotted one, the bay was said to have a large shark population and, as everybody knows, they tend to be more active at night. Despite my shark worries, the dark-blue, almost-cold water was so refreshing that I let myself float a few moments. All thoughts of dead baronesses, crazy Germans, suicidal Ecuadorean aristocrats, and police sergeants who weren’t really police floated away with the soap scum. I climbed back aboard Pegasus and, after checking that the navy had filled my water tanks, drew a bucket of freshwater and rinsed, dried myself, and slipped into clean trousers and shirt. I then settled into the cockpit and watched as the last rays of the sun bathed the settlement. At high noon Wreck Bay looked as utterly shopworn as it really was, yet now, in the last mellow light of the day, it could have been El Dorado.

  My thoughts turned to more pressing topics, specifically that Ana might manage somehow to get hurt by being involved with me. Two hours ago my biggest worry had been that I was trapped in a political situation I had no means of understanding, but now the threat seemed much more solid, immediate, and personal. Three people had already been murdered, and I still had no idea why, although I had a number of suspects. If three were already dead, then more could follow. Including Ana and me. I was a total stranger in these strangest of islands and doubted I had any dependable allies, except possibly Ana. And, hopefully, her father. Strangely, I also found Rojas on my list of allies, despite his compelled allegiance to both López and the commandant.

  If I failed to produce a murderer satisfactory to López then I would be tried as the murderer. Leaving all personal considerations aside, I couldn’t help but believe that whatever was going on was much bigger than just the murder of three very strange Germans. War seemed likely in Europe and almost equally possible in the Pacific, and the commandant’s words had succeeded in convincing me that it would probably reach as far as Las Encantadas. And even if the Germans—those that weren’t already living here—didn’t attack, the Peruvians might take advantage of the confusion to do so themselves.

  I felt a bump as a boat came alongside. “It’s me, Mr. Freiman, Rojas. I have a case of beer here.”

  I jumped up and leaned over the side. There was Rojas in a boat with a case of beer and another sailor at the oars. “Excellent!” I shouted. “Pass it up.” Within seconds, both the case of beer and Rojas were safely parked in the cockpit. “Wait,” I said as Rojas started to say something to the seaman in the boat. “I bet he’d like a beer.”

  Rojas relayed the offer, and the seaman just smiled as he continued to hang on to Pegasus’s rail.
I slid below and rooted through the galley drawer for a bottle opener. Call it a bribe if you want or call it simple graciousness, but the Ecuadorean sailors, even the gunboat skipper, had done a lot for me, and gone through a lot, and done so with much less outright grumbling than I used to hear in the New York station house. I wanted them to continue to think kindly of me. While the sailor in the rowboat savored the beer, I opened two more and pulled out a couple cigars that López had provided, either in a fit of generosity or in an effort to bribe me. Rojas accepted a warm beer but passed on the cigar. I watched as the sailor handed the empty bottle up to Rojas, said “thank you, sir” in English, then rowed off into the night. I lay back, placing my head against the cabin bulkhead, and looked up into the night.

  The jet-black sky was now almost hidden by a brilliant almost-solid mass of silver-blue stars, and the wind was blowing gently but steadily. I could, I thought, send Rojas ashore in my dinghy, heave up the anchor, and be well underway before midnight. But I knew I wouldn’t. I didn’t worry that the commandant would chase me. In fact, I didn’t worry about him at all. He was, I concluded, a reasonable man. He might well have the power to have me shot at any time, but he would do so only for a good reason. López, on the other hand, continued to scare me to death. And I still wasn’t really sure why. He’d trapped me and manipulated me and threatened me, but those were just common cop tactics. There was something more, something hidden. So many of the islanders didn’t just hate him, they feared him. Even, perhaps, the late governor. Yet the reason wasn’t obvious, which made it all the more frightening. The commandant wouldn’t bother to chase me, but López sure as hell would.

  And, if it weren’t for López, I wouldn’t have even considered leaving. Las Encantadas were beginning to grow on me. Their strange, austere beauty, their almost infinite variety, the sense of openness and of being on a frontier. At the edge of the world or maybe even of the universe. Even the people, the mishmash of northern Europeans and Ecuadoreans. And one of those people in particular: Ana de Guzmán. The smell of her hair in a gentle breeze, the faint tickle of her breath on my cheek, the awareness of a powerful electricity not only when I was close to her but whenever she was in sight—or even in my mind. I was at least ten years older than she. She was part of a very wealthy family and had gone to college. I could claim neither. Yet she acted as if it didn’t make any difference to her. It might in Quito, but not here. I loved her sense of adventure, and yet it worried me. It was bound to get her in trouble some day.

  I glanced at Rojas’s shadowy form. He seemed to be staring up at the stars, too. “We’ve gotten ourselves into a very difficult position,” I observed.

  “Sir?”

  “I’m trapped between the commandant and López. And there’s more, I’m certain. Something’s going on around us. Something much bigger than either of them. And if I’m trapped, then I’m afraid you are too.”

  Rojas sighed and took a sip of his beer. “I’m not an investigator, sir, but I think you’re right.”

  “And I think it has something to do with the Germans. The ones in Germany.”

  “There are those in the government who favor Germany. And there are many Germans living here. But I don’t see the connection between the baroness and her men and whatever is going on. Except that they were Germans.”

  “Neither do I, but this Becker fellow seems to make some sort of connection.” I sat up, stuffed my empty bottle back in the case, and pulled out a full one.

  “Then you really did believe Elías?”

  “Yes, why shouldn’t I?”

  “He doesn’t have the best reputation.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Because it’s mostly rumors.”

  “Have you ever met Becker?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Seen him?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’ve seen him. Talked to him briefly. He looks like a soldier, like the ones you sometimes see in the newspapers, and he does talk like a Nazi. About reshaping the world and getting rid of people who need to be gotten rid of.”

  “Then you know him.”

  “I’m acquainted with him. So you don’t think this has to do with Germany and the war?”

  “It may, sir, but you’re overlooking your own people, the North Americans.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That man you spoke with the other morning, the one with the big sailboat.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s been seen all over the islands.”

  “He says he’s a tourist. Looking at the animals and the scenery.”

  “He’s been seen many times ashore with measuring instruments.”

  “Measuring instruments?”

  “To measure the land.”

  “Surveying instruments?”

  “Yes, that’s the word. And he and his men have also been seen collecting rocks.”

  “Are you blowing smoke in my face? Trying to confuse me?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Do López and the commandant know about all this with Thompson?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure they both do. It’s been talked about at naval headquarters.”

  “And?”

  “The commandant doesn’t seem worried. I have no idea how Sergeant López feels about it.”

  I noticed that the breeze was picking up. I could be away and gone in no time. I could pick up Ana on my way west, to Tahiti, where life would have to be simpler than it was here. Except they speak French in Tahiti. I’d still be an outsider.

  “You ready for another beer?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. Some of what’s going on makes me very nervous.”

  “That makes two of us. Let’s go ashore and find some food.”

  “The navy mess, sir?”

  “No, how about that place where we had breakfast? The Miramar?”

  “There’ll be many interesting people there at night, sir. It’s very popular.” He then handed me a wad of sucres. “From the commandant, sir. He figured that you must have spent the money López gave you by now.”

  “And he’s undoubtedly worried I won’t feed you properly.”

  “The navy is supposed to feed its sailors, sir.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “My Spanish lessons start tonight. You’ll be the teacher. We’ll concentrate on useful stuff. For example, how do you say ‘beautiful’?”

  “There are many words for that. Do you mean a beautiful flower or a beautiful ship or a beautiful young doña?” Obviously the kid didn’t have a head for alcohol. Either that or he’d totally lost all sense of his place in the world.

  “While we’re on the subject, Seaman, what exactly is the deal about dons and doñas? I heard you address Ana as ‘Doña’ the other night. Does that mean her father’s a knight or something?”

  “It’s looser than that, sir. It’s a title of respect that you can use with anybody. A teacher, your boss, anybody who’s respected or who has authority. Don Vicente, for example, is respected not only because he’s very wealthy but also because he’s clever and generous. Many of the Galapaguinos seem to feel the same about Doña Ana.”

  “López never calls her that. He keeps calling her señorita.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with señorita. Or with señora. Alicia Echeverría is a very wonderful señorita. When I’m older I look forward to being a señor. But in this situation, López is being insulting.”

  “Very well. Which of the ‘beautifuls’ do you recommend? Tell me and we’ll work on the pronunciation on our way to the Miramar.”

  “I think ‘encantadora’ is most appropriate.”

  “Like these islands?”

  “If you like.”

  16

  As Rojas had predicted, the Miramar was jumping when we arrived. Every night, it seemed, was Saturday night there. The tables were all taken, and a small but very loud combo—a couple guitars, a trumpet, and a drummer—was
pumping out music under the stars. A few couples were strutting around the sandy dance floor, but most of the customers were men who were concentrating on drinking and talking. The women, both those dancing and those sitting at tables, looked tired and worn. I suspected many were there on business.

  “These girls . . .” I said to Rojas.

  “This is a small settlement, sir. There aren’t many, and they all work for the sergeant, so you should be careful what you say around them.”

  “López?”

  “Yes, sir.” As Rojas spoke the expression on his face drifted into a frown. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about mentioning López’s side business, even if it probably was common knowledge to everybody but me.

  I looked again at the girls. I’d had plenty of contact with such women over the years in New York, and I felt a real sympathy for them. I wasn’t one of those cops who snarled publicly about “immoral, godless, diseased whores” only to shake them down in private. I’d found a few to be vicious and still more who had become cynical, but many, if not most, were, at heart, sad, discouraged, and resigned. Some were even supporting families. Any job, they seemed to feel, was better than none. The government and the newspapers kept saying everything was getting better, but that would have been hard to prove on the streets and in the alleys of Hell’s Kitchen.

  “I gather you liked the Echeverría girl,” I remarked, hoping to move my thoughts into a more positive realm.

  “I did, sir. She reminded me of some of the girls I knew back home. A little more rustic but, I think, smarter.”

  I looked around the “dining room,” which was open to the sky and bordered on the water side by a string of lanterns strung between tall poles and swaying in the misty sea breeze. The night air was filled with the smells of sizzling coconut oil and burning meat, mixed with the tang of the sea and of still-cooling rock. A few of the other patrons glanced at us, but most concentrated on eating, drinking, and talking. I can’t say they looked like everybody who was anybody at Wreck Bay—I suspected that the true upper crust wouldn’t be caught dead here—but they looked prosperous by island standards. “I don’t see any place to sit,” I said unhappily. I was hungry.