Death of a Siren Page 16

  I wanted to be part of the new life here, where I could see much further than I’d ever been able to see in Hell’s Kitchen. I could sign on with Don Vicente and have Ana at my side.

  I took a deep breath, and my dreams disintegrated. I couldn’t settle here. The NYPD and the Mob would eventually find me. I’d had my fun. Now I had to escape López and after that, God only knew.

  Whatever remained of my fantasies ended abruptly later that morning when the gunboat pulled alongside the pier. I was standing with the de Guzmáns, deciding whether to peck Ana on the cheek or to go for broke and really kiss her, when I noticed the expression on the skipper’s face. Catastrophe had somehow struck while I wasn’t looking. Even before the lines had been passed ashore, the petty officer was shouting at Rojas. I was surrounded by shocked gasps. Rojas, Ana, Doña María, and Don Vicente, everybody knew except me. Even the half-dozen idlers lounging around on the pier looked shocked.

  “There’s been a terrible disaster, sir,” explained Rojas. “Last night your boat caught fire and sank.”

  I just stared at him a moment, my shock even greater than that of those around me. Pegasus, my boat, burned and sunk! Everything I owned gone. I was trapped forever. And she wasn’t even my boat, I reminded myself as a wave of gut-wrenching guilt exploded within me. Pegasus was Alf’s boat. I’d stolen her from him and now I’d destroyed her. That remorse I’d held in check so long now threatened to overwhelm me. I realized I was shuddering slightly.

  “Fred, are you all right?” asked Ana as she grabbed my arm.

  I turned to her and looked into her eyes. All I could see was concern. Not a hint of accusation. But then she knew nothing of this, my worst sin. “I’ll be all right, Ana. It’s just the shock. I’d better get back right away.”

  Don Vicente stepped beside me and grabbed my arm with one hand while he pumped my hand with the other. “It will work out, my friend. Do what you must, and let me know if there’s anything I can do. And remember, you’re always welcome to come visit again and to stay as long as you want.”

  Under other circumstances those words would have seemed heaven-sent.

  I thanked him and shook Doña María’s hand. On her face was a worried little smile. Then Ana grabbed me and hugged me tight. “We’re all on your side, Fred.” I pecked her on the cheek and jumped aboard the gunboat, closely followed by Rojas. The gunboat’s engine backed with a roar and a cloud of black smoke, and we pulled away from the dock.

  As soon as we were clear of the bay, the skipper came aft to where we were standing. He nodded to me with a sympathetic expression, then started talking to Rojas. “It seems, sir,” reported my aide and translator, “that a fire broke out very late last night. Nobody knows how it started. The commandant sent men to put it out, but they weren’t able to do so. The boat was wood, and no longer young.”

  “And now?”

  “What’s left of her is sitting on the bottom of Wreck Bay.”

  The words were brutal, but how else could he have put it? Alf’s boat was gone, and my future was growing darker by the second.

  It probably would have been better if Pegasus had been lost far at sea, in deep water. Then she would have disappeared and been gone. Only a memory. But she’d sunk in Wreck Bay, so as we passed her resting place, the top three or four feet of her mainmast were sticking out of the water. A very painful reminder. “I want to dive and take one last look at her,” I remarked to Rojas. “I probably can’t get all the way down, but I can at least see how she looks now.”

  “I’m sure we can find a mask for you, sir.”

  Rojas’s friend Gonzales was standing on the dock, waiting for us. “Sir,” he announced in slow and careful English, as if he’d memorized it, “the commandant wishes to see you right now. Please come with me.”

  “Yes, of course.” I turned to Rojas. “I think your friend is trying to take your job away from you.”

  “He won’t be in the navy forever, sir.”

  I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the interview with the commandant was brief and relatively painless. “Mr. Freiman,” he said in his own slow English, “I am very sorry you have lost your yacht. I also very much regret that we were unable to save it.”

  “Thank you, sir. I know you did your best.”

  He nodded, then continued, “As I am sure you understand, I will have to cut off the masts. Both of them. They are very dangerous navigational hazards.”

  “I totally agree, sir. Would there be any objection to my diving down as close as I can get to take one last look?”

  “No, not at all. Where do you plan to live?”

  Good question. “I don’t know at the moment.”

  “I can provide a room here, or perhaps you can find something else.” As he spoke, he handed me a wad of sucres.

  “Thank you. I’ll come up with something.”

  He started to rise, and so did I. “Have you learned anything more about how the fire started, sir?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “No. That is something of a mystery. Most boat fires I have seen are either from an electrical short circuit or somebody being careless smoking or cooking. Neither would seem to apply here. When I send the diver down to cut the masts, I will have him look carefully around. He is not a trained investigator, but he is an experienced seaman and may spot something.”

  “If you do find something, will you please let me know?”

  “With pleasure.”

  Rojas was waiting for me outside the commandant’s office. “Where to now, sir?”

  Yes, where to now? “Do you have any idea where López is?”

  “No, sir. Nobody’s seen him.”

  I looked up at the sun. There was still plenty of daylight left. “You said you could get me a dive mask. Can you also get me a boat so we can go out and take a look at what’s left of Pegasus?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  An hour later Rojas was rowing me out across the deep blue bay. I secured the boat’s painter to Pegasus’s masthead and only then noticed a small, splotchy black-and-white something perched on the tilted mast, right at the waterline. While the boat drifted back on its ten-foot painter, Rojas started to smile, then stifled it, realizing that now clearly wasn’t the time for chuckles. Ignoring this unexplained mirth, I slipped the mask over my face. “Keep your eyes open for sharks,” I directed. He grabbed the oar and shook it.

  I lowered myself over the side of the rowboat and breaststroked slowly to the mast. Alf’s boat was under about forty feet of water, which meant I could probably get down to it but would have no breath left for much exploring. Still, I had to take one last look. To see if there was anything to see.

  As I got closer, I took another look at the black-and-white blob on the mast. It was rocking slowly from foot to foot. It was a tiny penguin—a Galápagos penguin, as I later learned—no more than nine inches high, and whoever had decorated it must have been drunk, because the black and white areas were ill-defined, almost random. It had preposterous little wings, a back straight enough to satisfy the most demanding marine drill sergeant, and a long beak. More than happy to hunt for little fish in the chill waters of the Humboldt Current.

  I continued to approach the mast, not as interested in the bird as Rojas seemed to be. The little penguin watched me, turning its head from side to side to give each beady little eye a chance to study me. Suddenly it sprang backward into the water, flipped its bottom skyward, did a surface dive, and was gone.

  Holding my breath, I looked down. Thanks to the crystal clarity of the water, I was rewarded with a distant, shadowy sight of the boat. Rewarded isn’t the correct word in this case. Even from the distance, I could see that much of the cabin had disappeared along with a big chunk of the side. I raised my head again and, holding on to the mast, took several deep breaths. I grabbed one of the wire stays that still held the mast up and pulled myself down on it. The deeper I went, the chillier the water became and the more the pressure increased on my chest and ears, but I did manage t
o make it all the way to the deck.

  Close up, Pegasus was a worse mess than it had appeared from the surface. Half the cabin was gone, with only a few charred lengths of lumber to show where it had been. A great black void stretched down the side from the deck to the waterline. Despite the growing agony in my lungs, I stuck my head into what had been the cabin and saw nothing but darkness. That was it! I’d seen what there was to see, and now I had to concentrate on saving myself. With my lungs engulfed in flames, I sprang off the deck and headed for the surface, hoping I would make it before my will weakened and I gulped in a deadly dose of water.

  As I approached the surface I detected motion, rapid motion, off to one side. God! I thought. The sharks have finally arrived. I kicked and pulled my arms down to accelerate my ascent, then watched in surprise and relief as the little penguin raced past me, feet kicking furiously.

  Somehow I made it. My head broke through the surface, and I gulped frantically for air. By my second breath I found the wits to grab the mast and float, gasping and shaking. Whether the swimming bird was chasing a fish or just taking another look at me I’ll never know.

  “I’m here, sir.”

  I looked up and found Rojas in the boat only a few feet away. “I can haul you in, sir.”

  “In a minute. I’ve got to catch my breath.”

  God damn López! He’d killed Pegasus, killed Alf’s dream, and killed my future. Not to mention my self-respect.

  20

  I opened my eyes because I had no choice; the sun pouring in through the window had pried them open for me. My head pounded as I looked around the room, and reality took a minute to register. I wasn’t aboard Pegasus. I was lying in the simple but fairly clean shack Rojas had helped me find behind the very modest home of Wreck Bay’s only tailor. A bed, a small table with one chair, a window, a beaten earth floor, and a privy out back. I lay there, wrapped in misery and cursing myself for spending the night guzzling first beer and then rum. Most of all, I cursed myself for stealing Alf’s boat and then losing it.

  I told myself that just as soon as I felt a little better I’d hunt down that bastard López and kill him, but even in my half-dead mental condition I knew I wouldn’t. No matter how much the commandant might sympathize with such an act, he’d have no choice but to arrest me and send me to the mainland for killing a government official. There was a knock at the door. I tried to focus on what looked like a large cockroach strolling along the wall—a big, New York roach—and hoped whoever wanted to visit would go away. A second knock. Then “Fred, it’s Ana. Can I come in?”

  Ana, I thought. Yes, Ana. A spark of hope and joy ignited in my soul only to flutter and sputter pitifully under the weight of my hangover. I wanted to see her, but I didn’t want her to see me the way I was. I mumbled something, and the door opened. Ana walked in, followed by Roberto. In her arms was a large package wrapped in paper. She put it on the table and pulled the chair next to the bed. “I’m so sorry about your boat, Fred. I’d really hoped that when this was over we might go adventuring in it,” she said, touching me gently on the cheek. “They said you made a mess of yourself last night.”

  I damn well did, I thought as I stared at the ceiling. And I made an ass of myself, too. I looked at her and tried to focus, finally succeeding. “I’ve got to clean myself up a little.” Roberto, I noticed, was wearing a faint but seemingly sympathetic smile. Maybe he was defrosting a little.

  “Yes, you do, but first I want you to try these on,” she said, pointing at the package. “They’re old but still presentable. Papa’s taller than you, so we altered them. They should fit. I’ll go outside while Roberto helps you.” She turned and glided out the door.

  I struggled to stand and realized there was something I had to do before trying on clothes. I pointed to the back door, and Roberto nodded. Without bothering to put on my worthless canvas shoes, I shuffled out the door and across the sandy, stony backyard past a tiny, compost-based vegetable garden. After visiting the privy, which I understood was flushed out naturally by every high tide, I scooped some water from a barrel of freshwater and threw it on my face. The water didn’t make me feel much better, but I thought I could make it through the fitting. When I got back into the room, I found three pairs of vary serviceable cotton trousers, three or four shirts, some undergarments that looked new, a pair of swim shorts, and a pair of leather sandals all laid out on the bed. Without a mirror and with half my brain still shattered, I had no way of knowing how well the clothes fit, but Roberto nodded his approval in every case. The last thing I tried was the swim shorts, which I left on. Roberto glanced at me, then stuck his head out the door, and Ana glided back into the room. “Well?”

  “They’re very handsome and fit perfectly,” I tried to assure her. “Don Vicente keeps doing me favors I can’t repay.”

  “Favors? You mean old clothes? Well, the truth is he isn’t much of a clothes hog. The things he wears out here are usually even worse than what he’s sent you. Mama doesn’t let him get away with that on the mainland.”

  I looked again at the clothes and decided I was going to be better dressed than ninety percent of the Galapaguinos.

  “Ana, if I’m ever going to return to the living I have to take a swim.”

  “Before you go, sit down and chew on this a few minutes.” She handed me a piece of paper folded over into a small package. I opened it and found ground-up leaves sprinkled with a white powder. I looked at her, then stuffed the mess in my mouth and chewed. Within seconds I found my lips puckering. “What’s this?”

  “Coca leaves, a mild narcotic. It’ll help you feel better.”

  “What? The stuff they make cocaine out of?” I thought of all the cocaine in the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. They said it made life bearable, like alcohol.

  “Yes. But this is much milder. And legal. Think of it as a super aspirin.”

  I looked at her skeptically but started to chew. Anything to quell the civil war in my head. After a few minutes I felt better . . . and more alive. “I could get to like this stuff,” I mumbled.

  “Over my dead body. The only people who use it regularly are the Indians in the high mountains. It helps them survive, but it’s not good for them. I’m only giving you this because it’s an emergency.”

  “Have you ever used it?”

  “Twice. Once when I was little and broke my arm falling off a horse. The doctor was hours away and I was making a terrible racket, so Papa gave me some coca tea. How do you feel now?”

  “Better. Much better.”

  “Spit it out,” she demanded. “Here, in this bag. Now take your swim. Roberto and I will go along and guard against the sharks.”

  The sharp tone of Ana’s voice surprised me, but it shouldn’t have. I was the one who’d made a fool out of himself, and she was putting me back together. I was going to have to do some of the work myself!

  I don’t know if it was the coca or the swim, but within an hour I felt as if I could pay attention to the world around me rather than blundering around in the chaos inside my head. Now I could focus on the business at hand. “What I’d really like to do is shoot López,” I said as I chewed some rice and beans while we sat in a little hole-in-the-wall, two-table restaurant owned and operated by a friend of Roberto’s. “Or plant an ax in his head, slowly. But that would really be stupid.”

  “Yes, it would. I think we’ve got to concentrate on finding who killed the baroness and her friends. And make absolutely sure that Becker isn’t just spreading rock samples around to confuse us. If we can satisfy both López and the commandant, you might get out of this mess alive.”

  Except for the Mob, of course, and certain influential and highly respected members of the NYPD. There was only one way they’d be satisfied. And I had noticed the “we” but prudently let it pass, because despite my initial fear of putting her in danger, I was becoming very comfortable working with her.

  “Here’s what we have,” I said after taking another gulp of coffee. “Just about eve
rybody who knew her disliked her, and all seem capable of killing her and her friends. However, so far I’ve only found four people who can be placed at the castle during those two days—Thompson, Becker, Elías, and Sofía. Thompson and Elías admit they were there, and Elías says Becker was also there; I think the rock specimens confirm that.”

  “Unless they were Thompson’s. He seems to be collecting rocks, or something, too.”

  “That’s possible. But he seems to have disliked her less than most of the others.”

  “You overlooked López and yourself. And Ritter and Ernst.”

  “Yes, I did. And speaking of López, I did tell you the rocks disappeared between when they threw me in the hole and when they dragged me out again. I wonder who took them.”

  “The maid, Sofía, may have cleaned them up. Or Ritter and Ernst may have taken them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they resented whoever left them? They were both very strange.”

  “Or López. He did have a briefcase with him.”

  “Why? Evidence?”

  “That makes sense. And if that was López’s boat we saw at Becker’s camp, then he’s more closely connected with Becker than he’s admitting.”

  I paused a moment. “We keep forgetting about Ritter and Ernst. Plenty of people had a reason to kill the baroness, but what about her two pets? They might have done it themselves.”

  “You think it might have something to do with sex or jealousy? Maybe they were infuriated by her visitors.”

  “Maybe it was about money. She had all of it, they had none. They probably had to beg for every sucre.”

  “Then why would somebody kill them?”

  “Maybe they didn’t kill her. Maybe they saw something.”

  “Maybe. Fred, why do you think López is so determined for you to identify the killer? He knows what he’s doing; he could probably do the job himself.”

  “Don’t know. It doesn’t make much sense. But I do know we have to pick up where we left off. Find Becker and talk to him, talk to Thompson again, and find Sofía. Somebody has to know where her relatives live.”