Death of a Siren Read online

  “Why not? I’d kill the son of a bitch if I could. Rojas says that even though you work for López you’re not his friend.”

  “You believe him?”

  “Rojas is a good boy. I believe him.”

  “Still, being seen talking to me might be very dangerous for you.”

  “If he kills me, he kills me,” she snarled. “I’ve got nothing to lose. If I’m lucky I’ll live to take the Guayaquil boat to the mainland. I have money for the fare.”

  And then what, I wondered. Working the streets of Guayaquil, which I knew was a big, rough seaport, would be like working the streets of the worst parts of Manhattan. It would be a very big change from Wreck Bay, which might be poor but was far from violent. Except maybe for López.

  “Do you know where López was the night the German baroness was murdered on Floreana?”

  “He was with me at about sunset in the plaza, collecting part of what I’d already earned.”

  “And after that?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see him until the next morning when he collected again.”

  “And that night?

  “The same. It’s always the same. It may have been earlier than usual, I can’t remember.”

  While she answered I looked around to see if anybody interesting was watching us, but I didn’t see anybody I recognized. I then realized that Esme hadn’t even bothered to look around. She really didn’t seem to care about the risk.

  “So you have no idea what he did after collecting from you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think he was seeing the baroness?”

  “For sex?”

  “Yes.”

  “Impossible! She liked to make her men crawl, and López is one man who does not crawl.”

  “Do you know a German named Becker?”

  She paused a moment, then replied, “Yes, he spent the night with me about a month ago.”

  “Does he like being humiliated?”

  “Not by me, but he’s very strange.”

  “Strange?”

  “Very precise. Everything has to be exactly the way he wants it. First this, then that.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what to ask next. Esme had told me a great deal, but I was going to have to think about it before I was sure what she’d really told me. I believed that by losing control and beating up Esme, López had made his first serious error; he’d revealed that he was feeling pressure. Maybe it was his second error, I added to myself. Leaving the rocks and the DKW manual out where I could see them might have been his first, although it was possible he’d done it on purpose for some reason. No, I was being far too clever!

  The pressure López felt might, of course, have been related to the governor’s suicide, but I doubted it. I hoped that it was the result of my closing in on Becker. And on López himself. I hoped the pressure would get to him and he would make more, and bigger, mistakes. And make them quickly. I didn’t want to be on the next boat to Guayaquil with Esme. “Thank you.”

  “Did I help you? Are you going to get the fucker? Maybe he did kill the German woman.”

  “Maybe.”

  And then she was on her feet. Without saying another word, she turned and walked back to her friends at the table.

  Our food arrived, and I played with mine a few minutes while the lanterns suspended along the open side of the restaurant began to dance in the salty breeze.

  “What do we do now, sir?”

  “I’m not sure, Rojas. We can’t just march up to López and accuse him of murder. We’re going to learn more about him, like what he’s doing when he disappears. And we’re going to talk to Becker somehow. We’re also going to do something to keep that girl alive at least until she can get on the boat.”

  “I can tell you what he does part of the time we don’t see him—he goes from island to island and settlement to settlement looking them over and making sure there are no problems. He also has many business deals with people, and he watches over them.”

  “What sort of business deals?”

  “Those girls, for one. He’s also part owner of some fishing boats and owns some houses and buildings. And he loans money to people. Even sailors.”

  “And he always gets paid back, right?”

  “Always, sir.”

  “Have you ever borrowed money from him?”

  Rojas squirmed.

  “Is that why you spy for him?”

  “I spy for him mainly because he’s a very powerful man here. I have no choice.”

  Cops, I thought. We come in all shapes and sizes. López and Sergeant McGrath were like two peas in a pod. If they knew each other, they’d either be good pals or mortal rivals.

  I watched the lanterns dance and felt a sinking sensation. The obvious way to find out more about López—where he was and when—was to track down his various business contacts. From what Rojas said, it sounded as if there were dozens spread out all over the archipelago, and I had no time to work my way through even a small portion of them. I looked at Rojas a moment and sighed. The logical place to start was the busy sergeant’s contacts at Wreck Bay and on Floreana, such as the owners of a couple restaurants who seemed to go out of their way to please him. They probably owed him money, or he might even be a partner.

  There’s no time like the present, I thought. “The man who owns this place, García, seems very interested in keeping on López’s good side.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rojas now looked more uncomfortable than ever. “Nobody in the islands wants any trouble with him.”

  Except possibly a Norwegian and a couple working girls. The Miramar looked quite prosperous to me, but I knew that thugs preferred to participate in prosperous businesses. Somehow, they always managed to find a way of elbowing in even if the owner didn’t need a loan. “Ask her if Señor García would join us for a few minutes,” I directed Rojas as I waved for the waitress.

  “You are going to get us killed, sir. Just as soon as López hears that you’re asking questions about him.”

  “Time’s running out, and he’s beginning to make mistakes. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

  He stared at me a moment, then repeated the request to the waitress.

  “Is there a problem, sir?” asked García as he scurried up to the table. He looked a little harried, as well he might be managing a place like the Miramar.

  “None at all. The seaman and I both love your restaurant.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He turned and started to leave.

  “Please join us, señor,” I insisted.

  “Thank you but I must attend to the other customers.”

  “Please,” I said, glowering at him.

  He thought about it for a moment, then sat down. I looked at him, trying to decide how to start. I was suddenly more aware of the passing of time than I ever had been. Every second was etched in my awareness. “Your time is valuable, Señor García, and so is mine, so I’ll come right to the point: Is Sergeant López a business associate of yours? Is he a partner in the Miramar?”

  García drew back as if I’d slapped him. “That is none of your affair.”

  “Do you know where he was the night the baroness was killed?”

  “He was here.” He stood and walked away.

  I didn’t believe him.

  Rojas looked at me with the haunted expression of a condemned man. Reconciled, perhaps, but still condemned. “The sergeant will know you have been asking about him within an hour.”

  “Yes. We’re committed now. We have to move quickly. Do you think Pepe Hernández may have borrowed money from López?”

  “It’s possible, sir, but I have no way of knowing for sure. His wife did say they needed money, but so does everybody.”

  “Still, it makes sense. López told Hernández to ferry Becker around, and Hernández figured he had no choice.”

  “That seems logical, sir.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll talk to Pepe’s wife again. And what about the people on Floreana? Like Elías?”<
br />
  Rojas mumbled something.

  “Please speak up.”

  “If we’re still alive tomorrow.”

  “I think we will be.”

  “So we have two people to talk to.”

  “Is it possible that he might have business dealings with the Herzogs or any of the other European settlers?”

  “I don’t know, sir, although that seems less likely.”

  I was about to lay out a plan of action for the next day when I spotted a commotion at the bar. I looked more closely and realized that Gregor Herzog was the center of the action. He was dressed in shorts and a long-sleeved shirt and—how else can I describe it?—was cavorting with one arm around a very pretty Ecuadorean girl. The girl was much better dressed than Esme and her friends. Gregor was waving his other arm and seemed to be almost dancing. He was very drunk, although no more than I had been the other night. I was still chuckling when he caught sight of me. “Fred,” he shouted across the night as he let go of the girl and staggered over to our table.

  “How’s the fishing, Gregor?” I asked, glancing at the girl.

  “I’ve been fishing my brains out all week.” He slurred slightly as he spoke and didn’t seem to catch my joke. “And I’ve got damn little to show for it. But there’ll be better days. I’m taking a holiday tonight before I go back home.” He winked. “How’s your fishing going?”

  “I still haven’t caught the big one yet.”

  “You will.” As he paused, the stupid smile on his face disappeared. “Fred, I must talk with you in private, but not now. I must tell you something that I don’t want others, especially Carla, to hear. I’ll see you later.”

  Before I could pin him down, he danced off back to the girl. Within a few minutes they’d disappeared. We waited another hour. “OK,” I finally said, “we don’t have time to wait anymore for Gregor. He’ll just have to find me when he’s ready. We have to talk to the commandant now, before López learns we’re sorting through his affairs.”

  “Tonight? He’ll be home in bed most likely.”

  “Tonight. Do you know where he lives?”

  “Along the shore. Several miles from Wreck Bay. It’s a long walk.”

  “Near the governor’s mansion?” I hoped not. I didn’t want to be anywhere near López at the moment.

  “No. The other direction. Why don’t you call him from our headquarters or use the truck?”

  “I have to see him in person, and I don’t want anybody to know about it. We really have no idea who we can trust, do we, Seaman?”

  “No, sir,” he replied sheepishly.

  “This thing has reached the point where if we run into López tonight, we both should just go ahead and shoot ourselves before he does it for us.”

  Rojas didn’t disagree, but he didn’t cringe, either. He was coming to terms with life on the edge.

  We returned to my shack, where I put on my new socks and shoes and collected my revolver.

  23

  As Rojas predicted, it was a long walk. The night was moonless and filled with a true sea fog that went well beyond the normal mist. It was the sort of night when it’s easy to trip over the stones, large and small, that grow like weeds in what passes for roads in Las Encantadas. Fortunately, my new shoes were up to the job, although I did end up with a bumper crop of blisters.

  It was well after midnight when my guide spotted the small, hazy light in the more intense blob of darkness that marked the commandant’s house. I started to relax at the sight of our destination, to let down my guard, and my pulse began to return to normal. Then my heart stuttered when I recognized the muted, irregular snarl of a motorcycle approaching us from behind, picking its way among the various dangers of the road. I turned and saw the bike’s headlight, still faint, bobbing and twisting in the surrounding darkness. “Off the road and crouch down like you’re a rock,” I hissed to Rojas. He’d already taken at least one step in the right direction before I finished speaking.

  We crouched, holding our breaths and trying to turn ourselves into faceless stones, as the shadowy form of a big motorcycle and rider crept up on us. Shit, I thought, clenching my fists, it had to be López, and he was going to the commandant’s. Had García already told him I was prying? Were Rojas and I walking into a trap? Were López and the commandant working together? If so, then I’d soon be dead. And probably Rojas, too. And Ana and Don Vicente would be fighting for their lives.

  The growling shadow came alongside and then passed on down the road, the driver clearly more interested in the stones on the road than those sitting alongside it. I gulped a lungful of air and held it again as the shadow reached the light of the commandant’s quarters. Would it pull off the road? No, it continued on, and I exhaled far too loudly. I turned and could see Rojas’s eyes fixed on me. “Let’s get moving before I have a heart attack.”

  I sensed more than saw motion near the light. A voice called out what sounded like a challenge. Rojas identified us and told the sentry that we had very important business with the commandant. “I know that sailor,” explained Rojas in a low voice. “I think we woke him up.”

  After pondering a moment, the sentry told us to wait. He pounded on the door. A household servant opened it and told us to wait in the vestibule while he went for the commandant. The officer soon appeared, wearing a blue bathrobe. Much to my relief he seemed in no way put out by being dragged out of bed at two in the morning. “I understand you have something of great urgency to report, Mr. Freiman.”

  “I do, sir, and I’m afraid you’re not going to like it.”

  The commandant smiled briefly. Almost chuckled. “Then please come into my office. You also, Seaman. May I offer you coffee or wine or perhaps a glass of rum?”

  I requested rum. Rojas, who knew the value of behaving himself when faced with authority, asked for coffee. The commandant rang a small bell, and the servant who’d opened the door reappeared. Our host told him what was required, and it was delivered almost immediately. The commandant then settled back to listen.

  “Sir,” I said, “I still haven’t been able to talk to Becker, although I understand he’s due back any time now so he can catch the next Guayaquil boat.

  “However,” I continued quickly, “it’s becoming very clear that Sergeant López is in charge of watching over him.”

  “Yes, I have assumed that for some time.”

  “Did you know López speaks German?”

  “No. Does he?”

  “Yes. I now also think López is involved in the murders of the baroness and her two friends. He may be the murderer himself.”

  “Oh,” said the commandant, sitting forward. This seemed to be what he’d been hoping to hear.

  I spent the next fifteen minutes laying out all we’d learned and the conclusions we’d reached. Once or twice the commandant asked Rojas to clarify a point or two in Spanish, but otherwise he followed my account intently.

  “Interesting! That is all very interesting, but it is not solid proof.”

  “No, sir, it’s not. But if I do manage to get solid proof, would you arrest Sergeant López for one or more murders?”

  The commandant looked at the ceiling. “On paper I have almost absolute power out here. In reality, thanks to the games the politicians play in Quito, my power is not as absolute as it might be. If you can convince me that López has murdered somebody, even those worthless Germans, I will arrest him and send him to the mainland for trial. There will be complications, but reality must be confronted.”

  “Thank you, sir. And one other thing. The girl Esme . . .”

  “The prostitute?”

  “Yes. She works for López, and he beat the living daylights out of her last night.”

  “It sounds as if the sergeant is losing his self-control.”

  “She also spoke with Rojas and me publicly at the Miramar earlier this evening. She intends to leave, to go to Guayaquil.”

  “I am sorry to hear that. She has never been a problem that I know of. Life wil
l be very, very hard for her there.”

  “Her information was valuable to me, but now I’m worried about her safety. Is there any way you can protect her until she gets on the boat?”

  “Has she asked for protection?”

  “She’s still very angry. She’s asked for nothing.”

  The commandant, who was proving far more clever than I’d ever dreamed he would be, thought for a moment. “I will arrest her for practicing her trade in my headquarters and hold her in my cells.”

  Rojas struggled to stifle a laugh. I think he might have been nervous sitting in the commandant’s house.

  “Has she ever done that?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of, but nobody will argue with me. At least not for a few days.”

  “Sir, I want to thank you,” I said, rising.

  “My pleasure. You do realize that many eyes will be on the Guayaquil boat when she sails. Will you and Esme be going ashore along with Herr Becker, or will Sergeant López be going with the man he has been protecting for so many weeks?”

  The commandant clearly saw some humor in the possibilities. I, for some reason, did not.

  I was up early the next morning, certain that López and Becker would appear at some point during the day. Where, precisely, they would first show up was uncertain, so I sent Rojas to watch the governor’s house after recruiting his buddy Gonzales, who was off duty, to watch Pepe Hernández’s house. I would keep an eye on the dock and plaza in the settlement. If either of the two sailors spotted one or the other of our quarry he would come report to me. I hoped to find a way of talking to Becker without López getting in the way.

  Not expecting anything much to happen until later in the day, I changed into my swim shorts and headed for the beach. I was walking past my landlord’s little shop when I ran right into the man I’d been hunting for a week. He was striding toward me, as if he were on a parade ground, a business suit over his left arm. “Herr Becker,” I greeted him in German.

  He stopped and looked me up and down with the same expression of distaste he’d shown the last time. “So, Herr Freiman, you have finally caught up with me, despite Sergeant López’s bumbling. He will be upset.”