Death of a Siren Read online

  “You’re up and out early,” I observed, thinking that he and Hernández must have arrived around the time Rojas and I left the commandant’s home office.

  “I’ve lost weight and want this suit altered. I won’t be seen wearing a baggy suit. López thinks you believe I killed the Baroness von Arndt. In fact, I get the feeling the monkey himself believes I did it.”

  And that was the key, although it took me a minute to spot it. One of my guesses had been right.

  “Did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Did you see her the day she was killed?”

  “I’ve seen her many times; she was beautiful and amusing, despite her temper.”

  “Did you see her that day?”

  I thought at first that he was going to refuse to answer, but he surprised me. “Yes, in the evening. After a while, I tired of her games. I had no desire to continue playing the role of the love slave. I told her so, and she became more demanding. She forgot her place. I became angry and left. She was still alive.”

  “How can I believe you?”

  “You are German, I am German. Of course you believe me.” He glowered at me a moment. “Ask the fisherman, Hernández, although why you might believe an Ecuadorean fisherman but not me I can’t understand.”

  “I believe all sorts of people.”

  “Look here, Freiman. My work in this place is finished. The boat to the mainland arrives tomorrow, and when it leaves I’ll be on it, and I can’t tell you how pleased I’ll be. Important things are happening in Germany. The geology here is fascinating, but the people are aboriginal, and having that fool López ordering me around and interfering with my work while claiming to be protecting me has been intolerable.”

  With that he turned and marched rapidly toward the tailor’s shop. I didn’t want to, but I believed him. It’s hard to fake arrogance like that, and in my experience truly arrogant men don’t usually bother to lie. They throw the awful truth in your face and dare you to do something about it. I considered trying to contact Rojas and Gonzales but decided to leave them where they were. Who knew what they might stumble on.

  I couldn’t help but feel a certain satisfaction as I waded out into the chill waters of Wreck Bay for my delayed morning swim. I still didn’t have enough to hang López—or whatever it is they really do to murderers in Ecuador—but I was now confident he was my man. The sergeant had killed the baroness and then her two friends.

  It was an excellent, bracing swim, and I felt extra clean as I headed back to my shack.

  Almost as soon as I walked in the door my satisfaction collapsed utterly, like an automobile tire that had suffered a blowout. Sitting on my one chair, with his elbows on the rickety table and his head between his hands, was Gregor Herzog. “Gregor,” I said cheerfully, “it’s good to see you.”

  He looked up at me, his bloodshot eyes filled with pain, and I knew I’d spoken too loudly.

  “Fred, the Guayaquil boat arrives tomorrow, and I don’t want to see you leaving on it under arrest. There’s something I must tell you, but you must make sure that Carla never learns what I’m about to say. She’ll kill me. Or worse, leave me. You must promise.”

  I sat down on the bed, knowing I wasn’t going to like where this was going. How could I promise when I didn’t know what he was going to tell me? I went ahead and promised.

  “I have some fish traps set off the shore of Floreana, not far from the baroness’s house. I was working them the afternoon of the day she was killed. Some needed repairs, so I was there longer than I’d expected. I decided to stay, to sleep aboard the boat or maybe on the beach—that’s something we do all the time around here. And then I got a little lonely and . . . you know . . . so I decided to visit her. I’ve done it before. Sometimes I find her games amusing, sometimes not. And she’s so very lonely too. I often feel sorry for her.”

  “What!” I practically shouted. Once again reality seemed to be exploding in my face.

  Gregor stared at me a moment. “Her life’s been shit,” he continued. “Her father was a successful merchant who was ruined by the war and committed suicide. Her mother then died of influenza, and she was forced to live, to survive, as best she could in that cesspool that was Germany. Remember, I was there too, so I know what I’m talking about. It was the winters that were hardest. She even had to walk the streets for a while to eat. Then she married an ancient baron, von Arndt, who was a Nazi, but the wrong kind of Nazi. He was killed in the Night of the Long Knives, in 1934, when Hitler decided to get rid of the undesirables in his party. She grabbed what she could and ran. Came here to get away, to live.”

  Ana had been right, I thought. About the photos and about the baroness.

  “Where did Ritter and Ernst come from?”

  “She never told me.”

  “Why did she tell you all this and nobody else?”

  “Because nobody else was willing to listen. They took her at face value, and she could be very unpleasant.”

  I groaned inwardly at my ignorance.

  “Anyway, when I got near the house I could see through the window that she already had a guest: Elías.”

  “Elías the cook?”

  “Yes, and they were playing one of her games, or so I thought. She seemed to be shouting at him and whipping him with her riding crop. I decided that was not my game, and since she already had a playmate I returned to my boat and went to sleep. Early the next morning I checked my traps again and returned home.”

  “So you think Elías killed her?”

  “It seems likely.”

  Thompson, Becker, Elías. How many other visitors could she possibly have in one day?

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Isn’t that obvious? I only tell you now so you can maybe save yourself.”

  So much for certainties. “Thanks, Gregor. I have to get to Floreana and talk to Elías fast. You don’t look very good—probably shouldn’t try to sail home today. Feel free to use my bed.”

  “Thanks,” groaned Gregor. Spitting out the truth didn’t seem to reduce his suffering one bit.

  I changed into pants, shoes, and a shirt and was out the door before Gregor had managed to drag himself to my bed. When I arrived at naval headquarters the commandant was out, but the petty officer on duty seemed willing to try to help. Talking slowly and using my fifty-word Spanish vocabulary, I managed to get him to send a sailor to find Rojas and get him back to Wreck Bay and another to alert the gunboat skipper that we’d be heading for Floreana immediately. As I struggled to be understood I couldn’t drive away the thought that somewhere, not so far over the horizon to the east, the Guayaquil boat was already on its way toward us.

  We arrived off Blackwater Bay early in the afternoon after a quick passage over the rolling, deep blue sea. I examined the small settlement through the skipper’s binoculars and saw few signs of life. I made another pass and spotted Piers Hanson sitting on his porch with a rifle in his lap. “Rojas, do you know how to handle a pistol?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Ask the skipper to issue you one and tell him that he’s going ashore with us. Armed. And the oarsmen are to bring rifles, too.”

  “It looks so calm there, sir.”

  “It does, but it isn’t. See Piers Hanson sitting on his porch with that rifle in his lap?”

  “I’m sure we can deal with it, sir.” The kid was a firm, devoted comrade again, and undoubtedly would be right up to the second we both got killed.

  “I hope so.”

  The skipper shrugged and did as I asked. For a moment I thought I saw a faint smile appear on his face. I guess he was getting used to me. Or maybe there was somebody at Blackwater Bay he didn’t like.

  As we rowed in, I kept my eyes on Hanson—the son of a bitch had said he was going to get even—but he didn’t move. The boat slid onto the beach, and the oarsmen jumped out and dragged the bow up into the sand. They then grabbed their rifles while they held the boat to let us climb o
ut. The beach was empty except for two small fishing boats that were obviously in need of repair.

  I walked slowly inland, Rojas and the skipper following close behind. All with drawn weapons. Hanson remained motionless. We turned and headed for Elías’s house. I knocked on the door, then shoved it open to find the cook lying in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling through bloodshot eyes. The room stank of rum and urine.

  “Elías,” I snapped, with Rojas translating, “do you hear me?”

  He turned his head slightly but said nothing.

  “You were seen the night the baroness was killed. You were with her, playing one of her games.”

  “That fucking German’s been hounding me night and day,” he replied without taking his eyes off the ceiling. “With his gun. I can’t go out. I can’t take a piss. Every time I show myself, he aims and sometimes he fires.” I could see that he was shaking.

  “Did you kill the baroness?”

  “We’re all better off without her. Ask anybody on this island,” he mumbled. “If you arrest me, will you keep Hanson away from me?”

  “Did you kill her?”

  “Yes. She said I’d stolen some money from her and started whipping me. Just like the other Germans. I didn’t steal anything. She was taking away my manhood, the bitch. I killed her.” He said it all while continuing to stare at the ceiling, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d really stolen the money or not.

  “Did you kill Ritter and Ernst?”

  He stared at me a moment, as if I were a fool. “No. Of course not. They were up at the shack where she sends them when she has guests.”

  I had no choice but to believe him, I decided. Ritter and Ernst were killed the night after the baroness died. And the sailor tending Pegasus said he’d heard arguing in what sounded like either German or English. Elías spoke neither, so I was back to López, who spoke both.

  “Arrest him,” I said, looking at the skipper and expecting Rojas to translate. I wasn’t really sure if the petty officer had the authority or the experience to execute the arrest, but it turned out that he had both. He took Elías by the arm and said something to him. The cook sighed and nodded and tried to stand. With the help of Rojas and the skipper he managed to stagger out to the beach, where he was loaded into the boat and taken out to the gunboat. While I was waiting for my ride, I walked over to Hanson.

  “So you got the little pig,” he said. “Now I have to get you, which I will.”

  I should have shot him right then and there, while his gun was still lying in his lap. If somebody says he’s hunting you, then you have to kill him before he succeeds. Just as a matter of policy. But I didn’t. “Yes,” I said. “The time will come.” I turned and walked back down the beach, expecting to hear the crack of the rifle an instant before my back was blasted to shreds. Nothing happened, but I knew that if I was to stay in the islands something would have to be done about Piers Hanson.

  I should have been happy as we headed back to Wreck Bay, but I wasn’t. I had the baroness’s killer cold, but that didn’t even begin to solve my problem. I was convinced López had killed the two Germans, but I had no way of proving it. Under the circumstances, the sergeant had to protect himself; he had to send me ashore for trial for all three murders, no matter how much evidence there was of Elías’s guilt. And, thanks to the magic of real-life politics, there would be nothing even the commandant could do unless I could show him the most solid possible evidence of López’s guilt. I couldn’t, and there was only one day left.

  24

  I watched the gunboat skipper lead Elías down the Wreck Bay dock and over to naval headquarters with a momentary sense of almost professional pride. I’d nabbed the fellow! However, I wasn’t happy that it was Elías. He was a vicious hothead and I had no fondness for him, but I suspected he’d been pushed to the edge by both Piers Hanson and maybe by the baroness herself. I’d have much preferred to see Becker headed for the cell. Unfortunately, I was confident that the Nazi geologist was innocent. And setting pride aside, I was still headed for trial on the mainland for murder. If not for the baroness’s, then for that of her friends.

  “Let’s get a beer,” I said to Rojas. “We’ve worked hard today.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you have a plan how to get López before he gets you?” I like to think the only reason my assistant insisted on ruining my brief pleasure was that he was scared about his own skin and was trying to be constructive.

  “No,” I admitted. “Maybe a beer will help.”

  The combo was hard at work when we arrived at the Miramar, and to my great surprise, considering my last conversation with García, we received the usual attentive service. But even before we’d managed to sit, it was clear that something had changed. It was the other customers. Normally they’d frown briefly at us, then turn back to their business. Tonight, many were staring hard at us and clearly talking about us. Word of Elías’s arrest must have preceded us, and I’d fallen yet one more notch in their estimation. Yesterday I was the lackey of the intensely disliked López. Today, I was the oppressor of one of their fellow citizens. Whatever Elías’s reputation among the other islanders, he was Ecuadorean, one of them. I was another German interloper. “I think I made some enemies today,” I said to my companion.

  “Fortunately for me, sir, I’m not an important person. Nobody notices me.”

  “Don’t believe it! Usually it’s the small fish who end up getting caught and fried. The important people are too important to be inconvenienced.”

  We finished our beers and left. After saying good night to Rojas, I returned to my shack, expecting to find Gregor embalmed on my bed. Gregor wasn’t there, but Ana was. Sitting at the table reading a book by the feeble light of the kerosene lamp. She looked tired and disheveled. Overwhelmed by a sense of relief, and feeling a little foolish about it, I leaned over and kissed her on the neck. She turned and looked up, and I kissed her properly. She smiled and kissed me back. “I’ve been worried about you,” I said.

  “You shouldn’t have been. I live here, remember.”

  “I’d heard nothing from you, and this whole affair has become very dirty,” I explained, sitting down on the bed.

  “They say you arrested Elías, the cook, for killing the baroness.” She closed the book as she spoke.

  “That’s true.”

  “What about Becker?”

  “He’s here someplace, waiting for the Guayaquil boat. He didn’t do it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Elías admitted it, and we have a witness: Gregor.”

  “Gregor?”

  I repeated Gregor’s account of the night the baroness was killed.

  “Poor Gregor,” she said with a sad expression. “When she finds out, Carla will make him suffer all the furies of hell.”

  “How’s she going to find out?”

  “She will, somehow. Gregor will probably blab it to her himself.”

  “Unfortunately,” I observed, not terribly interested at the moment in Gregor’s self-inflicted misfortune, “I still think López killed the love slaves, but I’ve got to prove it before he ships me off to hell. The key is Becker. He said López thinks that he killed the baroness, and López was supposed to be keeping him out of trouble. I think López killed Ritter and Ernst to cover for Becker, but I’m not sure how to prove it.”

  “This is your lucky day, then, because I’ve got a witness who says just that.”

  “You found Sofía?”

  “She’s hiding because she’s terrified of López. She was cleaning up late in the evening after the baroness was killed when Ritter and Ernst came into the house and told her to finish up and leave. Just before heading home, she saw López come up from the beach and force his way into the house. There was a lot of shouting, in German she thinks, then gunfire. She ran all the way home and packed a few things, then went to one of her cousins and insisted that he take her to other cousins on Isabela.”

  “Will she talk to us?”

>   “For now only to me. Papa has done business with some of her relatives, and she remembers me when I was small. She trusts me.”

  There was nothing I could think of to say, so I hugged her and kissed her again.

  Ana and I practically ran across the plaza to naval headquarters with Roberto, who’d been outside the shack all the time, one step behind. The commandant had left for the day. Ana asked the duty petty officer to call him at home. From the look on his face I’m sure he would have done anything she asked. Five minutes later we were packed into the cab of the navy’s official stake truck, bouncing over the road out to the commandant’s house. The ride, with Rojas’s friend Gonzales at the wheel, was even rougher and more uncomfortable than the walk had been the night before.

  When we arrived, the commandant was waiting in his office. He bowed slightly to Ana and nodded to me. “Doña Ana, Mr. Freiman, you say you have a witness to Sergeant López’s murdering the baroness’s two friends?”

  I reported what Becker had said, then Ana described locating Sofía and what the maid had told her.

  “Will she repeat all of this to me?” asked the naval officer. He was trying to keep a look of concern on his face, but he wasn’t able to totally hide his satisfaction.

  “Yes, sir, although she’ll feel better if López is in jail.”

  “I will arrest him immediately; then she will tell me?”

  “She might be more comfortable on Isabela.”

  “Why not! I will go to Isabela to speak with her. This is going to cause all sorts of political problems, so I must have all the information. But it must be done.” The more he spoke the more obvious his relief, and even pleasure, became. The commandant and his superiors in Quito must have been hoping for something just like this to improve their board position in the political chess game.

  When the commandant said immediately, it turned out, he meant immediately. After arming himself and Gonzales, he handed Ana a shotgun and rounded up his sentry, and we all piled into his car and the stake truck and headed for the governor’s mansion.

  It was dark when we stopped at the front steps. Without waiting, the commandant jumped out of the car and walked around to the side door. He threw that open and marched down the hall with the rest of us following. As we approached the office we could hear an argument raging in German. Again, the commandant threw open the door, and we found López and Becker standing on either side of the desk shouting face-to-face.