Death of a Siren Page 21

  “Sergeant López,” snapped the naval officer. López, whose pistol was at his hip, turned. Becker glanced sideways at the commandant, then drew his own weapon and fired point-blank at López’s chest. Before any of us could raise our own guns, the German had laid his down on the desk and, without looking again at the commandant, turned to me. “This subhuman fool killed those two degenerates because he thought I’d killed the baroness and he needed to protect me. His stupidity has almost destroyed my mission.”

  We stood there a moment, stunned. Finally the commandant recovered and, after picking up the German’s pistol, told Becker he was under arrest. Becker nodded, almost clicked his heels, and marched out of the room with the rest of us following.

  The next day, about noon, Rojas and I watched as the Guayaquil boat pulled into Wreck Bay. I can’t say he was totally reconciled to having missed the shootout, but he was a flexible kid and seemed to be recovering fast.

  To say that the four deaths—the baroness, Ritter, Ernst, and López—caused a minor political problem would be an understatement. The government in Quito recognized the problem immediately. Rather than drag everybody from the commandant down ashore, where the whole confused mess would become public almost instantly, a special investigating magistrate was sent in a high-speed destroyer to limit the damage.

  The magistrate, a very distinguished gentleman named Don Francisco Montaña, was known, by reputation if not in person, to Don Vicente and the commandant. Both agreed that, thanks to his exquisite sense of political balance, he was the best possible man for the job. Don Francisco was also a very fast and skillful worker. In the course of four or five days, he interviewed all of us. Even Sofía had agreed to come and speak to him at naval headquarters once Ana convinced her that López was truly dead. He also visited the castle and spoke with a number of the residents of Blackwater Bay.

  Partway through the inquiry, López was buried at a surprisingly well-attended funeral. From what I was told, dozens of his debtors and unwilling partners—including Esme and her friends—showed up. Just to make sure he was really gone forever.

  In the end, Don Francisco ruled that Elías had been provoked. The cook was convicted of manslaughter and sent to prison for one year. Don Francisco went on to ask Herr Becker to please take his ore samples and leave the islands immediately, on the boat to the mainland, which the magistrate had held at Wreck Bay until he completed his deliberations. He concluded by sentencing Piers Hanson to six months for assault. He then attended a good-bye party at the commandant’s quarters and the next day boarded the destroyer and returned to his own home high in the Andes mountains.

  25

  The boat that was supposed to take me, Esme, and Becker ashore—or maybe López and Becker—had left late with only Becker and a crowd of excited Galapaguinos aboard. It returned, on schedule, three weeks later.

  For me, and I think for Ana too, those three weeks were sheer pleasure. The murders had been solved, I’d been saved from a fate worse than death, and now I found myself living a dream life in paradise. All the same, I wished I’d managed to get to know the baroness just a little bit better. To understand her complexities, to know more about her dreams and joys and terrors. To learn just what sort of fantasy—light or dark—she was trying to create for herself. Did she build a castle with a tower to remind her of a happy childhood or to protect her from her enemies? To find the answer to the question Ana had asked the first time I met her: Do sirens sing their songs intentionally to trap sailors, or do they sing because it’s their nature to sing?

  And once again, I knew that I would never know these answers. Like the truth about the Crazy German, the whole truth about Baroness Ilse von Arndt would remain shrouded in the mists that so often hide these most illusive islands.

  Curious to see what new surprises the ship might bring, Ana and I were standing at the land end of the pier watching the ship nose up to the dock. As it moored, the excited crowd hopped and waved. Among them I spotted Gregor and Kaspar trying to clear a space on the pier, right under one of the booms. “You think that’s the new icebox they’re waiting for?” I asked Ana.

  “I bet it is.”

  “I wonder how he got it so quickly. How did he pay for it without sending money to the mainland?”

  “He must have asked somebody ashore to loan it to him. That’s a lesson for you, Fred. The power of love. Carla’s wanted a new one for a year or two.” Ana was laughing quietly; I was trying to keep up by smiling dutifully at the suggestion of domestic blackmail.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Esme walking toward the dock. She was still limping, but she looked much better than she had. And happy to be in Wreck Bay’s messy, waterlogged plaza rather than the bitter streets of Guayaquil. I smiled at her. She smiled back and nodded respectfully to Ana.

  My eyes returned to the crowd on the pier and settled on the face of one of the passengers beginning to make their way in our direction. A bolt of shock, then fear, blasted through me. I recognized the face; it belonged to a guy from New York named Giorgio Rizzo—or “Georgie the Meathook” to his friends. Rizzo worked for the same people who’d employed the little thug I shot; he was one of their toughest enforcers. There was another face alongside Rizzo’s. I couldn’t put a name to it, but I knew it belonged to another enforcer. I felt as if I’d been kicked in the gut. They hadn’t forgotten me, and I knew that even if war did break out from one corner of the world to the other they still wouldn’t forget.

  The Meathook’s eyes scanned the crowd but didn’t show any hint of recognition as they passed over me.

  López, God damn him! It was as if he’d risen from his grave to get me. He must have contacted New York before Becker shot him. I tried to reassure myself that they wouldn’t recognize me. Not in shorts and an undershirt, skinnier than before and wearing a full head of long, almost bushy hair now sun-bleached to a chalky, brittle gray-black. But in time I’d get a haircut—Ana was already making remarks—and in time they’d find me. The Mob didn’t send fools on jobs like this. Not all the way out here.

  “You look like a guy who could benefit from a leisurely sea cruise,” said a voice from behind me.

  Impulsively, I reached for Ana’s arm. She was the only thing in the world now worth anything to me, and I’d be God damned if I’d leave her. I turned and found Thompson standing there. “You’re right,” he said. “She’s why you’ll come with us. If you stay she’ll end up just as dead as you will.”

  My grip on Ana’s arm tightened. She looked at me. She understood what Thompson meant as well as I did. She and Don Vicente had friends in New York too. She’d known all along.

  “Listen, Freiman, a war’s coming, one even bigger than the last one, and your country has uses for you. I’m willing to bet the lady will wait for you.”

  Shaking with indignation, fear, and confusion, I looked out at Thompson’s schooner as it swung at anchor. Was I to be the Dutchman who was cursed to race around and around the world forever? I didn’t like Thompson one bit, but I realized that he was my only chance. I felt Ana’s free hand on my cheek, turning my face toward her. I felt her breath and then the pressure of her lips and the grace of her body against mine. “I’ll wait for you, Fred. I’ll never find another playmate like you. Never. Remember, I’m a modern woman. I make my own choices and I stick with them.”