"Okay," Griffin interrupted. "That's enough. I'm not saying I had anything to do with that, but maybe you did know Dick Kilgore. So what?"
"I have a business opportunity that could be beneficial to both of us," Montalba said.
"Yeah? What's that?"
"It's too complex to discuss on the telephone," Montalba said. "We should meet in person."
"Look, I don't know who you are," Griffin said.
"Given our overlapping interests, I suspect you may have heard of me. I don't — "
"Give me your name, damn it."
"Don't get frustrated, Mr. Griffin. No one knows my name. Only a few people in our business have met me. Let's say that once someone sees my face, they never forget me. Kilgore may have mentioned my face; his old boss Pinkie Schultz did, I know."
"You're that guy? With the — "
"Yes. Not on the telephone, please, Mr. Griffin."
"Okay. You're real, then. I thought they were making all that shit up."
Montalba chuckled. "Yes. I assure you, I'm real, as you put it. Are you interested in a meeting?"
"Maybe. Where would we meet?"
"For obvious reasons, I require privacy. I don't show my face to many people, nor would you want to be seen meeting with me. I'm living on a large motor yacht at the moment."
"Where's the yacht?" Griffin asked.
"Around 50 miles west of St. Lucia, but I don't think you should come aboard."
"Why not?"
"A number of reasons: your own security; maintaining the secrecy of our arrangement, should one develop; maintaining my anonymity," Montalba said. "I have transportation — either a fast launch, or a small helicopter. You pick a place, and I'll come to you."
"Private meeting, huh?" Griffin asked. "How do I know this isn't a setup?"
"That's a fair question," Montalba said. "You pick the location; you arrange whatever protection you deem appropriate. I'll come alone."
"You'd trust me not to kill you?"
"If we're going to work together, trust must start somewhere," Montalba said. "Besides, why would you kill me? Alive, I will make you wealthier than you already are, many times over. You have nothing to gain from my death. So, yes, I trust you not to kill me, at least for now."
"I'll get back to you with a location," Griffin said. "I'll need a little time to set this up."
"How much time, Mr. Griffin?"
"A couple of hours, give or take. How can I reach you?"
"You cannot. Not at the moment. I'll call you in two hours, if that suits you."
"Yeah, sure," Griffin said. "Two hours."
"You won't regret this, Mr. Griffin," Montalba said, disconnecting.
8
"Did you enjoy walking around English Harbour?" Connie asked, taking a sip of the white wine Paul had served her and Marcia. He was below preparing dinner, having left a plate of cheese and crackers with the wine on the cockpit table.
"I did," Marcia said. "What a place this is! Antigua's done a great job with it as a national park. It's easy to imagine that you're back in the 1700s. I half expected to round a corner and run into some crusty old English sailor with a tarred pigtail."
"That could still happen," Connie said, smiling. "There are some pretty odd characters on some of these beat-up little boats."
Marcia chuckled. "I can imagine. I saw some small boats that looked abandoned. They were tucked away up in a cove."
"People store boats in the mangroves, sometimes. It's a good place to ride out a hurricane. And some of them look like they may have been forgotten. Did you check out the shops?"
"You have to ask?" Marcia laughed. "There are some pricey places here, aren't there?"
"Yes," Connie said. "Look at the size of some of these motor yachts around us. There's a lot of money in this little patch of water."
"No kidding," Marcia said. "Some of them look like cruise ships."
Connie smiled. "The biggest ones can't even get in here. You'll find them around the corner to the west, in Falmouth Harbour."
"Are there more shops there?"
"Yes. It's only a few minutes' walk from here, or there are taxis, if you're interested."
"Oh, I'm shopped out for a while, I think. In spite of the way I've acted, I really want to see some of the island. You know, like we talked about. I've been distracted by all the wealth, though. I didn't expect that."
"The Caribbean attracts the wealthy," Connie said. "If you want to see what it looks like to the rich people, we should go to St. Barth's."
"No, thanks. I've had my little fling with seeing how the other half lives. I'm writing for regular people, not the two-percenters."
"We've got you set up with William for an island tour tomorrow. He'll pick you up here at about 8:30, if that's okay."
"That sounds good. How long will it take?"
"As long as you'd like. You can cover most of the island in a few hours. It's not very big. If you want, we can sail around to the east side. There's a place called Nonesuch Bay around there. There's a reef that stops the waves from the open ocean. You're sitting in calm water, but the view across the reef is clear all the way to the eastern horizon. There's some fine snorkeling there, if that appeals. William could drop you at a restaurant there after your tour, and we could pick you up in the dinghy. Sound good?"
"Not really. I want to take the tour, but I'm ready for some sailing after that, and some new territory. Do you hang out in Antigua when you're on your own?"
"Not usually," Connie said. "It's a little too commercial to suit us. It's a good place for us to pick up guests, though. The airline connections are good from the States."
"Yes, I remember your broker telling me that. The other option she suggested was St. Lucia, for the same reason. But she said if I wanted to see most of the islands, it would be better to start here and end in Grenada."
"She's right," Connie said. "The flights in and out of Grenada to the States aren't as frequent, though."
"I noticed. Not even one a day."
"That changes, sometimes," Connie said, "with the seasons."
"Where would you and Paul hang out if I weren't here?"
"We like the French islands," Connie said. "Guadeloupe and Martinique. They're really different from the other islands. They're the biggest islands, geographically and from a population standpoint, too. It's fun to be where people are just going about their everyday lives. The impact of tourism isn't as great as on the smaller islands, and most of the visitors are European. We also like the Grenadines, from Bequia down to Grenada. That's where you can get far off the beaten path, but then the locals really notice you. They don't get many tourists down there, compared to the other islands. In Guadeloupe and Martinique, you don't attract as much attention."
"I'd think the French islands would be overpowering. Don't they have hundreds of thousands of people?"
"Yes, but they're spread out over a lot more geography. And the islands' economies are more self-sufficient than most, because of their size. They grow more of their food there, and a lot of what they import comes from Europe. They're actually part of France, you see. Part of the E.U."
"I'm looking forward to seeing them. How long does it take to get there?"
"Not long. It's usually an easy sail from here to Guadeloupe. With a good breeze, we could leave here at noon and be in Deshaies, Guadeloupe, in time for dinner."
"Wow! So I could do my sightseeing with William in the morning and we could spend the night there?"
"Yes. Easily. You'll like Deshaies, too. It started out as a little fishing village, and it still has that feel about it."
"Great. I'm sold. Let's do that."
"You're the boss, Marcia. While you're out with William, Paul and I will get us squared away to leave as soon as you come back. We'll have a late lunch under sail."
"Super. But I've got a question for you."
"What's that?"
"You didn't mention St. Vincent. Isn't it part of the Grenadines?"
&n
bsp; "You've done your homework," Connie said. "The full name of the country is St. Vincent and the Grenadines, but the southern Grenadines are part of Grenada. Confusing, isn't it?"
"Yes. How did that happen?"
"Ask the British. It happened when they gave their colonies independence."
"I see. But back to St. Vincent. Why did you leave it out when you mentioned the Grenadines? Should we go there?"
"We can, but Paul and I usually don't. It's a beautiful island. Lush, and green. But there's a lot of petty crime. One of their cash crops is marijuana, and that seems to breed trouble. It attracts the transshipment of other drugs, and even human trafficking."
"Is weed legal there?"
"No, and that's part of the problem. Once you cross that line into illegality, it seems to pave the way for corruption."
"Are drugs easy to get in the islands?" Marcia asked.
"It's like anywhere else, I guess," Connie said. "There are drugs everywhere."
"Have you and Paul run into any drug dealers, or smugglers?"
"We work on avoiding them. Why? Are you into the drug scene?"
"Personally?" Marcia asked. "No. But there are readers who are. Some of the magazines will buy articles about that kind of travel destination."
"Drugs are a touchy subject down here," Connie said. "You never know who might be interested, or what their reasons are. It's best to be cautious about discussing them with strangers. Drugs are illegal everywhere down here, but for the Rastafarians, marijuana has religious significance. So there's a certain tolerance, but it can be a serious trap for an unwary outsider."
"What do you mean?"
"It leads to misunderstandings. On most islands, it's not unusual for an American tourist to get an unsolicited offer of grass, or other drugs. It can happen walking down the street. Given the conflicting laws in the U.S., people may think it's the same in the islands. It's not. Drugs are always illegal here, and sometimes the sellers will turn their customers in to the police."
"That makes no sense." Marcia frowned. "Why would they do that?"
"Like anywhere, there are a few corrupt cops. The dealers know them. A crooked cop will bust the buyers and shake them down for a bribe to avoid arrest. Then they cut the dealer in on the bribe."
"Ouch. That stinks."
"Yes, but the worst part is that it can go wrong so easily. Americans are notorious for throwing around the phrase, 'I know my rights.'"
"Why is that a problem?"
"Because they don't have the right to break the law here, and when they get pushy with the local cops, bad things can happen. They don't have the same rights here that they have at home. Sometimes they get roughed up for 'resisting arrest' in the bargain. And the local jails aren't resorts."
"I see," Marcia said. "So you're pretty straight-laced on that kind of thing."
"I don't make judgments, but I also don't want my boat confiscated. Nor am I interested in getting locked up along with our guests."
"Who's getting locked up?" Paul asked, as he set three steaming plates of grilled mahi-mahi on the bridge deck.
"Nobody," Connie said. "Marcia was just asking if marijuana was legal in the islands. Let's eat."
"Smells wonderful," Marcia said.
"Thanks. I hope you enjoy it." Paul served Connie and Marcia and then joined them at the cockpit table.
"She was asking you about drugs?" Paul asked, as he and Connie strolled around Nelson's Dockyard. Except for the restaurants and bars, the park was not crowded. Marcia had retired to her cabin after dinner, saying she needed to work on a magazine article.
"We were talking about going to Deshaies tomorrow after her island tour," Connie said. "She had asked if you and I liked to hang out here in Antigua when we didn't have guests, and I told her that we especially enjoyed spending time in the French islands or the Grenadines, from Bequia down to Grenada."
"Uh-huh," Paul said. "How did you get from there to drugs?"
"Well, we chatted a little about the differences among our favorites, and then she asked me why I didn't mention St. Vincent. She knew the Grenadines were part of the same country. So I told her that we avoided it because of the petty crime. I said something about how lush and green it was, that it was agricultural, and that one of the cash crops was marijuana. It went on from there, I guess. She kind of led me into it, now that I think about it."
"She's pretty good with the leading questions, isn't she?" Paul asked.
"Yes. Part of being a journalist, I guess," Connie said.
"I picked up on your conversation as you were saying something about not wanting our boat confiscated."
"Right. She asked a lot of questions about drugs — were they legal, had we run into any smugglers or dealers, that kind of thing. Marijuana, hard drugs, the Rastas, the scams that some dealers ran on American tourists with crooked cops. Her questions went beyond just a casual interest."
"You think she's looking to buy?" Paul asked.
"I don't know. I hope not. She tried to explain it by saying that some magazines would buy articles about travel to places where it was easy to get drugs." Connie frowned. "She was pretty intense about it. So I tried to scare her off. That's what we were talking about when you came up with our dinner."
"I haven't seen any signs that she's a user," Paul said. "Have you?"
"No, but I'm going to keep an eye on that from now on. When do you think we'll hear from Leon? You wrote him in the early afternoon."
"Yes. He responded already. I read it while I was getting dinner together and sent it on to Luke. Sorry, but I was worried by what I overheard of your conversation. I wanted to catch up on that first."
"I understand. What did Leon say?"
Paul gave her a detailed summary of Contreras's latest post. "That's a real bombshell, about the senator, huh?"
"I'll say it is," Connie said. "He killed this guy, Art Jansen, and dumped the body in the Everglades? Bombshell doesn't do it justice. How's Luke going to react to that?"
"It's hard to say. Before he can do anything, he'll need some corroboration. He won't take it at face value."
"Do you think he'll even believe it?" Connie asked. "Or will he just blow it off? It's so wild."
"It's the second killing that Leon has tipped him about," Paul said. "I'm sure Luke's checking out the first one, where Contreras sent the GPS coordinates for the body. If that proves out, it'll make the tip about the senator more credible."
"Where do you suppose he's getting his information?" Connie asked. "Could one man handle all that surveillance? Or is he picking up gossip from somewhere?"
"It's not likely that he's watching all those players by himself," Paul said. "He may be undercover in some drug organization picking up bits and pieces. Or he may be part of some surveillance operation that's off the books."
"Does that really happen?" Connie asked.
"Which?"
"That kind of super-secret surveillance," Connie said. "I know the undercover stuff goes on."
"Yes. It happens, but it usually produces a lot of frustration for everybody."
"Why's that?"
"Well, let's say Leon actually saw the senator kill Jansen. He's an eyewitness, okay?"
"Okay," Connie said.
"Now he's tipped off the police," Paul said. "What happens next?"
"Luke investigates the senator, looks for the body, collects evidence. What are you getting at?"
"Let's say the senator did it. He's probably orders of magnitude smarter than your average killer, don't you think?"
"Okay, probably. So what?"
"Suppose he managed to cover his tracks well. He leaves no evidence pointing to his involvement," Paul said.
"A perfect crime?" Connie asked, raising her eyebrows as she turned to look at Paul.
"It can happen," he said. "It does happen, and we don't know how often."
"You mean like all those unsolved crimes?" Connie asked.
"Not exactly. A fair number of crimes are unsolved,
a few are incorrectly solved, but there are some that are just plain unsolvable. Let's assume O'Toole managed to commit an unsolvable crime."
"But you started by saying Leon was an eyewitness."
"Right," Paul said. "So?"
"So he testifies," Connie said.
"He'd have to blow his cover," Paul said. "Aside from his personal safety, there could be a lot of reasons why he wouldn't want to do that."
"His personal safety? You mean O'Toole might have him killed?"
"Or somebody else might. We don't know what Leon's exposure is. He might not be willing to come out in the open."
"Aren't there ways to make that happen?" Connie asked.
"Maybe, but Luke would have to find him, first, and he doesn't exist, remember?"
"So O'Toole gets a free pass? That's not right," Connie said.
"There could be tradeoffs that we can't even imagine," Paul said. "It might be worth it to keep Leon under cover because of something more serious than O'Toole's killing a suspected drug dealer."
"I still don't like it," she said.
"Nobody does. And it may not happen in this case. Now that the police know to look, they may find enough to pin this on O'Toole, if he did it. Let's don't get exercised over something that hasn't happened yet."
"Okay. Are we going to call Luke in the morning while Marcia's on her tour?"
"I thought we would, yes."
"Okay. Buy a girl a drink before you take her home?"
"My pleasure, skipper."
Graciella Montalba was staring at the ceiling, wide awake. She couldn't sleep. She missed Guillermo; she didn't like being separated from him. Not only were they twins, but they had depended on each other to survive since before they could remember. Now she couldn't even call him on the phone.
For now, their only means of contact was through an encrypted cloud storage account. Both of them had login credentials, so they could leave messages and other files for each other. That wasn't the same as hearing his voice, though. She put aside her longing. This was only temporary, and it was necessary.
An Easy Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 8th Novel in the Series_Mystery and Adventure in Florida and the Caribbean Page 6