Bluewater Betrayal: The Fifth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 5)

by Charles Dougherty

  Chapter 25

  Vengeance was clipping along at nine knots on an easy broad reach. Liz had served a light lunch in the cockpit after they had gotten under way from North Sound. Once they had reached open water and settled in on a southwesterly course, Dani had clamped the helm in place using the brake mounted on the steering pedestal. She sat at the aft corner of the table on the windward side where she could reach the brake and the helm with her left hand if she needed to make minor adjustments to their course.

  "Now this is something you can't do with a 'modern' yacht, Connie," she remarked as she scooped freshly made pico de gallo onto a corn chip.

  "What about with an autopilot?" Connie asked.

  "Well, in theory you could, but a perfectly balanced, long-keeled boat like Vengeance or Escape will just track along, following the little shifts in the wind with nobody steering. An autopilot would be constantly jerking the helm back and forth, reacting to every little course change."

  "I thought they could steer relative to the wind, too," Connie said.

  "Good for you. You've been doing your research," Liz said.

  "But they're still easily confused, especially in relatively light wind and a rolling sea like we have here, because…" Dani was interrupted by the chirping of the satellite phone.

  She checked the caller i.d. as she raised the phone to her ear. "Hi, Paul." She listened for a moment. "No, this is a great time. We just finished eating lunch and we're making nine knots to the southwest in the Drake Channel. Let me put you on the speaker."

  "So where are you headed today?" Paul's voice sounded tinny coming from the phone that Dani had propped on the cockpit table.

  "Jost Van Dyke. I want to do the cocktail hour at Foxy's," Connie said.

  "Every sailor I know either raves about that place or wants to go," Paul said. "I'd like to see it one day. How far is it from North Sound?"

  "A little over 20 miles, but we're taking the scenic route around the south side of Tortola," Dani said.

  "It adds 10 miles or so, but I can scope out Road Harbour and Cane Garden Bay -- see if I want to drop in for a visit," Connie said.

  "What a life; I'm ready. How about Escape?" Paul asked.

  "She had some pluses and minuses," Connie said. "The interior was beautiful, but the exterior needs a lot of work, and Dani found some problems."

  "She's a typical William Garden design -- beautiful lines," Dani said. "Also typical of Taiwanese boats from that period, and don't forget, she's almost 40 years old. The most recent owners spent a lot of money on her, but they weren't sailors; they splurged on the wrong stuff."

  "Like the leather upholstery, and Persian rugs," Connie added.

  "Both of which have been ruined by water from deck leaks," Liz said.

  "She's got a teak deck that's been neglected for most of her life. Unfortunately, there's a reason those boats are called 'leaky teakies.' The teak itself is in good shape, but the seams weren't maintained, and the underlying structure is all rotten. There are a lot of other things, too. Nothing that can't be fixed, but I'd say you're looking at $200,000 in repairs to make her seaworthy. Could be worth it, at the right price, but she's nowhere near the right price."

  "What about a rock bottom offer?" Paul asked.

  "The broker says that's been tried. I'd keep looking. You find out anything about Davidson?" Dani asked.

  "Yeah, I got a pretty good start. He's a Bible-thumper; makes the Christian Coalition look like a bunch of left-wingers. It's no wonder he was traveling incognito. He's married, no children, pillar of the community. Right to life, America first, put God back in the schools -- he'd be ruined if word got out that he's a skirt-chasing drug abuser."

  "So do you think he's behind Delorme's death and the bomb on Vengeance?" Liz asked.

  "He's our best candidate -- pun intended," Paul said. "I could see Delorme getting whacked by some drug dealer, but that doesn't account for the bomb on Vengeance. Or for Kandi Dulzuras's disappearance."

  "You think…" Connie started to ask.

  "I don't know yet. I've got a lot of work to do before I start thinking. I want to know who Davidson's connected to that might be able to make things like that happen; he's gotta be well-insulated."

  "Where do you even start with something like that?" Connie asked.

  "I'm sharing with a retired political journalist who's not a fan of Davidson's. She's checking to see where his money comes from. Me, I'm going back to the strip joint, the day care center where she left her kid, and her neighbors."

  "Think she could help connect him to Delorme's killer?"

  "Maybe. But whether or not she can do that, she could for sure cause a one-woman scandal just by putting him on Isis. She's bound to be a target for the people trying to clean up after him."

  "You're worried about them trying to kill her?" Connie asked.

  "Well, there's that, too. Mainly, I'm thinking if we keep an eye on her to see who's after her, we'll find out who's after you. You three need to stay hidden."

  "Dani says the Virgins are a good place to hide in plain sight," Connie said. "You can't believe the number of yachts down here; I'm going to do some serious looking around. You should come down and join us if you're really in the market," Connie said, not noticing the smiles that her friends exchanged at her remark.

  "I'd like that. I've been meaning to book some time on Vengeance, but I hear she's taken right now. Besides, I've got this other thing…"

  "I'll share the rest of my charter; there's plenty of room, especially if we're both looking for boats to buy."

  "Thanks, Connie. I'll keep it in mind. I need to find Kandi, and you all need to stay safe. I'll give you a call when I learn something, and we can talk about the other when this is over. Okay?"

  "Sounds good to me," Dani said. "Thanks, Paul." She picked up the phone and disconnected the call.

  ****

  Dan O'Leary sipped his beer, killing time. He was in a filthy, back-street bar in Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas, waiting for his contact from the customs office. He had called the man from Martinique yesterday to find out whether Vengeance had indeed cleared customs in St. Croix. The man had called back a short time later to report that there was no such yacht in the U.S.V.I.

  "You sure they're not in the B.V.I.?" he had asked O'Leary. "Lotta people, they don't know the difference."

  "I don't know. They could be in the B.V.I. Can you find out?"

  "Yeah, but it'll take a while; cost you extra."

  "I don't care about that. How long?"

  "I'll call you tonight."

  So O'Leary had waited. The man had called back last night to report that Vengeance was in the B.V.I.

  "Where?"

  "No idea, mon. They checked in at Spanish Town this morning, but they could be anywhere. People, they don't stay in Spanish Town much."

  "Can I rent a boat and look for 'em?"

  "You can, but mos' likely, you not find they. Lotsa damn islan' in the B.V.I."

  "What about the U.S.V.I.?"

  "Not so many, but bigger islan', lotsa place for boat to be, mon. You t'ink they come to U.S.V.I.?"

  "Probably. They cleared out of St. Martin for St. Croix."

  "Not many boat go to St. Croix from B.V.I., 'specially pleasure boat."

  "You have any ideas on how to find them? I can make it worth your trouble."

  "Okay, mon. If I be you, I come here."

  "Here where?"

  "You come St. Thomas; you flyin', right?"

  "Right."

  "Bes' flights. You come here; you meet me tomorrow, an' I take you over to St. John, an' he'p get you a place to stay at Cruz Bay."

  "Why there?"

  "Mos' boat, they come from B.V.I., they check into U.S. at Cruz Bay. Way easy nex' to check in here in Charlotte Amalie."

  "Okay, but…"

  "You lissen to me, O'Leary. You ax'd me, now I tell you."

  "Okay."

  "So we get you in this place at Cruz Bay. Prob'ly full up, b
ut my cousin, she do the reservations there. She fix. This place, it be close by to waterfront, customs office."

  "Okay."

  "You stay. I fix with my frien' in Her Majesty's Customs so he call me when they leave B.V.I. I call you at the place in Cruz Bay an' you can watch for they when they come to Customs. Stan' outside. Or wait at dinghy dock for they. Simple, see?"

  "Yeah, I get it. So Cruz Bay, it's that small?"

  "If you know where an' when, you won't have trouble."

  "What if I want to get on their boat while they're ashore?"

  "No problem. I fix for mon wit' boat to take you out there. Mos' always, the people when they come to Customs, they take a mooring close by. You know this boat?"

  "No, just the name."

  "No problem. Not so many mooring. You see they come ashore, you jus' zip out there. You find."

  "Okay. What do I need to do to make this happen?"

  "You come to Charlotte Amalie. Bring money --lotsa money. I got to take care of many people to do this…"

  "No problem," O'Leary interrupted. "Where do I meet you? What time?"

  O'Leary had flown into St. Thomas this morning and taken a cab to this shit-hole bar where he waited, slapping at fat, lazy flies that made laconic passes at his beer. He cursed his contact for his choice of meeting places; he hoped the hotel in Cruz Bay would be a step up from this dive. He was brought back into the present when a big man in a flowered shirt pulled out a chair and sat down.

  "You got the money?"

  O'Leary nodded. "How'd you recognize me?"

  "You see any other white men in here?"

  O'Leary shook his head.

  "You only safe here 'cause I called ahead. My folks been keepin' a eye on you. Otherwise, you done be dead."

  ****

  Paul Russo drove through the upscale neighborhood until he saw several patrol cars a hundred yards ahead. They were parked haphazardly, their blue lights flashing. He pulled to the curb and got out, locking his car before he walked up to the yellow crime-scene tape that ringed the front yard of the sizable old two-story house that was the center of police activity.

  A big, handsome blond woman in a patrol uniform turned from a conversation with several reporters as he walked up. "Sorry, sir, this is a crime…Hey, Lieutenant! What are you doin' here? You're retired, right?"

  Paul returned her friendly smile. "Almost three years now, Dora."

  "So you miss seein' stiffs, or what?"

  "Not much. Luke Pantene just called me; we're tryin' to grab a cup of coffee. He asked me to pick him up here; guess he must have caught a ride with somebody."

  The woman spoke softly into the microphone clipped to her shoulder. "He'll be right out; unless you want to go in and see what you're missing."

  "I'll wait, thanks. You doin' all right?"

  "Sure. I'm always doing all right."

  "I'm surprised you're still in uniform; figured you'd have a gold shield by now for sure."

  "Well, if you were still around, I would have gotten one just so I could work with you. All the good looking detectives are either married or gay these days, even the other gals. I don't roll that way, so…"

  "Hey, Paul. Sorry I kept you waitin'."

  "It's okay, Luke. I was just catchin' up with Dora."

  "I don't blame you. If I wasn't married…"

  "That's what they all say," Dora grinned. "Buy a girl a drink sometime, Paul?"

  "Well, that would be fun. Nice to see you," Paul said over his shoulder as he led Luke down the street to his car.

  "I'll call you one of these days," Dora called after him before turning back to the cluster of reporters.

  "Your message said you had some news from vice," Paul prompted once they were in the car.

  "Yeah. You up for lunch?"

  "Sure. Where we goin'?"

  "How about the Cuban place you like off Calle Ocho?"

  "Good. I'm buyin'."

  Luke nodded as Paul pulled away from the curb. "Vice knows your boy, but they think he's about as clean as any of those scumbags get. Rudy Fellini, his name is. No record, no problems. He runs a pretty clean place. There's the occasional problem you'd expect where you mix losers with booze and naked women, but he won't let drugs come in there, and he keeps the hookers out, too."

  "Sounds like an angel," Paul said.

  "Yeah. I don't think so. He's connected. Ric Delgado's supposedly his backer, and you know what an angel he is."

  "Jesus. So how does Fellini stay clean when he's hooked up with Delgado?"

  "You remember Joe Ochoa?"

  "Yeah. He got beaten to death a couple of years before I retired. Never found out who did it, right?"

  "Right. It's still an open case, but who gives a damn. Everybody was glad to see him gone. Rumor has it that Delgado picked up most of his action when he was killed."

  "So what's he got to do with any of this?"

  "Rudy Fellini had a teenage daughter. She was sort of wild, I guess. Who knows, though? Anyhow, Ochoa was into young girls. He got her messed up. Got her on crystal meth. She o.d.'d. Everybody figures Fellini beat him to death, and nobody really blamed him, but he cut a pretty wide swath if he's the guy."

  "What do you mean, wide swath?"

  "Well, you remember Ochoa never went anywhere without a couple of yard apes he called bodyguards?"

  "Yeah. They were pretty scary. What about them?"

  "After Delgado took over, somebody shipped him a couple of those Styrofoam boxes with dry ice, like Omaha Steaks. There was a head in each one; Ochoa's bodyguards, word is. There was a note. Warned him not to mess with family and to stay away from underage girls if he wanted to run things."

  "Jesus."

  "Yeah. This is all hearsay, you understand."

  Paul nodded.

  Luke went on, "So Delgado is the big boss -- drugs, women, strip clubs, you name it. Rudy runs one of his clubs, but the word is Delgado is scared shitless of Rudy."

  "So where does that leave me?" Paul asked.

  "It's just background. Delgado's got his own junkyard dog. First generation Boston-Irish psychopath named Dan O'Leary. He's supposedly the guy running the drug side of things, but he's also Delgado's go-to guy if he needs somebody hurt."

  "Any idea why any of these assholes would care about a dumbass senator who sneaks away to party with a girl who used to work at Rudy's club?"

  "Nope. Maggie have anything for you?"

  "Not yet, but she's interested."

  "If there's anything to find, she's the one that'll find it. Regular bulldog."

  Chapter 26

  Paul looked at the clock on the desk in his makeshift office and realized that it was almost dinnertime. He opened the refrigerator and contemplated the array of leftovers. He enjoyed cooking, but he always fixed too much food and there was no one to share it. He accumulated leftovers more quickly than he could consume them, and often by the time he was ready for a second round of a particular dish, the leftovers had spoiled. The rank odor wafting from the refrigerator signaled that it was time for a purge.

  He closed the door and picked up his car keys, thinking that a Cuban sandwich and a beer at his favorite hole-in-the wall restaurant sounded good. He was finishing the beer when he felt his cell phone vibrate. Fishing the phone from his pocket, he saw that the call was from Maggie O'Malley.

  "That was quick, Maggie."

  "News has a short shelf-life. Besides, politicians are easy. There're all kinds of ways to track their movements. Turns out that your boy was supposed to be out on a week-long fishing trip with a friend while he was being Contreras, according to the gal who keeps his calendar."

  "Can you confirm that with the friend?"

  "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it probably won't mean much. Assuming your girl is right, I'm sure the friend is prepared to give the Senator an alibi. Else, why bother?"

  "Who's the friend? Anybody we've heard of?"

  "Yeah. Sol Levine. Seems like he's a big backer of the Senator's.
Guess it's good business. You find the stripper yet?"

  "No, but it sounds like I'd better. It would help to have another witness to corroborate my friend's story."

  "You got any doubts about her?"

  "My friend? Or Dulzuras?"

  "Your friend."

  "No. The picture is clear enough, and she's reliable. Dulzuras might be able to tell us a little more about the whole situation, though, since she was traveling with him."

  "Yeah. Let me know how you're coming on that, okay?"

  "Sure. You got anything else to chase down?"

  "Oh, yeah. Levine's fishing boat is called Reel Thang; I'm checking out the crew. There's a captain and a mate. I'll start with the mate; figure the captain's probably got more at stake with Levine. I've got somebody lined up to check him out at this bar where all those guys hang out. I'll let you know. Later, handsome."

  Maggie's call moved the search for Kandi Dulzuras to the top of Paul's list. He considered his options. It was unlikely that Rudy or the bartender at Pussycats would tell him anything, although he got the sense that Rudy Fellini knew more than he was telling about Kandi. The bartender, on the other hand, seemed oblivious. The building manager at the dump she had lived in wouldn't know anything useful, although it might be worth paying him to be allowed to go through what she had left behind, if he still had it. The day care center at the Catholic church was worth a visit, too; they might have some emergency contact information for someone besides Kandi. He put a twenty on the table and walked out to his car.

  ****

  Louis Godfrey wondered again about Phillip Davis. Although pleasant and outwardly friendly, Davis didn't give anything away about his background, and he was well-connected in Martinique. He had just called Godfrey to report that Henri Roux's brother, David, was missing; it had been a couple of days since anyone in La Duprey had seen the man, which was unusual. Unlike Henri, David was a stable, dependable member of the small community of fishermen. He had told Henri's wife that he thought he would be able to get some money for her from some of Henri's associates, and she hadn't seen him since. She had told Phillip's contact that Henri worked with a man in Marin. She didn't know his name, but he owned a small bar where Henri often could be found. She had provided a phone number, which led to a dirty, dingy place called "Leclerc's."