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

by Charles Dougherty

  Although Davis had arranged for someone to check out the bar, Godfrey had been unable to resist the urge to drop in for a beer. He paused just inside the door to get his bearings. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that the bar, although small, wasn't crowded. Two men spoke in soft tones over their beers in a booth along one wall, and there was a big blond woman, a caricature of a hooker, eyeing him from her bar stool. The bartender was slumped on a stool behind the bar, his attention focused on a folded newspaper that he held in his left hand as he sipped coffee from the mug in his other hand. Godfrey approached the bar, perching himself on the stool next to the woman. The bartender got to his feet and greeted Godfrey in French, more enthusiastically than he had expected. He ordered a beer for himself and another drink 'for the lady,' earning a smile from her as she turned to look him over.

  "Merci," she said to Godfrey when the bartender served her. Godfrey noticed with surprise that her heavy makeup covered the ruins of what had once been a pretty face. He smiled back and nodded. The bartender set his draft beer down. He lifted it toward the woman. "To beautiful ladies everywhere," he said, as she clicked the rim of her cocktail glass against his mug.

  "You are a visitor; where are you from?" the woman asked.

  "London."

  "Ah! Your French is very good."

  "My mother was from Paris."

  "I see. So you are escaping the cold and the damp. How do you like Martinique?"

  "It's beautiful. Is this your home?"

  "For some years, yes. Originally, I am from Paris, like your mother, but I also lived in London for a while. Strange people, the English."

  "How so?"

  "They are polite, but not friendly."

  "I understand what you mean; not as warm as the French."

  "Yes. It was a lonely place for a young French girl."

  "So, you came here. How long have you lived in Martinique?"

  "Some years now. I lose track; the time passes quickly here. Do you have someone back in England?"

  "No. No, I don't, actually."

  "Perhaps you are lonely."

  "Perhaps. Are you?"

  She smiled. "It may be that we could keep each other company."

  "It may be. I'm Louis, by the way."

  "Carole," she said.

  "Nice to meet you, Carole. I have a friend whose daughter is named Caroline; she's beautiful and blond, too, like you. But English, not French. I think he said that she and her husband were living here in Marin."

  "Recently?" she asked.

  Godfrey shrugged. "It was a few weeks ago that he mentioned it. When I told him I was coming here for a holiday."

  "Billy," the woman said, raising her voice slightly.

  The bartender looked up from his newspaper.

  "That young English couple?" she asked.

  "Henri's friends?" the bartender asked.

  "Yes, those people. What were their names?"

  "Caroline and Robert."

  "That could be my friend's daughter," Godfrey said indifferently. "I don't actually know her, but they were on a yacht, I believe."

  "Yes!" the woman said. "Isis, that was the yacht's name. I remember this because the goddess Isis is very important to girls like me."

  "Why is that?" Godfrey asked, resisting the urge to ask about Caroline and Robert.

  "You know the story of Isis and Osiris?"

  Godfrey shook his head. "I know she was an Egyptian goddess."

  "Yes. She was the lover of Osiris." She giggled. "His brother Set, he killed Osiris and cut him into 14 pieces and fed them to the fish. Isis, she found the pieces and put him back together. Except one piece, the most important piece of a man, some might say, was missing. So Isis, she used her magic to restore his manhood after the fish ate it."

  "I see," Godfrey said. "It might be fun to surprise Caroline and Robert. Her father and I were boys together, you see. Do they come here often?"

  "They did for a while, but always with Henri. And then, the last few times, only the husband would come. He said that she was gone back to England, but some men I know, they said she was living here with two other young women in a flat where they entertained rich men. And then Henri, he killed himself, so we don't see Robert now. Maybe Guy would know."

  "Guy?" Godfrey asked.

  "Guy Leclerc, the proprietor."

  "Would it be possible to ask him?"

  "He is traveling. He left another man, a friend of his, to look after the bar. An American with an Irish accent. I think he is gay."

  "He's gone, too," the bartender added. "He left the keys with another man -- a friend of theirs from St. Vincent. Jimmy Campbell, he is called. He should be here later, but I don't think he would know these English."

  Godfrey looked at his watch and feigned surprise. "Sorry. I must run; I have to meet a man about some business. Thank you both, and Carole, I hope that you'll be here when I come again." He left several bills on the bar and rushed outside, hustling down the street toward the marina like a man who was late for an appointment.

  ****

  Paul sat at the desk in his second bedroom, which he intended to convert to an office if he ever had time. A cup of lukewarm coffee and an unused yellow legal pad were on the blotter in front of him, a pen forgotten in his hand. He had invested the early evening in fruitless pursuit of a clue to Kandi Dulzuras's whereabouts. The landlord, in exchange for a $100 bill, had grudgingly shown him several boxes in a grimy storage room which supposedly contained the belongings that she had left behind. Left alone by the weasel-like man, Paul had methodically examined every item: toys, clothing, a few kitchen utensils and chipped, mismatched dishes. When he had finished, he knocked on the doors of the units on either side of the one she had rented and questioned the neighbors, neither of whom knew anything of use. He had no better luck at the daycare center, which was still open, to his surprise. The two women who ran it had explained that many of the parents worked odd hours. Kandi's daughter, he had learned, was a quiet, bright four-year-old named Melissa, who was missed by the other children. Pleasant and eager to help, the women had no information of value.

  Kandi Dulzuras was virtually untraceable; her earnings had been in cash, and all of her bills had been paid in cash as well. She had a Florida driver's license, but she didn't own a car. The phone number the daycare center had for her rang unanswered; Paul had called a friend with the DEA who had verified that the number was from a block of numbers assigned to prepaid, disposable phones.

  His own cell phone rang, startling him. The display showed that the calling number was blocked. He pressed the connect button.

  "This is Paul Russo. How can I help you?" he asked, in his friendliest tone.

  "Um, are you, the ah…have you been looking for Kandi Dulzuras?" a nervous-sounding young woman asked.

  "Yes. Do you know her?"

  "Why are you looking for her?"

  "I need to ask her some questions, but she's not in any kind of trouble. I think we could help each other if I could just talk to her."

  "You're a cop." The tone of voice conveyed what the speaker thought of that.

  "I'm retired. A friend of mine, another woman about Kandi's age, is in some trouble. She and Kandi met one another a couple of weeks ago down in the islands. I think the same people are after both of them."

  "Mr. Fellini said you were straight."

  "He tell you to call…"

  "NO! He doesn't know. I just heard him talkin' to somebody about you."

  "Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell him anything."

  "He's okay. I mean, not like the rest of them. He's human. But he can't know I called."

  "Okay. Can you get word to Kandi?"

  "No. I don't know what's happened to her."

  "Are you in a place where we can talk?"

  "Yeah. I'm by myself, at my place, but don't try to find me."

  "Okay. Thanks for calling me. You must have something you want to tell me."

  "Yeah. Kandi, her and Melissa, they were like
, I… I guess we were family, like, you know."

  "Sure."

  "When that creep O'Leary would come for her, I'd always take care of Melissa until she came back."

  "O'Leary? He was her boyfriend?"

  "God, no! He's creepy; I don't think he likes women. Maybe not men, either. Kandi worried he'd come after Melissa. He'd just come get her when Ric wanted her for, well, like, you know."

  "Who's Ric?"

  "Delgado. He's like, Mr. Fellini's boss, kinda, I guess. Anyways, Ric had the hots for Kandi for a while. Made her stop dancin'; talked about her movin' in with him, in that big, like, mansion he lives in. Then he kinda, like, pimped her out, like, to this senator guy. She was pretty torn up about how Ric treated her, but he said if she didn't, like, do it for him, he'd let O'Leary have Melissa. So she went with the senator a few times, and he was pretty nice to her. Took her to someplace on an airplane, some island, and they were on a yacht, doin' drugs and partyin', like, with the people on the yacht. Then this other girl on the yacht, she beat the shit out of the senator while Kandi was with some other guy. The senator called Ric, and pretty soon three guys in a boat came and they killed the guy Kandi had been with. One guy stayed on the yacht and the other two snuck Kandi and the senator away to some other island where they got on a plane. Once Kandi got back to Miami, Ric made her start dancin' again. She was really scared, like, and now she's g-gone."

  "Why are you telling me this? Why now?"

  "Kandi said if anything happened, for me to tell the cops all of this, but I don't trust no cops, and Mr. Fellini told that guy you were straight. Help her, please."

  "I'll do my best. Can we…" Paul looked at the display on his phone, verifying that the call had been terminated.

  He picked up the pen and started writing.

  Chapter 27

  Vengeance slipped past the mostly vacant moorings at Caneel Bay, St. John, ghosting along on a zephyr as the land mass of the island blocked the trade winds. She was barely making four knots as they drew near to the yellow flashing buoy off Lind Point that marked the entrance to Cruz Bay.

  "We've got our pick of the moorings," Liz remarked.

  "Timing is everything," Dani agreed. "Everybody's had their leisurely breakfast and taken off for wherever. They won't be vacant long. If you want to check out the snorkeling," she said, turning to Connie, "we should skip picking up the customs mooring and just take the one we want to stay on for the day."

  "We don't have to use the customs mooring to clear in?"

  "No. It's just for convenience, because the others are usually so full. I'd pick one close to the point and close in to shore; we can swim to the reefs that way."

  "Okay," Connie said. "Let's take that one." She pointed at a mooring that they had just passed. "I'll just head her up into the breeze and you can pick up the mooring. I'll help you with the sails once we're secure."

  Dani exchanged a look with Liz. They both smiled at Connie's assured manner. "You got it, Skipper," Dani said as Connie swung the helm.

  Vengeance, once pointed directly into the light breeze, coasted to a stop. The sails luffed, fluttering as they spilled the wind. Dani picked up the mooring pennant with the boat hook and dropped its eye over the samson post. "Nice job," she said as she turned to give Connie a wave.

  The three women soon had the sails stowed and the dinghy launched. Once Vengeance was squared away, they went below to change from their bathing suits to clothes suitable for town. Liz looked at her wrist watch as she went back up on deck to wait for the others. When Connie and Dani emerged from the companionway, Liz spoke.

  "I think I'll stay behind, if that's okay. I wanted to fix a warm seafood salad for lunch; I've got some prep work to do, and you can show Connie around town before another wave of tourists shows up."

  "Okay by me," Dani said. "Need anything from the market?"

  "Is there a good produce market here?" Connie asked.

  "Not like you're thinking. There's a nice gourmet grocery store, though. This is kind of a fancy place; you'll see," Liz said. "And no, thanks, Dani. I've got everything we'll need until we get back to where groceries are reasonably priced."

  Dani and Connie climbed down into the dinghy, and Liz cast off their painter once the outboard was started. She gathered up the coffee mugs and the empty carafe from the cockpit and took them below to wash before she started preparing lunch.

  ****

  O'Leary was not a patient man. As soon as the call had come in advising him that Vengeance had checked out of the B.V.I. at Jost Van Dyke, he had dialed the number for the water taxi that his contact had given him. He was waiting on the dinghy dock by the ferry landing in Cruz Bay when the heavy, brightly painted 18-foot outboard boat pulled up. He recognized the boatman as the one who had brought them over from Red Hook in St. Thomas yesterday. He scrambled aboard before the man had tied the boat to the rickety dock.

  As they backed away, he spotted a 12-foot RIB at the end of the dock that bore the legend "Tender to Vengeance." Perfect timing, he thought. The women were ashore already. He wondered how much time had elapsed between their departure from Jost Van Dyke and the call from his contact.

  He was annoyed at the inefficiency of these island people; he could have missed the women if they had been in a hurry. He knew it would have taken them about an hour to an hour and a half to get here on a boat like Vengeance. He forced himself to relax; it didn't matter. The timing had worked out perfectly, but he hated sloppy work. He'd deal with his contact later. For what he had charged, he should have been more prompt. O'Leary didn't subscribe to the notion that it was better to be lucky than good. Lady Luck could be a bitch.

  He was jolted from his thoughts as they left the harbor entrance and slammed into the wake of the incoming ferry from Red Hook.

  "Slow down, dammit," he barked.

  The boatman chopped the throttle abruptly, causing the bow to plunge into a wave and dumping the unprepared O'Leary into a heap of wet garbage in the bilge. He extricated himself and glared at the man at the tiller.

  "Sorry, sah. You say slow down."

  The man looked the picture of humility, but O'Leary knew passive-aggressive behavior when he saw it. He added this fool to his list of irritants to be dealt with later.

  "There." O'Leary pointed at Vengeance, rocking gently at her mooring a hundred yards away. "Take me alongside carefully; don't mark their paint. And then get the hell out of here. I'll call you if I need you, so stand by."

  "Yes, sah." The man brought the boat expertly alongside Vengeance, coasting to a gentle stop only inches from the boarding ladder that hung from the yacht's side. O'Leary stepped aboard, and the boat eased away. He was as impressed with the man's skill as he was annoyed with his attitude. He stepped into the cockpit, surprised to see that the women had left the companionway doors standing open.

  ****

  Paul sat across from Maggie at the sticky table in the diner as she finished her late breakfast. He studied the finely chiseled features and the clear, soft skin. The curly black hair and the deep blue eyes set off her peaches and cream complexion; her appearance wasn't at all what he had expected from their first phone call, but that voice spoiled it all. She poured more coffee from the carafe the waitress had left on the table and stuck a fresh cigarette in her mouth, lighting it from the smoldering butt in the ashtray.

  She took a deep drag and began a fit of coughing, her third since they sat down. After her spasms subsided, she took a sip of coffee. "If I didn't like to smoke so much, I'd quit, you know?"

  Paul nodded.

  "You find the stripper?" she rasped.

  "No, but I did learn some things about her." He summarized last night's anonymous phone call for her.

  She listened attentively, her cigarette burning down to ash between the fingers of her left hand without her taking another drag. She made an occasional note. The ash fell onto her notepad, seeming to surprise her. She transferred the butt to the ashtray, stubbing it out.

  "Ric
Delgado," she mused.

  "He's…"

  "Oh, I know about him," she interrupted. "I've studied him for a long time. Some people think he's tied to Sol Levine, but nobody's ever come up with a solid connection. Interesting that he's procuring for Levine's pet senator."

  "I wouldn't take that to the bank. I don't even know who the woman was."

  "We're not making a case for the D.A. here. I can live with hearsay in my line of work. Especially when it's consistent with everything else. See, I got a piece of corroborative evidence from the mate on Reel Thang. The boat was out of commission when your gal claims to have met the Senator in Bequia. Out of the water, in fact, for a fresh coat of bottom paint."

  "So much for the Senator's alibi," Paul said.

  "Yeah. That's not all. A few days later, Reel Thang was back in the water and Levine took the Senator fishing. The mate only got snatches of the conversation, but Levine was asking the Senator about a girl named Kandi."

  "Damn," Paul said.

  "My reaction, exactly."

  There was a moment of silence as they thought about how the pieces fit together.

  "Almost forgot," Maggie said.

  "What's that?"

  "Your friend -- the one that identified the senator."

  "What about her?"

  "She a cook on that yacht? Named Liz?"

  Paul felt a chill as he tried to remember if he had told anyone her name. He might have mentioned it to Luke; they didn't keep secrets, but Luke wouldn't…

  "Relax," Maggie growled. "You didn't spill that. The mate heard the senator ask Levine about her."

  "And?"

  "Levine said some friends of his were taking care of her. The mate said he heard the name O'Leary, but not all of the details."

  "Where are you going with all of this, Maggie?"

  "Oh, I think you know the answer to that. What you really want to know is when, isn't it?"