"No shit?"
"No shit. We found a private detective who documented it for him three years ago. Pictures and the whole nine yards."
"What the hell?" Jefferson said. "How'd you even find that out?"
"The detective's somebody we do business with. She was in my office when I got one of the reports on Canaday and she recognized the name. She said it was the strangest case she'd ever had."
"I'll be damned. Strange how?"
"Canaday knew all about the affair before he hired her. He told her where to set up for the photos, everything. She said he just wanted a nice package to prove his wife was running around with Holsclaw. He sent her after them several times over the course of three years — different places. Mexico, once, the Bahamas twice. Vegas. Bizarre, huh?"
"Yeah," Jefferson said. "Any sign he was gonna dump her?"
"No. And no sign he ever confronted either of them about it."
"I don't know what to make of that," Jefferson said. "Is Holsclaw married?"
"Divorced. Years ago. It was ugly. His ex-wife claimed he had somebody on the side, but she didn't know who. He didn't put up much of a fight, apparently, but she still did her best to screw him over."
"Woman scorned," Jefferson said. "You think they're in some kind of kinky threesome, or something? Any leverage there for us?"
"There's no way to know for sure now, but it didn't look that way to the detective. She said Canaday was out of the country every time he sent her to make pictures of them."
"Did she say where he went?"
"She didn't know, but she checked her old files and found a phone number and a room number for where he was staying one time. We tracked it to a resort in St. Lucia."
"That's interesting. You check out the resort?"
"Not yet, but we will when the team hits the ground there. I take it the hot priority is to question Canaday, though."
"Absolutely," Jefferson said. "Good work. Keep me posted."
"Yeah. Before you hang up, though, we think Holsclaw may have some criminal connections."
"Drugs?"
"Maybe, but if so, it's bush-league stuff. He owns a bunch of 'gentlemen's clubs,' scattered around the southeast. Some of 'em as far west as Texas."
"Tittie bars, you mean?"
"Kinda, but a little higher class, maybe. Rumors of organized prostitution and gambling — like on sports."
"Yeah, okay. Not sure that makes any difference," Jefferson said. "Call me when you hear something."
"Will do."
17
“What did your shyster say?" Bert Holsclaw asked. "You were on the phone long enough."
"He's got some homework to do. He'll get back to me."
"I woulda thought he'd know how to handle Steve's death," Bert said. "There's gotta be some straightforward way to do that. I've read about people falling off cruise ships; that kind of thing happens. It's in the news pretty often."
"That's not the big problem. You're right; it's routine. He needs copies of all the paperwork from the Coast Guard, and the notice they sent to the U.S. Embassy in Barbados. He wants me to ask the Coast Guard to fax him what they have. He'll get in touch with the embassy himself."
"So how long will all that take?"
"He couldn't give me a definite answer, but he figured a month, maybe two. He's going to try to walk it through the probate court, but he said you never know for sure until it's done."
"What about the money? Did he have any idea what Steve was up to with that big wire to the Bahamas?"
"No, he didn't, and this is kind of strange. Steve fired him a few months ago."
"Fired him? And didn't tell you?"
"Well, Steve's the one that dealt with him. I didn't have much contact with him, other than occasionally signing something. You know, like allowing Steve to pledge joint assets to secure deals, that kind of thing. It's odd that Steve didn't tell me, but not that remarkable, I guess."
"Will he still be able to handle this for you?"
"Sure. He said that's no problem."
"Did you check on the brokerage accounts?"
"He'll do it. He needs to collect information on all the joint assets. He'll have to file an inventory with the court, he said. He'll get back to me in a few days when he knows more. He's going to set up a new bank account for me with some money from one of the accounts. He said it would be better if he handled that, so he'll be able to tell the judge what's going on there."
"Should we get out of here before Steve spots us?" Bert asked.
"I asked David how soon we could leave. I was wondering how long this would all take, but he misunderstood. He said we should stick around for a while to make sure Steve's not going to turn up."
"Does he know about us?" Bert asked, sitting up straight.
"I doubt it. How could he?"
"I just wondered. Sounds like he's worried about appearances, maybe, like not leaving too soon."
She shrugged. "Who knows why he said that? He's got a point, though. I need to act like a bereaved widow for a while, I think."
"Yeah, that's cool, but what about Steve?" Bert asked. "If he comes to and sees us, we're screwed."
"We need to make sure that doesn't happen."
"How are we going to do that if we have to stay here?"
"St. Lucia's a big place; we can move the boat to one of the other harbors. I know Marigot is down the coast not far from here. There are probably other places. We'll check the cruising guide. Speaking of Steve, have you thought any more about a longer-term solution?"
"Yeah. I made a call to a guy I know in Miami. He's got some connections down here. He'll be in touch pretty quick, once he talks to some people."
"Good boy. We're going to get through this, and then it'll just be the two of us, like it was always meant to be."
"Great lunch, Paul," Pat Boushel said. "Thanks. From what Vic said, he might be able to get me out of your hair by this evening. This may be the last time you have to feed me."
"You're not in our hair, Pat," Connie said. "But I'm sure you must be ready to start sorting out your life. Not to press you, but I'm curious about something."
"Ask away," Boushel said, smiling.
"Do you have any idea how you ended up at Isla de Aves?" Connie asked.
His smile faded, and he said, "No, not really. I had a boat, but I don't remember much about it yet, except I used to sail it by myself. I thought maybe I'd been sailing it from here to Cuba after my last meeting with Vic. We talked about that, but we couldn't make the dates match up."
"Well, it's not important," Connie said. "I was just curious."
"Yeah, me too," Boushel said, smiling. "I've been thinking, though, trying to put the pieces together. I've got a lot of random snatches of memory floating around, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Problem is, I'm not sure all of them are really my memories. Some of them seem like stuff I saw in movies, or something."
"That must be stressful for you," Paul said.
"Yeah, a little, but it's a relief, at the same time, you know?"
"I can imagine," Connie said. "It must have been helpful to talk to Vic Murphy. At least he had some solid information about you."
"Yeah, some. He didn't know me that long, though. I asked him how we ended up working together, and he said I called him out of the blue and made an appointment with him to talk about that condo development. He said I had a track record of sorts in Cuba, that I had lived there as an ex-pat for a few years. He didn't know much about me or my activities there, but I must have been at least moderately successful."
"It sounds like it," Paul said. "It must be a relief to know you have some money to get you through this."
"It sure is. Speaking of that, I feel like I should make you guys whole for putting you to so much trouble. You've been really good to me."
"Nonsense," Connie said. "Like Sharktooth said, when somebody's in trouble, you do what you can. It's the oldest rule of the sea. Accidents happen; we feel lucky to have come along at a ti
me when we could help."
"You're very kind. Can I at least buy you a nice dinner ashore this evening? Assuming my paperwork comes through, that is?"
"That sounds nice," Connie said.
"He was lost at sea?" O'Toole asked, walking north along the road near his office, the SpecCorp phone pressed to his ear.
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Canaday called the Coast Guard in St. Lucia a little after 4 a.m. yesterday to report it. She and their guest brought the boat into the marina a few hours later, but the Coast Guard started the search as soon as she called it in."
"And I take it they didn't find him?"
"Not yet. They kept a helicopter up most of the day yesterday, but they called that off last night. All they're doing now is broadcasting notices to mariners on the VHF radio every hour or whatever."
"Do they think they'll find him?" O'Toole asked.
"They're guarded in what they'll say, sir, but our experience says not. Anything's possible, but one man in thousands of square miles of water — that's long odds, according to our people who've done that kind of thing."
"Who's the guest?" O'Toole asked.
"A man named Herbert Holsclaw. He's an old friend of theirs, sails with them often. He owns a string of strip clubs — like a dozen of them — all over the southeast."
"How did the Canadays know him?"
"We don't have a profile on him, sir. Would you like for us to check him out?"
"Let me get back to you on that."
"Yes, sir. Also, we've located the Barrera woman's yacht. It's in Rodney Bay St. Lucia, too, but it's at anchor out in the harbor. She and her husband have a guest aboard, but we don't have a name for him. He's --"
"Why not? Isn't his name on the clearance paperwork?"
"No, it isn't. They found him marooned on an island a couple of hundred miles northwest of St. Lucia. Isla de Aves, it's called. It's technically part of Venezuela, but it's uninhabited. The man has amnesia."
"You sure that he's not Canaday?"
"Yes, sir. The timing's all wrong. They picked this man up several days before Canaday was lost. According to the paperwork, Canaday was aboard Windsong when it left Dominica, and that was a couple of days after Barrera and her husband found the castaway."
"Is there any sign that Barrera and the people on Canaday's boat know each other?"
"Not yet, but we can monitor that if you wish."
"Yes, do that," O'Toole said.
"Will do, sir. I'll call you at the usual time tomorrow."
"Good," O'Toole said. He disconnected the call and put the SpecCorp phone in his right coat pocket. He took a prepaid phone from his left coat pocket and made a call.
The number rang three times and Gator Jaw Ryan answered. "Hey, Willie."
"Yeah, Gator Jaw. We need to talk, I reckon. You got time to meet me at the regular place?"
"Fifteen minutes from now be good?" Gator Jaw asked.
"Yep. See you then." O'Toole disconnected and returned the phone to his pocket. He glanced at his watch and decided to walk to the fishing pier. It was a beautiful day, and the walk would give him time to think.
Guillermo Montalba was reviewing the transcript of the most recent SpecCorp report to O'Toole. The coincidence of the unidentified man on Barrera's boat and the missing Steven Canaday troubled him. O'Toole might be willing to accept SpecCorp's assumption that the timing was wrong for the man to be Canaday, but Montalba didn't leave anything to chance. He opened his desk drawer and took out an encrypted cellphone that was similar to the one that O'Toole had. He pressed the first speed dial number.
"Yes, my friend?"
"I'm looking at the transcript. Surely the local authorities must be trying to identify the man on Barrera's yacht," Montalba said.
"I'm sure they are. Would you like for us to look into that and get back to you?"
"Yes, please," Montalba said.
"I'll call you back with a status report. I understand there's been some activity on that, but let me get the details."
"Thank you," Montalba said, disconnecting.
18
“Good afternoon," the woman at the immigration desk said, as Connie and Paul escorted Pat Boushel into the customs office in the marina. "Clearing in?"
"No," Boushel said. "I'm supposed to meet Victor Murphy here."
"Are you Mr. Boushel?" the woman asked.
"That's right."
"Very well. Mr. Murphy is in the conference room. Follow me, please."
She knocked on the conference room door and opened it without waiting. "Please go in," she said, holding the door. "If you need anything, let me know." With a nod, she left and closed the door.
"Everything's good," Murphy said, standing to shake hands all around. "I have your temporary travel document here, and immigration has already stamped it. Welcome to St. Lucia."
"You mean I'm legal? I don't have to impose on Connie and Paul any longer?"
"That's correct," Murphy said, smiling. He handed a manila envelope to Boushel. "The document is in there, along with the money you requested. I reserved a room for you in the hotel nearest my house for this evening, and my wife is expecting us both for dinner in a little while. I'll take you to the hotel now so that you can freshen up."
"Great!" Boushel said. "Thanks, Vic. Only thing is, I was planning to take Connie and Paul to dinner tonight."
"Oh! I'm sorry," Murphy said. "I didn't — "
"Please," Connie interrupted. "We appreciate the gesture, but you should go ahead with your plans. We're glad we could help. You don't need to take us to dinner, and Mr. Murphy's wife's already cooking, I'll bet."
"But I really wanted to," Boushel said. "You saved my life. I insist. How about tomorrow night, then? Will you still be here?"
Connie and Paul traded looks. She turned back to Boushel and smiled. "Sure. Why don't you call us?" She handed him a card. "Use either of the cellphone numbers. We don't turn on the sat phone in port."
"Okay, then. I'll see you guys tomorrow. That's good, actually. It'll give me a chance to buy some fresh clothes."
"I've had a few things sent to your hotel," Murphy said. "You can try them on when I drop you there; if they don't fit, I know a place that will be open this evening."
"Good," Boushel said. "Thanks, Vic."
"See you tomorrow evening," Paul said. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Murphy."
"Yes," Connie said, smiling at Murphy.
"Thank you. It's my pleasure, and if I can ever help you when you're visiting St. Lucia, please call."
Paul held the door for Connie and closed it behind them. They wished the woman at the desk a good afternoon and stepped outside.
"Well," Connie said, as they walked to the stairs, "that's a relief."
"Yes, it is," Paul said. "Got plans for dinner?"
"Mm-hmm," she stopped and smiled at him. "A candle-lit evening with a handsome man. But you can buy me a drink on the way back to my boat."
Montalba picked up his SpecCorp phone when it rang and pressed the green icon. "Yes?"
"As I thought, our people were already monitoring the situation you asked about. They were surprised that our other, ah ... client didn't ask the question."
"Do me a favor please, and don't encourage him to pursue that."
"And if he comes to it himself?"
"Then answer his questions, but don't volunteer information."
"As you wish. The castaway was identified by a local lawyer who claimed they had previous business dealings. The lawyer says the man on Ms. Barrera's yacht is Patrick Michael Boushel, a Canadian expatriate who is a real estate developer in Cuba."
"Cuba?" Montalba asked, his voice rising a little.
"Yes. I find it as hard to believe as you do," the man on the phone said.
"Would it be possible for your operatives to question the lawyer?"
"Of course. The lawyer has committed to secure a replacement passport for Boushel from the Canadian Embassy, as well as a temporary travel document for the interim, until th
e passport is ready. Do you wish for us to disrupt that?"
"No, let him proceed, but keep an eye on Boushel in the meantime."
"That won't be a problem. Do you wish to have Boushel followed, if he should leave the island?"
"Yes, please."
"Very well. I'll call you as this matter develops. I assume you wish to continue to receive the transcripts of the other client's briefings."
"Yes. Thank you."
"It's always a pleasure," the man said. He disconnected the call and Montalba put the phone back in his desk drawer.
"We called to thank you for your help, Cedric," Connie said. She and Paul were back aboard Diamantista II.
"I'm pleased that I was able to help; I gather that you've spoken with Victor Murphy?"
"We just came back from the customs office," Paul said. "It seemed that everything was all right. Murphy had the papers and money for Boushel, and he and his wife are going to feed him dinner."
"I see," Jones said, his voice sounding squeaky through the cellphone's speaker. "And is he staying with you this evening?"
"No." Connie said. "Murphy booked him into a hotel for the night. Boushel's taking us to dinner tomorrow night, or at least that's the way we left it."
"That's thoughtful of him. You were very kind to take him in the way you did."
"There really was no alternative," Connie said. "We could hardly have left him stranded on Isla de Aves."
"No, of course not," Jones said. "Did he remember anything else? Like how he got there?"
"No. Or if he did, he didn't share it," Paul said.
"But he did say that he had some recollection of keeping a sailboat in Cuba," Connie said.
"That's right," Paul said, "and he had thought at one point that maybe he'd been sailing from here back to Cuba after he met with Murphy the last time, but the dates didn't match up."
"Ah, well, I suppose it doesn't matter now," Jones said. "He's had a run of good luck to make up for the bad, though."
"You mean because we found him?" Connie asked.
"Well, that, for sure," Jones said. "But I was thinking about Murphy's being able to identify him. We came up with nothing from Interpol."
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