Titanoboa

by Victor Methos

  Ali sat down on the transom, his eyes on the stain. “You have worked a murder before, haven’t you?”

  “I helped on a few, but I wasn’t a homicide detective. I was in missing persons and then property crimes.”

  Ali reached under his hat and scratched the top of his head. “Well, you’re the best thing we’ve got right now. So it’s yours if you want the job.”

  Mark shrugged. “Sure, why not? I’m not doing much else now. But this is a premium job. I’m going to have to charge double my normal hourly rate.”

  “Of course you are. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. How ’bout a forensic unit?”

  Ali grinned. “I’m afraid your wits are all you’re going to have for this. If you need something sent to the lab, it comes out of your pay.”

  “Great.”

  12

  When night fell, Mark was beginning to think that the hotel clerk had ripped him off. Seemed like an odd thing to do, since Mark lived on the island and could pay him a visit.

  As he was debating what to do, his cell phone vibrated with a text message. All it said was, She’s here now.

  Mark decided to walk to the hotel. The night air was pleasant, and plenty of people were out. He enjoyed crowd watching here. As he strolled up the street, he glanced into shops and restaurants, observing the way people acted while on vacation, and wondered if they acted that way at home as well.

  At the well-lit hotel, he saw a group of tourists drunk on the corner. They were speaking a language he didn’t recognize, something that sounded close to Russian. He smiled to them and walked inside the building. The same clerk was still there. It wasn’t unusual for most jobs on the island to require four twelve-hour days. That seemed to be the preferred schedule, though Mark favored fewer hours in a day. The clerk nodded to him, and he nodded back before heading up the stairs.

  The hallway was empty. He knocked on 217. He could hear water running, then it turned off. Footsteps and the door opened. A young woman, perhaps twenty, stood there. Blond hair with soft green eyes. She wore shorts and a white V-neck shirt.

  “Rebecca Langley?” Mark asked.

  “Yes? And who are you, please?”

  “Oh, no need to be nervous. I’m Mark Whittaker. I’m a private investigator here on the island. I’ve been hired to investigate the disappearance of Billy Gilmore.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was hoping you had some information that could help me.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I was told you were here on the island with him. That you two may have been an item.”

  She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

  “Well, what was it like?”

  She was silent.

  “Look, I’m just trying to find out what happened to him. That’s all. His family is thinking the worst. His sister is the one that hired me.”

  “Sister? I don’t think he had a sister.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “No, but we spent a lot of time together. He mentioned his parents and a brother, but never anything about a sister.”

  “I’d still like to talk to you about him a little if I could.”

  She sighed. “Look, I’d like to help you, but I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “No, I really can’t. I signed a document saying I couldn’t talk about anything relating to what’s going on.”

  “A document? Like a non-disclosure agreement?”

  “They’ll fire and sue me if I say anything. So I’m sorry, I can’t talk.”

  Mark placed his hand against the wall in the hallway, leaning his weight on it. “Who exactly did you sign a non-disclosure agreement with?”

  “I’ve… I’ve already talked more than I’m comfortable with. Sorry.”

  She tried to shut the door, but he stopped it with his free hand. “Please, just the name of the people you signed it with. I just need someplace to start.”

  She hesitated then said, “VN Oil. That’s all I can say. Please just leave.”

  Mark backed off the door and let it shut. He had a thousand questions for her, but he had a good sense of people, and she wasn’t lying when she told him she had signed something. She was clearly frightened of someone.

  That left one person who may have known what was going on, and Mark had a feeling she wasn’t who she said she was.

  He left the hotel and headed to the police station.

  13

  The police station, as he could’ve guessed, was empty. One officer, a man named Dinesh Khan, worked the night shift, but he slept more hours in a day than he was actually awake. It wasn’t his fault, Mark figured. He had once seen Dinesh fall asleep while eating a meal at a restaurant and knew right then something else was going on other than laziness. Perhaps narcolepsy. But Dinesh was too stubborn to go to a doctor.

  Mark drove up the main street in the city to a group of condos with small, fenced-off patios near the edge of town. He parked and found unit 12. Before he even had a chance to knock, Ali opened the door. He was dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, and he appeared to be getting ready for bed.

  “How’d you hear me?”

  “Saw your car. Come in.”

  The condo was clean, but not the type of cleanliness that came from vigilance. The type that came from the fact that he and his wife were never home. The kind that left a thick layer of dust on the counters.

  “Beer?” Ali asked.

  “Thought you were Muslim?”

  “I’m Hindi. And it’s not like religious rules stop people from doing anything they want anyway.”

  “In that case, I’d love a beer.”

  Ali handed him a bottle, and they both sat on the couch. A poorly filmed show starring all Indians played on the TV. Bollywood, Mark guessed. The older generations watched all Bollywood, and the younger watched only Hollywood. A slow rift was growing between the generations. It was subtle, and it probably took a foreigner like Mark to see it, but it was there.

  The beer was a brand Mark had never heard of. He took a sip. The traditional beer mixed with what tasted like spices left a tangy flavor on his tongue long after.

  “So what brings you by?” Ali asked.

  “A favor. I have a client that claims she’s looking into the disappearance of her brother, but I don’t think she is who she says she is. I ran a basic background check on her, and I’m going to do a more intensive one, but I was wondering if you could look into her as well and see if you could turn anything up.”

  “Sure. What’s her name?”

  “Riki Gilmore. At least that’s what she says.”

  “Oh, her again. She’s quite pushy, isn’t she?”

  “I don’t know. I found her pleasant enough.”

  Ali chuckled. “She is pretty.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Sure.” Ali took another sip. He watched the television a moment. Without taking his gaze off the screen he said, “Why don’t you think she is who she says she is?”

  “I spoke to someone her alleged brother was here with. She said Billy had never mentioned a sister. She seemed pretty adamant that he didn’t have one.”

  Ali shrugged. “I have three brothers. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly. People don’t share everything about themselves.”

  “I don’t know. I kinda believe her.”

  Ali gulped down nearly a third of the bottle. “Okay, I’ll check with the airport and customs and see what we can turn up.”

  “Appreciate it.” Mark, just to be polite, took a long pull from the beer. He must’ve grimaced, because Ali laughed.

  “You don’t have to drink it. It’s an acquired taste.”

  “I didn’t want to be rude.”

  “It’s not rude to dislike something. I have some Heineken, too. Stay and have a drink with me.”

  “Actually, I’ve got a call to make. And it’s just late enough back in L.A. th
at I’ll seem like a dick for calling, so I’d rather get this outta the way now.”

  “Dick?”

  “Yeah, it means, like, a rude person.”

  “Ah. I’ll keep that in mind.” He raised his beer. “Well, good hunting.”

  Mark wanted to make the call from somewhere quiet, but he also didn’t want to go home yet. He parked his car in the beach parking lot near his home. Without a cloud in the sky, the moon painted the black water a dim white. He sat down in the sand and pulled out his cell phone. After dialing a long-distance number, he waited until someone picked up before placing the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?” the man said. His voice was groggy.

  “Davis?”

  “Who the hell is this?”

  “It’s Mark Whittaker.”

  “No shit? Mark, what the hell you doin’ calling over here? You know what time it is?”

  “Sorry, but if I called any later, it would’ve been worse. I just need a quick favor.”

  Davis grumbled something. This wasn’t unusual, and the fact that he had left his cell phone on, though it was early morning over there, told Mark that Davis was used to doing favors. As the clerk in the LAPD Records Division, he could do a skip trace on anyone in the world. He had access to files even the subjects of the search didn’t know existed.

  “You know, you’re not a cop anymore,” Davis said.

  “I know. That’s why it’s a favor.”

  He sighed. “Hold on, lemme grab a pen.” After a few moments, Davis got back on the line. “Who is it?”

  “She says her name’s Riki Gilmore with a brother named William Thomas Gilmore. I don’t think that’s her real name, and I don’t think William Gilmore has a sister.”

  “That all you got?”

  “No, I got a birthday on William for May 5, 1981.”

  “Fine. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  “I’m sending you an island gift basket today.”

  “Better have some good rum in it.”

  “The best. Thanks again, bud.”

  Mark drove back home. As he stepped out of the car, he noticed immediately that his front door was open. The door had a problem with its lock and if he didn’t shut it in just the right way, it would open. Not far, just an inch or two. But Mark distinctly remembered closing the door before he left today. He pulled out his firearm and held it low.

  Pressing his back to the wall, he slid just underneath a window and poked his head up. He didn’t see any lights or movement inside. He’d have to go in.

  With no backdoor or other entryway, the front door was it. So he calmly slipped over and peeked in through the door’s crack. Opening it a little with his left hand gave him a decent view of his living room. No one there. Nothing disturbed from what he could tell. He opened the door all the way to allow in as much moonlight as possible then stepped inside.

  Mark stood still and listened. He always wondered if he could hear somebody else’s breathing if he was quiet enough. He didn’t hear anything but the waves behind him against the shore.

  Only three more rooms—a bedroom, a bathroom, and the kitchen, were in the house. No basement or attic. Mark quietly stepped into the kitchen and turned the lights on. Empty. He poked his head into the nearby bathroom. The shower curtain was pulled all the way closed, but he didn’t remember leaving it that way.

  Pointing the gun in front of him, he slid the curtain back.

  He saw only the tile and a crack that had been there when he’d bought the place. He snuck out of the bathroom and into the bedroom gun first. The closet had no doors, so there was nothing to check. He knelt down and checked underneath the bed. Nothing there. There was nowhere else large enough for a person to hide. He holstered his firearm.

  It was possible the wind blew the door open, or that maybe he didn’t shut it all the way. He’d been preoccupied with this Riki mess and could’ve just not paid attention. But as he left the bedroom, he noticed two clear plastic containers on the top shelf. One contained old documents he wanted to keep. Commendations from the LAPD, his diplomas, things like that. And one contained old client files. The client files were always underneath his personal stuff because they were heavier. And he hadn’t looked through them in a long, long time.

  The client files lay on top, something he never would’ve done. He was certain of that, because the weight of the client files would have crushed and wrinkled his personal files.

  Someone had been in his house.

  14

  Mark didn’t feel refreshed one bit. He’d never been a great sleeper and slept in bursts of two or three hours at a time. Until he moved to the islands, he didn’t understand what people meant when they said, “Good night’s sleep.”

  Last night he’d gotten only a couple hours. Maybe less.

  As the sunlight streamed through the windows, he rose from bed and showered, leaving his gun by the sink. His mind had spun with thoughts last night. Who would want to break into my house? He owned nothing of value, not really, and in fact, they had taken nothing. They were searching for something they didn’t find. Or maybe gathering information about him.

  He dressed and put on his holster and firearm. He was about to leave the house and head for the office when his cell phone rang. It was Davis.

  “This is Mark.”

  “How’s it feel?”

  “How’s what feel?”

  “To be woken in the middle of the night?”

  “Davis, it’s like nine in the morning over here.”

  He grumbled. “Shit. I don’t care. Listen, I got your information.”

  “And?”

  “William T. Gilmore, born San Diego, California, two siblings, all of them brothers.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Hey, don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

  “I know, I shouldn’t have asked. Anything on a Riki Gilmore?”

  “Nope. Fake name, my friend. I mean, there are Riki Gilmores but none from San Diego with brothers named William.”

  Mark pressed the phone between his cheek and shoulder while he locked the door. “If you ever need a vacation, you’re more than welcome to stay with me out here.”

  “I may take you up on that. You know, a lotta people up here are pretty jealous that you’re livin’ the dream in paradise.”

  “Well, tell them anyone and everyone is welcome. You take care, Davis. Thanks again.”

  “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

  Mark texted Riki from his car. He told her he had some important information and needed to see her right away. She texted back immediately that she would be there, almost as though she was waiting by her phone. Next, Mark called Ali.

  “What can I do for you, Mark?”

  “I found out the name she used was fake and that William Gilmore didn’t have any sisters. She’s lying.”

  “Well, not a crime to lie.”

  “I know. But would you do me a favor? Would you meet us at Shambala and just sit at the counter? Have some coffee or something, but kinda have your eye on her.”

  “Why?”

  “Just an experiment.”

  “Well, I could use some tea, I guess. When?”

  “Now.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

  Mark took his time driving to the café. If Riki walked from her hotel, it took about twenty minutes to get to Shambala. He wanted her to be sitting down already when he arrived, so he took the long route around the city near the shore. Some girls in bikinis lounged on the deck of a boat out on the water. He remembered suddenly that he was also investigating Stanley’s disappearance.

  The old man would be nearly impossible to find. He was a recluse but a quite affable one when he actually talked to people. He’d become a staple of the island, and Mark had even once shared a beer with him on the beach.

  Stanley liked to disappear for long periods at a time. No one knew where he went or why. No one knew whether his real name was Stanle
y or not. Though everyone knew him, as far as Mark understood, Stanley didn’t have any friends. There was no one to interview. The only thing he could do was talk to the person that reported his disappearance and see if he could scrape together enough information to lead him in the right direction.

  Shambala wasn’t crowded yet, just a few people enjoying their pastries with tea, coffee, or juice, and Mark waited a couple more minutes in the car. Riki, or whatever her name was, sat by the windows. He was glad she had chosen somewhere indoors. She’d be less likely to make a scene than on the veranda.

  He got out and walked inside the café. Ali, already there, sipped his drink. He nodded to Mark, who nodded back before sauntering to Riki’s table and sitting down.

  “I’m glad you got in touch with me,” Riki said. “I was really worried you wouldn’t find anything.”

  “That police officer there is here for you.” Mark motioned his head toward Ali. “I don’t want any trouble. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would—”

  “This isn’t the States. The police here have almost dictatorial powers. They can place you under arrest without charges and hold you for however long they want. You’ll see a judge when they decide you’ll see a judge. All I need to do to have you arrested is let him know. So no more lies. If I think you’re lying, I’m going to leave, and he’s going to arrest you and take you down to the jail. I promise you, it’s not as nice as your hotel room.”

  The woman, her face stern and strong only a moment ago, now appeared confused, as if she didn’t know whether to be frightened or to laugh at his threat. Her face settled on an expression of curiosity. Though he hadn’t frightened her, he had gotten her attention.

  “What is this about?” she said firmly.

  “You’re not Riki Gilmore. William Gilmore had no sisters. Who are you, and why did you hire me?”

  She folded her arms. “I’d like to leave now. You have nothing to arrest me for.”

  “I bet one of your IDs says Riki Gilmore, doesn’t it? Maybe even a passport. That’s a very serious crime here. I hope you know some good lawyers on the island. Probably not, as there’s only two of them.”