CHAPTER 18
THE LINK
Another missing person in the Martin Windsor case intrigued me. There had to be a connection between the two disappearances. I did a little research on Trinidad and Tobago and discovered it was an old English colony that had been independent for only twenty or thirty years. The language of the island conveniently was English, so I called the American Embassy in the capital city, Port of Spain. The American diplomat who finally took my call agreed to check on who was handling the investigation into the disappearance of the manager of the Cocos Bay Resort, Rubin Quinlin. I was anxious to talk to him to see if there were any similarities in the cases.
Later that afternoon I got a call from Detective Shaw of the San Fernando Police Department who was the officer in charge of the investigation. He was a very polite man who spoke with an Indian accent. He seemed quite concerned with Rubin Quinlin's disappearance.
"You know, this has been the strangest case I think I've ever been assigned to investigate. I've interrogated every single person who had contact with Mr. Quinlin in the 72 hours before he was reported missing. But nobody has been able to tell me anything of value. He didn't tell anyone he was going anywhere. He didn't buy a ticket at the airport or charter a boat."
"Maybe he was kidnapped," I suggested.
"Yes, well, I thought of that, but there hasn't been a ransom demand. It doesn't make any sense at all."
"Were there any signs of a struggle or anything stolen?"
"No. In fact, Quinlin's suite was so perfectly clean that there wasn't a single strand of hair, no fingerprints, not even a spec of dust anywhere. Many of the hotel staff have told us that Mr. Quinlin was quite the ladies' man too, but there was not a trace of semen or sweat on the sheets, in the bathroom, or anywhere else in the room. Even the kitchen is so clean you could eat on the floor. There's not a particle of dirt or trace of any bacteria."
My heartbeat quickened as I listened to him talk. I had found the link between the disappearance of Martin Windsor and Rubin Quinlin. The signature of the perpetrator of the two crimes was to thoroughly clean the crime scene and erase all evidence that could tie them to the crime. But in their quest for perfection they had created the link that might ultimately bring them to justice. The only problem was that the link itself was not enough. It was just the beginning.
"Well, Detective. That's very interesting. You know. The crime scene up here was thoroughly cleaned as well. Our CSI team had never seen anything like it. They said whoever cleaned the place must have used chemicals and cleansing solutions that weren't on the market. My people had nothing in their files to explain how the kidnappers were able to clean the crime scene the way they did."
"This must be a professional job—maybe organized crime?"
"I suppose so. The FBI has been called in, which could be because of the possibility of kidnapping or because organized crime is involved. Unfortunately, they won't talk to me. They might talk to you, however. Why don't you contact them and tell them about the similarities between the two crime scenes? If they got involved, it could help both of us."
"Good idea, Ms. Waters. I'll contact your embassy and see if I can get them to contact me."
"Great. It's been nice talking to you."
"Likewise. I'll let you know if I discover anything of interest."
I couldn't wait to tell Stan and Cheryl what I had discovered. Now the only problem was to find out what Martin and Rubin had gotten themselves into and who would have benefitted by their death or disappearance. My head was beginning to ache just thinking about that daunting task. It was time to call in Paul Thayer. It was going to take a lot of manpower to get to the bottom of this mess.
Paul agreed to meet me for lunch to discuss the case. We met in a little café in Ola Podrida across the street from our offices. We took a seat in a quiet corner in the back of the restaurant. Paul had worked on several cases for us in the past and had been instrumental in many of our successful verdicts. Paul was a quiet, thoughtful man who had worked for the FBI in his earlier years. He looked more like an accountant than a private investigator.
"That is a strange signature," he said thoughtfully. "The crime families I've dealt with in the past have used a much simpler method of sanitizing a crime—gasoline and a match."
I smiled. "Well, this job must have taken hours, and a lot of people must have been in the house to pull it off."
"What I don't understand," Paul said, "is why go to all this trouble? What were they trying to hide?"
"You know, I'm thinking this might be the work of the CIA or the military," I suggested. "It's just too clean a job for a criminal organization."
"Maybe. I'll check out that angle. If that's true, though, you better be careful. I'd hate for you to be the next person to disappear."
A jolt of fear shot through me. I hadn't thought through the implications of our investigation. If I discovered why Martin and Rubin had been kidnapped, I would become a threat to the abductors. Nevertheless, I couldn't let that possibility deter me. I owed it to Cheryl to diligently defend her even at my own peril. I'd just have to be careful and take measures to protect myself. I decided it was time to bring Bart up to speed. I hadn't wanted to worry him, so I hadn't mentioned that I was being followed. But now with Paul's warning I decided I had to tell him.
That night after dinner, Bart and I got a couple drinks and went out on the balcony to talk. I told him about my meeting with Paul Thayer and the situation with Rubin Quinlin. Then I told him about Paul's warning. His eyes widened. "You're being followed?"
"Yes, I think it's just a tabloid reporter looking for a scoop. They've been following Stan around too."
"You need to stay in the office and let Paul do the leg work from now on. No more amateur PI crap," Bart said.
"I can't sit around the office all day. I need to talk to witnesses, go to court, and follow up on leads."
"From now on you need to take a bodyguard with you whenever you go out. It's too dangerous for you to be alone with all those lunatics hanging around and people following you. Have your witnesses come to you. Remember you're a lawyer, not a detective."
I took a deep breath. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm probably not in any danger. The guy following me is most likely harmless."
"I don't care. Promise me you'll keep a bodyguard with you at all times."
I hated the idea of having a bodyguard hanging around constantly. I liked my freedom and my privacy. Unfortunately, Bart was right. It was too dangerous and I was beginning to worry about what I might uncover if I continued to dig.
"Okay, I promise. It's going to be a royal pain in the ass, but I'll do it for you. I don't want you to worry about me."
"I do worry about you," Bart said. "I don't know why you always have to get involved in these high-profile murder cases. Why don't you take on more routine cases, or better yet, find a new specialty?"
I sighed. "Come on, you know I'm living my dream. I'm not going to do anything else and I'm not going to let anyone intimidate me."
Bart put his drink down and put his arm around me. "I know, honey. But I love you and I'd die if anything happened to you."
I smiled softly and we embraced. "Don't worry," I said. "I won't do anything foolish. I love you and our life together too much to jeopardize it."
With that Bart stood up and led me to the bedroom. It was only eight o'clock but I didn't put up a fight. Making love to Bart was wonderful, but what I loved the most was cuddling with him after our passions had died. In his arms I felt relaxed and safe. All my fears and anxieties melted away and for a few moments that night I was at peace with the world.
Cactus Island, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 8 Page 18