Bluewater Enigma: The 13th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers)

by Charles Dougherty

  "No doubt," Phillip said. "But let's look at it from Luke's perspective."

  "Look at what from Luke's perspective?" Liz asked, coming out of the house with a tray of snacks. "He must have your house bugged."

  "Why?" Phillip asked.

  "He just called. He emailed us a recording he wants you to hear, Beverly. He wants you to listen to it and then we'll call him back. Sandrine's downloading it now."

  "Should we go into my office?" Phillip asked.

  "No," Sandrine said, joining them, an iPad in her hand. "It is here."

  She put the device on the table and touched the screen as Beverly leaned forward. She listened to the exchange, her eyes closed. When it was finished, she looked up and said, "No question. That's Manny LaRosa and Berto, all right. Where did he get that?"

  "He didn't want to say, until he had you listen to it," Liz said. "He was worried about biasing your observation, or something like that. He wouldn't even tell us who he thought they were."

  "Well, I'm not in any doubt. I know both of those voices all too well. Let's call him."

  "Can we hold off a couple of minutes?" Phillip asked. "As long as we're going to call him, I'd like to work through your idea first, Dani. Why don't you tell us what you have in mind?"

  "I don't have much detail; they'd be winging it, for the most part."

  "Back up to the beginning for Sandrine and Liz, then, and tell us as much as you can articulate. I'd like Sandrine's reaction; she's worked under similar constraints to the ones Luke's dealing with. Let's see if she thinks we could get Luke on board, instead of blindsiding him."

  "Okay," Dani said. "Here's my idea."

  "He called while we were listening to the recording," the lead detective said. He'd left his partner in the lab to keep listening to the recording, as Luke had ordered.

  "The bum?" Luke asked, looking up from the papers on his desk.

  "Yeah. He said he'd seen the guy in the sketch in a limo with Dick Kilgore."

  "Dick Kilgore?" Luke asked.

  "Pinkie Schultz's muscle," the detective said. "He took over the club after Pinkie disappeared. We figured maybe he did Pinkie in, but we didn't have any evidence.

  "Oh, yeah," Luke said. "I remember, now. But I thought Kilgore was missing, too."

  "Yeah, he is, ever since LaRosa took over."

  "When was it?" Luke asked.

  "That LaRosa took over?"

  "No. That your witness saw Kilgore in the limo with Berto."

  "Right before Pinkie disappeared," the detective said.

  "I wonder where they were going," Luke said.

  "Going?" The detective frowned.

  "In the limo," Luke said.

  "Oh. Nowhere. The limo pulled up in the alley and Kilgore came out the back door of the Pussycat and got in the back seat with Berto. They sat there and talked for a few minutes, then Kilgore went back inside and the limo left."

  "So whoever Berto is, he was connected with the club before LaRosa came on the scene," Luke said.

  "Yeah, sounds like it."

  "The bum have anything else?"

  "Yeah," the detective said. "Once he started talking, I couldn't shut him up. He said sometime after the meeting in the limo, he saw Kilgore load something that might have been a body into the trunk of Pinkie Schultz's car and drive away."

  "Interesting," Luke said, "but what's that got to do with anything?"

  "It might explain Schultz's disappearance," the detective said. "And maybe Kilgore killed him."

  "Yes, and yes," Luke said. "But nobody's complaining about Schultz being gone, and nobody's seen Kilgore in a couple of months. He seems to be among the missing, himself."

  "Yeah, that's true," the detective said. "It does kind of add up, though. So maybe this bum's not a total flake, you know?"

  "Yeah, okay," Luke said. "I'll grant you that. He's telling us that Berto was hanging around the club before LaRosa took over from Kilgore. Is that about it?"

  "Yeah, I guess so."

  "Can he put Berto at the club after LaRosa got there? That's what we're looking for — a connection between LaRosa and Berto. Can you get hold of the bum and press him on that?"

  "Yeah, sure. I'll have to go looking for him, though. No way to call him."

  "Okay," Luke said. "Do it."

  "Mind if I ask what you're thinking, captain? So I'll know where to take the questions?"

  "Fair enough," Luke said. "Right now, we have LaRosa telling the guy on the phone that we're looking for the man in the sketch and that we think his name's Berto. The guy on the phone says he's never seen the one in the sketch. LaRosa sounded like he thought maybe the guy on the phone was the guy in the sketch, because when he put Beverly Lennox in touch with the guy on the phone, LaRosa said she was to see Berto. You with me so far?"

  "Yeah, so far."

  "Good. Somebody's lying. Could be the bum's confused, or it could be the guy on the phone with LaRosa really is the one in the sketch. If that's so, though, LaRosa's never seen him. Right?"

  "Yeah. I see that."

  "Okay, then," Luke said. "If he's Berto and LaRosa has never seen him, then your bum hasn't seen him around the club since LaRosa's been running it. Right?"

  "Right."

  "In that case, we can't trust the bum if he tells you he saw Berto since LaRosa took over," Luke said. "On the other hand, if the guy on the phone is not Berto, he put the Lennox woman in touch with Berto, so he must at least know who Berto is. We need to know who the hell that guy on the phone is. If you can clear this up, we might be able to get a warrant for that phone LaRosa sent the text to."

  "Okay. That makes my head hurt, but I see where you're going, now. Thanks for explaining. I'm off to find the bum."

  "No problem," Luke said. "Would you close the door, please?"

  Before Luke was able to recall what he'd been doing when the detective interrupted him with the news of the bum's call, his cellphone rang. He recognized Phillip Davis's number.

  "Hey, Phillip. What's new?"

  "We got the audio clip. The whole gang's here. We'll let Beverly talk."

  "Good. Did you recognize either of the voices in that recording, Beverly?"

  "Yes. Manny LaRosa and Berto – there's no question in my mind."

  "Okay, thanks," Luke said. "Can I put you on hold for a second?" He tapped the screen of his phone, muting his side of the connection, and picked up the phone on his desk, calling the detective who had just left his office. When the call when to voicemail, he sighed and left a message asking for him to call before he interviewed the bum. Luke took the cellphone off mute.

  "Sorry," he said. "I wanted to get that information to one of my people before he left. Thanks again, Beverly. Did you pick up anything else from the recording?"

  "Well, obviously Manny's never seen Berto, and Berto was lying about that not being him in the sketch."

  "Yes. The number LaRosa used to reach Berto was different from the number you gave us. Do you have any other numbers for him?"

  "No, just the one I gave you."

  "No email, or any other way to reach him?" Luke asked.

  "No, only the number I gave you."

  "Thanks. That's all helpful. I appreciate your cooperation. Wish I could be sitting there with all of you, but I've gotta get back to work."

  "Luke?"

  "Yeah, Phillip?"

  "If you've got a minute, Dani had an idea we'd like to discuss about moving this case along."

  "Okay. We're stuck; I'm open to ideas. Let's hear it. Dani?"

  "Well, Phillip says it's kind of like reconnaissance by fire — shoot into the bushes and see if anybody screams or runs."

  "That got my attention. Who're we shooting at?"

  Dani told him what she wanted to do.

  Listening without comment, Luke weighed the possibilities as she went into more detail. When she was finished, he said, "You understand that in my official capacity, I can't condone what you're proposing. There are — "

  "But
Luke," Dani interrupted. "It's the — "

  "Dani!"

  "Yes?"

  "Let me finish, please."

  "Okay."

  "I didn't catch the names of the two men you mentioned. Don't tell me; I don't want to know. They're running the risk of getting arrested, harassing important people. They shouldn't do that. But since I don't know who they are, I can't stop them. You understand?"

  "Yes. I read you loud and clear."

  "Good. There's one other problem you should know about."

  "What's that?"

  "In one hour, I'll have a team watching the woman's place. I can't move faster than that."

  "Got it. You need one hour to cover the suspects. No problem. It may take me longer than that to find the right people."

  "Okay," Luke said. "Thanks again, Beverly. I gotta run. Call me if you think of anything else."

  29

  Graciella Montalba was surprised when she came home from dinner. The front door of her condo was unlocked, but the alarm wasn't sounding. Thankful that she lived in a secure building, she wasn't worried, but she was annoyed with herself. She must have forgotten to lock the door and set the alarm.

  She pushed the door open and looked across the foyer, her eyes drawn to a sketch taped to the mirror on the wall. The blood-smeared sketch was a good likeness of her brother as he looked when he was made up to hide the acid scars.

  Stifling a scream, she stepped into the foyer, closing the door behind her and locking it with the deadbolt. She saw that there was a message scrawled in the lower corner of the sketch, but she couldn't read it from where she stood.

  She stepped closer, tripping over the mutilated carcass of a goat. At that, she did scream. Sprawled across the goat, she gagged on the stench of blood and entrails. She swallowed hard and scrambled to her feet, moving to where she could read the crude script in the corner of the sketch.

  "This is a warning for your brother. Tell him if he keeps it up, we'll be back to make you tell us where he is hiding. If he makes us return, the two of you will join the goat in the hereafter."

  She reached for the phone in her purse, but her hand was shaking so that she couldn't grip it. She needed a drink before she called Guillermo. She crossed the foyer and reached for the light switch in the living room.

  When the lights came up, she screamed again. The living room was a wreck; furniture was overturned, and everything that was breakable had been broken.

  But the biggest shock was the giant Rasta man who sat on the upside-down couch, cleaning his fingernails with a big, gleaming knife and grinning at her.

  "Good evenin', mama." He laughed. "Welcome home. I trus' you gi' the message to yo brudder, yah?"

  "Do you know who I am?" Graciella asked, forcing herself to speak in a calm voice.

  "You a beautiful woman," the man said, still grinning, "an' yo brudder, he gon' get you both killed, I t'ink. He messin' wit' some people he don' know nothin' 'bout. Better he stop now. You tell him that, okay?"

  She glared at him, and he laughed again. She staggered back as he got to his feet, and came toward her.

  He cupped a big hand behind her head and pulled her toward him, leaning forward. Still holding her, he stared into her eyes.

  "I be goin' now," he said, "but if yo brudder don' stop, I be back, an' we get to know one another bettah, you an' me, yah? You don' want that to happen, I promise. You make him stop."

  He grinned and shoved her away. Falling over a piece of furniture, she lay still, listening to his chilling laugh as he went out the front door and closed it. She heard the deadbolt shoot home as he locked it from the outside. The bastard had a key to her front door.

  She got up and found an unbroken bottle of rum, taking a swig. She waited a few seconds, her eyes watering from the raw liquor, and then took out her phone.

  She pressed the home button and said, "Call Guillermo."

  As she took another swig of rum, the phone said, "Calling Guillermo."

  "Graciella? You're not supposed to — "

  "They've wrecked my place," she said, "and they know."

  "Who, Graciella?"

  "I don't know. The one that was waiting here was very tall and lean, with an island accent. And dreadlocks. A Rasta. But they know! Did you hear me? They know."

  "What do they know?"

  "About you," she said. "They know you're my brother, and they said if you don't stop, you'll get us both killed."

  "Stop what?"

  "I don't know. He said you were messing with some people that you didn't know anything about, and if you don't stop, he'll come back and kill us both. That's all he said. And he left a copy of that police sketch with blood all over it, and a dead goat in my foyer. Guillermo, I — "

  "Get a grip, Graciella. It's me they want. They aren't going to bother you; I've got a plan. I'll have to disappear for a while, but this will pass. I'll be in touch when I can. I love you."

  And then he broke the connection.

  "How much of that did you get?" Lucilius asked. He and his brother were in a white van parked across the street from the building that housed Graciella Montalba's condo.

  "All of it," Tiberius said, pulling off his headphones, "but they weren't connected long enough for me to get a fix on his location."

  "Damn," Lucilius said. "I should have questioned her."

  "Uh-uh, my brother. Sharktooth said not to hurt anybody. Besides, she probably doesn't know. He was in a vehicle of some kind. I could hear road noise. That's why I had trouble getting a fix; he was moving while they were talking."

  "You think he's already on the run?" Lucilius asked.

  "Yeah."

  "We didn't get much for all the work," Lucilius said.

  "Yeah, we did. We know his name's Guillermo, and we confirmed he's her brother. Guillermo Montalba. That's progress," Tiberius said.

  "Not much."

  "Hey, look at that." Tiberius pointed at a computer monitor hanging on the side wall of the van. The screen was divided into six sections showing video feeds from security cameras in Graciella's building. "Top left is the elevator from the garage. That's our boy. He's in the building. He must have been on his way here when she called him. I caught a glimpse of his face as he stepped through the door."

  "Where's he going?"

  "Let's watch and find out."

  "Should we call Dani so she can tell the cops?"

  "Nah. She said they were going to stake out this place. They're probably watching the video feeds too."

  "That's him," the detective said. He was sitting in the security office in the basement of the condo building where Graciella Montalba lived. "Switch to the feed from the woman's apartment."

  "That's not where he's going," the guard said. "Wrong elevator." He moved the mouse and clicked several times, pausing a few seconds between clicks. Each click brought up a view of elevator doors as he worked his way up, one floor at a time. "Okay. He's getting off at the seventh floor, walking down the hall. Looks like he's headed for the end unit."

  "What's the unit number, and who owns it?" the detective asked.

  "Unit 7E. That's an ocean view." The guard turned to a computer monitor and tapped on the keyboard.

  "Why do I give a shit about the view?" the detective asked.

  "Because you can't see it from the street. You said you had people out there, watching with binoculars. They can't see that unit's windows. The ocean-view units look out over the pool area. That's between the building and the Intracoastal. Here we go. It's owned by a Manfred LaRosa, leased to William M. Roberts."

  "You know him? Roberts, I mean?" the detective asked. "Is that him that just went in there?"

  "I don't know, but hang on." The guard clicked the mouse again. "Okay. Here's the resident's i.d. photo for Roberts. Looks like him to me. Like your sketch, too."

  The detective looked at the computer screen. "Yeah, good enough. Not a perfect match, but close. Is that front door the only way in and out of the unit?"

  "Yeah,
unless he can fly. Well, I mean there's the kitchen door, but that's the one you see on the screen right next to the door he went in. It's a fire code thing; gotta have two entrances."

  "Okay, good," the detective said. "Watch those doors while I call this in. I got people lined up to get a warrant for his arrest and a search of the premises. Shouldn't be more than ten minutes, but let's don't lose him."

  "No way, man. I got this under control," the guard said.

  Montalba took a last look around the tableau he had arranged in unit 7E. LaRosa's position in the chair was consistent with a self-inflicted gunshot wound, and LaRosa's prints were the only ones on the pistol. The corpse of the gigolo would pass for Berto's; he was the right size and build. The draft memo on the PC would provoke a reaction from the Berger cartel, giving him a new trail to follow.

  He put the chain on the front door and opened the sliding door onto the balcony, pausing to tie a piece of fishing line to the fold-down security bar. Stepping out onto the balcony, he pulled the sliding door closed, careful to leave enough of a gap to accommodate the fishing line. He tugged on the line, and the bar dropped, resting at a slight angle to the horizontal. He jerked the fishing line, releasing the slip knot that held it to the security bar. He pulled the fishing line out and put it in his pocket. Pushing the sliding door closed all the way, he saw the bar drop into place.

  Montalba took a moment to look over the railing of the balcony, studying the swimming pool area seven floors below. This time of night, the pool wasn't lighted and the area around it was in shadow.

  He checked that the rope he'd rigged earlier was as he had left it, looped around the railing on the side of the balcony. The rest of the rope was stuffed into a canvas bag, and on top of the coils was a climbing harness. Stepping into the harness, he fastened it around his waist and cinched up the leg straps.

  He grasped the doubled rope near the railing and snapped it into the carabiner that was clipped to his harness. Reaching into the canvas bag again, he took out a pair of rappelling gloves and tugged them onto his hands. He began paying out the rope, keeping it as close to the building as he could. The bag was tied to the two ends of the rope. Once he saw that the bag was resting on the pool deck, he tossed the remaining length of rope over the railing.