"The CIA made a report?"
"That girl's aunt wrote to the State Department, so they looked into it."
"What did they say? If you don't mind telling me."
"Lloyd got a copy. It was pretty vague. They had all our names listed as American volunteers for the church. Isn't that wild?"
"What about Emily Davis?"
Beyond the trees Gail could see the glint of the ocean, and Rebecca seemed to be staring at it, deciding what to say. "They sent a man up to Los Pozos. He got conflicting stories. She was alive, she was dead, the National Guard killed her, she left for Managua. The local bureau decided that she was officially missing and presumed dead. They sent the report to her aunt. Case closed." Rebecca took a breath that lifted her chin and exposed a long line of pale throat. "Want to know why they closed it? Emily was nobody. Emily was a scholarship student. She gave piano lessons to earn spending money. If she had been you or I, the government would have found out what happened. They would have stuck with it. But Emily's family accepted what we, and then the CIA, told her. Lucky for us. No problem."
"No problem," Gail repeated. "But it won't go away. Not for Anthony, either."
"Let's not get into that." Rebecca turned the key.
The wheels of the golf cart kicked up some gravel making a sharp turn in the road. Rebecca said, "I'll get you the ferry records showing Octavio Reyes's previous visits. I'm a resident here. I have a right to see them."
"Be careful, though. Don't mention his name."
"Please. I'm so good with the staff. They love me. Do you have a phone with you? Write down your number." While Gail jotted it on a page of her memo book, Rebecca explained, "The desk downstairs lets us know who's coming. I'll call when Octavio is on his way."
Gail hung on as they took the turn into the parking garage under the building. The only noise was the high-pitched whine of the golf cart as they passed rows of luxury cars and sports models. Several more carts were tethered to electrical outlets. Rebecca stopped between her Jaguar and her husband's Lincoln. She lifted a panel on the side of the cart, plugged in the cord, then nodded toward the elevators. Gail followed her in, and Rebecca pressed the button for the sixth floor.
"Are you nervous?"
"God, yes, I'm sweating," Gail said.
"Don't worry. Our neighbors are gone, but Octavio won't know that, so you can stand on the walkway in front of their door. You'll be backlit, so he won't see your face."
"Okay." She took a breath and counted the numbers going up.
The elevator opened onto the sixth floor terrace, a wide area of decorative planters and benches. A cool breeze came through the tops of palm trees a few feet past the railing. They turned left and walked with some distance between them until Rebecca reached the carved double doors of her apartment. "Bright enough?" Rebecca whispered. Light came from twin lamps beside the doors and from a spotlight overhead. She smiled and went inside.
Gail set her camera exposure and took a shot of the door. Number Three.
The terrace took a turn, putting the next apartment at right angles, so that Gail could stand at the railing and look across at the Dixons' apartment. The palm fronds rustled just below her. Gail did not like standing in the light, but it came from behind her. She knew that anyone entering the Dixons' apartment would see only the outline of a tall brunette woman in black enjoying the night air before going back inside.
She set her camera on the flat top of the carved limestone railing and aimed the adjustable zoom lens at the Dixons' door. The camera would be shielded from view by her body. Under the wig, sweat tickled her scalp.
From around the corner she heard the elevator bell. She leaned an elbow on the railing and put her cheek in her palm, waiting, covering the camera with her other arm. Four men in suits appeared. She hit the shutter. The automatic advance sounded hideously loud. She got all four of them, whoever they were, as the door opened, then shut.
A minute later her phone rang. Rebecca said that Octavio Reyes was on his way. Forcing herself to breathe slowly, Gail rechecked her camera, squinting through the viewfinder to make sure nothing had moved. Then she waited. Heard the bell. She leaned casually on the railing as if she were looking out over the island.
There he was—a stocky man with gray hair and glasses, moving quickly through pools of light. His gaze seemed to reach across to the railing where she stood.
He stepped into the light at the Dixons' door and turned his back.
Gail breathed out a soft curse. "Turn around." He pressed the door bell. Gail hit the shutter. The door opened and he was gone.
It occurred to her that he might have wondered why a woman was standing alone, looking in his direction. Maybe he'd seen a glint of light on the lens. He would come out for another look. She had wanted to get Thomas Nolan as well, but without a photo of Reyes, it would be useless. Gail dropped her camera into the bag and took the stairs at the corner. Catching her breath at the bottom, she eased open the security door, then came into the light of the portico as if she preferred to take the stairs for her health.
She crossed the road and casually walked to the visitor's parking lot. It took her a few minutes to find Reyes's car, a burgundy red Lexus. With the flash attached, she dared one shot of the license plate.
She waited for Nolan to appear. Five minutes later a taxi pulled up under the portico. A man in the backseat had a blond ponytail. Staying just behind the trees across the road, Gail zoomed in on the taxi. The first person to get out was the Asian accompanist she had seen at the recital. He extended a hand to assist the soprano, who wore a long gown. Tom Nolan and the tenor came out the other side in their tuxedos. She got a good shot of his face with the doors of the condominium in the background.
She was retreating into the shadows when her phone rang again.
Rebecca said, "The desk just called. Tom and the others are on their way. Where are you?"
"In the parking lot," Gail said. "I think I missed Octavio. He turned his back."
There was a silence, then Rebecca said, "I'll get
him myself."
"Rebecca, no—"
But she was gone.
The phone rang again in less than a minute.
"What are you doing?" Gail whispered.
"I'm on the terrace outside the living room. Walk around to the south side. I'll wave to you. The lights are off out here, so they can't see me, or if they do, they'll think I'm talking to one of my friends. I'm smiling, I'm laughing, I can see everything. Octavio Reyes is right there. It's so bright in the living room I don't need a flash."
"Don't let them see the camera!" Like one of the residents out for a walk, Gail went around the building. She looked up toward the arches along the terraces and the various angles of the roof. She put the phone to her ear. "Okay, I'm down here."
She heard Rebecca laugh. "They're coming in. Oh, God, this is hilarious. Octavio doesn't recognize Tom. Lloyd is introducing everybody. Tom is staring at Octavio. He's being a nice guy, holding out his hand. Wait."
There was a long silence. Gail stood on the grass next to a palm tree, seeing lights on in the apartments above her. A few people were out on their terraces, talking and holding drinks. She heard music from somewhere.
"Octavio is just furious. He's walking out."
"Don't take any more pictures. Rebecca—"
"He wants to leave, but Lloyd is laughing. He's pulling on his arm. Now they've gone down the hall. I guess they went to Lloyd's study. Can you see me from there?" Gail had been staring up the whole time. A woman appeared on the topmost terrace, waving a pale, bare arm. Over the phone Rebecca said, "I'm going to throw the film to you."
She leaned over the railing, extending her arm. The film cartridge, a dot of black, hurtled downward, hit Gail's arm, and bounced to the grass. She found it and waved toward the terrace.
Rebecca waved back and disappeared. Gail dropped the film into her bag and hurried across the lawn of the building, staying close to the shadows cast by the b
ushes and trees.
She heard the quick footsteps in the grass a split second before she felt the hand over her mouth.
Her feet left the ground. Somebody was dragging her backward. She kicked and twisted, flailing her legs, digging her fingers into the hand. It was not flesh, she realized. A glove. But too hard to be a glove.
A voice hissed into her ear. "Shhh, it's me, Felix. Be quiet!" He pulled her behind some bushes. "A security guard is coming." He crouched, drawing her down beside him. "Be still." Gail was still shaking, breathing open-mouthed, trying to make no sound. Her heart slammed at her ribs.
Felix Castillo held up a hand, signaling her to wait. He stood up just far enough to see through the top of the hedge, then sat back down.
She whispered, "You scared the shit out of me! What did you do that for? Security doesn't care if people take a walk at night!"
"Shhh. I saw one of them watching you. Do you want him to ask what you're doing here?"
"And what are you doing here, Felix?"
"Just looking around. You know."
"Following Octavio Reyes, aren't you?"
"No, I came with Tom as his bodyguard."
"You're lying. He came in a taxi." In the starlight she could see a smile: teeth appearing under a mustache. Gail said, "How did you get on the island?"
"Some bullshit story, and I gave the ferry captain a hundred dollars." He grinned again. "I'll put it on Anthony's bill."
"I suppose you're going to tell Anthony you saw me."
"I suppose so." Castillo tugged on her hair. "You look better as a blonde. You could get into trouble, what you're doing."
"How did you know it was me?" Gail pulled off the wig and shook out her hair.
"Who else? I saw you when you took a flash picture of his license plate." He took a tiny camera out of a pocket. "This is easier. Infrared film." He showed her another small camera and a long lens. "Be prepared." He stowed the parts back inside his coat. "What were you and Rebecca Dixon talking about on the telephone?"
Gail told him about the scene Rebecca had described to her. "Having Tom here was a joke Lloyd Dixon played on Octavio."
"I don't get it," Castillo said.
"I know. I don't, either. Lloyd has a weird sense of humor. Rebecca says he's going to make Octavio stop his attacks on the opera. That's not going to be easy after Tom said what he did on TV last night. Did you see it?"
"Why did he do that?"
"Because he's stupid."
"You think so? I talked to him. I think he's a very smart guy." Easing to a crouch, Castillo stood up to see past the bushes. "Okay, it's clear. Come on. I'll take you to your car." He extended his elbow. "Nobody will notice two people together. We make a nice couple, you think?" He led her to a lighted pathway that curved toward the road.
"There wasn't a security guard, was there?"
He smiled again. "There could have been. You should be careful."
Gail stopped. "I have to talk to you, Felix. It's important."
"Okay." He nodded toward the beach. Starlight picked up a curve of white in the darkness. With water too shallow for waves, the ocean lapped softly onshore.
They sat on the ends of wooden beach loungers. Key Biscayne lay to the east. Straight ahead, the darkness was unbroken except for the running lights of boats still out at this hour.
"This may sound strange, but I think Lloyd Dixon and his friends—including Octavio Reyes—are planning a counterrevolution in Cuba. It's possible that the CIA is either involved directly or at least aware of it."
Castillo looked at her from under half-lowered eyelids, not sure if she was kidding. He reached into his jacket for cigarettes and a lighter. The cigarette bob-bled between his lips when he said, "Tell me why you think this." His hands cupped a flare of orange that picked up the lines in his face and his thick gray mustache.
Then darkness again.
Gail said, "All I have to go on are a lot of unrelated facts. I could be wrong. Lloyd Dixon admitted to me that he and a group of investors want to do business in Cuba. The country is a huge market on our doorstep. It's closed now, but someday that will change. Let's say they're impatient. They believe that if the regime is given a push, it will fall. Let me tell you what I just learned about Dixon." She told Castillo about the flights to arm the contras.
Smoke curled upward. Castillo held the cigarette low to the ground, his hands between his knees. A careful man.
Gail told him about Dixon's trips to Cuba under a false name. Had he been looking for places to leave C-4 explosive and a timer? Hotels had been bombed already, and those responsible had not been found. Gail mentioned the men she had seen with Octavio Reyes in the shadows during Ernesto Pedrosa's birthday party.
For a while Gail sat in silence. "You know about Anthony's grandfather, don't you? His family history?"
Castillo exhaled smoke toward the ground. "Yes. He told me."
"I don't like talking about his family, but consider this." She told him about Pedrosa's history of financing raids on Cuba. The investigation by the FBI. The ties to the CIA that had probably saved Pedrosa from indictment as a terrorist. Recounting her visit to the Pedrosa house, Gail told Felix how wine and nostalgia had led the old man to talk about Cuba. The old man wanted to go home, to die in his native land and be buried there, not in this cold foreign earth. You will see Cuba free within a year, I guarantee this.
"I didn't pay any attention to what Ernesto was saying at the time. We were having a good visit till Octavio came in and announced that he's going to be managing some of Ernesto's businesses. Worse than that, Octavio and Alicia are moving into the house. He's taking over by dividing the family and making Ernesto believe that Anthony doesn't care about what they have lost in exile."
Sifting sand through her fingers, Gail let a handful of it trickle into a pile. "Octavio is caught in a bind. He wants to do business with the guys upstairs, but he wants to get tough with the opera for hiring Thomas Nolan. That's another way to get to Anthony, you see? He's using me, and I resent that. At first Lloyd Dixon didn't think anything would come of Octavio's rantings on the air, but now he has to tell him to stop. We'll see what happens. I don't know, Felix. I could be so far off about overthrowing the regime. It does sound far-fetched. But I am sure that Octavio Reyes is moving in on Anthony's grandfather, and that poor old man wants to go home so badly that he would believe anything."
She drew a slow circle, watching how the sand drifted back into the trough. "I'd like you to tell Anthony what I just told you."
"You should do it." She could feel Felix Castillo's eyes on her. "Okay, he doesn't like to talk about his brother-in-law with you, but this is different."
"Well, we're not currently speaking to each other on any topic."
"Why?"
She only shrugged. "I don't know. We had a fight. Don't ask."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Very sorry."
Gail sat up straight, dusting the sand off her fingers. "Here's another odd piece of information. Thomas Nolan and Lloyd Dixon flew to Costa Rica two years ago, after Dixon showed up in Havana. Dixon told me he was doing a favor for Tom, bringing back a suitcase Tom had left there by accident. Dixon claimed not to know what was in it. Maybe it was jewelry for Rebecca."
Castillo brought the cigarette to his lips, holding it between thumb and middle finger, the glowing ember out of sight. "Could have been weapons."
"Smuggling weapons into the United States?"
He blew smoke toward the water. "A rifle and scope would fit in a suitcase."
Gail looked at him. "Meaning what?"
"How long have Dixon and Thomas Nolan known each other? I'm thinking, Dixon and Nolan in Germany at the same time. Then in Havana. They fly to Costa Rica. Dixon travels a lot. So does Nolan."
"What are you saying, Felix?"
"Where was Nolan the night Seth Greer was shot?"
"I don't know. Rehearsing, probably."
"I called him like you asked me to. I got no answer,
and there was no rehearsal that night."
Gail let out a laugh of utter surprise. "Thomas Nolan is a hit man for Lloyd Dixon?"
"For anyone. The CIA. They have people they use."
"Felix, whenever I talk to you I start believing in conspiracy theories. I could believe the Cubans and the Mafia were behind the assassination of President Kennedy."
He smiled and took a last puff of his cigarette. He dug a hole, dropped in the butt, and smoothed the sand over it. "It's time to go." He rose and extended a hand to help her up. When she didn't move, he asked, "Is there something else?"
"A question." She hesitated. "It's about Nicaragua. Los Pozos."
"Why ask me?"
"I have to know about the girl who died. Seth Greer said you were there when it happened, so please don't tell me you weren't. Who killed her, Felix?"
"You don't need to worry yourself with that. It's a long, long time in the past." He began to walk toward the parking lot, following the shoreline rather than the main road.
Gail followed him down the gentle slope, the sand getting firmer. The shallow water rose and fell on the sand as if it were alive, breathing. "Anthony won't talk about it, either. It's a barrier I can't get through. He tries to forget what happened there, but he can't, and it's tearing him apart. Emily Davis's ghost won't leave him alone. Please tell me, or all I can think is the worst."
Castillo stopped walking. "You think he killed her."
This was exactly what she had feared without consciously realizing it. She waited for Castillo to speak. He was a silhouette against a backdrop of stars. "No, it was me that shot her. She didn't suffer any. It was fast."
Gail let out a low moan and hugged her arms to her chest.
Castillo said quietly, "Emily Davis caused the death of eleven men."
"She couldn't have intended that. She didn't know. My God. She was so young."
"The men were young, too. One was fifteen, two others were seventeen. In a war there aren't any kids. They were men." The shore turned gently north, and Gail followed Felix Castillo as he resumed walking. "They wanted justice. A piece of land for their families. The Somozas and their friends owned everything. These people had nothing. You can't imagine how poor they were. This woman betrayed them."
Suspicion of Deceit Page 24