Willie and I nodded in unison.
“Very good.” He gestured at a small couch across from the counter. “Please, wait here.”
We finally put on our shoes, then sat in silence and watched people coming and going.
“I think I should get a gun,” Willie suddenly announced.
I was stunned. “What?”
“My dad used to take me to the range, so I know how to shoot.”
Willie’s father had been a police officer, and Willie sometimes talked about how, as a child, she’d worried about whether he would come home from work each day. It was a surprise to hear her say she wanted to get a gun, though.
“Where did this come from?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know...” Her voice faded away.
I put my arm around her. “All of this,” I gestured around us, “isn’t going to affect us.”
“I know, but being out there on the beach ... what if something had happened to you when we found the body?”
“It seems like a self-defense class would serve you better than a gun.”
“I’ll do that, too, but I want to brush up on my shooting skills. I’m sure I’ll never need to use a gun, but with your profession, and us being married, I’d feel better about it.”
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
“For a little bit.”
She looked adamant, so I agreed.
“Besides,” she smiled. “It’s kind of fun going to the range.”
I squeezed her shoulder and thought about what she’d said. If she wanted to carry a gun, that was fine with me. My profession could be dangerous, and on top of that, it had gotten her into a threatening situation here and there. So maybe it was a good idea. And I did want her to be happy.
We continued to wait. About ten minutes later, two uniformed officers arrived, a man and woman in dark blue pants and short-sleeved light blue shirts. Accompanying them was a man in brown dress slacks, white dress shirt, and tie. He approached the concierge and they talked in low tones. The concierge pointed at us, and then the man and the two uniforms walked over.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson?” the man with the tie asked. He had only a hint of an accent. We nodded, and he introduced himself. “My name is Inspector Etini. Would you please tell me what has happened?” He was stocky and not as tall as my six feet, with dark hair cut short and sharp black eyes that I was sure missed nothing.
We quickly told him about the body. “Please, show us where,” he said when we finished.
Inspector Etini and the two uniformed officers followed us out of the hotel and onto the beach. Both uniforms took out powerful flashlights and shined a path on the sand to guide us. I took Willie’s hand in mine as we started along the beach. Etini politely asked questions as we walked.
“You were alone out here?”
“Yes,” Willie said. “It’s our last night here, and we thought it’d be romantic out on the beach.”
“You are honeymooners?” Etini asked.
Willie let out a little laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“It is not uncommon here,” he said with a knowing smile. “Did you hear anything?”
“No,” I said.
He nodded. “And when you saw the body, what did you do?”
I squeezed Willie’s hand. “I called out to him, then nudged him with my foot. When he didn’t respond, I felt for a pulse and didn’t find one. Once I knew he was dead, we ran back to the hotel and had the concierge call you.”
Willie gave me a return squeeze, keeping my little white lie.
“I see,” Etini said.
I knew he was asking us questions now, when he assumed our guard was down, and I suspected he’d ask the same questions again later, to see if we changed anything. I doubted he thought we were suspects, but he was being careful regardless.
“And that is all?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
We walked in silence for a few minutes. Shadows surrounded us, and the white flashlight beams bobbed on the sand in front of us. Then Willie and I slowed down.
“Over there.” I pointed into the trees.
Etini and the officers stopped. They shined their flashlights around and spotted the body lying at the edge of the trees. Etini put a hand to his chin, then said something to the officers in Tahitian. They nodded, stood aside, and shined their lights into the trees.
“Wait here,” Etini said to Willie and me.
He stepped carefully over to the body, pulled a smaller flashlight from his pocket, and shined it on the body. Then he crouched down and felt for a pulse. After that, he spent a few minutes inspecting the body and the surrounding area, just as I’d done, although I hoped he couldn’t tell that I’d done that. He checked the man’s pockets more thoroughly than I had, but I didn’t see him pull out anything from them. He continued looking around, then finally straightened up and came back to us. He again spoke to the officers, and the woman grabbed a radio hooked to her belt and spoke into it. Calling for more resources.
Then Etini turned to us. “Do you know this man?”
Willie shook her head. “No.”
“I talked to him in the bar earlier,” I said. “I think he’d just arrived on the island.” I told him about my conversation with the man, and how we’d talked golf. “I even drew him a map of the island.”
Etini arched an eyebrow. “He kept this?”
I nodded. “You didn’t find it on him?” Come to think of it, I hadn’t either, but I couldn’t tell him that.
He shook his head.
“Maybe he threw it out,” Willie offered.
“That is possible,” Etini said. “Did he tell you his name?”
“No,” I said.
He rubbed his chin again. “Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”
“He seemed nervous,” I said.
“Nervous? Why?” Etini asked.
I shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
“Did anyone else in the bar see this man?”
“Other than the bartender, and Willie, I don’t know,” I said.
He seemed to make a mental note of that, then turned to her. “Did you talk to him?”
“No,” she said, a slight edge in her tone. No one likes to be interviewed like this, even if they’re innocent. “I just saw him with Reed right before we left for dinner.”
“And you didn’t see him when you returned from dinner?”
“No,” she said.
“And you didn’t see or hear anyone?”
We shook our heads. Now he was going over the same questions again. When Etini finished, he spoke to the two officers again.
“Please,” he said as he waved a hand in the direction of the hotel. “I would like to see if the bartender is still there.”
We left the uniforms with the body and hurried with Etini back to the hotel. On the way, we passed two more men in dark slacks and ties. Etini paused and spoke to them for a few minutes, and then escorted us to the hotel. We went inside to the Lobby Bar.
Etini pointed to the bartender. “Is that him?”
“Yes,” I said.
Etini strode up to the bar and we quickly followed. He waved to the bartender and flashed a badge, oblivious to the patrons who saw him. The bartender’s eyes grew wide, and he moved over to us. Etini put a hand on my shoulder.
“Did you see a man in white shorts and a blue shirt talking to this man earlier?” he asked.
The bartender shrugged. “I don’t remember a man in a blue shirt, but I remember those two.” He pointed a long finger at Willie.
“Yes?” Etini said expectantly.
“Sure.” The bartender grinned. “They are in love, so romantic, kissing and such.”
Willie blushed, and I cleared my throat.
“But not this other man?” Etini asked.
The bartender held up his hands. “A lot of people come and go.”
“I see.” Etini thought for a moment. “Did you throw away a
napkin with writing – a map – on it?”
“I don’t think so,” the bartender said.
Etini thanked him and we left the bar.
“Could I see your identification?” Etini asked us.
“Of course,” we both said.
We produced our driver’s licenses and passports.
“I will take pictures of these,” he said as he took out his phone. “It’s just routine.”
He snapped photos of the licenses and passports, and handed them back. Then he asked us for our room number and our phone numbers in the US, and he typed those into his phone.
“You are staying here longer?” he asked.
“We leave in the morning,” I said.
If that perturbed him, he didn’t show it. “I will try not to disturb you again tonight, but if we have any questions, I might.”
“We understand,” Willie said.
He hesitated. “It is possible we will need to talk to you later.”
I nodded. “Call anytime.”
“What do you do in...” he glanced at the pictures of our licenses on his phone, “Colorado?”
“I’m a nurse,” Willie said.
“Ah, so you could’ve helped that man?” he asked.
She frowned. “It was too late.”
“Yes, I see.” He turned to me. “And you?”
“I’m a private investigator,” I murmured.
His lips twitched. “This man, he has nothing to do with you, or an investigation?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I’m on my honeymoon, and I’m not working.”
Willie looped her arm in mine and threw Etini a steady gaze. “I insisted.”
The lips turned into a slight smile. “Very good.” He put away his phone and offered a hand. “I have all I need for now. You are free to go.” We shook hands, then he bowed slightly to Willie, whirled around and left.
“Whew,” Willie said. “For a minute there, I wondered if he thought we did it.”
I let out a slow breath. I didn’t tell Willie that we were fortunate they didn’t take us to the station. And I shouldn’t have read those French laws so well, because now I knew that we could be detained for up to three days, and that we wouldn’t be entitled to call a lawyer.
“They’ll have more questions at some point,” I said.
“Well, we didn’t do anything, so there’s nothing to hide.” She put her head on my shoulder. “I’m tired.”
“Too tired to...” I whispered in her ear.
Her reply was a long, lingering kiss.
“Let’s go back to the room,” I said, “and I’ll help you get out of that dress.”
She giggled as we walked to the elevator. By the time we reached the room, we’d forgotten about the body on the beach.
But we would soon be reminded of it again.
CHAPTER THREE
“How was your trip?” Ace Smith asked in his typical lazy drawl. He was standing near a pool table in khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt, drinking a Budweiser.
“It wasn’t just a trip,” older brother Deuce chimed in knowingly as he bent down over the pool table to line up a difficult shot. “It was a honeymoon.”
“They still went somewhere, so it was a trip,” Ace corrected him slowly.
Willie and I had returned from Tahiti three days before, and I was now at B 52s, a warehouse converted into a bar, playing pool with Ace and Deuce. B 52s was all about nostalgia, with old airplane propellers hanging from the ceiling and advertisements from the World War II era on the walls. They also played ’80s tunes, my favorite, and since it was a bar, the music was blaring.
It was seven o’clock on a warm evening in late May, and Willie was at work. So when the Goofballs had invited me out, and I wasn’t working, I’d said yes. Ace and Deuce are my downstairs neighbors, and since they’re kind of goofy and not too sharp, I’d long ago nicknamed them the Goofball Brothers.
“The honeymoon trip was awesome,” I said, trying to placate both of them at the same time. “We snorkeled and sailed, and played some golf.”
“Cool,” they both said in unison.
Ace moved to the pool table and elbowed Deuce. “See? It was a trip.”
“Mom always says you have to have the last word,” Deuce said over the sound of David Bowie singing “Let’s Dance.” Deuce missed his shot, so he gestured to Ace that it was his turn.
I stayed back at a small round table in the corner and watched them with an amused smile. Ace and Deuce, named because of their father’s love of poker, are my loyal friends who occasionally help me on investigations. They look very much alike, with dirty blond hair and light gray eyes. The only real difference is that Deuce is more solidly built, thanks to his construction job, whereas Ace works in the electronics department at Best Buy.
Deuce moseyed over to me. “Are you working on a case?”
“Not right now,” I said. I took a sip of Fat Tire, which I preferred over Budweiser. “I just now feel like I’ve gotten over my jet lag. I don’t know how Willie’s making it through the day. She was really tired this morning.”
“Uh-huh.” Deuce didn’t seem to know about jet lag, nor did he seem to care.
“Oh, it’s not always easy to know what to do,” Humphrey Bogart’s voice said. It was my latest ringtone. Bogie is my cinematic hero, and I like to use some of his classic movie sound bites for inspiration.
“Excuse me,” I said to Deuce as I pulled out my phone.
“No problem.” He walked back to the pool table and resumed the game.
I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Is this Reed Ferguson?” The voice was male, low and unremarkable, and not one I recognized.
“Yes?” I took another drink of my beer and listened.
“I’d like to talk to you, but...what’s that music?”
“Hold on.” I signaled to Ace and Deuce that I’d be back, and then I hurried outside. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.” He paused. “I’d like to talk to you about...an issue. But I don’t want to come to your office.”
“Actually, I don’t have one,” I said as I meandered up and down the sidewalk in front of the building.
“You don’t?”
“I wasn’t there enough to justify it.”
“Uh, okay,” he said. “Uh, so ... anyway, I need to talk to you, as soon as you can.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is. Could you meet me at the Twelfth Avenue Hotel on Broadway?”
I suddenly had a mental image of the hotel. “That’s not the best place,” I said. Is this some kind of set-up? I thought but didn’t say. I’d heard of the hotel. It was tucked into a busy business area, and was known more for its drug activity and prostitution than for being a quiet place to sleep.
“It’s where I’m staying,” he said.
“When do you want me to meet you?”
“Now.”
“Now?” I’ve been known to take some risks, but going to that hotel when it was getting dark wasn’t going to be one of them. “There’s a Starbucks on the Sixteenth Street Mall. I can meet you there tomorrow morning, say nine?”
“There’s no time,” he said quickly. “I’ve got to talk to you now. And besides, I can’t meet you where I might be seen.”
“Why?”
“I can explain when you get here.”
I paced while I mulled that over. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll give you a thousand dollars just to meet me. If you decide to take my case, I’ll make it well worth your time.”
It was a very nice offer, but danger signals were going off in my brain. “Mister...uh, what’s your name?”
He hesitated. “Pete.”
“Pete what?”
“I’ll tell you that when you agree to work with me.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” I said, “but –”
“Two thousand. Just to talk with me.”
“How’d you find out about me?”
“A friend told me about you. He said you’re good, you work fast, and you can keep your mouth shut.”
A number of my cases had been because of a referral, but I was still suspicious. “What friend?”
“He doesn’t want his name mentioned.”
“Why are you so desperate to talk now?”
“I’m running out of time,” he said. “I’m in trouble, and I really need your help.”
The whole thing smelled. This man was staying at a cheap hotel, yet he was offering me two thousand dollars just to hear his dilemma. Why? But I was curious, too. Which sometimes gets me into trouble.
“Isn’t there a gas station near that hotel?” I asked.
“Yes, there’s a Corner Store on Broadway, a couple of blocks south.”
“I’ll meet you there, or not at all.”
The gas station was public, and it wasn’t likely he could pull a fast one on me there. And I’d decided I’d bring backup as well.
“Thank you,” he said. “Can you be there in half an hour?”
“Yes. How will I know you?” I asked.
“I’m about six feet tall. I’ll be in jeans, a...uh, white shirt and a Yankees baseball cap.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
I ended the call and went back inside B 52s. “How Soon Is Now” by The Smiths greeted me. It is one of my favorite songs, and I had a few minutes before I needed to leave to meet Pete, so I sauntered into the back room and sat at the table and finished my beer while I enjoyed the song.
Ace and Deuce finished their game, with Ace gloating over his victory, and they came over to the table.
“Is everything okay?” Ace asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, except that I have to go to work.”
“Now?” Deuce said, sounding very much like me a few minutes ago.
“Yes.” I grinned. “It’s the life of a PI.”
“That’s private investigator,” Ace said to Deuce, mocking the knowing tone that Deuce had used with him earlier.
Deuce glared at him. “I got it.” He turned to me. “Will you need any help?”
The Goofballs enjoyed helping me occasionally, even though Deuce had experienced a harrowing kidnapping a few years ago that had almost cost him his life. They fancied themselves as sleuths, as long as their task wasn’t boring.
“How’d you like to be my backup?” I said to them.
Road Blocked: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 13) Page 2