by John Molloy
Henry and Enrique studied the faded photo. The façade of a hotel with a faded name was just visible and Henry thought a good enlargement might just show it. The young man in the photo was even more like Henry than the earlier picture.
“The last letter I had was twenty years ago and it was from Juan. Alicia was dead and where she is buried I will never know. Parts of the letter were blacked out so I don’t even know how she died. I would not be allowed travel to wherever she is buried, but I am hoping Juan might come to see me someday.”
Henry put down the faded photo and struggled to find the right words – any words.
Regaining some composure, he leaned over and held her small frail hands in his.
“I will be traveling around the islands to look for this man I spoke to you about. You see Martha, I never got him to justice, but if I can find him now I will be able to have him convicted for all the people he killed. And Martha, I promise I will find my son, your grandson, and I will come back to you to show you where your beloved Alicia is buried.”
“Thank you so much Henry. You can have that picture and I wish you good luck to try and catch this man.”
Henry reached over and embraced Martha.
“I will find Juan, so look after yourself and wait for me.” His voice was breaking up with raw emotion.
She kissed him and brushed the tears from his eyes. Don’t cry, you have lost one love and now you will find another – your son. Be careful Henry.”
The two men walked in silence through the noisy streets; the old buildings stood like sentinels watching the young sons and daughters of a wonderful country shackled to an existence of penury.
“Enrique, I will let you decide where we go for a beer. What’s your favorite watering hole?”
“There are lots of nice bars I would like to go to but very seldom do. There’s a nice place on this next street.”
Henry handed Enrique some dollars and asked him to order the drinks in Spanish. The bar was quiet with only a handful of customers. They sat relishing the cool beer.
“When are you leaving Cuba?”
“I will be flying to the Cayman Islands tomorrow. I have business there before I travel on. There are a lot of islands in the Caribbean and I could be gone for quite some time.”
“I would love to travel with you if it was only possible. I could be your interpreter when you go to the Spanish speaking places.”
“I would very much like to have you along; we’d make a good team, even at our age. I suppose you could call us vintage.”
“Si Henry, we are like the good vintage wine, and we would get the job done. I must give you my address so you might write to me and keep me informed of your progress.”
Enrique brought back two more beers and they both rolled cigarettes. They were like two graying teenage lads on a night out!
“I will not be flying out until the afternoon so I can see you before I go. I will call at your house at say ten o’clock in the morning.”
“Fine Henry, I will be home and I will have the coffee brewing.
The next day, Henry found Enrique at home and true to his promise the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the living room.
“Good morning Henry, come and sit here.”
He motioned him to an old arm chair. The sunlight was shining through the large paned window and Enrique was silhouetted in light beams of glistening dust particles.
“Henry here you are,” he said, handing him a mug of steaming black coffee.
“This is the elixir of my life, only it’s so scarce and expensive, but maybe if it was plentiful it wouldn’t taste so good.”
Henry sipped the hot nectar, savoring the taste before swallowing.
“It’s delicious Enrique, but I feel sad having to leave so soon after meeting such a good friend. But maybe this business won’t take too long and I could come back and we would share some time together if you would like that?”
“I would like nothing more than you to return and I would be able to show you all of Havana and Cuba itself if you so wished. I think it would be one of my last great adventures in life, just the two of us wandering this wonderful island - the Pearl of the Caribbean.”
Henry looked at the sad face with the clear mischievous eyes, the white teeth of a half developed smile and he knew he had to return to his friend.
“I will be back and I promise we will make that journey around Cuba, and you can show me your old home and the place where you grew up.”
Enrique stood up and stretched out his hand. They shook hands on a promise they both knew they would keep.
He embraced Enrique and handed him two envelopes; Martha’s name was on one of them.
“Could you please give this to Martha, and the other is a small letter of thanks for your help and hospitality.”
He walked out into the dark, shabby hallway. Turning back he nodded to Enrique who was standing in the dim light of the open door.
The sun was bright as he walked the hot streets back to his hotel. He would leave soon for Jose Marti Airport and the short flight to Cayman Islands.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The flight landed him in Georgetown at four o’clock in the afternoon, and a short taxi ride delivered him to a small but tastefully presented hotel near the center of town. He decided to visit the police station first and find out if any of his previous acquaintances were still around. The walk up to town brought back some memories; especially when he passed the Palm Grove Restaurant where he captured Tukola that fateful evening. He stood to look around and take in the surrounding shops and cafés and realized nothing had really changed very much. He knew the chief constable, Gordon Mummery would have long retired and if he was still alive he would be a very old man now. But he was hoping his old friend Monty Simms might still be active. He was right about Monty; he was ushered into an office and there Monty sat, flipping through some papers on his desk. Henry had noticed the little name plate on the door: Chief Constable. He had made it to the top job. Monty glanced up expecting to find one of his sergeants standing there. He threw back his head and shifted the glasses on his nose, jumping up he walked over quickly to grab Henry by the hand.
“My goodness, if it isn’t the great man himself. Henry I’m so glad to see you.”
“I can see you are looking as young as when I last left here with my charge, and congratulations are in order, you’ve made it to top man. It’s great to be back again Monty. Nothing has changed much; it’s still so beautiful and idyllic here.”
“Sit down Henry and tell me what’s brought you back. I hope it’s a vacation this time. You must be a free man now, comfortably retired and happy.”
“Well, Monty you’re right about the retirement bit, but I’m still not as you would call me a free man.”
Henry noticed a bemused look on Monty’s face and feared he was going to be castigated when he told him what he was about to embark on.
“Would you laugh or call me a fool or even forcibly discourage me when I tell you I am spending my first months of retirement planning to look for Tukola?”
Monty laid a hand palm down on his desk as if for support, he lifted his other hand to remove his glasses and laid them on the desk. He exhaled a breath and the words came in a soft tone. “Really Henry, after all these years do you think it possible that you could catch up with him? Have you any information where he is or if he’s still alive? You know none of us are getting any younger.”
Henry smiled, a little relieved that Monty didn’t dismiss the idea outright as completely unrealistic.
“We are not as young as we used to be but neither is he, and I believe he came back here to get his stash and perhaps went somewhere else in the Caribbean to set up his empire. With the money he had, he could have bought his own island.”
Monty looked at his watch, then gathered the papers on his desk and stuffed them into a drawer. He motioned to Henry to stay sitting. “This is going to be longer than I thought so I’ll organize som
e refreshment. Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee please.”
“Now Henry, after you left we had some of those Mafia boys here to claim the launch and they did a lot of enquiring about Tukola. I’m sure they had someone in Britain follow proceedings to see what would become of him. They all but admitted he stole from them. They were very persistent in their questioning of some of the locals who they thought might have seen Tukola. They were trying to piece together his movements. I had surveillance on them and I’m sure they recovered nothing of the stolen money. They left after about two months with the launch but otherwise empty handed.”
“Did you ever see Tukola himself back here? You know of course what happened; how he walked away a free man, so he could easily have been traveling on his own passport without fear of arrest. He may have left it for years before returning for the money.”
“Yes, you’re right and he could have sneaked in on a yacht and not by air, so we’d have no record of his entry. Ah, here’s the coffee, just leave it here please.”
“Would you by any chance have his file, I know it was a long time ago but I was hoping you may have kept it?”
“You hoped right Henry; the records are kept in a dusty old cellar with other stuff going back over one hundred years. You know what the British are like for keeping records and evidence.”
He called the orderly who had brought in the coffee and asked her to get the file on Hadar Tukola. In the last forty years there were very few criminal files, so it was not hard to find. She returned within minutes and placed the file on the desk.
As Monty glanced through the pages Henry noticed the picture of Tukola drawn by the artist was still crisp and un-faded. Monty passed the file to Henry. “There’s not much here that you haven’t already got yourself.”
“The picture is as good as first day it was done. Could I take some prints off it and I’ll send them to a specialist department of the U.S. police; they’ll use their artists and software to age the face, showing how he would look today.”
“You’ll do no such thing. I’ll have that done for you before you leave this office.” He looked over at the computer and scanner.
“I’ll have that off within the hour and hopefully you’ll have it back in forty eight hours.”
“Thank you Monty that would be great.”
“But tell me Henry, how do you intend to go about searching the Caribbean? It’s a hell of a big place with hundreds of islands.”
“Firstly I’m going to buy a yacht and with a minimum crew, maybe one person. I’ll sail to all the islands. He suspects he is untouchable so he is likely to be living under his own name. It’s a long shot but with today’s technology and communication, I might just get lucky. You know if I can catch him now, there is enough DNA technology to convict him. I checked with headquarters before I left and they assured me they had enough material from Shirley’s body to secure a conviction.”
Monty sat up straight and stared at Henry.
“Excuse me but you are becoming more remarkable by the minute. I am astounded at your vitality and persistence. But a yacht?”
“Yes, definitely a yacht,” Henry laughed. “I definitely need to procure a yacht and a good sailor to go with it. You may be able to point me in the right direction. I’m sure there are plenty of vessels for sale around here.”
“There sure are; you’ve come to the right place to buy a yacht. I’ll get a reliable chap to accompany you around the docks and boatyards. I’ll have to make sure you get a good seaworthy boat.”
“Thanks again, Monty, that would be a great help.”
“Call here in the morning at what time suits you and I’ll have the arrangements made for you.”
“Would noon be ok, I have a bit to do at the bank in the morning?”
Monty stood up to see him out, “noon it is.”
The bank opened at ten and Henry was the first customer. He was asked by a young male assistant to wait a few minutes before the manager could see him. “What’s your business with the manager sir, and have you an account here?”
“I have an account of sorts which I’m not at liberty to disclose to you. It dates back forty years and only the manager himself will be of assistance to me, thank you.”
“Please be seated sir, I’ll call when he’s ready to see you.”
Henry waited and was conscious of glances askance from staff behind their caged booths. He hadn’t long to wait before he was ushered into the inner sanctum and was somewhat reluctantly asked to sit before the manager’s desk. The manager was a well-dressed man of mixed race in his mid-forties; he looked at Henry with sharp and nervous twitching of his eyes. “What can I do for you sir?”
“My name is Henry Carter and I’m a retired detective inspector from Britain.”
Henry noticed the lower lip drop and a loosening of a tie knot. “I’m not here on official business as such and if you like you can phone Chief Constable Simms and he will vouch for my identity.”
“I’m sure that will not be necessary Mr. Carter. My name is Randolf Scolland and how may I be of assistance to you.”
Henry related the story of the deposit of the diamond bracelet and showed him the receipt.
“I’ve come to collect that item. I know it’s a long time and I’m prepared to pay you for its safe keeping over all these years.”
The manager examined the receipt and sat motionless, not knowing in what direction to look. He wondered where in the vault it could be stored.
“Mr. Carter, please make yourself comfortable while I go and find your jewelry.”
After some time, the door opened and the manager came in carrying a faded brown envelope. He laid it on the desk and smiled at Henry. There was an air of elation mixed with relief about the manager. It was like he had accomplished something out of the ordinary. I suppose, thought Henry, he feels like one of these treasure hunters who’s found some long lost pirate hoard!
“I have your parcel sir.”
He held it in his hands and didn’t give it over to Henry.
“I have one of my staff type you out a receipt which Mr. Carter, I will have to ask you to sign. This is very unusual; we normally don’t hold property in keeping for customers.”
After signing, Henry examined the seal and satisfied it was intact he tore open the parcel and the bracelet fell out onto his palm.
“Good gracious! exclaimed the manager, it’s beautiful.”
Henry felt a little guilty at having such a beautiful piece locked away, depriving others of its wondrous elegance and pleasure. It was like the hoarding of a masterpiece from public viewing.
“Could you please let me hold it, sir?”
Henry placed the sparkling jewel in the manager’s outstretched palm. He gazed at its clarity and beauty, and turning it slowly the facets dazzled with a remarkable brilliance.
“I have never seen anything so captivatingly perfect, just one stone alone must be worth a king’s ransom.”
Henry nodded. “Could I be so forward as to ask you where I might find a reputable dealer in precious stones; would there be such a person on the island?”
He handed back the bracelet and sat back in his chair relieved and slightly sad at having relinquished such a rare object. He looked over Henry’s shoulder as if he hadn’t heard the request, and then he reluctantly, he spoke. “There is a dealer, named Benjamin Geller and he is very reputable. He has a branch here but his headquarters are in New York. His business is on South Church Street. He operates on the first floor of number twelve. I will phone him and ask if he will send a car to pick you up here.
“That would be very kind of you.”
Mr. Scolland had coffee brought into his office for himself and Henry, and he also had the papers signed and ready for Henry to open an account with his bank. Not such a bad morning’s work, he thought, as he was estimating the amount of money the sale of the bracelet would swell a bank account.
The big Chevrolet dropped Henry outside the Geller establishment
. A buzzer on the door and a voice speaker led to the opening of the heavy security door. Mr. Geller was a small wizened gentleman of around seventy years of age – possibly older. His sharp bright eyes and rather pronounced nose gave him the look of a Dickens character. He stood up to shake hands and a small wisp of gray hair which had been brushed precariously across his otherwise bald pate, flounced languidly over his left ear.
“You have something of value you want to show me?”
“Yes sir, I hope you might be able to value it for me. I’ll pay you of course for your time.”
“Tut-tut, Mr. Carter; my time is not that valuable.
Henry handed him the bracelet and for a man accustomed to handling precious stones his gaze of delight told all. “Wonderful, magnificent, so perfectly beautiful, the work of a master craftsman.”
He took out his little eye glass and studied each stone in turn, then stared at Henry, his bright green eyes questioning and inquisitive.
“Would it be impertinent of me to ask you where you got such a treasure?”
“I have had it in my possession for forty years. Or should I say, the bank has held it for me for that length of time. I have here the receipt to verify it.”
The slight figure rested back in his chair and laughed quietly with the mirth of a jester. He stopped suddenly and closed his thin lips over nicotine stained teeth.
“It makes no difference how long it’s in your possession, but how you came by it is important. If you had an artifact from a pyramid for a hundred years, you should certainly have to return it to its rightful owners. This bracelet would be documented not only by an insurance company but also by the makers and the dealers who retailed it. On the market it would attract as much attention as the Mona Lisa. You see, it could be considered hot property.”
Henry put out his hand to take back the jewel but the wrinkled old hand closed a fist on it.
“We can work out something if you are prepared to be reasonable and forgetful. I will have to have this sent to Switzerland and the stones remade into different types of pieces; rings, necklaces, or maybe a tiara for a European Princess. It will be a long process and the market will only absorb one piece at a time; it may take twenty years before all the pieces are released onto the market. That should give you an idea how potentially recognizable this jewelry could be.”