Venom: A Thriller in Paradise (The Thriller in Paradise Series Book 3)

by Swigart, Rob

Takamura looked at him blankly.

  “Come on,” Chazz said irritably. “Relatives and friends of the victims. Motives and methods, access, all that. Why did this guy kill them all?”

  Cobb Takamura sighed. “All right.” He pulled a folded sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket and flattened it on the table, on top of the manila envelope. “They all had relatives. Tracy Ann has parents, for example. They were here. I ruled them out as suspects.”

  “We know who did it,” Patria protested.

  “Yes. But we don’t know why. Suppose someone hired this creep to kill the crew. We have to take that into account.”

  A woman in a dark-blue silk kimono appeared with a fresh pot of green tea. She bowed deeply when presenting it, and Kimiko spoke to her in rapid Japanese. Cobb looked pained. His Japanese was not as fluent as his wife’s and it bothered him, though he never said so.

  The woman went back inside, and Cobb continued. “We have a list of twenty-six close relatives of our dead activists and a substantial number of political and social organizations. Russell Tichenor, the captain, had an estranged wife who had moved back to Calgary. Did she hire this man to kill her husband? It seems unlikely. She has taken no alimony and has established herself in a new relationship, but we can’t rule her out entirely. Jeffrey Hudson was originally from North Carolina, where he had a proper conservative-Democratic upbringing and belonged to the country club set. That is where he learned to sail and navigate ships. Did he make powerful enemies? Clarence Locke, the black man, was a merchant seaman for ten years before he got into Gaia. He had a conviction for burglary when he was young, but nothing recent. Tracy Ann dropped out of the University of California at Berkeley in her junior year. Jacqueline Guillaume, a prominent French left-wing activist for environmental causes, had a son. She was a forceful television advocate and had articles written about her, although she was not well known in this country. Certainly she could have been a political target. We tried to contact the son, without success. No one knows where he is, but the authorities in France are looking. Gottwalls, the engineer, was a bachelor with no known family. No hint of anything to make him a specific target, no enemies, that sort of thing. Noel Taviri, the Tahitian, was active in the Polynesian separatist movement, much disliked by the French authorities. He was a likely target, except we live in a civilized world where political assassination is not allowed.”

  “You’re joking. Taviri probably was the target,” Patria said. She had pulled Orli into her lap and was gazing down into her sleeping face. “Are you sure he’s dead?”

  Cobb looked at her quickly. “Why do you ask that?”

  “Because of his name—Phénix. And because you don’t know where Duvalois is. And because you don’t have dental records back yet.”

  “We have his passport so he must be dead. By the way, Chazz, he thought you were dead.”

  Chazz was startled. “Me?”

  “The notebook,” Cobb said. “Phénix/Prévert sent the four men after you. He didn’t know you survived.”

  Patria put the sleeping child back in the stroller. “Why would he want to kill Chazz?” Her voice shook a little.

  “I’m not sure,” Cobb said slowly. “But I think he was afraid of him, and of you. He was killing people he thought might figure out who he was, might identify him. As Hobart he snooped around the police investigation. The Garden Isle wrote you and Chazz up, said you two were working on the case. The article mentioned your knowledge of cultures, that Chazz was a biochemist. He counted on keeping everyone off balance and spooked by his voodoo booga-booga. He was only afraid of scientists.”

  “Why wasn’t he afraid of you?” Kimiko asked him. There was something prim in the way she spoke, as if she didn’t approve of someone who didn’t fear her husband.

  Cobb shrugged. “Who knows? I can’t understand why he stayed around. His job should have been over, but he stayed in Hawaii. A sane person would have left.”

  “Either he wasn’t sane or he had something else to do.” Kimiko still spoke in her flat inflectionless lilt. The lack of emotion made Patria shudder. She put her hand protectively on the handle of Orli’s stroller.

  Takamura nodded. “Maybe both. Taxeira doesn’t know who killed those two women, but they were strangled by a pro – Phoenix, a man with a sick compulsion? And if he had another job, he may have had help, accomplices. We have people watching the airport and the harbor. Commander Shafton has assured me the Coast Guard is keeping a special watch for small boats.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “Ah. Sarcasm, Patria. Yes, we still do not have great confidence in Commander Shafton, but he’s finally stepped aside. We may have missed something on the ship. Remember that smudge on the wall? I think it was a trace of the powder we found on their feet. I think it came from somewhere, and that somewhere may still be aboard. Meissner’s lawsuits finally got results. Gaia is taking possession tomorrow, so if we’re going to find anything, it’ll have to be tonight. I’d like you two to come along.”

  “Okay. When?” Chazz asked.

  “How about now?”

  Kimiko said, “I’ll take Orli, if you like.”

  “You know what it means?” Patria said, handing Orli to her friend.

  Kimiko said, “What?”

  “Phenix. The Phoenix, the legendary bird that dies in flames and is reborn from the ashes,” Patria shuddered. “It would be a damned good thing if he’s really dead this time.”

  The ship floated in a limbo between light and darkness. Black rust streaked her sides.

  The dock was crowded. Tall lights threw shadows into the deepening twilight. Soon they would be harsh white and bottomless black. The police car Sergeant Handel brought was parked on an angle, its headlights casting dim circles on the ship’s sides. Yellow police tape blocked the gangway.

  Handel had a supply of heavy-duty flashlights. “Ship’s generators aren’t working,” he said. He removed the tape and they climbed aboard.

  It was a depressing trip through the cold metal shadows inside. The aquariums were empty, the instruments dead. Shafton, dressed in crisply pressed slacks and a white shirt, followed them without speaking. His irritation showed in his eyes, in the set of his lips pressed into a thin disapproving line across the lower part of his wide bleached face.

  In the companionway by the cabins, he said shortly, “I don’t know what you’re looking for. We both had our people go over this ship.”

  “Yes,” Cobb agreed blandly. All his irritation with the officer was gone. “But we did not look it over ourselves.”

  Shafton said nothing, but his thin lips vanished completely into a line.

  As they walked through the ship, their flashlights swept in wide irregular arcs around the metal walls. Their feet clattered on the metal grid in the engine room. The atmosphere was damp, sweaty, and confined; their voices echoed and rebounded in the small hold. They spoke in clipped, brief bursts.

  The tour was unproductive. No new clues leaped at them, turned up under the cabinetry, appeared suddenly in places already searched. They were making their way out again when Shafton cleared his throat. “You might take a look behind the inspection panels,” he suggested. “There’s a space between the inner and outer hulls. For wiring, pipes, that sort of thing.” He looked a little sheepish. “It’s possible to hide things.”

  “Your men would have done that, Commander,” Cobb said, his voice carefully neutral.

  “They didn’t think of it, I’m afraid.”

  “Then that is an excellent suggestion,” Cobb replied. “Where are they, precisely?”

  “All over. This vessel has one hundred and six.”

  “Wonderful,” Patria said.

  “Where do you suggest we start?” Cobb asked drily.

  “I think we could assume he did not want to put his items anywhere they might get wet?”

  “Good thinking,” They waited.

  “That eliminates the panels in the bilge. Leaving bow and cargo bay.”
r />   “Yes?”

  “Say thirty of them. We could start in the cargo bay?”

  They examined a dozen of the panels, but rust had sealed them all: they had not been used recently. They walked through the dark ship again, listening to their footsteps.

  Finally, they stood in a cramped chamber near the bow. Shafton suggested moving a large carton stowed against the bulkhead and pointed out the plate screwed into the wall.

  There was no sign of rust.

  “Swiss Army to the rescue,” Chazz said, producing his pocketknife. Soon the panel was resting on top of the carton, and Cobb Takamura was removing a cloth bundle from its hiding place.

  “Shine the light here,” Cobb said. Inside the bundle was a common mason jar, tied with thick manila rope, sealed with red wax. The contents, visible through the webbing of rope, were a coarse grayish powder.

  “Bingo,” Patria said. “The ropes are tied in a pattern of voudun binding, the powder will be animal and possibly plant extracts. Animals may include the marine toad, and I would bet some dried blowfish.”

  “This is the killing powder?” Takamura asked, holding up the jar carefully, wrapped in its burlap cover. “There may be fingerprints. I think we should take this to your lab, Chazz, and get an analysis as soon as possible. The jar should go to our fingerprint people.”

  “In that case, I think I’ll go back to the condo and check on Orli,” Patria said. “Kimiko’s had long enough on child-care duty.”

  “All right.” Cobb turned to Shafton. “Commander, I thank you. This was a great help.”

  Commander Shafton was as surprised as anyone by this sudden appreciation and for a moment the thin line of his lips parted into a smile.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  NIGHT MUSIC

  The man called Baka stood in the darkness in the town of Kapaa and looked without expression at the building at the end of the street.

  The lights were still on in the corner condo. He had been watching for three hours, since dusk. His mind was a mist of faint thoughts related to hunger, bladder, insects. He had no past and no future.

  A car turned the corner by the Kwik Mart. The headlights swept across him and moved on. He did not blink. As it drove by, he could see the woman at the wheel. Short black hair, a lovely, intense face. She stopped in front of the apartment complex and got out. She locked the car and opened the wrought iron gate. Inside she turned and locked the gate behind her. It all happened as Baka watched in a kind of jagged step-frame animation, short bursts of movement punctuated by moments of suspended action.

  Patria hurried inside. She was spooked by the search of the ship, the hollow sounds of their footsteps echoed in her ears, the play of flashlight beams across sweating bulkheads and streaks of rust. She saw images of Kimiko’s journey through the death ship, all those bodies. She saw the powder, a sluggish gray evil in the jar wrapped in rope.

  When she opened the door, Kimiko was standing by the living room phone, her slender fingers resting on the receiver, a puzzled frown between her fine black eyebrows.

  “What is it? Is Orli all right?”

  “Orli’s fine, but the phone isn’t working.”

  “Isn’t working? You mean you can’t dial out, circuits are busy?”

  “It’s dead.” Kimiko gave Patria a quick smile. “I’m sure they’ll have it fixed soon.”

  “We should try the neighbor’s.” Patria stuck her head into the bedroom where Orli slept. The child’s dark head was peaceful, her breathing regular. Her thumb was in her mouth, and from time to time her lips worked at it.

  “I did.”

  Patria turned. Something in Kimiko¦s voice alarmed her. “I’m a little spooked,” she said. “The ship was… weird. We found some stuff, voudun paraphernalia. Someone killed all those people, Kimiko. So tell me.”

  “The neighbors aren’t in. No one is.”

  “Well, the county owns these apartments. Maybe they aren’t being used right now.”

  “They were earlier tonight. Both units beside us. The one upstairs looked like it was empty, but the other two… That Filipino couple was in 2B and an older man in 2A. You saw them.”

  “Yeah. I saw them. They were here to testify in an INS case. Something about their nephew. I don’t know about the old guy. I saw him in the morning yesterday, that’s all.”

  “He was here this afternoon. Said hello when he went inside. I didn’t see him leave, but he isn’t there.”

  They looked at one another for a moment.

  “Look…,” they both began. They laughed then, but the laugh was short.

  “This is silly,” Patria said. “We’re just spooked. It’s nothing. Dead phone, that’s all.”

  Kimiko nodded. “Right,” she said. “It’s nothing. We experience fear. We would say, Un wa yūsha wo tasaku! Fate assists the courageous.”

  Patria smiled. “In that case, I’m just going to go check the gate. I can’t remember if I locked it or not. Lock the door behind me. Don’t let anyone else in. I hope this isn’t just stupid panic, after all.” She thought for a moment. “Actually, I hope this is just stupid panic. And not something else.”

  She heard the lock click behind her as she went down the steps. A stucco wall surrounded the front courtyard broken only by the wrought iron gate. The wall was high, but a determined man could get over. Or a determined woman, for that matter. There was no barbed wire or broken glass on top. She checked the gate. It was locked.

  A street lamp twenty feet away cast a pale light over the front of her parked car. The street was deserted.

  She shrugged and went down the service alley between the building and the wall to the backyard. Frangipani and plumeria scent filled the night air. There was no moon, and it was very dark. She banged against one of the trashcans and stooped quickly to stop the clattering of the lid on the cement.

  Jean-Marie sat in the driver’s seat of Vincent Meissner’s rental. A half-eaten MacDonald’s hamburger lay in its plastic case in his lap. He was drinking beer from the bottle when he heard the clatter that quickly stopped. He turned to the other man in the car and grinned. His teeth gleamed, reflecting distant light from the street lamp.

  “They discovered the phone,” he said softly in French.

  His companion grunted. “Where’s the man?” he asked. He was slouched in his seat, head back against the rest. His eyes were closed. “The one we left for dead in Raïatéa?”

  “Didn’t die, did he? He should have come home with the woman. It doesn’t matter though. Where she is, he will follow. All we have to do is wait.”

  Patria looked up at the apartment windows from the back garden. Foliage reached nearly to the sill a couple of feet above her head. It would not be easy to reach from here, but not impossible either. Perhaps they could balance something inside the window, a little surprise. It would slow attackers, but it wouldn’t stop them.

  The second set of apartments was across a small breezeway. Apartments 2A and 2B were dark She thought of climbing the wall and trying to reach the neighboring complex on the other side, but dropped the idea. If someone was waiting out there, he would be on the other side of the high wooden wall, watching the back.

  She crept along the breezeway toward the front. The wooden grid overhead cast oblong shadows on the exposed aggregate walk. A little light reflected off the side of the building from the street and the stars were all she had to see by.

  She heard a rustling sound, as if someone were pushing through the ornamental shrubbery in front of the second units. She pushed herself back against the wall and edged sideways, feeling foolish. It was probably just someone’s cat.

  The rustling stopped. Her ears pounded, filled with a roaring she realized was her own fear. She shook her head. Foolish. But she did not move.

  The silence went on. In the distance a car started up. A little later a dog barked. The stars glittered faintly overhead, visible through the breezeway grid. Her ears sang with tension.

  Baka, who had been Vincent, wal
ked slowly down the sidewalk. Soon he was standing beside the wall. There were plants growing there. The wall was rough under his palms. He looked up into the tangled branches of a tree. He felt, dimly, that there was something he should be doing, something important, but he could not remember what it was. Finally, he moved to his left, around the wall. In the back it met a fence that shot out across a field, an orchard, filled with tulip-shaped trees in neat lines. He thought he knew that these were papaya trees. Yes, they were papaya trees. There were papayas at their tops, clustered in the center of the spray of leaves.

  Papayas were good to eat. He knew that. He thought he should eat something; it had been a long time since he had something to eat. He could not remember eating, ever. But he could not remember much of anything. Only the dark man’s face, with the funny tufts of cotton in his nose. But the man was not funny, and Baka almost made a sound deep in his throat. Almost.

  He went along the fence for a while, looking at the trees. Their leaves tossed gently in the night breeze, making a rustling sound, like music. Night music.

  Wistfully he looked at them as he turned back toward the condos. He knew what he had to do. The dark man had told him.

  Patria heard nothing. She moved forward, put her head cautiously around the corner of 2A. There was nothing. She slumped against the wall and took a deep breath. The perfume of the flowers was almost nauseating. After a moment, she continued her tour.

  She tried the front door of 2B. It was locked. She could see the dimly lit outlines of furniture through the window beside the door— the round generic dining table, four chairs, a pullout sofa bed. Beyond were the sliding glass doors to the lanai. The curtains were drawn. The Filipino couple had locked up and moved out.

  She went up the outside stairs and tried the door to the old man’s apartment. It was locked as well. For a moment, she thought she saw something moving inside and was about to call out when she realized it was the curtain blowing by the lanai. He had not closed the sliding doors. His lanai was on the second story and would be easy to reach.