A DANGEROUS HARBOR

by RP Dahlke

  "Oh, for heaven's sake Gabe."

  "Crooked cops in Mexico are as common as flies. None of 'em make enough to live on, everyone knows that."

  She tried to wave away the notion, but Gabe had a point; that big Mercedes, his nice suits and fancy dinner at his uncle's place didn't look like Raul was living on his policeman's salary.

  Gabe saw her hesitation and struck. "Stick around for Christmas, why don't you? Then you'll see what I mean. Every ex-pat knows to carry a second wallet for when they get stopped. They call it a traffic violation, but that's just another word for mordida. Cops pick up fifty, a hundred a day and consider it their Christmas bonus. They sure aren't going to get it in a paycheck."

  He had her there. Raul Vignaroli drove a very expensive Mercedes and didn't even apologize for it. Was he connected?

  She held up the cassette. "This might endear you to him in case you do get caught. Wait. Maybe I should keep it? I mean, what if he is connected? You could be getting yourself in trouble."

  Gabe put down the tools and followed her out the door.

  "We'll talk tomorrow night. Goodnight, Gabe," she said, stepping onto the wobbly stepstool and then onto solid ground again.

  "Wait," he said, touching her shoulder. He was holding out a flashlight. "Take it. That rocky downhill path is treacherous at night."

  She nodded and hefted the long heavy black tube. "This is police issue, Gabe. Where'd you get it?"

  "Will you get over yourself? Not everything down here is illegal. You can buy most anything at the local flea market. The batteries aren't great, so you might have to shake it once or twice, but it should get you home."

  "Alright, I'm sorry. Be careful tonight, will you?" she said, and turned away to follow the weak beam of light along the bluff.

  Taking a moment she stopped to admire the moon as the low, gun-metal gray clouds swept across it and then a cool sea breeze lifted her hair. The fullness of the moon reminded her of her "date" with Raul Vignaroli. Did she like him as a man? The answer was yes, she did. He had a gentleness that peeked out from behind the gruff policeman's exterior, and there was sadness, too. Maybe from the heavy load he seemed to bear as Chief Inspector for Ensenada, or maybe she simply wanted to imagine his marriage was unhappy. At least he didn't try to lay that old story on her.

  Tomorrow she would show him the tape and see how he reacted. That would be the final test she needed to determine if Gabe's suspicions about Raul Vignaroli were true, that he was in collusion with Tennessee Booth in a scheme to blackmail a killer. Though she was determined to withhold final judgment, there was a very strong part of her that fervently hoped that Gabe was wrong.

  Patting the tape recording in her pocket, she adjusted her grip on the flashlight and found the rocky path that would lead her down for the marina parking lot.

  Without any handholds she cautiously took her time, shuffling her feet and feeling her way over rocks for the next level spot. The full moon suddenly took a dive behind the clouds and waypoints became dark smudges she could no longer identify. Going by memory and Gabe's big black flashlight, she continued down the path.

  Then she heard a noise and a few small rocks skittered down to land at her heels. She swung the flashlight up, following the trail of dust, but couldn't see anyone. A night animal or someone's dog out for a pee on a bush? Either way, it was time to make tracks. Shrugging off her growing apprehension, she moved the beam back to the path and picked up her pace.

  A rock rolled downhill, then another, until one sharply bit into the back of her leg.

  She turned, glaring up the hill. "Who's there!" she barked, panning the weak beam across the top. Nothing. She clicked off the flashlight then ducked down and waited. The seconds ticked off, and then she heard it. Footsteps making tentative, stealthy movements as someone cautiously followed the path down after her.

  Now glad for the extra cloud cover, she kept her profile low and scuttled along, moving faster.

  Behind her, someone clumsily stumbled over rocks trying to catch up. She heard a curse as they stubbed a toe. As her eyes adjusted to the night without the flashlight she willed herself to move ever faster, knowing her life may depend on it if she didn't.

  She thought of the follower as a man, but there was no way to tell if the person was male or female, Mexican or American. However, there was no doubt that whoever it was they were after her to cause trouble.

  Only a hundred yards more and she'd be down in the parking lot, but also totally exposed to an attack. She wasn't afraid of hand-to-hand combat, even in a knife fight. She excelled at the jujitsu and karate necessary to reduce an armed combatant to a puddle at her feet, but not if her follower had a gun.

  Touching a large boulder to her left she saw that the path was about to bend around it. She would have to make her stand here and take her chances. Rocks were now tumbling with ever more frequency as her pursuer tried to close the gap.

  Slipping around the bend she climbed up behind a large boulder and fisting the dead flashlight, hunkered down to wait.

  The noise made by this guy as he stumbled down the path after her was enough to set her teeth on edge.

  Then the night was suddenly quiet. A soft scuff of leather and a satisfied grunt.

  She whirled around, rolling to one side as a dark shape flew at the space she'd just vacated. Her assailant cried out as he smashed into the rock and then he was at her again, clawing at her clothes as they both struggled for purchase on the uneven rocky surface.

  Thick, wide shoulders said male and he had her by at least forty pounds.

  Keeping this in mind, she put out a foot and yanked him across her hip, then curved her turn to slam him into the boulder behind her.

  His breath exploded with the impact, and she heard him curse, "Ay, mierda!" Mexican.

  She stood over him and jiggling the flashlight, caught him in a spreading yellow light. "Who sent you? Who do you work for?"

  The man was young, maybe twenty or so, unshaven, and looked more like a fisherman than a gangster. She kicked him on the side of his hip where it would hurt the most and asked again, "Who sent you?" and added a swear word to go with it.

  He whimpered once, rolled away and before she could react, scrambled over the boulder like a dark beetle and disappeared up the path. She listened to his ragged breathing as he ran for all he was worth all the way up to the edge and over the top, his feet thudding through the RV park as he made tracks for somewhere else.

  Now shaking from the lost adrenaline, she called out loud, "Got more than you bargained for, did you, kid?"

  When she was sure he was gone, she gave the flashlight another jiggle and took the path the rest of the way down to the marina and then to her boat. She was never so glad to be home. And this time, she put in the hatch boards and used the combo lock to lock herself in.

  Still shaken from the attack, she made herself a cup of tea and sat down on the settee to think.

  It all came back to her in a mental merry-go-round: Dinner with Raul, Booth's body in the water, Astrid attacking Myne, the two girls fighting on the dock, Gabe slipping a tape into her hand. You still love me, don't you, Whisper? The memory of Gabe once again declaring his undying love only gave her the jitters. Last time I put my trust in Gabe Alexander, he threw me out of his car. It was with some chagrin that she suspected Raul of the same when he demanded that she get out of his car. But there was an obvious reason for his actions. Surely Gabe was wrong about Raul Vignaroli. Astrid and Myne fighting. She reached up and touched her cheekbone. Yes, she'd have a bruise tomorrow from trying to stop that fight. What was it with these two girls anyway?

  The key had to be the tape with Booth's voice on it. Booth had underestimated his intended victim and died for it.

  Katrina Taylor Hunter, she heard her daddy's voice say. Gabe Alexander had the tape and a player. And look where he lives—nesting up there over the marina. There's your killer.

  Chapter Twelve:

  The next morning she awoke with a te
rrible headache and the feeling that her boat was in the middle of a storm. She rolled out of her bunk, winced at the lump on her shoulder from last night's scuffle with the young Mexican, undid the combination lock and climbed up the steps to see a line of the best in sport fishing boats on their way out to the open sea. Bad news travels fast and the marina was going to suffer a financial loss of income.

  At the sound of her chiming cell phone, she dropped down into her cabin again and picked it up.

  Without preamble, David, her erstwhile fiancé, said, "Is it true? You're in Mexico?"

  She groaned. "Yes." She waited, knowing David would be unable to allow empty air time.

  "Katy, we really need to talk."

  "About what?"

  "About us, of course. When are you coming home?"

  "In a couple of weeks—why do you ask? Did Karen Wilke dump you already?"

  "Karen and I were never anything but friends. It's you I love, Katy, and if you'll come home, I'll prove it to you."

  Katy drew a big breath, let it out. "Goodbye, David." Then she closed the cell and tossed it on her bed, watching it chirp and dance around on its own until she pulled a blanket over the noisy thing.

  Hearing bicycle wheels move over the dock, she looked out her porthole and saw it was the ill-tempered magician, Fred. Looking for a prop, she grabbed a bag of trash and followed him up the dock to where his forty-eight-foot yacht was end-tied. She noisily opened the garbage can lid and tossed in her small bag.

  Fred turned to see who was making the racket.

  "Morning," she said brightly.

  His chin did a quick nod to acknowledge her existence; then he continued on to the steps of his boat.

  She caught up with him. "I saw your magic act the other night at Spencer's. You put on a good show."

  He looked her up and down, noting the muscular calves and athletic shoulders and long, honey-streaked curls threatening to come loose from the ponytail. "If you're looking for a job as a magician's assistant, I might have an opening soon."

  "That sounds like fun," she said, grinning at him. "What's the pay?"

  "A lot less than you make in the SFPD, Miss Hunter," he said, the hooded eyes searching the dock for listeners. "It's already too hot out here. Come aboard and we'll have a cold drink and talk."

  She followed him into a smaller version of Spencer's monstrosity, but it was still a football field compared to her little Westsail.

  "Jeff and Astrid are in town getting supplies, so I'm short of everything except Coke. Ice?" he asked, holding up a can and a glass.

  "The can is fine, thanks."

  He settled across from her in a club chair, crossed the long skinny legs, took a swig at a water bottle and said, "Admirable of you to alert the Mexican police about the dead girl in the water, but why on earth involve yourself in their investigation? Or did they get you in a trade of some sort?"

  "Better me than the Mexican police, wouldn't you agree?"

  He leaned back into his chair, the hawkish eyes carefully guarded. "I was here the night the girl was killed. I heard nothing, saw nothing and know absolutely nothing about what Spencer did or did not do with that girl."

  Katy shot back, "Alone?"

  Yes, alone." Then as if rethinking his answers, he added, "If you're thinking Astrid and I are… well, you can forget it. She's an employee, nothing else."

  So he was touchy about his relationship with Astrid, was he?

  "So, how does an entertainer like you get gigs? Do you go down to the docks where cruise ships come in and set up your magic box?"

  His mouth twisted into a scowl. "Cruise ship work wouldn't cover a day's worth of fuel for this baby."

  She mentally smiled. He was annoyed? Good. "Then why Ensenada? Problems with IRS, ex-wives, a warrant out for your arrest in the States?"

  He uncrossed his long legs, readjusted his narrow butt in his chair and then re-crossed them on the other side. "I'm here on business, I'm all paid up on my taxes, and I make a handsome living at what I do."

  Refusing to allow his sour mood to affect her, she asked, "So how's that going—the magic stuff?"

  "That's strictly a hobby," he snapped. "I'm here putting together a consortium of investors for a Vegas-style resort south of here."

  "Oh?" She remembered the room where Myne dropped her clothes to entertain a crowd of cigar-smoking businessmen. "Then you're partners with Spencer Bobbitt?"

  "No," he said, his voice spiteful. "I don't need Spencer Bobbitt's sort."

  "You think he's guilty?"

  "Isn't that why you're here?" He sat back and steepled his long fingers, now comfortable that he'd turned the tables on her. "Tie up loose ends so the police can solidify their case against him?"

  She answered his question with one of her own. "Astrid got the short end of that catfight last night, and you said you might have a job opening, so is she leaving her job with you?"

  He ignored her question, picked up his water bottle and emptied it. Finished, he put it down and said, "Those two girls are always in one sort of kerfuffle or another. Jeff will soon tire of them when he figures that neither of them is going to further his ambitions."

  "Why would you say that?"

  "Because I know a fraud when I see one, Miss Hunter. But no one is going to leave their present positions because of him. Now if you don't mind, I have appointments this afternoon and I'm in dire need of a shower." He unfolded his long body out of the chair and stood, fully expecting her to leave. "So if you'll forgive me, we'll take this conversation up another time?"

  The question was rhetorical because she knew a dodge when she saw one.

  Deciding to oblige, she nodded and left the way she came in.

  Walking back to her boat, Katy thought about the magician's responses to her questions. They were appropriate for a man who was anxious to wipe away an association with a murder suspect. Not that it seemed to be working out so well if he still had to perform his lame magic act at Spencer's party the other night. There was something else about him that bothered her; the man had a way of moving his head to one side that reminded her of a predatory bird, and she had the distinct feeling that he was always watching, evaluating, taking it all in to tick away into some private list for use at another time. Not entirely unlike Spencer Bobbitt, who seemed to have spies everywhere and used every connection to his advantage.

  Of course, that must be it—Spencer had something on Fred. Why else would the man be here?

  Katy was outside her boat, adjusting the lines and the four fenders, or "rubber-baby-bumpers," as Booth called them, when she saw Myne, stuffed into a pair of tight Capris and a captain's cap set at a jaunty angle on her head. The girl walked up swinging a big gold purse layered with metal and tassels. "'Mornin' Katy."

  "Good morning, Myne. Nice day, huh?"

  "Ain't it a wonderful day?" Her young face gleamed with happiness.

  Katy couldn't help but smile. "You're in a good mood today."

  "I am now."

  Katy stated what she figured was the result of last night's fracas. "So, you left with Jeff last night. Does that mean you and he are an item now?"

  "Sorry you got mixed up in the fight, but at least it settled Jeff's mind once and for all."

  "We didn't get much time to talk at Spencer's party. Is there someplace we can sit down for a few minutes?"

  The girl's rosy red lips rolled in and out as she looked over at Spencer's yacht and then said, "I don't think Spence wants me talkin' to you, but he don't own me. This here your boat?"

  "Yes it is. We can talk down below if you like."

  Unfortunately, Astrid and Jeff walked through the gate pushing dock carts loaded with their grocery shopping. At the sound of their cheerful voices, Myne turned sulky and at Katy's touch the girl shied away, mumbled something about talking to her later and stomped off for Spencer's yacht.

  Jeff's eyes tracked Myne until she disappeared into Spencer's salon and Astrid squinted a pair of unnaturally bright blue eyes at
Katy as if trying to think of a reason why she should speak at all. Then yanking on the heavy load in her dock cart, she got the wheels rolling again and over her shoulder aimed a warning at Katy. "Watch your back, lady."

  Jeff, finally dragging his eyes back from the empty white expanse of Spencer's yacht, glared at Katy. "What'd you say to her?"

  "Myne? She was all bubbly and happy until she saw you with Astrid. So I guess the question should be, did you make her promises you can't keep? Is that why she's now so unhappy?"

  His jaw tightened. "Lady, you don't know anything. Why don't you go home where you belong?"

  "I would, but as you well know I have a job to do here."

  "So you're a cop, but who says you have to butt into everyone's business down here?"

  "Do you have anything you want to tell me?"

  She could see that the thought was making him sweat. "No, I don't. What about you? That inspector got something on you?"

  Katy's head snapped back as if she'd been slapped. "We should talk somewhere more private."

  Jeff shook his head, the smirk turning into a grin. "No thanks, I like it out here in the open. I'm no snitch, but I'll tell you this much; Booth did much the same thing as you're doing now, that is, until he got too drunk to see the end of the dock."

  The shock left her speechless.

  "He was getting paid for his information to the police?"

  "Hell, if it paid, they'd get a lot more informants on their tiny payroll. No, they paid him in heroin. Booth had stomach cancer and nothing works for pain like pure horse."

  This was not looking good for Raul Vignaroli. Informants, yes, every police investigator had his or her informants, even drug users, but they didn't supply them with the drugs. "Spencer knew this?"

  "Sure he did, he set it up. Spencer keeps a hook into everyone who works for him. It's what makes him successful, doesn't it? That way, he’s always one step ahead in the game."

  "And, you? What does he have on you that you'd be willing to jeopardize a career as a professional captain to cover for him?"