“Yes, is a good idea.”
“Captain Fuentes,” said Mallory, “are you familiar with NCIC?”
“Yes, I think so. Is your criminal database, right?”
“Exactly. I’d recommend sending the records of all employees through it in case we have any information on them. You never know…maybe someone who works here had a run-in with the law in the US at some point. If so, that’s a person whose activities we’d want to investigate in more detail.”
“Lexington Labs already did this check for the key members of Summit’s staff: Gromov, Tuttle, the security men scheduled to come in next week,” said Fuentes. “I found their background checks filed away in a folder in Summit’s office. But for the rest of the staff, I think the NCIC check is a good idea.” He looked around. “If there is nothing else to examine here, we can go now.”
The investigators began to leave.
Alton reached the lab’s main door and looked back. Tuttle stood alone, looking a bit unsure of what to do with himself.
“Dr. Tuttle, would you like to join us for dinner later?” asked Alton.
The allergist beamed. “That would be lovely. As much as I like it here in the Galapagos, it’s nice to see folks from back home. Let me give you my cellphone number, and you can text me when you’re ready.”
CHAPTER 10
Three hours later, Alton, Mallory, and Tuttle relaxed around a small, wooden table on the patio of La Cocina, a combination cantina and restaurant set back a few blocks from the tourist shops in Puerto Ayora. The hum of muted conversation, sparse traffic, and Mariachi tunes wafted around them as a waitress arrived with three bottles of Pilsener beer.
“So did you make any discoveries back at the police station?” asked Tuttle, taking a tentative sip of his brew.
“Not really,” said Alton. “All the employees seem pretty normal.”
“We’ll get results back from NCIC tomorrow,” added Mallory, “but honestly, I’ll be surprised if anyone pops out.”
“That’s too bad,” said Tuttle. “I imagine you were hoping to find a likely suspect.”
“Yeah, but that’s how it goes sometimes,” said Mallory. “Dr. Tuttle, you’ve had a few hours to think about Summit’s workers. Are you sure there aren’t any of them who seem out of the ordinary?”
“No, sorry,” said Tuttle. “I’d love to be able to ‘crack the case,’ as they say, but I really don’t pay that much attention to the other employees.”
“I understand that you wouldn’t know much about the cleaning and groundskeeping crews, but what about Dr. Gromov?” asked Alton. “Being a fellow doctor, do you know her a little better?”
“You’d think I would, but honestly, I really don’t. She’s quite focused on her research—just like Dr. Summit, I might add. She doesn’t really leave space in her schedule for someone to strike up an acquaintance. Maybe someday…” The doctor’s words possessed a wistful quality.
Dinner arrived, and the three patrons took a moment to dig into plates of boiled shrimp, grilled tuna, and freshly harvested potatoes.
“So, Dr. Tuttle,” said Mallory between bites, “where are you from in the US?”
“I was a partner in an allergy practice in Rockville, Maryland. Not too far from your neck of the woods, Mrs. Blackwell.”
Mallory nodded. “You must have been what, thirty minutes from downtown Washington?”
“Yes, depending on traffic.”
“So what brought you down here to the Galapagos Islands?” asked Alton.
Tuttle popped a bite of shrimp into his mouth. “Like I mentioned before, Dr. Summit’s allergies continued to grow worse after she arrived here. She knew she’d need someone like me to provide on-site monitoring of her condition, so she asked a friend, Helen Tate, for a recommendation. Mrs. Tate is a patient of mine—or at least she was until I left the practice to come down here. Anyway, Mrs. Tate passed my name along to Dr. Summit, who contacted me. She asked if I could serve as both clinic physician and her personal allergist…said something about killing two birds with one stone. Well, my only partner in the practice was getting ready to retire, so I was already facing a significant life change one way or another.”
He smiled as he continued. “And you know, after spending a couple of decades partnering a busy practice, putting Band-Aids on scraped knees and babysitting a single patient in an exotic location didn’t sound like such a bad idea. The pay isn’t great, but I’ve saved up over the years. At this point in my career, it’s more about the lifestyle.”
“I’ll say,” said Alton. “You have it easier than most doctors.”
“A little too easy now, I’m afraid. I’d be happy to have my main patient back.”
“Is there a Mrs. Tuttle with you?” asked Mallory.
Tuttle turned his gaze down to the tabletop. “She died four years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. My parents have passed, too. That was another reason in favor of relocating here. The only family I left behind was my brother Hank. After he got out of the Marines, he helped me in the practice for a few years. But then he got into a little trouble with the law and moved to Indiana to start over, so I didn’t see him that often anyway.” He fell into the silence of his memories.
Alton perceived a rising tide of melancholy in the doctor’s faraway look. “Well, since you are here, how would you like to help us with the investigation?” he asked, glad to have the opportunity to distract the man from the memories of his dead family and concerns over his missing patient.
“As soon as I finish researching the local plants for medicinal species, I’d be happy to help. But I’m not sure what I can do.”
“Why don’t you serve as a consultant to the investigatory team?” said Alton. “I spoke with Delaney before I came over here. We both think you can help.”
“How?” asked Tuttle.
“You spent every day with Dr. Summit, more than anyone besides Dr. Gromov. You might recognize evidence or clues that wouldn’t seem significant to the rest of us. Want to join the team?”
“I won’t have to question suspects, will I?”
“Not unless you want to,” replied Alton. “We mostly want you to observe and let us know if anything pops into your head.”
“I don’t want to intrude. How will I know where to go and what to do?”
“I’ll text you when we’re meeting,” said Alton. “We’ll make sure to pull you in when we’re meeting as a group.”
“Well, why not?” said Tuttle, whose mood seemed to improve a little. “It’s not like I’ll be all that occupied once I finish researching possible asthma treatments among the local flora. And you’re right—maybe I will remember something helpful.”
“Super. The team is meeting at the lab at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Why don’t you meet us there?”
“Will do.” He paused. “Say, speaking of the team, where are the rest of your partners?”
“Agent Delaney wanted the NSA team to have dinner together, so they’re eating back at the resort where we’re staying.”
“They should have come here,” said Tuttle.
“Maybe next time. I think Delaney wanted to do a little team-building with her folks and Captain Fuentes.”
“I hope I didn’t take you away from that.”
“It’s no problem. I explained we’d already promised to meet you,” said Alton. “And besides, it’s not like everyone went. Dr. Gromov and Señor Pavia aren’t there either. We’re all scattered around the island this evening.”
Tuttle took a sip of beer, then smiled. “I see. So in a few days, I’ll suppose I can add ‘private eye’ to my resume.”
Alton nodded. “That’s right. We’ll take any help you can provide. The window of opportunity to recover Summit is surely closing.”
CHAPTER 11
An hour later, Alton and Mallory bade farewell to Tuttle and took a taxi back to their lodgings, La Villa Descubrimiento, an eco-friendly resort located on the lower slop
e of an inland volcano.
From a circular, cobblestone driveway, the couple mounted broad, wooden steps to enter the lobby, a casual affair with terra cotta tile and sixties-inspired décor, all fronting an enormous, stack-stone fireplace.
Exiting the lobby’s rear door, Alton and Mallory followed a winding, paver-stone trail illuminated with solar-powered footlights, passing through a landscape of towering hardwoods covered with loose vines. Upon reaching a tight, spiral staircase, they climbed the steps and entered their treehouse loft.
Alton locked the door.
“You don’t think we’re in danger here, do you?” asked Mallory.
“I’m more worried about the staff than some criminal. I was thinking a little alone-time would be nice, and I’d hate to be interrupted by the turn-down service.”
Mallory smiled. “Alone time sounds good.”
The loft contained an enormous four-poster bed fashioned from the dark hardwood of native matazarno trees. Delicate, white linens and an eggshell-white couch softened the light cast from bedside lamps and track lighting along the walls. A lazy ceiling fan hung down from the vaulted ceiling, lending a comfortable breeze to the room.
Alton used the room’s coffeepot to brew a small carafe of Amazon-grown java and poured two mugs, adding cream and sugar in the right proportions to his wife’s cup. “Let’s go check out the view,” he said while carrying the beverages onto the sprawling balcony crafted from more of the matazarno wood.
Mallory joined him. Placing their mugs on a wicker end table, they reclined on a matching loveseat. Alton hitched an arm around his wife and stroked her shoulder as they took in the vista of the lush terrain. Under a nearly full moon, the tops of surrounding trees fell away into a valley on two sides, and the gentle sounds of a highlands river could be heard from far below. The call of tropical birds provided an exotic soundtrack to a giant tortoise meandering across a carpet of wild grass on the forest floor.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” said Alton.
“Yes,” replied his wife, leaning her head onto his shoulder, “and so beautiful.”
“Is this how you imagined the Galapagos would be?”
“Well, this view is pretty much what I expected, but some of the other parts aren’t. I didn’t realize so many people lived here. I always thought of this place as mostly uninhabited.”
“Me, too,” said Alton. “And I didn’t realize how dry the coastal areas would be. I figured it’d all be like this,” he said, gesturing with a sweep of his hand to the tropical landscape before them. “But I suppose that’s part of the fun of visiting a new place: seeing how your expectations match up to reality.”
“Kind of like getting married, huh?” said Mallory.
He produced a gentle laugh. “I guess so. How’s that expectation working out for you?”
“Perfect, of course.”
“I’m not sure whether to be happy about that or worried that your enthusiasm will eventually wane when you discover my bad habits.”
“Sweetie,” said Mallory, “I’m well aware of your bad habits, just like you know mine. It doesn’t change how I feel. I’m thankful for your good ones. So how about you? Are you happy?”
“Yes, of course.” The lonely cry of a Galapagos hawk echoed through the night air while Alton struggled to form his thoughts into words. “Remember when we got married, and I said a new chapter of my life was beginning?
“Yes.”
“I still feel that way. And this new chapter…it’s been even better than I expected. I like my work, and I like spending time with my friends, but coming home to you every night…that’s the best part of my day in the best part of my life.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Mallory, slipping her hand into his.
Alton kissed his wife’s forehead and leaned back. The proximity of his wife, the bubbling river, and sporadic birdcalls lulled him into a state of serenity he would not have thought possible earlier in the day.
CHAPTER 12
At midnight, a solitary figure in Puerto Ayora watched a man stumble out the door of La Cantina Fantastica and stagger down the street.
The drunk jumped at the last moment to avoid stepping on a stray dog asleep on the sidewalk. “Ay, perrito!” he said, admonishing the canine with slurred speech.
The observer moved to overtake the weaving local, then matched his gate. “Hola, Diego.”
“Hola.” A flicker of concern flashed in the Ecuadorian’s eyes.
“Been using that money I gave you?”
His shoulders relaxing, Diego produced a drunken laugh. “Sí, sí.”
“So I heard. You’re making the rounds to all the bars, aren’t you?”
“Well, what’s the good in having money if you aren’t going to spend it?”
“So true. In fact, that’s why I came to see you—to see if you might be interested in a new job.”
Diego stopped. “What would I have to do?”
“I have a brand-new bottle of vodka down at the harbor. Why don’t you come share it with me, and I’ll tell you all about it?”
“Okay, amigo,” Grinning, Diego resumed his walk with a more deliberate pace.
The pair cut through an alley, heading in the direction of the ocean. After a weaving journey of a quarter hour, they reached the harbor. Diego and his companion continued onto the pier, their muted footsteps eliciting an occasional groan from the structure’s wooden planks. Gentle waves lapped the sides of dozens of boats, ranging in size from tiny, moldering skiffs to enormous yachts.
“You have a boat?” asked Diego.
“Indeed. Here we are. Let’s climb aboard. I have the drink there in that black duffle bag. We can enjoy it together.”
They descended using a ladder mounted to the edge of the pier, down into an older-model Zodiac, an inflated boat of tough plastic fitted with an outboard motor.
Diego needed some assistance but after three failed attempts managed to fall into the bobbing watercraft. He looked around. “Doesn’t this belong to Ayora Tours?”
“Yes, but I know Oscar, the owner. He lets me borrow it from time to time. Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll get the vodka?”
Diego’s eyes lit up as his partner pulled a bottle of clear liquid from the canvas duffle bag and removed the factory seal.
“It’s time for a party!” said the drunkard while accepting the proffered liquor. He took a swig, pirate fashion, from the bottle. “Ahh…qué bueno.”
His companion reached into the open duffle bag. “Why don’t we use cups instead?”
“Is okay with me,” said Diego, “as long as we have the good stuff.”
“You’ll have the good stuff, all right.” Diego’s companion swiveled from the duffle bag, walked behind the oblivious drunk, and slashed a seven-inch blade across the man’s throat. “This is a top-of-the-line Eagle Claw. Only the best fish-scaler for you, my friend.”
Diego pitched forward onto the boat’s rubber bottom, his eyes wide with pain and confusion. Blood from the wound squirted out in rhythm with his fading heartbeat.
“You’ve been talking, Diego. And that’s bad for business.”
Without a functional airway, Diego could not cry out. He emitted a wheezing, bubbling sound for almost a minute before falling into lifeless silence.
Diego’s assassin eyed the corpse. Now to proceed with the distasteful job of disposing of it. Good thing Diego wasn’t a large man. Glancing around the harbor, the figure slid a tarp over the body, screwed the cap back on the vodka, and returned the bottle to the duffle bag.
Moments later, the sound of an outboard motor broke the near-silence of the harbor. Although unusual, a nighttime departure occurred often enough to blend into the location’s ambient noise without drawing attention to itself.
The Zodiac puttered across the waters of the harbor, then picked up speed as it entered the open ocean, racing to dispose of its grisly cargo.
CHAPTER 13
At nine o’clock t
he following morning, the NSA team and Tuttle assembled on lab stools stationed outside the research center’s administrative offices. Alton sipped from a paper cup of steaming coffee he had poured from a steel urn in the resort lobby on the way out.
“Chief,” said Gooch, turning to Delaney, “any chance we can get some firepower of our own? From the looks of this place, these guys don’t exactly shy away from violence.”
Delaney sighed. “I asked Captain Fuentes about that, but he said it would be a violation of Ecuadorian law. Maybe I’ll be able to talk him into it later, but for now it’s a no go.”
The Gooch shrugged. “You tried.”
Delaney turned to Mallory. “Have you heard back from the NCIS database team yet?”
“Yes,” said Mallory. “We didn’t get a match of any of the workers here.”
“So no immediate suspects in the employ of Lexington,” said Delaney, “although we certainly can’t rule that out that possibility.” She cleared her throat and turned to face everyone. “Yesterday we conducted our interrogations as a group. To kick off the investigation, I wanted everyone to hear the firsthand testimony of the key players and see the most important crime-scene evidence. But we know time is of the essence, so starting today, we’re going to split up. We’ll cover more ground that way.”
“In that case, I’ll keep working on decrypting Summit’s initial message to her husband,” said Alton. “I think that’s as important as ever.”
“Agreed. How’s that coming, anyway?”
“I think I’m getting pretty close to cracking it.”
“Excellent,” said Delaney. “Our case may hinge on reading that message.”
“Why don’t I peruse through the facility’s financial records?” said Mallory. “Part of Cesar Pavia’s job as the site manager would be to pay the bills. If he was overdue on a debt, perhaps the lender came to collect in, shall we say, an unconventional manner.”
Delaney looked doubtful. “Given everything we saw and heard yesterday, that doesn’t seem too likely, does it?”
The Evolution of Evil (The Blackwell Files Book 6) Page 6