Island of Bones

by P J Parrish

  Louis was staring at the black-eyed waiter again.

  “You remember that case out in Salt Lake a couple of years ago?” Landeta asked.

  “That Mormon guy with ten wives?” Louis asked.

  “Four wives,” Landeta said. “He had four wives and twenty-nine kids who he kept like slaves. The girls were married off at fourteen and then lived in poverty and abuse with their babies. They finally busted the guy for welfare fraud. Maybe something like that is going on here —- polygamy, slavery.”

  Louis leaned forward. “There are no women here, Mel.”

  “Just a thought.”

  The waiter returned with their Diet Cokes, his eyes still on Louis.

  “Could I have a lemon wedge, please?” Landeta asked.

  The waiter’s black eyes flicked to Landeta. “You’ll get lemon with your fish,” he said, and moved away.

  “Service just isn’t what it used to be,” Landeta said, taking a drink of the Diet Coke.

  Louis sat back, his eyes drifting out the window to the dock and the water beyond. Polygamy, slavery, cults. It was all one big swirling mess in his brain now, images of rape, torture, sexual sadism, ritualistic sacrifices held in the deep of night, miles from anywhere, out of sight of anyone who cared.

  He thought about what Landeta had asked him last night. What did the island feel like?

  He could feel it now, feel the emptiness of this strange place, the emptiness that he now knew was the absence of anything good, warm, or normal.

  “Louis, what are you thinking about?”

  “That thing you read me last night, the wolf-into-man thing.”

  “About the raping and cannibalizing?”

  “Yeah. And that rite-of-passage thing in Asturias.” Louis glanced at a waiter as he delivered a plate of food to a nearby table.

  “Maybe that’s what we’re dealing with here,” Louis said. “A warped old family tradition or religion of some kind. Maybe they worship the wolf and are killing the women in some sacrifice or something. Maybe they actually think they turn into wolves.”

  “Like Michael Landon.”

  “That’s not funny, Mel.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Landeta said. “But we sure the hell are. Are you listening to us? Mormons, cults, werewolves.”

  Louis nodded. “How in the hell are we going to tell Horton this?”

  Landeta was silent for a moment. “We can’t. We don’t have one shred of anything real to go on here. We can’t even prove Frank Woods was once a part of the del Bosque family. Case closed, just like Horton said.”

  The waiter came to the table, bringing their lunches. It was one of the older men this time.

  Louis studied the man’s face. He had Frank’s square jaw and wide forehead, but his face was more lined and sunken, like he had been living outdoors all his life —- like Frank had looked on the autopsy table.

  The man sensed Louis’s stare and took a step back. “Do you need anything else?” he asked.

  Louis shook his head and the man walked away, disappearing behind the bar.

  “Eat your lunch,” Landeta said quietly.

  They ate in silence, uncomfortable under the weight of dark eyes and whispered conversations. The boy Roberto was nowhere to be seen.

  When they were finished, Landeta drew his wrist close and peered at his watch, a white wide dial with large black numbers.

  “Let’s go outside. I need a smoke.”

  Louis followed Landeta back out to the porch, and down the steps. They stood on the dirt path while Landeta lit a cigarette. The ferry sat at the dock, the captain busying himself on deck for the return trip. Louis put on his sunglasses and looked out over Pine Island Sound. The nearest island was just a distant clump of green, too far away to even gauge the distance.

  “Damn, it’s hot,” Landeta said.

  “Let’s go sit by the water,” Louis said. “There’s a bench there.”

  “I saw it,” Landeta said, heading toward it.

  Louis started to follow but the sound of a screen door slapping shut drew his attention to the restaurant. He saw Roberto lugging a trash can to the bin over by the fence.

  Louis looked at Landeta, who had gone to sit on the bench, smoking his cigarette. Louis started over to the boy. As he neared, the boy lost his footing and the can tipped, spilling garbage onto the sand. Louis took off his sunglasses and drew up next to him.

  “Can I help?” Louis asked.

  Roberto looked up at him then shook his head quickly. “No, thanks.”

  Louis squatted and started picking up the trash, tossing it in the can. “So, your family owns this place?”

  Roberto didn’t answer, his hands working fast to get the trash up.

  “This is a nice island,” Louis said. “Reminds me of Sereno Key, except there are no houses here.”

  “Where’s Sereno Key?” Roberto asked.

  “It’s an island just off Fort Myers.”

  “Where’s Fort Myers?”

  Louis hesitated. “It’s a city, over there.” He pointed vaguely out at the sound. “It’s a pretty big city. You’ve never been there?”

  Roberto paused, thinking. He threw some napkins in the can. “I’ve never been anywhere. But Uncle Edmundo says I can go off the island with him when I’m sixteen,” Roberto said. “Maybe.”

  “What’s your mother’s name?”

  The trash was picked up, but Roberto didn’t seem in a big hurry to dump it. He squinted up at Louis, his brow wrinkled, a few dark curls stuck to his forehead. Louis thought again how much he resembled the young Frank Woods in the old photo.

  “Her name was Mary. But she died.”

  Louis felt his heart kick. “I’m sorry. Was it a long time ago?”

  “Yeah, when I was real little.”

  “Do you remember what your mother’s last name was?”

  The boy frowned. “Del Bosque, like me.”

  Louis stared at the boy. He hadn’t seen it the first time, but now he did: a faint but definite resemblance to the picture of Mary Rubio. It was there in the boy’s large dreamy eyes and his full lips. Louis could feel the back of his shirt growing damp with sweat, and the smell from the garbage was making him sick.

  “What about your father? What’s his name?”

  The boy was looking at Louis now as if he were crazy. “He’s a del Bosque, too. His name is Carlos.”

  “Is he alive?”

  Roberto started to nod, but the bang of the screen door again made him turn.

  “That’s him,” Roberto said, pointing. “You want to talk to him, too?”

  Carlos del Bosque reached them in three long steps. He was a big man, his arms straining the short sleeves of the white T-shirt. His dark eyes snapped beneath a tumble of black curls as he grabbed hold of Roberto’s T-shirt, and slung him toward the door.

  “I told you not to talk to the customers. Get inside.”

  “You don’t have to be so rough,” Louis said. “I was just being friendly.”

  “We don’t need friendly. Go get on the boat.”

  Carlos del Bosque grabbed the trash can and easily lifted it up and over the edge of the bin. He shook the garbage loose, then turned back. When he saw Louis still standing there, he edged forward.

  “I said go get on the boat.”

  Louis threw up a hand. “Okay, okay. No problem.”

  “And don’t come back. We don’t want your business.”

  Louis walked away, running his arm across his brow. He slipped his sunglasses back on, and glanced back at Carlos del Bosque. The man hadn’t moved, his eyes fixed on Louis.

  Louis looked at the restaurant. He could see Roberto on the porch, his face pressed against the screen. Louis started to the dock. As he approached Landeta, the sound of his footsteps on the dock made Landeta look up.

  “You stink,” Landeta said. “Where the hell you been?”

  “Helping the kid with some garbage. He told me his mother was named Mary and that she’s dead.”


  “Mary Rubio?”

  “He didn’t know. But he’s about ten years old, and Mary Rubio disappeared in 1973. That means he could be her kid. And, Mel, he looks a little like her.”

  “What about Frank? Did you ask him if he had an Uncle Frank or anything?”

  “Didn’t get a chance. The father came over.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me not to come back.”

  Landeta was quiet, looking back at the restaurant. “You’re right,” he said. “Something’s wrong here. I can’t see it, but I can feel it.”

  “The name Mary is a real connection,” Louis said. “You think it’s enough to take to Horton?”

  Landeta nodded. “We’ll go see him as soon as we get back. If Mary Rubio died on this island, she’s probably buried here somewhere. Maybe we can get a search warrant.”

  He pulled out his cigarettes and lit another one, drawing hard on it as he looked back at the restaurant.

  "Hic solutio est,” he said.

  CHAPTER 36

  Louis and Landeta walked across the grass of Centennial Park. They could see Horton sitting on a bench near the river, a small brown dog jumping at his feet. Occasionally, the dog stopped jumping long enough to eat something out of Horton’s hand.

  “I didn’t know he had a dog,” Louis said.

  “I did,” Landeta said.

  “Did he tell you?”

  “No, I smelled it on him.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Just like I knew you had a cat.”

  “You saw my cat.”

  “I smelled it long before I saw it.”

  “Cats don’t smell. You must’ve smelled the litter.”

  “Maybe you should change it more often.”

  “Fuck you,” Louis said.

  Horton was dressed in baggy yellow Bermuda shorts and a loose-fitting blue shirt. It was odd seeing him out of uniform, Louis thought. Uniforms always added a certain stiffness to a man, but Horton looked relaxed. His eyes, fixed on Louis and Landeta, were shadowed by the bill of a Buccaneers cap.

  They stopped in front of him.

  “Well, isn’t this the picture,” Horton said.

  “We’ve come to a few conclusions,” Landeta said.

  “About what?”

  “Frank Woods and the dead girls.”

  “The only dead girl we got is Shelly Umber,” Horton said. “You haven’t proven to me that any of the others are dead.”

  “We haven’t proven they’re alive either,” Landeta said.

  “Then where are the bodies?” Horton asked.

  “On Away So Far Island,” Louis said.

  Horton frowned. “You mean that place out in the sound with the old restaurant?”

  “Yeah,” Landeta said.

  The dog was straining against his leash, edging toward some bushes. Horton pulled him back a bit, eyeing them. “Okay, let me hear what you got.”

  Louis went first. “Away So Far is owned by the del Bosque family and they don’t let anyone out there except for lunch.”

  “I know that,” Horton interrupted. “They like their privacy. So do I.”

  “The name del Bosque means ‘of the woods’ in Spanish,” Louis went on, “and it’s a logical jump that Frank Woods’s real name could be Francisco del Bosque. We found out that Sophie Woods and one of our missing girls, Angela Lopez, were both thought to have a Hispanic boyfriend.”

  Horton was silent.

  “We can’t find any history on Frank Woods before 1952 -- no school, no records, no childhood,” Landeta said. “We suspect his childhood was on the island.”

  “Okay,” Horton said slowly.

  “Frank went to Away So Far the day he jumped into the water,” Louis said.

  “So? It’s a tourist joint,” Horton said.

  “Exactly. Why would Frank Woods go out there?” Louis asked. “Especially since he was already a suspect by then. He was running. He was going home.”

  Horton held up a hand. “So you’re saying that over the last three decades, Frank Woods abducted girls and took them out to that island where his so-called family lives?”

  Louis and Landeta were silent.

  “Well?” Horton asked.

  “We think the whole family might be involved somehow,” Landeta said.

  “How?” Horton asked.

  They were silent again. “We’re not sure. It could be some kind of cult thing,” Louis said finally.

  “Cult?” Horton laughed. “Look, that family out there might be a little strange, but no stranger than a lot of folks who’ve lived around here a long time. I’ve been out there and never saw anything weird. They just pay their taxes and run their shitty restaurant.”

  “We think the women were abducted and taken to the island, raped, maybe tortured,” Landeta said.

  Horton frowned. “What makes you think they were tortured?”

  “Shelly Umber had bruises and ligature marks. She was restrained by the neck and ankles,” Landeta said. “And she was wearing a coral ring, the same kind of ring that was found in Frank Woods’s house, which probably belonged to his wife. The ring could be some kind of cult symbol.”

  Horton looked at Landeta for a long time, then reached down and rubbed the dog’s head. “What else?”

  “Frank told me himself there was something going on out there,” Louis said.

  “He told you?” Horton asked, looking up.

  “When we were on the island, he said, ‘hic solutio est.’ It’s Latin that means ‘the answer is here.’”

  “Latin?” Horton asked.

  “Yeah,” Landeta said. “Louis translated it.”

  Horton looked at Louis. “You know Latin?”

  “No, no,” Louis began.

  “But Frank Woods did,” Landeta added quickly. “He taught himself.”

  Horton shook his head slowly. “That it?”

  “No, there’s the painting,” Landeta said.

  “A painting? Like an oil painting?”

  “The painting is on the wall in the restaurant. It’s called ‘The Rape of the Sabine Women’,” Louis said. “It’s a picture of Roman soldiers carrying off women. It’s part of the legend of Romulus and Remus.”

  “Who?” Horton asked.

  “Romulus and Remus, Roman brothers suckled by the she-wolf,” Louis said. “There’s a photo of them suckling on a wolf’s teat.”

  “There’s a painting out on that island of someone sucking on a tit?” Horton asked.

  Landeta held up a hand. “Wait, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

  Horton was just staring at both of them.

  “Frank Woods was into lycanthropy,” Landeta said, speaking more slowly. “Lycanthropy is a mental disease where a person thinks he is turning into a wolf.”

  “A werewolf?” Horton asked.

  “No, no,” Louis said. “A real wolf.”

  “What the hell makes you think Frank thought he was a wolf?”

  “The books in his office.” Louis dug for his notebook and flipped the pages. He read off the titles of the books he had taken from Frank’s house.

  When he was done, he waited for Horton to say something. Horton was still staring at them both.

  “That’s it,” Landeta said.

  Horton looked from Louis to Landeta and back. Then he got up slowly and walked a few paces away with the dog. He stood there for a moment, looking out at the river then turned back.

  “What a crock of shit,” he said.

  “Chief —-” Louis began.

  “I don’t believe I’m hearing this from two grown men, no, two experienced investigators.”

  “Al,” Louis said. “C’mon. Let’s go back to the station. We’ll lay it out on paper. It’ll make more sense.”

  “Writing it down isn’t going to make it do anything.”

  “Angela Lopez even told someone she had a lunch date,” Louis said. “That’s the only time people can go out to that island.”

  �
��That’s good, Kincaid. A lunch date in 1984.”

  “There’s one more thing,” Louis said. “There’s a kid out there whose mother’s name was Mary. He said she died.”

  Horton hesitated but then shook his head. “Common name, Kincaid. You get anything solid to connect it to Mary Rubio?”

  “No, but -— ”

  “It’s not enough,” Horton said.

  Landeta stepped forward. “Louis...”

  “Chief, I know there’s something going on out there,” Louis said. “I can feel it.”

  “Then feel your way toward some solid evidence, Kincaid,” Horton said.

  “Chief, let us just try for a warrant.”

  “No!” Horton leaned into Louis. “I’m not going to a judge with some shit about Roman soldiers and werewolves.”

  Louis fell silent. Horton was right. He was absolutely right. He looked over at Landeta, suddenly aware that he had been quiet for the last few minutes. He seemed to be staring off toward the river.

  “Get the hell out of here,” Horton said. “If you want to pursue this island angle, bring me back something I can use. Not paintings and wolf tits.”

  Horton walked away, the little dog dragging him toward a flock of pigeons at a fountain.

  Louis let out a breath. “He’s right.”

  Landeta was still silent, his face slack.

  “Mel, we’ll get more evidence.”

  “From where?” Landeta said. “All the evidence is on that fucking island. Behind that fucking fence.”

  “We’ll dig deeper,” Louis said. “We’ll find someone who knows the family, find someone who knew Frank in 1952. We’ll find something that will get us a warrant to search that island.”

  Landeta shook his head. It was getting late and the afternoon light was fading. Landeta took a few cautious steps away from Louis, turning his back. He seemed to be staring out at the river again, even though Louis knew he couldn’t see it clearly.

  Landeta turned back. He hesitated then reached inside his black jacket. He pulled out a small leather holder and flipped it open.

  Louis saw the glint of the gold badge in the fading light. Landeta was just standing there, running a thumb over the embossing.