by P J Parrish
He heard footsteps behind him and spun.
“Easy,” Landeta said.
Landeta came up to Louis’s side and looked down at Tomas. “Where’d you get him?”
“In the neck, one shot.”
Louis looked around. Frank was across the yard, alive but struggling to sit up. Rafael was still standing by the porch, holding the baby. Roberto was huddled on the ground by his father’s body. Louis could hear him crying.
“Mel, go check on the boy,” Louis said.
Louis went to Frank and knelt beside him. Frank was holding his bleeding shoulder, his dark eyes glistening in the lights.
“Go,” Frank said softly. “And take the baby.”
“I have to bring the police back, Frank.”
“I know that. Just go. Now, before the others come.”
Louis stood up and went over to Rafael, his gun at his side. Rafael took a step back when he saw him coming. Louis stopped in front of him. Rafael was shaking, his arm wrapped tightly around the baby.
“Where is Angel?” Rafael asked.
“She’s dead,” Louis said. “She was bleeding and she needed help no one here could give her.”
Rafael’s face crumbled. “I knew something was wrong,” he said softly. “She was bleeding so much, but I couldn’t do anything. Where is she? Where is my wife?”
“On the east side of the island. There’s a cloth tied to a tree near her body.”
Rafael nodded.
Louis held out his arms.
Rafael’s eyes welled. He opened the blanket and looked at the baby, touching a dirty hand to her tiny foot. Then, slowly, he wrapped the blanket back around the baby and held her out to Louis.
Louis gathered the baby into one arm, and turned to Landeta.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.
CHAPTER 48
Louis stood at the bow of the Fort Myers PD patrol boat, the wind in his face. It was still dark and there was a light fog over the sound, but he could see a thin gray glow of dawn in the eastern sky.
He watched the waves roll away in the beam of the boat’s spotlight. Maybe they should not have left the island. He had left hoping that Frank could take care of things, that he would not allow any more killing. But he was worried Frank did not have the control he thought he had. He wondered if the other men would kill the women, or maybe even destroy the graves of the babies.
The flashing red and blue lights of the other police boats were making his head hurt. He closed his eyes. Exhaustion was seeping in, eating away at the adrenaline that had kept him going for the last couple of hours.
He felt the boat slowing and forced his eyes open. The fog had softened the mangroves into a smudge of dark green. The floodlights were still on, and the fog defused the light, turning the yard into a soft white-gray blur.
The boat turned into the dock and the restaurant emerged from the mist. There were several figures standing in front of it —- the del Bosque men waiting in a line, the bodies of Carlos and Tomas laid at their feet. Louis spotted a third body, wrapped in a sheet. He knew it was Angela.
Louis counted five men and a smaller figure he knew was Roberto. There were no rifles raised.
Horton came up behind Louis. “That all of them?”
Louis nodded.
“They don’t look like they’re ready to defend anything,” Horton said.
Louis heard Horton giving commands to his men, telling them how he wanted the arrests handled. As the boat throttled down to dock, Louis picked Frank out of the group. His shoulder was wrapped and he was standing slightly in front of the other men.
The boat was secured and Horton’s men went up the dock, guns drawn. None of the del Bosque men moved until Frank put up his hands. The others did the same. The officers began handcuffing the men.
Louis followed Horton up to the yard.
“Where are the women?” Horton asked.
“I’m guessing they’re at the compound in the main house with the old lady,” Louis said.
Horton nodded. “I’ll send some men inland.”
“Al, let me take them in.”
“Why?”
“It’s hard to find your way around. The fog will make it even harder.”
“All right, but I’m going with you.”
Louis looked back at the patrol boat. He could just make out Landeta. He was just sitting there, staring into the darkness.
Horton followed Louis’s gaze. “He’s not getting off that boat,” he said. “He’s lucky I let him come back with us. What the hell were you thinking, Kincaid, taking a blind man out here with you?”
“He made the decision, Al.”
“It was a damn stupid one,” Horton said.
Horton led the way off the boat. The del Bosque men were now seated in the dirt, their hands cuffed behind them.
Louis’s gaze fell on Roberto. A uniformed officer had a hand on his shoulder, trying to talk to him, but Roberto’s dark eyes were locked on Louis. They glistened with a wild anger.
Louis looked away, meeting Frank’s gaze. Frank’s eyes were steady and calm.
“Is your mother at the house?” Louis asked him.
Frank nodded. “She’s very old,” he said. “She doesn’t understand what is happening.”
“We have no choice, Frank,” Louis said. “We have to arrest her.”
“Let me go with you,” Frank said.
“Frank —- ”
“Just let me talk to her. Please.”
Louis hesitated then went over to Horton. “Frank wants to see his mother before we take her,” he told him.
“Fat chance,” Horton said.
“Al, I think it might be a good idea to take him with us,” Louis said. “It might make things easier.”
“You told me they’re murdering babies and now you want to make it easier for the crazy old bag who let it happen?”
“No,” Louis said sharply. “Look, if she has anything to say about this, it isn’t going to be to us.”
Horton thought for a moment. “All right,” he said and motioned toward one of his men.
Frank was hoisted to his feet by an officer and they went to the fence. Louis went through, with Frank following, flanked by two officers, and Horton behind. They found the path to the compound and started uphill.
Louis led the way, his step sure, his breathing calm. It was still dark and the fog had settled near the bottom of the trees, making them look as if they were floating in air. Louis felt no fear as he walked now, just a sense of alertness. But he could see the jittery play of the officers’ flashlights. The stories, the rumors about the island, had already started to spread.
The lights of the house came into view and they stopped in the middle of the compound. The men were quiet.
“Jesus,” Horton said softly, running his flashlight over the cabins. “They got toilets in those?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Louis said.
Horton shook his head. “Well, let’s go get the old lady.”
They went in the front door and into a long, dim hallway. There was a staircase and a closed door to the right. The door opposite was open and the light was coming from a room that looked like a small parlor.
Horton motioned one of the officers to search. The other officer kept a firm grip on Frank as Louis led them into the parlor. It opened onto a larger room, the one Louis had seen from the window.
Ana del Bosque was sitting in a large wooden chair in front of the stone fireplace. A single lantern sat on the table next to her. She was dressed in black, a lace shawl covering her shoulders, her white hair pulled back from her thin face. She sat straight-backed, her eyes fixed on the door. She didn’t blink when Louis came in. Her hands were folded over a large book sitting closed on her knees.
But when she saw Frank come in, her mouth dropped open slightly. “Francisco,” she whispered.
“Mama,” Frank said.
Louis saw the gleam of tears in the old woman’s eyes.
Frank saw it, too, and he took a step toward her. The officer held firm and Frank looked at Louis and Horton.
“Let him go,” Horton said.
Frank went slowly to the old woman. Her eyes went from the cuffs on his hands up to the bloodied wrap on his shoulder and finally to his face.
“Oh, Francisco, what has happened?” she asked.
“It’s over, Mama,” Frank said softly. “I have to go. You have to go. We all do.”
Ana del Bosque stared up at Frank blankly. “Go where?” she asked.
Horton stepped forward. “Mrs. del Bosque—”
“One moment, please,” Frank said. He knelt by the chair. "Mama, scio te de hoc secreto totam aetatem tuam tacuisse atque quam ob causam sic egisses.”
The old woman shook her head slowly. “No, no, Francisco... de illo loqui nequam.”
“You have to, Mama,” Frank said gently. “Dic mihi veritatem.”
The old woman closed her eyes. Then she took a deep breath and began to speak again in Latin.
“What the fuck?” Horton whispered to Louis.
Louis didn’t answer him. He just stood there, listening to Ana del Bosque.
Finally, Frank stood up and turned to Horton. “She’ll go with you now,” he said.
“What was all that about? What did she tell you?” Horton demanded.
“Nothing,” Frank said. Louis was surprised to see tears in Frank’s eyes.
Horton leaned into Frank. “What the hell did she say to you?”
But Frank was silent.
“Take him away,” Horton said, waving a hand to his man standing by the door. The officer came forward, took Frank by the arm, and led him out the door.
“I knew you would come someday.”
Louis and Horton turned at the sound of the old woman’s voice.
“I saw the new bridges, all the houses and people,” she said, looking at Horton. “I heard the planes and saw more and more boats every day. I knew it would all overflow and touch us someday. It wasn’t Francisco’s fault. No one could stop it, really. Times change. Tempora mutantur.”
Ana del Bosque’s fingers curled around the book on her lap. “We are an ancient family from the land of Asturias,” she said, “descended from the great Roman soldiers...”
Horton was staring at Ana. “She’s nuts,” Horton said quietly to Louis.
“Chief?”
Louis turned to see the other officer at the door. “There’s no one else in the house,” the officer said. “I looked everywhere.”
Horton turned to the old woman. “Mrs. del Bosque,” he said, “where are the women?”
Her dark eyes glittered in the lantern light, moving from Horton’s face to the gun strapped to his side.
“Tempora mutantur," she whispered.
“Mrs. del Bosque,” Horton repeated more firmly, “where are the women?”
Louis stepped forward. Ana del Bosque looked up at him. Maybe it was the fact he was the only man there not wearing a uniform, but her expression softened.
“Where are the women?” Louis asked.
“With their babies,” she said, gripping the book tighter.
Louis turned to Horton. “The cemetery,” he said.
Horton motioned to the remaining officers. “Take her to the restaurant,” he said. Then he turned to Ana del Bosque.
“Ma’am, you have to go with these men now.”
She looked up at Horton, then around the room, her eyes finally settling back on Louis. She rose slowly, clutching the book to her chest.
“Please give this to Francisco,” she said, holding it out to Louis. “Ut sciat qui esset.”
Louis took the book. It was an old Bible, its black leather cover rounded at the edges, its gilt letters faded.
“Can you remember that?” she asked. “It’s important. Ut sciat qui esset."
Louis glanced at Horton. Then he repeated the phrase back to her several times. She nodded and looked at the officers.
“Let’s go, ma’am,” Horton said.
Ana del Bosque reached over and turned off the lantern. She looked around the room and then went slowly to the door. The officer took her arm and led her out.
Gray light was seeping through the windows, filling the shadowed corners. Louis could see now that it was an ordinary room, with a few pieces of simple but well-crafted furniture, a large braided rag covering the smooth wide boards of the floor. There were several carved animals on the stone mantel and a green glass vase holding a wilting bouquet of wildflowers.
“Show me this cemetery,” Horton said.
When they got back outside, the fog was dissipating. A bird had started up its morning song somewhere. The empty windows of the seven cabins looked out toward the big house. In the gathering light, the compound had the benign look of a children’s camp, except for the three Fort Myers officers who were standing in a knot. Their guns were drawn and their eyes were traveling over the cabins and the trees.
Louis led them down the path to the cemetery. At the fork, he stopped.
“There’s a cabin down there. That’s where I found Angela,” he said, pointing.
“A cabin? What, like the other ones?” Horton asked.
“No, it’s small, one room.” Louis paused. “I think it might be where they went to have their babies.”
Horton directed one of his men to check it out and they continued on. At the edge of the cemetery, Louis stopped. Everything had changed. The light streamed down through the twisting branches of the giant oak trees, and the morning breeze stirred the hanging Spanish moss like gray veils. A soft blanket of newly fallen leaves covered the ground.
Louis could see the five graves clearly now. And the small, freshly dug open grave with its mound of dirt.
The cemetery was silent, empty.
“So where are they?” Horton asked.
“I don’t know,” Louis said.
The other two officers were staring at the open grave and the table. Louis was scanning the encircling brush. Horton was looking down at the coral markers.
“How in the hell are we going to get forensics in here with all these trees?” he asked, shaking his head. “Shit, look at this. It’s going to be a bitch digging these up.”
The rustle of leaves on the far side of the cemetery made Louis look up. A woman came out of the brush and stopped.
She was in her fifties, her long blond hair streaked with gray. Her blue cotton dress hung on her thin body. Her pale gray eyes stared at them with a strange flatness. The same flatness that Louis had seen in the old newspaper photo.
“Emma?” he said. “Emma Fielding?”
“Emma del Bosque,” she said. She took a few steps into the cemetery, looked down at the markers, then up at Horton.
“Please don’t do this,” she said. “Just leave them alone, please.”
Horton and the other men were staring at Emma. The two younger officers looked as if they were seeing a ghost.
“Look, ma’am,” Horton began. Louis held up a hand. Emma’s eyes were on him.
“Please leave our daughters be.”
“Is your daughter buried here, ma’am?” Horton asked.
Emma looked down at the nearest marker. “Yes.”
“How did your daughter die, ma’am?” Horton asked.
“She was taken,” she said, not looking up.
“By who?” Horton asked. Then he stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Officer, read this woman her rights.”
As the officer started reading, Louis heard a sound in the brush. Two more women came out. They were in their forties, and wearing the same shapeless dresses as Emma. The taller of the two had her stringy blond hair twisted into a braid that hung over her shoulder. The other woman was heavier, with wild dark hair framing a full face.
Cindy Shattuck and Paula Berkowitz.
They waited until the officer was done with reading the Miranda rights before speaking.
“Why did you have to come here?” Pau
la asked.
“We were looking for you,” Louis said. “All of you.”
“Why?” she asked.
Louis stared at the three women. They were acting like Angela had, treating him and the police not as rescuers but as intruders. He looked down at their hands. All were wearing the coral rings.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Horton said. He motioned to the other officers. When the lead officer pulled out his handcuffs, Emma held her hands out in front of her, nodding to the others to do the same.
“This is our home,” Emma said to Louis.
“You have to go,” he said.
“Where are our husbands?” she asked.
“At the restaurant,” Horton said. “And that’s where we’re taking you.”
Emma looked back at Cindy and Paula then started slowly toward the path. The other women followed her.
When they were gone, Horton scanned the cemetery, shaking his head. He shot Louis a look of disgust, then turned on his heel and was gone back up the path.
Louis looked up at the sky. The sun was up over the trees now and the last of the fog had burned off. The Bible Ana del Bosque had given him was heavy in his arms and he hoisted it up, looking at its worn cover.
He opened the cover to the first page. On the frontispiece was an elaborate family tree, illustrated with biblical scenes. In flowing script, someone had written across the top La Familia del Bosque. The tree was filled in, but the ink was so faded and the handwriting so tiny Louis couldn’t make it out without his reading glasses.
Closing the Bible, he tucked it under his arm. His eyes traveled over the coral markers. Something over near the mangroves caught his eye and he went to it.
It was another marker, half buried in the mud and roots. It was crusted with mold, its edges rounded by time, the coral tinted tea-brown from the mangroves.
Why was this one grave so far from the others? But then he understood. It was probably one of the oldest graves and over time, the tides had washed the soil away from beneath it.
He looked back at the other markers. Had there been others like it, other graves that had washed away over time? How long had this been going on out here?