by Liz Dodwell
Less than an hour later I handed Finn the results of my efforts. “This is pretty bizarre, to say the least. There are five names there, but I don’t get where Obotien fits in.”
Finn cast his eye over the papers and gave a satisfied grunt.
“You know what this is about, don’t you?” I persisted.
“I’ve a pretty good idea.” Then he stabbed his finger on the papers. “This is about greed and retribution. Too many people have suffered, directly and indirectly, and it’s time it stopped.”
SEVEN
While the guys and I had been surveilling, Alana had called Finn. Her mother was in Sarasota and anxious to get together, so plans had been made to meet later at the Ritz.
“Why don’t we leave now and take a detour for lunch at the Linger Lodge?” Finn stretched his arms over his head.
“Fine by me. That’s a pretty long detour, though.”
“I can use the time to get my thoughts in order before the meeting.”
“And I can use the time to decide whether I want alligator bites or catfish nuggets.” I was happy, but then it doesn’t take much.
We arrived at the Ritz around four. Alana was waiting in the lobby for us. She looked fragile and fatigued; her eyes rimmed in bruise-colored flesh.
“Mother had to identify my grandfather today. We went together but I couldn’t look. It was quite a shock for her so she’s been lying down. She’ll be ready for you by the time we get to the room, though.”
We murmured our sympathy as Alana ushered us to the elevator and we glided upward.
Stepping into the suite was a moment of culture shock for me. I’d never experienced anything so utterly sumptuous. Everything was in muted shades of coral and pistachio with the blue of the bay as its backdrop. It was bigger than most apartments I’d been in, with a separate dining room and bedrooms and full-length balcony. We settled ourselves into the parlor. Alana offered drinks, which we declined, then the bedroom door opened and Luma Azevedo appeared.
It was quite apparent where Alana got her beauty. Unlike her daughter, however, Mrs. Azevedo was completely composed. Whatever her emotions at this time, she kept them not just restrained, but totally out of sight.
Finn and I both rose as she entered. I let Finn step forward to offer his hand, which she took as she accepted his condolences. Finn introduced me and the hand I clasped was cool, and the grip confident. It was all a bit formal and I felt rather awkward. Finn, as always, was quite at ease.
“Mrs. Azevedo,” she didn’t even suggest first name terms, “there are many pieces to this puzzle that span many years and three continents. To complete the puzzle there are several questions I would like to ask you.”
“Captain Finsmer, I appreciate you coming straight to the point and I’m heartened you may be close to bringing sense to this dreadful deed. I assure you, I will answer all your questions as best I can.”
“Thank you. There is something I must say first, though. The truth of this matter may be very unpleasant for you to hear. If you fear your memories may be destroyed, please say so now, and the knowledge I have of this affair will never be spoken of by me,” he nodded slightly in my direction, “or anyone else.”
Alana gasped and her mouth went slack. Her mother barely registered a flicker of the eyelids.
“Captain, right now the only memory that is imprinted on my mind is that of my dead father’s body in the morgue. Your inference is that by some action of his own, he brought about his demise. I will tell you that does not surprise me.” At this, Alana seemed to shrink into the chair. “Though we had a close relationship, my father would never talk about his life before coming to Brazil. But there were rumors.”
She reached over and began stroking her daughter’s hand. “I’m sorry, darling. He was wonderful to you as a grandfather, but I hope I’ve raised you to understand that truth is strength, and we should always face it.”
Then to Finn, “Captain, I am more fearful of not knowing the truth, so please, ask me your questions.”
Leaning toward her, Finn spoke.
“Have you ever heard any of these names? Gilbert Stenger, Rodrick Hardie, Joeri Baanders, Rowan Payton or Cyril St. Martin.”
“Say them again, please.”
Slowly, Finn repeated the names and Mrs. Azevedo shook her head. “I don’t recognize any of them.”
“That’s OK. Can you tell me, what nationality was your father?”
“His nationality now is Brazilian. When I was a child, there was talk in the household that he was from America, but as I said before, the past was not discussed.”
“Perhaps you can tell me the year he moved to Brazil.”
Closing her eyes, she thought for a while. “It must have been around 1970, though I can’t be sure. I was born in 1972 and I do know my parents had been married only a year at that time. It’s my belief my father had not been long in the country when he married my mother. Is this of any help at all?”
“It’s all good. I know the questions must seem random; bear with me.”
“Of course, Captain.”
Clearing his throat, Finn continued. “Do you have any idea what your father’s profession was before Brazil?”
“Before he came to Brazil? Well, for my whole life he was in investments. I suppose I just assumed he’d always done that. There is something, though. I wonder if he might have done something in the medical field.”
“Why is that?”
“My mother died giving birth to me. My nanny was the nurse who was there when I was born. She told me once how my father fought to help save my mother’s life, giving instructions to the doctor and staff in the way only someone with medical knowledge could. She also said my father had been deeply in love with my mother and was devastated by her loss.”
For the first time, the lady showed some emotion as her eyes clouded with tears. Finn gave her a little while to compose herself, then went on.
“One last question. Was your father right or left-handed?”
“He was left-handed.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Azevedo. That’s all.”
“Is there anything more you can tell me now?”
“I need to speak with Detective Tanner. But I believe that very soon I will be able to give you the full story.”
With that, Finn rose. I closed the pad in which I’d been scribbling notes and followed suit. We left the ladies to their grief and headed back to the lobby.
“I need to run to the bathroom,” I said as we exited the elevator.
“Why didn’t you go upstairs?”
“It just seemed awkward.” I help up my hands in an “I don’t know” gesture. “I won’t be long.”
“I’ll get the car and meet you out front,” Finn called after me as I dashed off.
To me, the bathroom was like a lady’s boudoir, and I must admit I lingered on one of the plush stools so I could spritz with the complimentary cologne and massage my hands with cucumber melon lotion. I was beginning to feel quite zen, but the mood was broken when a couple of women came in and gave me and my thrift-store couture a down-the-nose look; so I exited.
I didn’t pay any attention to the old guy hovering in the hall. I figured he was waiting for one of the women ‘til he stepped toward me and pressed something hard and cold into my side.
“That’s a 9mm handgun you’re feeling, and I’m more than willing to use it.”
Shit! Mr. One-arm. Frantically, I looked around for help.
“Don’t even think of doing anything. If you run, I’ll shoot. Maybe I’ll miss you but what’s to say a stray bullet won’t hit someone else. Like those kids over there.” Three children with their parents were looking in the window of one of the boutiques. My knees felt weak.
“Now, we’re going to walk casually out the back door, like we belong together.” He dug the pistol in harder, which made ‘casual’ a little tricky for me, especially as we were going in the opposite direction to Finn.
For an old guy missing a lim
b, Hardie (I was assuming that’s who it was) was surprisingly spry. He steered me round the back of the hotel, past the pool area until we eventually ended up in a neighboring strip mall where he shoved me against a dark blue cargo van. He’d obviously planned this out, but how did he know Finn and I would be at the Ritz? For that matter, how did he even know about us? Unless it wasn’t us he was after. That must be it. He wanted Alana or her mother.
I tried to act dumb, which isn’t that much of a reach, by babbling that he must have made a mistake. “If you think you’ll get a ransom for me, I’m poor. I know I was at the Ritz but that was just to visit someone, and they won’t pay anything for me – they only just met me.”
It wasn’t working. “Reach under the wheel-well there and you’ll find a magnetic key holder,” he snarled.
I did as instructed and proceeded to unlock the vehicle.
“Get in the side and grab one of those zip ties,” they were lying by the door, “and tie your ankle to the passenger seat frame.” This was just getting better and better. By the time we were done I was trussed up on the cold metal floor like a turkey with nowhere to go but the Thanksgiving table. Hardie also took my notepad and cell phone, tossing the phone in a nearby trash can. The book he placed on the front seat without looking at it, then drove away.
We probably drove for about an hour. From my lowly position I had only a few inches of vision out the top of the driver’s side window. At first we passed buildings, then it became trees or open sky, but I could tell from the way the sun came into the van that we were heading east, maybe to Arcadia. I kept trying to talk to Hardie, asking him what he wanted with me, telling him about me. You know, the old bonding theory – begging him to tell me about himself. No matter; he spoke only once and his words were “Shut it!”
EIGHT
The last part of the journey was over rough road, which my butt didn’t appreciate at all. And I was really getting scared. Wherever we were, it was off the beaten track. I knew Finn would be looking for me but Hardie wasn’t going to make it easy.
When the van came to a stop Hardie climbed out, shutting the door behind him. I heard faint voices. So he had an accomplice – or two. I strained to listen. The voices raised as if in argument but it was as unintelligible as a television on low in another room. Then it was quiet. Minutes later the side door slid open again. Hardie stood there; a second guy looking over his shoulder. I sniveled and whined, hoping if I appeared beaten they might drop their guard and give me a chance to do something. These guys were highly organized, though.
“I’m going to give you some pills.” It was Hardie who spoke. “Take them nicely and it will be easier on you.”
He reached in through the front passenger door and came back with a little plastic cup; the kind they use in hospitals. And, sure enough, there were some yellow pills in it. He held it up to my mouth and I instinctively jerked my head around, knocking cup and pills flying.
“I warned you.”
He looked back at his cohort, “Ready?” Then he pulled something from his pocket and thrust it into my chest. I went rigid, as a bolt of pain shot through me. I knew I was being hit with a stun gun but everything other than my mind was paralyzed. As soon as Hardie released the gun, I crumpled, feeling weak as a new-born kitten. Next moment he had his hand on my face, forcing my mouth open while I was unable to resist. The second guy shoved something into my mouth and I felt liquid squirting down my throat. What the hell? Did he only have one arm, too? Although I was coming round quickly my automatic reaction was to swallow. I managed to lift my head as Hardie released me and his pal tossed aside a now-empty syringe plunger. With a satisfied grunt, Hardie closed the door.
My mind went into overdrive. What the hell had they given me? Whatever it was, I needed to get it out of my system. Leaning over I was able to get my fingers in the back of my mouth and force myself to gag. Aqueous fluid spewed over my feet. I tried a couple more times but didn’t do much more than belch, so figured that was as good as it was going to get.
It was getting hot, too. I needed a plan, assuming of course that I didn’t die of heat stroke first. Late afternoon in August the temperature was probably about 90, and the van was in the open with no apparent cloud cover. In only 30 minutes it could be well into the 120s inside. I looked around for anything that might be useful – nothing. I tried to make my hands small enough to slip through the ties. Not even close. How did Houdini do it? I was beginning to feel really sleepy, whether from the drugs or rising heat I didn’t know. Stay awake, Phill. Think about an ice-cold beer or cool dip in a pool. Instead, I sagged against the seat, my eyes heavy and my brain begging me to fall asleep.
Just as I was about to enter the land of nod there was a slight scraping at the side of the van and the door opened. Instantly, adrenaline coursed through my body and shoved aside some of the torpor. I willed myself to appear limp. I even had a moment of thankfulness for the heat, which had dried up my vomit, so there was little sign I was in anything but a state of inertia.
Hardie grabbed my hair and lifted my head. When he let go I allowed it to drop like a Raggedy Ann doll. Satisfied, Hardie cut the bonds that tied me to the seat, but left my wrists and ankles tied together. I allowed myself to flop over in such a way that my head hung out the door and I could get a peek outside. A four-wheel utility cart had been placed beside the van. He was going to drop me in it and drag me away. Well, it was time to quit spitting on the handle and get to hoeing.
As he pulled me through the door I swung my legs round and dropped to the ground then pushed upwards, swinging my fettered hands to his face and smashing his nose. Blood spurted everywhere. Hardie was taken completely by surprise, so I pressed the advantage by stabbing him in the throat with two fingers. I pulled back a little before contact; a part of me felt bad for beating up an old man even though he’d most likely killed already and might kill me. At any rate, he dropped to his knees, helpless, gagging for breath. It was then something hit me in the back of the head. I had a moment of comprehension before blackness took over and that was it.
At first I was vaguely aware of an insistent throbbing in my head. Somewhere there was a sort of ringing hum, then I realized it was in my ears. I’d been knocked out. At least my memory was intact but I was having difficulty shaking the fuzziness from my brain, and when I forced my eyes open I looked out on a gray haze. The ground where I lay was hard and cold. I needed to get up. A sense of urgency was setting in. I had no idea where Hardie and his pal were but they could return any minute and I didn’t think that would be good news for me.
My wrists and ankles were still tied; my arms pulled behind my back. I managed to get to my knees and, as my vision cleared, look around. Where the hell was I? The floor was concrete, the walls white tile. At least, they’d been white once. Now they were cracked, chipped and stained. Everything was stained. The room was almost square and across the ceiling were two rusty metal bars with equally rusted hooks suspended from them. A very faint and distasteful metallic odor was in the air. I couldn’t quite place it but it turned my stomach.
OK, it was time to get out of here and, thankfully, I had an ace in the hole. I used to know a couple of Armenian brothers who ran a leatherworks shop. One of their specialty items was belts with hidden compartments cut in them to hide money. They’d given me a couple of them for doing some work. My belt held a folding ceramic razor knife. When people search you, even if they pat you down, they never think to look on the underside of a belt. The knife was hardly more than an inch and a half long, no good as a weapon, but you never knew when you might need a knife – like now. And it was super sharp.
The secret pocket was in the front of the belt, so I just needed to get my hands there. No problem, I was pretty limber. I could easily work my butt and legs through my fettered hands.
Not so. There was resistance as I tried to pull my arms under my rear. I looked up and behind. Son of a … A rope was attached from my wrists to one of the hooks above me. Fear began to
edge its way into my mind. I pushed it aside. Focus, Phill.
Alright. I can slide the belt around. I began to pull and almost immediately the loose end at the buckle caught on a belt loop. OK. The other way, then. It worked! I felt for the hidden zipper and carefully undid it. A wave of adrenalin surged through me as my fingers closed round my trusty little knife. I flicked it open and, with a little maneuvering was able to slice right through the ties without cutting my wrists open. It took barely a heartbeat more to slice through my other bonds and I was free. Well, partly. I still had to get out of the building.
The room wasn’t that big. There was a single dark window in one wall. I crept to it and peered through. In the gloom I could make out an even smaller room than the one I was in, with a couple of boarded up windows, a door and some shelving that had partly collapsed. An old office, maybe? No sign of the two guys, thankfully.
In the corner was a single door. I put my ear to it and listened for a while. Nothing. Slowly I turned the handle and pushed. It wouldn’t budge. On the far side of the room were large metal sliding doors. The kind you see at a loading dock. When I tried to pull them apart I could see through the open slit that they were padlocked shut with a fairly new-looking chain. Right then, back to the other door.
There was no lock on my side. It was either bolted from the inside or blocked with something. Oh, well. I’m a big strong girl, so I put my shoulder to it and gave it all I’d got and opened it maybe a quarter of an inch. Forget that. One of the one-arms could be back any minute with something more powerful than a stun gun. I had to move fast. The window it would have to be.
An old hook was obligingly lying at my feet. I picked it up. It looked as if it could stand some stress so I hefted it back and smashed it into the window. The glass shattered and I waited, hardly daring to breath, in case Hardie and buddy came running …or walking fast, or however old guys move. When I figured it was safe to breathe again, I took off my shirt, wrapped it round my arm and pushed the glass away so I could climb over the sill into the office. Heading to the door I prayed to all the gods that it be open. Tentatively I turned the handle and, hallelujah, the door opened easily.