Cuba blue

22

On their drive to Miramar, Qui and JZ decided to retrieve her Peugeot at some other time. Qui could not get home fast enough. At the Bed and Breakfast, they found Tomaso and Benilo still drinking wine, a third glass telling Qui that Yuri, an early riser, had abandoned the party. Cleaning away the last of the birthday cake, Maria Elena on the way to the kitchen with her hands full, quietly commented to Qui, “Those two men’ve had a hearty reunion all right, and way too much to drink.”

When they saw Qui approaching with JZ at her side, the men attempted to stand, the result more comical than effective.

“See, I told you she’d be back,” Tomaso slurred. He slapped Benilo on the back and added, “And with a friend…someone new.”

Benilo squinted at JZ, as if trying to recognize him. “Montoya? Dr. Montoya?”

Tomaso leapt in suggesting, “You need glasses, old man! This is not Montoya.”

The two men laughed, hearing a joke that was lost on the younger couple. “Ahhh…then your daughter took my advice.” Benilo looked at his newfound old friend and smiled.

With glazed eyes staring at Qui, Tomaso demanded, “What advice?”

Qui ignored her father’s demand. “Papa, Dr. Benilo, this is Julio Zayas. He works security at the American Interest Section.”

“Ahhh…deep in the bowels of the Swiss Embassy,” Benilo said. “The American Mission in Cuba.”

“JZ, this is our foremost medical examiner, Dr. Arturo Benilo. And this is my father, Tomaso Aguilera, the photographer.”

JZ hardly had time to shake hands or pick up on her not so subtle emphasis, when Qui lifted the framed photo, balancing it atop the table, saying, “I want to know about this photo, Papa, now.”

Tomaso fell back into his chair. Benilo deliberately catching Tomaso’s eye, found his seat. Their revelry suddenly at an end, both men stared into Qui’s unwavering gaze. Neither man willing to speak first, each turned his attention back to the photo, studying its every detail as if seeing the artistic composition of black and white shot for the first time. The photo’s impact on the two suggested there was more here than a beautiful still life of a locked church door.

Turning to Tomaso, Benilo said, “I knew this would come back to haunt us. Should’ve destroyed that negative.”

Qui turned to her father. “Tell me about the photo.”

“What has this to do with anything, daughter?”

Breaking his silence, JZ announced, “There’s been another murder. Qui’s friend, Dr. Montoya.”

“Montoya!” gasped Tomaso.

“Murdered?” cried Maria Elena, who’d returned for more dishes. On hearing JZ’s words, she froze, shocked. Tears gathered in her eyes. She’d always liked the doctor, who’d been unfailingly kind to her and her children.

“Montoya, murdered?” echoed Benilo. “I just saw him yesterday at lunch.”

“We just came from the murder scene,” JZ explained.

Tomaso stood and took Qui in his arms, saying, “I’m so sorry. This is terrible news… But why? What happened?”

“Why? Exactly my question,” she replied. “How could Estaban be a target for murder?”

“He was a good man…a kind man,” Maria Elena added, dabbing her eyes, dinner dishes forgotten.

“Not the way my department sees it.” Qui blinked back tears. “They’re going to paint his death as some ridiculous autoerotic adventure gone awry. They’re going to destroy his character, his reputation.”

Tomaso groaned. “Yes, the thing most important to him, his reputation.”

“Bastards! Demeaning the dead!” muttered Benilo.

“Who’s behind this?” Tomaso demanded. “I’ll go see Fidel himself!”

“Why wasn’t I called?” Benilo joined in Tomaso’s indignation. “Who’s the ME on the case?”

Qui replied, “Your assistant, Dr. Vasquez.”

“Irina?” Benilo looked puzzled. “Well…she’s as good as they come. Maybe the autopsy will prove you right, after all. If you’d said Dr. Trebeca, I’d worry.”

“Autopsy results are a lot like photographic evidence these days-hard to fake,” JZ began, “but it does happen.”

“Papa, your photograph has something to do with my murder case,” Qui said, pointing to the framed photo, “and Dr. Benilo, you know it, too.”

“Hmmm…the lock,” grumbled Benilo.

JZ commented, “It gets worse. Qui believes the lock from the Sanabela murders is the same as the one in this photo.”

“But it’s not the same one we examined at Capitol Headquarters an hour ago,” Qui announced. “My evidence has been tampered with.”

“Wait…I’m confused,” said Tomaso, approaching the photograph, lifting it with both hands. “Are you two saying the lock in Qui’s murder case is the same as in my photo? Can’t be! I took that shot over fifty years ago in Santiago de Cuba.” He laid the photo flat on the table.

Benilo shook his head in disgust. “Doesn’t surprise me. What’s a stolen lock compared to three stolen bodies? The real question is why?”

“Hold on,” Qui said to Benilo. “You told Papa about the missing bodies? I thought we had a pact.”

“I told him, yes. I wanted his council.”

“Great, as if he wasn’t worried enough about me.”

“Maria Elena,” Tomaso suddenly asked, “we’ll need some coffee out here. I can’t think straight. Too much of Benilo’s fine wine.” He looked at the younger people and asked, “Have you two eaten?”

JZ shook his head no.

Qui grimaced. “I couldn’t eat a thing.

As she left, Maria Elena said, “I’ll bring something with the coffee.”

Qui lifted the photo and propped it across the arms of a chair facing the others. “Why use a lock from fifty years ago in the murder of three visiting doctors, one of whom we know had contact with Estaban?”

The man on the cell phone, unconsciously waved his hands to punctuate each word. Humberto paced from his dimly lit bedroom suite in the Excalibre Hotel and Casino to the balcony. It was here he met his mistress on a regular basis. She slept soundly in their shared four-poster canopy bed. “I don’t trust the situation. Too many loose ends. I want the lock and anyone who saw it to disappear. Do I make myself clear?”

“Absolutely.” Cavuto Ruiz, on the other end of the line, accidentally placed his lit cigar into his Mai tai alongside the ashtray. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“What’s that?”

Frowning in disgust at the wasted Fuentes, he replied, “Nothing, just a nuisance.” Cavuto really disliked taking orders from this man. Trapped in the tangled mesh of this spider’s web of corruption, his options were limited to carrying out distasteful orders or giving up his life. Some days, the latter seemed more attractive. This was one of those days.

“OK, do you understand what I want, Cavuto?”

“Ahhh…one question-does your order include Alejandro?”

“No, you idiot! I’ll deal with him myself. Aguilera, her detectives, whoever checked in the evidence, the captain and crew of the boat, and Benilo, especially Benilo- disappear all of them.”

Humberto smiled around his cigar and hung up knowing that his control over Cavuto guaranteed his orders would be carried out. He contemplated how simple and pleasant his life would be after the old ME Benilo was gone. For years now, Arturo had been a thorn in his side and a constant threat. The old man knew too much from too many years ago. Perhaps Tomaso Aguilera should follow Benilo to the grave…but one old nemesis at a time.

Momentarily turning his attention back to the sleeping woman, Humberto decided his troubles with this growing, cancerous problem of the dead foreigners was in Cavuto’s efficient hands now. He must trust his lieutenants, but once again, he wondered why Alejandro had used that cursed lock on the bodies. Of course, Alejandro had no idea of the lock’s history, or so he said. Perhaps it was just as he’d insisted. “The lock was conveniently at hand and time was of the essence in cleaning up the mess Cavuto’s people had made.”

Again staring at the shapely beauty lying in his bed, he considered gratifying himself once more, but at his age, sleep had become nearly as important as sex. He climbed back into bed, and as he curled about her form, sleep won out.

At his end, Cavuto sat in dull silence, wondering if he’d ever sleep soundly again. A seething anger bubbled in his mind. He’d been ordered to take care of Montoya, something he felt Alejandro ought to’ve taken care of, but for some reason, the old man was suddenly unsure of his boy.

Now he had to arrange for the termination of an entire group of people. How in the hell do I pull this one off? What does the old fool think I am? A magician with an Uzi? ”

Ruiz took a long breath and tried to calm himself. “Humberto orders up death like some god,” he muttered to the soggy mass of tobacco in his Mai tai. “And I gotta jump or else find myself among the disappeareds.” He shook his head and unwrapped a new cigar. Saddest part of it all, I’m sitting in darkness talking to a damned ruined drink.

Later that night

A man of considerable influence, although some might call him an intermediary, approached the Sanabela where it remained at the marina under the stars over the bay. There Alfonso Gutierrez conferred with Luis Estrada, gleaning all he could from what had occurred, how Dr. Benilo had conducted himself, and finally getting around to how Qui Aguilera had conducted herself. The man kept jotting down Luis’s words, keeping bank on each it seemed. Estrada chose his words carefully, and soon Qui’s boss, unable to elicit the kind of dirt he wanted, cursed under his breath and asked Estrada to think long and hard on his answers. Estrada understood the veiled threat. If he wished to remain ‘in consort’ with the Colonel and enjoy the occasional PNR funds, Luis must formulate new answers that could have dire consequences for Quiana. The entire encounter reminded Luis why he preferred the capricious sea to the intrigues of fools.

Watching the colonel leave, Luis felt a creeping sense of danger that seemed to be enveloping his boat along with Quiana. Her colonel certainly had a hard on for seeing her fail. One part of him wanted to tell the colonel where he could stick it, but another part counseled prudence. It was a matter of pesos after all, and Qui…well she certainly seemed able to take care of herself. He would think about saying something to her, but it was a delicate high wire he must walk, and so long as Luis could stay on the colonel’s good side and not harm Tomaso’s daughter, why not give Alfonso something to chew on other than his damned cigar?

An hour later, Estrada lay on a cot beneath a blanket and the stars on the open deck of his boat, the Sanabela’s lifesaver doubling as a pillow. Distrusting the PNR to take the best care of his impounded boat, Luis felt his presence aboard an absolute necessity. Otherwise, the police guard might board and loot the Sanabela for whatever the bastards found of interest. So now, he slept on the hard cot and makeshift pillow.

However, not long into his sleep, Luis was awakened by a flashlight beam. Behind the light, he saw a hand extending a badge, and he recognized the voice. Tino Hilito had boarded the boat and beside him stood a second fellow in deep shadow-a stranger to Luis. Tino muttered some words about further evidence collection, adding offhandedly, “Foolish small items.”

The other man said, “Protocol…little lapses in procedures…steps not taken or overlooked.”

“Tino assured Luis with, “You know, Dr. Benilo’s not quite what he used to be.”

“Ahhh…age,” muttered Luis, “does it to a man,” Luis dazedly added, not believing it.

“Even a fine medical man,” said the stranger.

Tino quickly introduced a Dr. Regolio, his flash still in Luis’s eyes. “He’s Dr. Benilo’s new man.”

“It’s just a rotation they put us all through,” said the young doctor. “I got roped into working tonight at the last minute.”

“Dr. Regolio’s overseeing the final evidence collection before the boat is released back to you.”

“When’s that going to happen? You know I have my crew to think of, and their families-all this on my shoulders. We need to put out to sea.” Luis thought of the hunger his crew and their families must experience every day they failed to work.

“How about sun-up?” asked Tino.

“How about before sun-up?”

“We’ll make it happen,” Dr. Regolio promised.

“Excellent. That’s all I want.”

They assured Luis they wouldn’t be long, and that he could safely return to slumber. The two figures in the dark, Tino with one bag, the other with a medical valise in hand, stepped off toward the crime scene area. Estrada, his eyes pleading for rest, laid his head back against the lifesaver. If it were true that his boat would be released at or before dawn, he’d need some sleep. The moment he got official word, he’d put the call out to his crew, and they’d put out to sea and the shrimp grounds. Strange how life is, he thought now. While the sea might kill a man or destroy his way of life in the blink of an eye, the ocean felt like the only safe place these past hours. Estrada wanted nothing more than to get back to his beautiful woman, the sea. These thoughts cradled him back toward Morpheus, god of slumber, who opened arms to him, enveloping him, overtaking him with the rum he’d consumed. All in an instant, he was going in and out of consciousness-his white rum better than any American sedative he might buy on the black market.

As sleep engulfed Luis, his last thoughts fell on Dr. Estaban Montoya’s back-door clinic. He’d heard the dire news about Montoya, and he was not entirely surprised; from what he’d learned, the business of Montoya’s dying in the presence of a prostitute, killed accidentally in some sort of sexual pose involving some sort of leather and metal contraption-well that sort of thing was between a man, the little god between his legs, and God the Father. Still, he’d supposedly been Quiana’s fiancee. Montoya’s untimely death filled Luis with uneasy thoughts…like something out there stalking Quiana and anyone close to her…perhaps him as well. It all made him want to rush back to the sea, the only place where he fully understood the dangers.