Cuba blue Page 8

  “What do you mean, the bodies are not here?” shouted Arturo Benilo at the morgue assistant. “I watched them leave the marina! Two Americans, and a Canadian woman! Bloated, white as milk. Lost? Who the fuck lost them?” He was not used to working with this new young man, Jesus del Campo, and Benilo’s palpable anger over the absurd absence of not one but three bodies threatened to burst a vein in his neck.

  “No, no, no, doctor, sir, I didn’t lose nobody…I mean no bodies.”

  “Then by God produce them, Jesus! Where are they?”

  “The bodies never really got here!” replied the boyish wide-eyed Jesus.

  “What do you mean, ‘never got here’?”

  “Some men had a hearse and papers. I didn’t know where you were so…”

  “Where? Where did this body-jacking occur?”

  “Out in the parking lot. The bodies never saw the inside the morgue.”

  “So never officially in your possession?”

  “That’s correct, sir”

  Benilo had become immediately suspicious the moment he learned of this outrage. “This is not done,” he muttered. “Why the hell wasn’t I called?”

  “I…I couldn’t reach you. They had papers.”

  “Papers, really?”

  “Orders. Enrique and Pedro had their hands in the air.”

  “What else? Details. Give me de-”

  “They moved the corpses into an unmarked van. Said the killings resulted from-”

  “Illegal drug business?”

  His face a study in surprise, the young assistant exclaimed, “How’d you know?”

  “Said they’d take care of any details, yes?”

  Jesus kept nodding. “Said they’d prepare the bodies for shipment home.”

  Conveniently losing them in a sea of shipping containers, thought Benilo. Could be months before they resurface, if at all.

  Jesus continued to fight for breath. “I–I swear to you, there was no stopping them. Any resistance…I mean…I could not-”

  “Silence! How am I to think with your babbling? Quiet!” Benilo’s face went from consternation to concentration. “Jesus, no one’s got authority to take bodies from here-or evidence of any kind!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This office…my office is supposed to be above reproach, above political nonsense, above the secret police, and even above Fidel-at least in theory. God damn them!”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor.”

  “I assume they had guns and wore army fatigues?”

  “Yes, guns…army fatigues. Said it was by order of some major general.”

  “But you saw no reason to demand a copy of the orders?”

  “They insisted I didn’t need one; said that you knew all about the transfer.”

  “They said all that?” Benilo paced in a small circle of thought. Then he asked, “One man big, husky, did all the talking, right?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “And the other fellow, was he huge, like a bull?” asked Benilo, his mind churning over these developments.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “And the big man, he showed you-”

  “-the papers, yes. He didn’t really show me the papers, but he waved them, yes.”

  “And the paperwork? It looked like-”

  “Like…like regular hospital transfer papers, nothing special.”

  Even as Jesus answered this last question, the ME’s mind was already elsewhere. Secret police. Just as I feared…the same instinct as the lowliest crewman aboard the Sanabela.

  “Why does a man have to be so damn right?” Benilo stalked into the building and down the hall toward his office, an uneasy Jesus following him. “And Quiana? What of our pact to work closely together? She’ll think I am part of this.”

  “Sir?” asked Jesus. “Is there anything I can do? Should I inform Dr. Vasquez she can go home now.”

  “Yes! Damn…yes! Tell her the autopsies are off for now.”

  His body language clearly saying he was relieved, Jesus rushed off.

  Alone in his dimly lit office, the full weight of this night’s events settled on the doctor’s shoulders. “Now the game begins in a dark evil. Quiana is in far more danger than she knows. Her cunning and skills will be tested, perhaps to the death by bastards afraid to face me.”

  Their lovemaking ended as it usually did with Estaban completely spent and snoring while Qui wondered if there’d ever be a time when she came first.

  To further complicate her night, she’d only slept a few hours when she awoke with the case on her mind, her clock showing 2:48AM. She rolled over finding Montoya gone. Early day at the clinic she guessed. She turned over and attempted a return to sleep but failed. Climbing from bed, she threw on a robe, smiling at the negligee and gown on the floor. She hung them in her closet before going in search of a snack.

  Walking quietly down the hallway, she hoped not to run into her father. She loved him, but she couldn’t take him at three in the morning. It was not an unwarranted concern, as her father’s insomnia often had him roaming. Sometimes she’d see him in the veranda; sometimes, in the lobby where a huge portrait of her mother hung. When he thought no one about, Tomaso talked to the picture; something he’d been doing as long as Qui could recall.

  She thought her father lonely, a man who’d never healed from the loss of his wife, his beloved Rafaela-her mother. He’d never dated and while he had an active social life, there was no special woman in his life. Whenever she questioned him, he’d smile sadly and say he loved her mother too much, that it wouldn’t be fair to another woman as he would always compare her to Rafaela. Qui had often wondered what her mother had been like to inspire such devotion, from her father and now too, it seemed, from Benilo. But that devotion over time had deepened into an inner isolation her father thought well hidden but painful for Qui to watch. By steady increments, she’d distanced herself from him, leading her own life and living in her own quarters within the bed and breakfast. They were still close, and she worried about him as he’d grown older, as he’d slowed down at every activity, save conversing with her mother’s portrait and maintaining her garden.

  She opened one refrigerator and found it stuffed full; thirsty, she grabbed a cold can of coconut water and popped the lid.

  Her father’s sudden words startled her. “I want you to drop this case they’ve assigned you, Qui.”

  His voice came at her from the gloom of darkness in a corner shadow where he’d been sitting in the dark. She almost dropped the can.

  “Damn, you scared hell outta me! Why not give a warning?”

  “I mean it, Qui. This is some sick vendetta, putting you on a triple homicide. You’re not ready for this.”

  “First Montoya and now you!”

  “I tell you it is insidious!”

  “I’m not a child anymore, and this is my big chance, Papa.”

  “It’s a scheme to harm the both of us, this family, this place!”

  “I’ll go to hell and back before I give it up!” she countered. “So save your breath.”

  “I tell you, there’re people in government who’ve for years wanted my property, and my reputation disgraced.”

  She’d heard this for years. “This is not about you or this old house!”

  “I still have enemies who-”

  “Papa, please!”

  “-enemies who harbor evil thoughts about me. This case places all of us in jeopardy-you, me, Maria Elena, Yuri, possibly even Montoya. You must turn this over to…to someone like Pena.”

  “Pena, that pea-brained clock-watching rum-sucking ass-kissing suckup? Papa, have you gone senile?”

  “You’re so stubborn, just like your mother!”

  “Papa, if I find out you’ve interfered, I swear I’ll move out completely! Now not another word. I’m going back to bed. I have to get up early to see what your old friend Benilo has uncovered.” She started back toward her apartment.

  “You’re making a bad choice, Qui.” He’d tak
en a step toward her, then stopped, shaking his head, his voice softer, he added. “Just know this, if you need help, I am here and so is Yuri. With his background, he could be a good ally.”

  At his comment, she turned and walked back to him. “I know you mean well, Papa, but you have to let me succeed or fail on my own. You’re right about Yuri, thanks for the reminder.” She gave a thought to Yuri, a Soviet ex-patriot who’d arrived in Cuba along with Soviet missiles, now a family friend, working for her father. She hugged him saying, “Good night, go to bed, and stop worrying about me.”

  Watching her leave, Tomaso wondered how bad the mess was that she had been handed. “No good will come of this,” he muttered to a shadow in the darkened corner. Yuri leaned forward, his face coming into the light. “Quiana’s no one’s fool. She may surprise us all.”

  13

  The following morning…

  Having gone in early to work on her case, Qui anticipated leaving soon for the morgue. However, Gutierrez found her first and called her into his office, and with Pena sitting in a corner, the colonel insisted on a time-consuming verbal report of the facts she’d already detailed on paper. Then, he asked for her personal observations. She gave him a play-by-play of what she and Benilo had found on the boat, her words sounding like a tale of horror out of a gothic novel. But curiously enough, the colonel proved more interested in the problem that had gotten back to him from an irate dockmaster. He wanted to know more about the complaints of this petty tyrant than he did about the murder victims. He claimed that Qui had no people skills whatsoever, and she should take a lesson by studying detective Pena.

  Qui left in sheer frustration with the man’s incompetence and dislike of her; she hadn’t even spoken to the dockmaster, Tino had, but she was the lead investigator, so no use protesting. She pictured the colonel’s negative attitude as a cloud of flies floating above rotting flesh-the image so apt and so ridiculous she had to smile in spite of her mood.

  Breathing the clean mid-morning air, after escaping the oppressive atmosphere of the Capitol Police Headquarters, Qui’s sour humors dissipated-her frustration replaced by a sense of expectation of what she’d find at the newly built, thoroughly sleek, high-tech medical complex where Benilo’s morgue made up two thirds of the basement.

  An hour later…

  “Wait a minute, Dr. Benilo, you didn’t just say what I heard you say, did you?” Qui asked, looking into the bowels of the crowded-with-bodies morgue and back to Benilo.

  “Afraid so.”

  “The bodies-all three-gone, poof, disappeared like that?” She rushed about the shrouded bodies, tearing away sheets to stare into dead faces-none familiar.

  “Stop that! You’re making a disarray of things!” shouted Benilo. “They’re not here! You have my word.”

  Dumbfounded, her eyes screaming confusion, Qui’s mind raced with questions. “If the bodies are not here, where are they?”

  “At this point, I don’t know.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Last night.”

  “But how?”

  “Before I arrived from the boat; they were taken.”

  “Who’d steal bodies and why?” Secretly, she wondered, Just how involved are you, Dr. Benilo in this magic act? Three murders and now the bodies are missing? What next? What fucking next?

  “Trust me, Quiana-”

  “Lieutenant Aguilera…” She set her jaw and glared.

  His hands rose in the air, either as a gesture of defense or defeat. “I had nothing whatever to do with it, and I am as filled with questions as you, and the short answer is Secret Police.”

  “So you do know something, Doctor?”

  “If I were a part of this outrage-think! Would I be standing here telling you I suspect the SP of stealing bodies?”

  “Imagine if this gets out to the Canadian consulate or the press, or worse, the American Interest Session?”

  “Exactly,” he agreed. “How will it play in the International media?”

  She paced like an angry lioness. “You realize that without the bodies, there can be no final results. Everyone will blame me.”

  “Ahhh, so this is about you and your career?”

  “Yes, among other things, yes! Hell, we can’t even prove there are three murders now, can we?”

  Benilo went about his morgue straightening all the sheets she’d torn away. “If you’ll curb your impatience and just listen, I’ll answer you.”

  She stopped pacing and turned to him. “Go ahead.”

  “While the bodies were hijacked, the evidence was not.”

  “Then we do have a case, after all?” She followed him from body to body as he re-arranged sheets over disturbed corpses.

  “What pisses me off,” said Benilo, “is the thought of those two imbeciles-Enrique and Pedro. They left to go dancing without even reporting to me! Not a damn word! So they’re fired.”

  “With the Secret Police involved, they probably had little choice.”

  “Cowards. They’re fired. End of story.”

  “Perhaps they were ordered to keep their mouths shut?”

  ““Munoz and Torres know which way the wind blows,” muttered Benilo. “Still, cowards!”

  “No…not cowards, cautious men-acting no differently than Estrada’s crewmen or anyone in the face of the SP.”

  “They work for me and I expect loyalty. They have more to fear from me than the SP!”

  She could not help but laugh at this. “At least they are smart enough to avoid going the way of the vanished ones. ”

  “True.”

  From somewhere deep in the autopsy room, a dripping faucet created a staccato beat that echoed Qui’s growing headache. “Got any aspirin?”

  “Here, my secret stash,” Benilo handed her a green container and a glass of water.

  “Thank you Doctor.”

  “Remember, Quiana, for all we know, the bodies could be below a hundred feet of ocean, and this time permanently, or incinerated in some old cathedral basement, or even turned into sausages at a meat-packing company.” Benilo realized what he was saying caused her to wince. “Sorry, but it’s so.”

  Qui replied, gulping, “Please, tell me you don’t believe their bodies are being sold as sausage.”

  Benilo shrugged in response. He then stretched and complained, “I must look every bit as old as I feel this morning.” He gulped down the last of his coffee. If last night on the dock with Jesus went horribly awry, trying to explain it today proved even worse.

  She held his gaze, studying, sizing him up, trying to find some chink. Was he holding back or telling an outright lie? Benilo stared back, his deep eyes resolute. She wondered if he were among that small percentage who, without a doubt, could beat a lie detector.

  “Come, I’ll tell you what I think happened. The coffee’s good; have some. Got no sleep last night-half-asleep now. Need more caffeine.”

  Together, the old coroner for the state and the Havana detective left the morgue, each contemplating the strange twist of events, in so short a span of time.

  “Christ,” Qui muttered as she slowed her pace alongside an obviously fatigued Benilo. Much as she wanted to hurry him up, she knew there was no rushing him.

  “We’ve got the photos, Qui, and the fingerprint evidence.” They left the morgue, going to his office.

  “Ahhh…yes, the fingerprints pocketed at the scene? You anticipated problems from the beginning.”

  “Call it a hunch. But hijacking bodies? No predicting that! Someone’s interested in a major cover-up.”

  “Cover-up? Are you serious?” She asked as they entered his office. “That’s an understatement, Doctor.”

  Instead of answering her, he went to a file and unlocked a drawer. “I want to show you something.”

  This man’s so slow! Why doesn’t he just tell me! She decided to calm down and pour a cup of coffee. She sat and sipped at the hot thick brew, the taste telling her that Benilo was right about one thing. Smiling, she
raised her cup in a toast, “Good coffee-a rarity in a government facility.”

  “The one last thing I have control over-the coffee,” Benilo grimaced as he spoke. “At least it doesn’t just disappear.” He dropped three files on the desk between them. “Missing persons reports on our three victims.”

  Instantly excited, she opened the reports and three photos of bright-looking, smiling faces beamed up at her-the same three faces she’d seen in death grimaces aboard the Sanabela. “Damn,” she muttered, “and look who was assigned this missing persons case-” Her finger led his eye to the name: Jorge Pena

  “Gutierrez’s fair-haired boy,” said Benilo.

  “Who is this Dr. Cortez who filed the missing persons report?” Qui asked, still scanning the files.

  “He’s some sort of medical researcher and the conference coordinator, handles arrangements for conferences; coincidently married to my senior pathologist, Dr. Vasquez.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen her name on pathology logs in the past.”

  “He informed me that these three didn’t show up for breakfast, then missed their flight, so naturally, he became frantic. Three missing foreign doctors on his hands. I asked for a copy of the report from your boss.”

  She recalled Pena ushering out the handsome stranger from the American Interest Section, also curious about a missing persons case. “Gutierrez had these reports before assigning me this case. It was a set up.”

  “Tried to make fools of both of us, Lieutenant, but they have badly underestimated us.”

  She liked the tone of this. “Yes, we’ve got the evidence, and evidence never lies.”

  “The damn fools can’t even get evil right. And they didn’t count on my being thorough. Think I’m an old fool ready for pasture, ha!”

  “So when do we have something tangible?”

  “Soon, but beware of making this personal lieutenant. No vendettas. Emotions can’t rule us.”

  She replied, “I just want to do my job and do it professionally.”

  “Tests are already underway.”

  “But what’s to prevent the SP from snatching the results?”

  “Conducted under aliases. Only I know the fictitious names, and they were requested under Vasquez’s name rather than mine.”