Authors: Robert W. Walker
Cuba Blue (20 page)
He pulled off the road and slowed to a stop, sending up gravel, the noise alerting Qui to his sudden appearance. She turned to see him as JZ hoisted himself to a high position atop the driver’s seat. He waved at her from the convertible.
Her features went from despondency to surprise, all in a moment. She smiled warmly, sauntering toward the car, admiring the classic auto as he admired her. “JZ, what are you doing here? Not stalking me, I hope!”
“Not at all. I was taking this beauty out for a spin. I just took the highway and wound up here. Running into an even greater beauty—
you
—is just an additional perk. The gods’re no doubt making up for my disappointing Saturday.”
“Disappointing… gods?” She gave him a curious look as she ran her hand over the perfect sheen of the red paint. “I love T-Birds.”
“Then hop in and let’s go for a ride up the coast.”
Frowning, she hesitated, backing from the car.
“Come on, my tarot reading this morning said I’m ’sposed to get everything I desire today. You wouldn’t want to defy fate, would you?”
“Hmmm… tarot cards. I’m not even convinced you believe in that sort of thing. Sounds like a line to me.”
“Are you kidding? I majored in magic.” He slid down into the seat, a smile on his face. “Come on, it’s just a drive.”
Qui came around the car to the driver’s side, leaned in close to him, and in a sultry Lauren Bacall imitation said, “Sure…you got me, but only if I can drive.”
Pretending annoyance, he awkwardly inched over the gearshift and into the passenger seat. “Ahhh…all right, if it makes you happy.”
She slipped in behind the wheel, shooed his hand from the gearshift and said, “It’s nice to meet a man capable of giving me what I want—even if it is just to humor me.”
“Hey, I want the wheel back sometime. This is temporary.”
She pulled away in a rain of pebbles. They sped down the coast without speaking, enjoying the wind, the freedom, and the car.
“I like it, JZ, being given what I want, treated well. I don’t always get that. But I have to tell you, I’m skeptical.”
He sat up straight at this. “Skeptical?”
“Come on, stumbling on me out at my favorite getaway? Did Liliana put you up to this? You can tell me the truth.”
“Do you always suspect ulterior motives and conspiracies?”
“Hey, I know how Liliana thinks.”
“She thinks we’re good together, but she didn’t have anything to do with this coincidence.”
“As for being paranoid, I’m a cop. Whataya expect?”
“But you can’t be a cop twenty-four seven, nobody can.”
“I’m not! You saw me at the Palacio.”
“Yes, we had a great time at the Varelas too.”
“Yes, we did, didn’t we.” Secretly, she enjoyed their banter but feared it might lead to a repeat of the night before when she’d had to reject his advances. “Liliana’s never liked my boyfriend, and she’s always trying to set me up with someone she approves of.”
“Ahhh, so you think Liliana approves of me?”
“She likes you a lot. That was apparent last—”
Qui’s phone rang. She hesitated, slowing the car, unsure whether she wanted to answer or not.
JZ moaned. “Oh shit. Is that mine?”
“No…wish it were. It’s mine,” she countered, taking the call.
JZ only half heard the voice coming in, but it sounded vaguely familiar.
Qui erupted, “Oh, my God, no!” Her face had turned white, and JZ noticed her single-handed death grip on the steering wheel. “Where? When?”
JZ became agitated alongside her, curious.
What was she hearing?
“I’m on my way.” She dropped the phone into her purse. “That was Lieutenant Peña.” Tears welled up in Qui’s eyes.
“What’s happened?”
“It’s Montoya, my boyfriend…he’s dead. Another death.”
“Another death?”
“Three on Friday…and now my…my boyfriend.”
“Wait a minute. Three on Friday? Would that be
my
missing Americans?”
“Yes…maybe…I don’t know…likely…God, Montoya dead? How can it be? I just saw him yesterday.” She ran the car onto the shoulder.
“Stop the car,” he insisted. “Let me drive.”
She pulled over, relenting. They changed places and again sped away.
“Get me back to my car,” she muttered.
“No, you’re in no shape to drive, and besides, I can get you there safely. Let me do this for you.”
She swallowed hard, realizing JZ was right. This was one time she needed to relinquish control.
20
Every cop’s nightmare is walking into a crime scene where a loved one lays waiting, dead, but this proved beyond anything anyone on the force could have ever imagined. Due to the horror of the scene, Jorge Peña, first detective on site, stood like a gatekeeper, preventing Qui and JZ from entering the death room. “What’s this American doing here?” he demanded of Qui.
“He’s with me. I asked him here.”
“This is official police business, Mr. Zayas. You’ll have to wait outside. In fact, take Detective Aguilera with you. My calling her was a mistake.”
“But I’m here now, so get out of my way, Peña.”
Peña muttered, “Damn it…I shoulda waited ’til this was cleaned up.” Turning to Qui, he continued, “You don’t want to see this. Believe me.” He remained a veritable wall to her progress. “Zayas, take her out. Now!”
“Outta my way, dammit.”
Smelling blood in the air, and sensing this was one colleague trying to protect another, JZ placed a hand on her shoulder and suggested, “Perhaps Peña’s right.”
She shrugged away from JZ’s touch and began shoving Peña.
Grabbing her more roughly than intended, Peña said, “Qui, for once, trust me! You don’t wanna remember Estaban this way.”
“Let me go!” She struggled to free herself from Peña, but he held firm.
Looking over her shoulder at Zayas, Peña repeated, “Get her out of here!” Then Peña froze, a sharp pain in his gut made him look down. It was that damned blue gun of hers.
Seething with anger, she hissed, “For the last time, move!”
He immediately stepped aside, no longer barring her entrance.
Unable to see the weapon, JZ was unaware of the unfolding drama between the two. When Peña stepped aside, JZ saw the horrifying scene at the same moment Qui did. Appalled, he could
only imagine Qui’s shock.
Qui, having taken a step into the bedroom, sank to the floor. Her mind recoiled from the gruesome sight.
Dead prostitute.
Bloody foam around mouth.
Scarlet dog choker.
Straps connected to chains over the canopy.
Montoya hanging lifeless.
All against the black satin bed sheets she’d given him on his birthday.
The blood-red choker made it look like his throat’d been cut, but the twisted, awkward angle of the neck said otherwise. A broken neck. She saw the evidence of it. He was on his knees, hands tied to heels by a network of chains and pulleys—items she’d never seen in Estaban’s possession. So out of character for the man she knew. His body arched in a pained C where his knees bent, toes touching a broken down bed. It appeared that the bed had caved in, snapping his neck and instantly killing him. Her only solace came in that he’d died without suffering. Still, the entire scenario rang false, impossible in fact.
Montoya was murdered
.
Peña lifted her gun off the floor, automatically checking the weapon. “The damn safety was on. I fell for her bluff!”
he said to JZ
.
He then returned the Walther to her. Numb with horror, she holstered the weapon zombie-fashion, unaware she’d dropped it.
Closing her eyes to the scene and swaying to a silent dirge playing in her head, she whispered, “No accident. This is murder!”
JZ took her by the shoulders and faced her away from the bodies. “Tell me…why?” he demanded, knowing that in shock she’d talk freely without analyzing her thoughts.
“We don’t know that, Qui,” countered Peña, surprised she hadn’t fallen apart, giving up a grudging respect for her.
“Without a doubt, it’s murder. I trust my instincts.”
“Qui, tell us why? How is it murder?” JZ persisted.
“Back off, Zayas,” Peña said officiously. “You two just got here. She’s not thinking straight. The medical examiner—Vasquez—already ruled accidental asphyxiation by autoerotica.”
“Fuck her findings!” Qui erupted. “Get Benilo in here!”
“It’s my call, Qui.”
“You don’t understand, Peña! This was
staged
!”
JZ echoed her words. “Staged?”
“Murder, pure and simple.”
“Qui,” soothed Peña, “maybe you didn’t know Estaban as well as you thought. A lotta men take pleasure in bizarre sexual fetishes. Perhaps he hid that side from you.”
“No way! He was murdered.” She ticked off the reasons, “One, he’s…
was
a doctor, terrified of getting AIDS, so throw out the prostitute. Two, surgeons prize their hands, so he’d never let them be bound. Three, toss out all the sadomasochism crap ‘cause he didn’t like rough sex, and as for drugs—no way!”
“And the girl?” asked Peña, pointing to the dead woman. “Do you have any idea who—”
“Never saw her before. She’s just a prop for whoever’s behind this!”
JZ and Peña exchanged an enigmatic look. JZ said, “Maybe she’s right. Don’t you think she, of all people, would know the doctor’s ahhh…habits?”
Peña frowned and shrugged. “Maybe…maybe not. Both of you come with me.” He led them away from the death room, talking as they went. “Who would want to kill Montoya? A nice guy and a good doctor who just runs a neighborhood clinic? Look, Qui…I know you’re upset, but I have to ask you questions. Please, sit.”
“I don’t want to sit. I want answers.”
They’d moved to Montoya’s elegantly put together dining-living area, all rich woods and native designs, reflecting his Cuban pride. The walls were adorned with Cuban art and framed photographs.
After pacing before the windows, Qui calmed a bit and sat on a nearby sofa occupied by JZ.
Peña cautiously asked her for details regarding Montoya’s activities during the last twenty-four hours. “When did you last see Estaban?”
“Yesterday.”
“When yesterday?”
“I’ve not seen him since I…we met at Santa Isabella just after lunch.”
Peña’s brow lifted at this. Everyone in Cuba knew the reputation of the Santa Isabella, known as one of Havana Vieja’s most romantic getaways. Normally, the hotel was off limits to locals; however, Peña decided that with her family name the usual restrictions didn’t apply.
After a series of routine questions that Qui had little or no answer for, Peña gave up. JZ suggested she be allowed to make a formal statement the next day, so that he could take her home. As JZ bartered on her behalf with the somewhat understanding Peña, she felt a need to focus on something, anything, besides this traumatic turn of events. As a result, her eyes scanned the opposite wall—a mosaic of her father’s framed black and white landscape photos. Learning of his appreciation for her father’s work, Qui’d given him framed photos on special occasions. He called them an excellent investment.