Red Angel

concrete structure, dotted with small casement windows and fake marble trim. “This is considered the finest funeral home in Havana,” he said. “It is where the bodies of all high government officials are taken.”

Adrianna slipped her arm in Devlin’s. She was staring at the covered stone staircase that led to the second level. The interior beyond seemed forbidding, and her normally calm brown eyes were suddenly nervous.

“Do you want to go in?” Devlin asked. “I want to use Martinez to get into the areas the public doesn’t normally see. So we might end up in places-”

Adrianna shook her head, cutting him off. “No, I think I’ll wait here in the park. I brought a sketch pad with me. I’ll just find a place to sit and draw. I don’t need this to be any grimmer than it already is.”

The floor and walls of the lobby were covered with stark pink marble that had not been polished in a long time, and it gave off a dull, flat, lifeless look that offered little hope of comfort. From the lobby Martinez and Devlin entered a long, wide room where the marble gave way to stone. Here a line of identical wooden rocking chairs ran down the room’s center. Freestanding ashtrays had been placed between the chairs, all of which were now empty. Smaller rooms opened off the larger one. Devlin entered one and found an old man lying in an open coffin, its lid standing on end against a nearby wall. There was an elderly woman seated in a chair beside the old man’s bier. Devlin nodded a condolence, or an apology, he wasn’t certain which, then turned away. A stained-glass window at the far end of the room drew his eye. It offered the only natural light in this otherwise dimly lighted space, and it depicted a scene of a sailing ship out at sea. Devlin wondered if it was meant to imply some final journey now under way.

“How long do bodies stay here?” he asked.

“Normally, only one day. Burials are done quickly here, because of the heat.”

“Is there any security when the place is empty?”

“It is never empty,” Martinez said. “It is our custom to have a family member remain with the body until it is buried the next day.”

“But that didn’t happen in this case.”

Martinez shook his head. “The Red Angel’s body never reached this room.”

“Let’s go see the room it did reach.”

The office was off the lobby. There were four people inside-a middle-aged woman seated behind a cluttered metal desk and four men lounging about, drinking coffee. All wore lab coats and bored faces.

Martinez flashed his badge and asked several questions in Spanish, the words coming too rapidly for Devlin to make even a stab at interpretation.

The woman nodded and signaled to one of the men, who immediately opened a rear door, beckoning them to follow. The man, who was tall and slender and somewhere in his mid-thirties, led them down a dark, narrow staircase that opened into a large, dingy room. Several carts were lined up along one wall, two of which held bodies covered with graying, white sheets. There was a hole in one of the sheets, through which the nose of one corpse protruded as if getting a final whiff of life. To the left was an open bay with two hearses parked in tandem, the hood of one jutting out into the street. An old man sat in a chair beside the open door.

Devlin raised his chin toward the old man. “Is he the only guard?”

Martinez relayed the question to their guide.

He answered with a terse “Si. Solo.”

Martinez walked to the first of two other doors and opened it. Beyond. Devlin could see a refrigerated room that held more carts and bodies. He closed it and opened the second door, revealing the naked body of a young woman on a mortician’s table. Two men dressed in lab coats looked up quickly. The older of the pair stared at Martinez with annoyance. His younger assistant simply looked startled, as though he had been caught doing something illicit. Martinez displayed his badge and apologized, then turned back to Devlin and shrugged.

“What time did the body disappear?” Devlin asked.

Martinez glanced at his watch. “It was about this time of day.”

“Let’s find out if the old man was working then.”

The old man stared up at them, a slightly amused look spread across a weathered face.

Martinez loosed a string of questions, which the old man answered with a nod, a raised eyebrow, and a rapid flow of Spanish that Devlin could not follow.

“He was working here when the body disappeared,” Martinez said. A small smile played across his lips. “He is very defensive. He says he had to relieve himself and went to the bano-um, the bathroom. He says the body must have been taken then.”

“Where was the body?”

Martinez raised his chin toward one of the interior doors. “It was in the refrigerated room. He said the body still had bandages on it when it came from the hospital, and it is his job to remove them. He did this, and saw that the body had been badly burned about the face and arms. He feared decomposition would come quickly, so he placed it inside the room so it would remain cool.”

“Does he know who it was?”

Martinez asked the question, then turned back to Devlin and shook his head. “He said the paperwork did not have a name. The driver told him he had not been given any, that it would be sent later in the day.”

“And he didn’t recognize who it was?”

Martinez relayed the question. “He says the face was badly burned and swollen, that it could have been his mother and he would not have known.”

The old man smiled at Devlin. He had only four teeth in the front of his head. He reached into his shirt pocket and removed a black feather, then began babbling in rapid Spanish. His final words were the only thing Devlin could understand. They were “Palo Monte.”

“Did I hear him right?” Devlin asked.

Martinez took the feather and nodded. “He says he found the feather inside the refrigerated room. I have seen these feathers before. They are from a scavenger bird called the aura tinosa, and are considered sacred by the followers of Palo Monte, who call the bird mayimbe. The feather is always used as a part of their mpaca, which is a type of charm made from an animal horn that must always be worn by a Palo Monte priest.”

“Did the old man tell anyone else about this feather?”

Martinez asked, then shook his head. “He says the young officer who was here treated him like an old fool, so he didn’t offer the information. He says he decided to save the feather so he could give it to the palero, the Palo Monte priest, when he returned for it.”

“Is that likely? That the palero will come back for it?”

Martinez shrugged. “I do not think so. There will be other feathers in the palero’s nganga.”

“His what?”

Martinez smiled and took Devlin’s arm. “Come. I think we have found everything we can here. If Palo Monte is involved in this, there is much that you must learn. And I can tell you only a small part of it.”

4

Two men are watching us,” Adrianna said. She handed Martinez her sketch pad. “I drew this. It only shows their faces in profile. It was the best I could do without them knowing.”

Martinez nodded. “Yes, the two men dressed in white. They have been following us since we left the hotel. I suspect they will continue to follow us, so this picture of their faces may be useful.” He tore off the top sheet, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

“Cabrera’s men?” Devlin asked.

“They are Abakua.” He pronounced the word Ahh-bah-quah. “This particular sect is unusual. They dress all in white and are known to work for State Security, which in itself is unusual. Normally, the Abakua shun the police and the government. Fortunately for us, these Abakua are not very good at their jobs.”

“What the hell is an Abakua?” Devlin asked.