“No, no. There was more to the man than he let you see.”
“What didn’t I see?” she asked, recalling her own misgivings of the night before when standing in Estaban’s living room.
“Best let sleeping dogs lay, Qui,” he said softly.
“If it has anything to do with my case…”
“No, nothing to do with your case.”
“Where do you get your information?”
“A word here…a word there…keep my ears open…”
“An informant, I know.”
“Then you know to whom I report.”
“My boss, yes. I surmised as much.”
“He keeps me informed, I keep him informed. It works out.”
“If you’ve spoken to him this morning, then you must know about Tino.”
“Tino? What about Hilito?”
Always a cop, Qui skirted the direct question for one of her own. “When’s last time you saw Tino, Uncle?”
JZ stood nearby, interested in their conversation but smart enough to let Qui lead this dance.
“Just last night.”
“Sunday night.”
“Came down here to the boat. Had one of those valises with him. Called it an evidence kit. Said he had to give the boat a final once over before it could be released.”
“Did he, really?”
“Joked about it.”
“Seemed a little nervous, but I didn’t take a lot of notice. Hell, I was half asleep.”
“He must’ve planted the lock on the boat then. But why? What was poor Tino involved in?”
Estrada raised his shoulders in response. “It is curious.”
“Even more curious now that Tino is dead.”
“ Dead? Impossible! I just saw him, I tell you! Only hours ago on this very boat!”
Qui began to pace. She then turned on Estrada and demanded, “How did those men firing at us know we’d be here? Did you keep your promise? You told no one about the lock?”
“No one.”
“Not even Gutierrez? He’d pay handsomely for such-”
“I honor my promises, Qui.” He didn’t hesitate, although he’d attempted to reach Gutierrez first, she didn’t need to know this, he rationalized. “How…how did Tino…you know…die?”
“Made to look like a suicide,” she replied.
“Where?”
“In his home.”
“Bullet through the mouth,” said JZ. “Lotta cops end it that way, and we’re thinking this is why they set it up as they did. Make him look like just another statistic.” JZ then asked if he might help himself to a cup of coffee. Estrada assured him there was plenty. “And you, Qui?” added JZ, now holding up the half empty pot.
“Yes-please! With sugar.”
“Mugs here and sugar in the canister,” grunted Estrada uneasily. The news of Hilito’s death atop Montoya’s hadn’t set well. “What’s gonna happen to my crew when they hear about Tino?” he mused aloud. “They’re gonna disappear.”
“Yeah,” agreed Giraldo, “who wants to work a cursed ship?”
“Boss, you can count on me,” Adondo piped in. “If our Sanabela is so cursed, how is it still afloat?”
Giraldo raised his shoulders and replied, “That’s a good point.”
Estrada said, “You two, not a single word of any of this to the crew, understood?”
Both crewmen nodded.
Silence settled over the pilothouse. Following a run on the coffeepot, Estrada busied himself making a fresh pot, and soon there wafted about them the enticing scent of fresh coffee in sharp contrast to the sense of tension hanging unspoken in the air.
“Uncle Estrada, I am sorry to tell you this, but I am commandeering your trawler.”
“What? What?” Estrada’s face bled white. “No-no-no! You can’t do this! I forbid it! Does Gutierrez know this? I can’t-we can’t-lose another day of fishing!”
“The state will make recompense.”
“So now you treat me like some insignificant peasant on my own boat- again?”
“Uncle, I need your cooperation.”
“You’re police now, PNR. You can demand my cooperation, so why’re you asking?”
She gritted her teeth. “I’d rather have your help come voluntarily than against your will.”
He frowned, considering this.
“Your help may get us the answers we need to solve this string of murders.”
That seemed to sum it up entirely-he’d recognized the lock and guessed that Quiana’d need more answers than the best of detectives could possibly uncover in Havana. Sighing heavily, Estrada replied, “I know, Lieutenant, I know. The Sanabela, she is yours.”
Always one to take action when under pressure, Qui asked Giraldo, an ex-diving instructor whom she’d known for some years, about his latest dives. Soon she had him pinpoint his favorite dive sites around Cuba. As they talked over the nautical charts, she asked, “What is the distance and fastest sea route to the dive sites at Santiago de Cuba?”
Quick to note the tension in her voice, Giraldo paused and pointedly stared at her, “There is good diving off the coast near Santiago,” Giraldo said as he worked, “but there’re also treacherous waters there.”
It sounded like a forewarning to Qui. She shuddered inwardly. Take an old shrimper all the way to Santiago de Cuba? What am I thinking?
Giraldo turned back to the chart and pointed out the two nautical paths, mentioning the pros and cons of each route, one on the northeast Cuban coast, the other on the southwest side, windward as opposed to leeward.
As Qui and Giraldo discussed routes, Estrada turned to JZ and quietly asked, “No one wants to discuss the lock yet, eh?”
“No, I think not yet,” replied JZ. “You have it in a safe place?”
Estrada pointed to his coffee mug at the coffee cabinet. “Back of the coffee can.”
JZ saluted with his cup, “For safekeeping.”
“How much danger are we in, Senor Zayas, any idea?” asked Estrada.
“Call me JZ Captain. May I call you Luis?”
“Yes. Especially since we’re all in this together now.” Estrada sighed as he lifted his mug.
JZ nodded. “I’m not sure how much danger we’re in. But, someone wanted us here on the Sanabela.”
“The SP maybe?”
“Yes, if Qui is right.”
“Damn, she thinks so, too? We are cursed then! Those three dead foreigners will be the death of us all.” Luis rubbed his face, looking even more tired and agitated.
“Do you have weapons aboard?”
Estrada hesitated.
Noting Luis’s reluctance, JZ encouraged with, “Look whether legal or not, we might need those weapons. Qui and I only have our handguns, not much use at a distance. So please, if you carry arms, show me where they are.”
Turning to Giraldo, he continued, “Show JZ where they’re stowed.” Shaking his head at Qui, Zayas turned and followed the two men out of the pilothouse.
Well out at sea now and having overheard the conversations, Adondo had headed the Sanabela southwest in the direction of Pinar del Rio. He smiled in satisfaction that he’d guessed correctly what was going to happen next. “Lieutenant, I’ve turned our heading for Santiago, the southern route.”
