“Lucky for you,” Bruce said. His beer arrived and he took a long sip. “Anything interesting?” he added, giving the phone a glance.
“Not really. He sent some texts the morning he disappeared. One phone call. And this,” Cassidy showed him the home screen photo.
“Who’s that?” Bruce asked, taking a long pull from his beer.
“No idea,” Cassidy said.
“Huh,” Bruce said.
“It doesn’t make sense. He hits the beach at sunrise and immediately hooks up with a girl?” Cassidy said. She thought for a moment, then turned to Bruce, who was gazing out over the pool. “Tell me again the sequence of events. You guys came into port just like we did, after surfing. Did he go ashore with the group?”
“Yep, he drove the launch and dropped us off.”
“He didn’t come ashore?”
Bruce shook his head. “He had stuff to do on the boat.” Bruce shrugged. “Nothing odd about that. It was his job.”
“Did you see him on land at all during your trip? Did he stay at a hotel?”
Bruce laughed. “He stayed on the boat. Hotels aren’t cheap, and I certainly didn’t pay for a room for him.”
Cassidy frowned at the photo of Reeve holding the girl. “So he came ashore the next morning, but not to pick you guys up,” she reasoned. “For some other purpose.” She paused. “To meet this girl?”
“Could she have been a chica?” Benita asked. “Everything’s done online these days. There are websites. He could have gone to one, picked her, and then met her at a designated time and place.”
Cassidy shuddered. “Maybe?” She remembered the shaggy-looking man from across the hall in Reeve’s apartment. Sometimes we party with the girls. She tried to imagine Reeve clicking an image on a website, then taking that person to a hotel room. “But why at dawn and not the night before? Why take a picture of her?”
“She’s a looker. Maybe he wanted to share it with all his buddies. That’s a thing, by the way. It’s like a trophy. He could have posted it on Snapchat or Instagram.” Benita paused. “Though usually the girl is wearing less clothing.”
“Ugh.” Cassidy’s stomach churned at the thought of something so demeaning. Was Reeve that kind of person? He had always been so passionate about things like fairness and freedom and even entertained conspiracy theories about the U.S. government meddling in places where they shouldn’t. He was the kind of person who believed the myth about the first moon landing being a hoax. That was where Cassidy would step in with evidence to the contrary, and their debates would get heated.
Why would Reeve hire a prostitute and then want to boast about it? And what about the girlfriend back in Tamarindo he was so crazy about? “Why is she smiling?” Cassidy asked, staring at the woman’s face.
“She’s about to get paid,” Benita said in a low voice. “What’s this number, the pimp?” Benita asked, pointing to the WhatsApp call history.
Cassidy forced herself to think like an investigator. “Maybe.”
“Did he call it before or after the photo was taken?”
Cassidy checked the record. “Two minutes after.”
Benita sat in thought for a moment. “Huh. It doesn’t really match up.” She shook her head. “Try calling it.”
“The number?”
Benita shrugged. “Why not?”
“With my phone or his?”
“Try his.”
Cassidy looked to Bruce for input. “Definitely his,” he said. He had a strange look on his face.
“What?” Cassidy asked.
“Just . . . ” He sighed. “Be careful, okay? Nicaragua can be a sort of . . . a free economy, if you know what I mean.” He took in Cassidy’s look of confusion. “Calling that number might set off a shit storm. And forget about the police being helpful in this. They’re part of that free economy too.”
“I wondered about that,” Benita said. “The officer sure had a nice watch. And the woman’s purse looked like an Adolfo Dominguez. I figured it was a knock-off, but maybe not.”
“Okay,” Cassidy said, her gut flipping over. “So should I call?”
Benita shrugged. “It’s his phone, so it’s not like whoever answers will know it’s you.”
“Right.” Cassidy took a deep breath then tapped the call button. She put the phone to her ear. The number rang and rang.
“No answer?” Benita said.
Cassidy ended the call and sighed.
“You said he had a history of drug use. Could it have been a dealer?” Benita asked.
Cassidy swallowed a lump of anguish. She knew Benita could be right. “That’s a thing too, isn’t it? Get high before you have sex.” She closed her eyes. “I’m not cut out for this,” she said, putting the phone down.
“Maybe take a break for a bit,” Benita said, ordering her another drink. “Go for a dip in the pool. Get a massage. Put it out of your mind for a while. I’ll take a look at it in the meantime. Go on.” She unwrapped her pareo and draped it over the back of a lounge chair, then jumped into the pool.
“Do you know where the Uno gas station is?” Cassidy asked Bruce, ignoring Benita’s advice.
Bruce thought for a moment. “Yep, just on the edge of the downtown.”
“That’s where they found the phone.”
“You want to go there,” Bruce said, after a long sip from his beer.
Cassidy put the phone face down on the bar. “Maybe someone knows something,” she said, sipping from the fresh drink Benita had ordered her. “Around the same time that Reeve disappeared, a person was stabbed there.”
“Not Reeve, though.”
Cassidy shook her head.
“You’re worried he was involved?”
Cassidy nodded. “I mean, back in Tamarindo he assaulted a taxi driver. What if something like that happened here? Only it didn’t end in him paying a fine.”
Bruce tapped the bar top with his middle finger, then glanced at her. “Reeve didn’t come across as violent.”
“No weird behavior? He wasn’t twitchy? Or spacey? Quick to fly off the handle?”
“No,” Bruce said.
“You didn’t notice anything
