ENCOMIENDA
Chapter 7
Suarez looked at the shoe, “We got both shoes for the pair. Things should get interesting now. I called the divers back to hook up the Toyota.” We watched the driver back the tow truck to the bank directly across from the float, which shuddered and shifted in the breeze like a tardy conscience. Suarez lit another cigarette and inhaled but expelled the smoke quickly.
We heard the low pulsing murmur of the motorboat and turned to the approaching sound. The two men were signaling. Suarez took another drag off his cigarette and with the exhalation said, “They found something.” We walked to the bank to where the boat was pushing in. The checker threw us a line and we hauled them in. The driver called Sam shouted, “We got a floater! Help us get him out!”
With the boat solidly on the bank, Suarez and I grabbed the shoulders of the drenched body dressed in jeans and T-shirt while the other two lifted its legs over the edge of the boat. The body without the spirit was surprisingly light. We propped the corpse up until they got out of the boat, hoisted its legs, and the four of us carried it to the sheeting, where we laid it down face up.
We stood and looked down at the body. It had carried a male human being. But it looked too old to have been one of the boys. Suarez said, “I’m not sure. I mean the water and rot could have done something to the skin, but this corpse looks to be middle-aged.”
I said, “Well, it doesn’t look like either of the boys anyway. It’s too thin to have been Paulie and too short to have been Nano.”
“Jesus, Mary. You mean we’ve got a third corpse on our hands?”
“I’m sure it’s not one of the boys.”
“Damn it!” He jerked out his cell phone and punched the numbers, flicking the cigarette into the canal at the end. He spoke into the phone. “Dorinda, we got a floater out at the canal site. Get us a medical examiner. Thanks.”
He turned to the boatmen. “Well, shit. Do you guys remember where you found him?”
Sam said, “We marked it.”
“Good. Okay, get your gear on and hook up the tow line.”
Behind me I heard a familiar voice say, “Cool.”
I turned and there was Iris in her jeans and orange sweatshirt. She had an excited look and was gazing at the corpse.
Suarez said, “Hey, this is a crime scene. You’ll have to leave.”
I said, “It’s all right, Lieutenant. She’s with me. Iris Dabney, meet Lieutenant Suarez. Iris is traveling with me.”
I walked over and said, “How the hell did you get out here?”
“Hitched, of course.”
“Well, you have to stay out of the way. Did you call your mother?”
“No, this is more interesting. Is that one of the boys?”
“No, too old.”
“Wow, another mystery.”
“Can you stay out of the way?”
“Sure,” she said without much conviction.
We watched the process. The tow truck lowered its chained cable into the water until nearly seventy feet of it was underwater. The divers went down. A quarter of an hour later, they bobbed up and gave the pull sign and swam to shore. The tow truck operator hit a lever and the winch creaked and turned. The cable drew taut and slowly began reeling in, the water popping off the cable from its jerking tension. In a few minutes the white top of the Samurai appeared, then the trunk, and then the whole car was sliding backward up the bank. Water spilled out from the car. When the rear of the car was slightly raised over the top of the bank, the operator reversed the lever and the winching stopped. He hopped into the cab and gunned the truck forward. The Samurai, slithered up and over the bank. The truck stopped. I noticed the driver-side door of the Samurai was dented.
Suarez and I went over and looked inside the Samurai. The interior was surprisingly clean. Some silt and detritus had settled in of course, but not as much as I would have guessed. The key was still in the ignition. No bodies were visible. Two battered suitcases lay in the back seat, one in the front. A cell phone was on the floorboard.
We walked around and looked at the passenger side of the car. The door was dented and scraped, which I would have thought to be the case. Suarez said, “Looks like you may be right. A rainy day. They slide, hit the dirt shoulder, begin to flip but the railing catches them and the car bangs, slides and splashes into the canal. It must have turned one full rotation in order to land on its wheels.”
“Maybe. Or it could’ve hit sideways and flipped upright before settling.”
“I suppose. Well, let me get the tag number. Don’t touch anything. This is our crime scene now. Why don’t you get some lunch? I’ll fill you in later.”
About then I heard the whup-whup-whup of a helicopter and looked up. The media had arrived. Channel 8’s crew was circling and slowly descending in their logo-emblazoned chopper. A cameraman with a video camera was shooting the crime scene. Suarez was trying to wave them away. He grabbed his cell phone and punched it furiously; over the din of the chopper, he yelled, “Dorinda, send some patrol officers out here! I need traffic control! The goddamn media is arriving!”
I decided that lunch suddenly seemed like the right idea. I led Iris quickly to my car and drove us north to the bridge back to the highway. As I turned onto the bridge, the medical examiner’s van was turning onto it from the highway. A mile away I saw two patrol cars, their lights flashing blue and red, barreling south on the highway. I turned south onto Highway 29, away from the madness, back toward Naples.
I found a restaurant with a bar and a television. We sat at a booth and ordered a seafood salad and iced tea. I was halfway through the salad when the news came on. The video was an overhead shot of the tow truck and the Samurai and a pan to the body on the plastic sheeting. The newscaster said, “This morning police investigators pulled a car and a body out of the canal along Highway 29. What the car and body were doing there has not yet been determined. We’ll keep you up to the minute on Naples’ up-to-the-minute news channel.”
I knew that the Miami stations would most likely pick up the story and the video feed for the evening news, so I got out my cell phone and called Señor Concepción. He answered after two rings. “Hello.”
“Señor Concepción, this is Buck Jaspers. We found Nano’s car.”
“Bueno. And the boys?”
“No, I’m sorry. But I want you to know because the media is out there, and there will probably be something on the news tonight. A body was found near the car, but it’s not Nano or Paulie. I saw it up close and can vouch for that.”
“Thank you. I guess that’s good news.”
“Well, it’s not bad news, but we still don’t know the end of the story. All we know is that the trip to Tampa stopped a little north of Alligator Alley. So, I’m going to stay here and see what else I can find out.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jaspers. Thank you. Err . . . should I come there?”
“Not yet, but there is something you can do. Inform Nano’s automobile insurer that the car has been found, was in an accident, and is totaled. The Collier County Sheriff’s Department will be filing a report on the vehicle. You could even videotape the bit on the news as evidence.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
Then I called the office. Caridad was on the job. “Hi, it’s me, just reporting in. I found the boys’ car.”
“And?”
“It went into a canal, but the boys weren’t in it, so I’m going to wait around here, get the police report, and try to figure out what angle to pursue next. Were you able to run any financials?”
“Just the bare essentials since both fathers work and live outside the States. Concepción looks solid; Menendez, too. Either could be a target for ransom. Up to a million dollars between them. Could that be a motive? Take the boys and ditch the car?”
“It could be if a ransom had been asked for, but it hasn’t. Is Ruben in?”
“Yes.”
“Switch me over.”
But Ruben had little to report. Yes, the Menendez family was against the Chavez administration, but Chavez has shown little stomach for revenge violence. He doubted a political connection. No weird lifestyle reports, although Menendez probably had a mistress – not uncommon for a wealthy South American businessman.
Iris said, “You work pretty hard.”
“Thanks. The sooner I solve a case, the more cost-efficient it is.”
“Why do regular cops seem so frantic?”
“I wasn’t aware they did.”
“They do to me.”
“Well, for one thing, they can’t pick and chose their cases. They have to handle every case that comes along, so they’re busier than private cops.”
“That makes sense.”
“Glad you approve. Call your Mom.”
“Later. She sleeps late anyway.” I let her return to the crime scene with me. At least I’d know where she was.
When we got back to the crime scene, the tow truck and Samurai and pick-up truck and boat and trailer and the Channel 8 helicopter were gone, the crime scene van and medical examiner van were pulling out. The uniformed officers and Suarez were heading toward their vehicles.
I honked and stopped next to Suarez. He looked tired. He said, “Hey, look, it’s getting late and I’m beat. I missed lunch. So, can I fill you in tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
He handed me his card. “Here, call me after 8:30.”
END of Chapter 7
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