Bluewater Betrayal: The Fifth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 5)

by Charles Dougherty

  O'Leary took another sip from his ice-filled glass and turned his thoughts to business. His instincts told him that his most important task was to eliminate the three women on Vengeance. There was no telling what Delorme had spilled to the one called Liz. Beyond being able to identify the senator, the Dulzuras woman couldn't do much damage, and that slick bastard could probably explain away his dalliance with her if he got caught.

  Jimmy Campbell, the man who ran their business in St. Vincent, would be here in the morning; he could take care of the two bodies in the walk-in refrigerator and keep an eye on things until they found somebody to replace Guy Leclerc. Satisfied that he had things in the proper perspective, he picked up the encrypted sat phone and called Ric.

  "O'Leary?"

  "Yeah, Ric. Your blood pressure back to normal?"

  "Up your ass, O'Leary. What do you want?"

  O'Leary laid out his priorities, and Ric grudgingly agreed.

  "So you're gonna take care of them broads yourself?"

  "Wouldn't miss it for anything."

  "How you gonna find 'em?"

  "I got a good source in customs in the U.S.V.I."

  "Uh-huh. You takin' some plastique with you? Probably easier to get in Martinique."

  "I don't need a bomb to kill three women. No point in attracting that kind of attention; I figure I'll take 'em sailing and enjoy their company for a little while."

  "Don't take too long; we gotta find somebody permanent for Martinique, and Dulzuras is like a time bomb."

  "She ain't likely to make trouble; she's got too much to lose."

  "It ain't that I think she'll stir up anything, O'Leary. Somebody else is lookin' for her, remember?"

  "Yeah, but whoever that is, they're probably gonna be distracted when I score them three babes on the boat."

  "Maybe, but let's don't risk it. You think Jimmy'll be okay in Marin?"

  "Yeah. He speaks good island French; he'll do fine for now."

  "He handle that guy that did Delorme?"

  "Funny thing. Jimmy said that fella was wanting more money for the hit on Delorme. Then he went fishin' and never came back. They found his boat 20 miles out, lines in the water, and a big tuna in the bilge, stinkin' to high heaven."

  "Did Jimmy do it?"

  "What do you think, Ric?"

  ****

  Paul had just finished a solo dinner and was studying the listings on a yacht-broker's website when the phone rang. He answered without checking the caller i.d. and was pleased to hear Dani's voice.

  "Where are you?" he asked.

  "Virgin Gorda."

  "Spanish Town?"

  "We were there yesterday; we're on a mooring off the resort in North Sound tonight. Why? You know Spanish Town?"

  "Not really; I'm just browsing the brokerage listings online, and I was looking at a boat that's in Spanish Town. What's on your mind?"

  "Okay if I put you on the speaker?" Dani asked.

  "Sure."

  "Connie and Liz are here. Can you hear us okay now?"

  "Yep."

  "I saw Gus Contreras on the TV news from Miami," Liz said. "He was at a ribbon-cutting for some new condo project with another man and a couple of women."

  "What news channel?"

  "I'm not sure; it was a Miami station. We were in the restaurant, and I could see the big TV in the bar, but I couldn't hear the sound. It was just a fleeting glance, but I'm sure it was Contreras -- or whatever his real name is."

  "Okay. That's a good lead. Anything else that might help me track down the video clip?"

  "Oh! Glad you asked; it wasn't a video clip. It was a still photograph, like a newspaper photo."

  "Black and white?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay. I'll get on it right away."

  "Hey, Paul?" Dani asked.

  "Yes?"

  "You in the market for a boat?"

  "I'm just starting to look. I listed Case Closed for sale the other day."

  "So what are you looking for?" Connie asked.

  "A cruising boat. I'm thinking I'd like to kick around down there in the islands for a while, so I want something a little bigger. The one I was looking at when you called sounds good, but who knows without looking?"

  "What is she?" Dani asked.

  "A 51-foot William Garden design, built in Taiwan in the late 70s. Way bigger than I need, but pretty. Lots of nice pictures, anyway."

  "A Formosa 51?" Dani asked.

  "It sounds like it, but they didn't say so," Paul agreed.

  "It could be okay, or not. Some of them weren't too bad; some were crap. Can't tell without seeing her. You said she's here?" Dani said.

  "In Virgin Gorda?" Connie interjected.

  "Yes. Paul said that before I put him on the speaker," Dani said.

  "Let's go look at it tomorrow," Connie said. "You know I'm planning to buy a boat, Paul."

  "I'd heard. I'm not sure how serious I am about that particular…"

  "Hey, it doesn't matter. We're here, and I'd like to get some practice at shopping while Dani and Liz can tell me what's what. Don't get me wrong; this one's yours. I won't buy it out from under you."

  Paul laughed at her enthusiasm. "I'm not worried. That would be great if you all want to do it. Back to Contreras; I probably won't have anything until late tomorrow. Why don't I call you when I hear something?"

  "Right. Sounds good," Liz said.

  "How do we find the boat?" Connie asked.

  "She's out of the water on stands in the yard at the marina in Spanish Town. Name's Escape. I don't know who the local broker is, though."

  "That won't be a problem," Dani said. "We'll find somebody. If she's for sale, there'll be somebody around to show her if we walk in and act interested."

  "Okay. Sounds reasonable. I'll call tomorrow evening. Good night, then," Paul said.

  "Goodnight, Paul," the three women said in chorus, as Dani disconnected the call.

  ****

  Paul smiled at the thought of the three women checking out the boat. They were far too young and pretty for a typical crusty old yacht-broker to take them seriously, but he was sure they wouldn't have any trouble finding someone willing to spend lots of time with them. He chuckled at his memory of Liz's tale of how badly the broker had misread Dani when she was looking at Vengeance. He hoped for this broker's sake that he didn't underestimate them.

  Turning back to his PC, he typed in the web address for the Miami Herald and went to the Business tab. A search for 'new condo development' produced a long list of links to articles. He clicked the one with the most recent date. A black and white photograph filled the top half of his screen in a few seconds, with columns of text below the caption. The caption told him everything he wanted to know. "Sol Levine, well known developer of high-end, luxury properties, and Senator Peter Davidson, R-FL, with his wife, Mary, and Ms. Joan White, Vice President of Marketing for Levine Properties." The only question was which of the two men was Contreras. He printed the article to a PDF file and attached it to an email to Dani and Liz, asking if Liz could identify one of the men as Contreras.

  "That was too easy," he muttered to himself as he dialed their sat phone number. The call was intercepted by a 'subscriber not available' announcement, so Paul left a voicemail explaining what he needed. He reasoned that they would probably have to go ashore to get a good enough Internet connection to download the article anyway, so there wasn't much more that he could do this evening. He went back to browsing through the online yacht listings, thinking about Connie Barrera.

  He had met her briefly when he was in Martinique a few weeks ago helping to apprehend the crooks who had been chasing her after she had blundered into their money-laundering operation. She was a real Latina beauty, with glistening, wavy, shoulder-length black hair and big dark eyes that a man could fall into. Only his veneer of professionalism had kept him from making a fool of himself immediately when they were introduced. He had quickly been swept into the action with Dani and Phillip, and his ti
me had been cut short before he had a chance to get to know Connie. It was clear to him that she had formed a solid friendship with Dani and Liz, though, and that spoke well of her in his view. He had learned from Phillip that she was planning to buy a yacht and go into the charter business. Realizing that he had been staring at the screen without seeing it, he shrugged and switched off the computer. Maybe he should fly down to the Virgins and help her look at yachts, he thought, as he got ready for bed.

  Chapter 24

  Liz took her iPad from her purse and sat down at an unoccupied table in the coffee shop at the resort while Dani and Connie were at the counter ordering coffee and pastries for their breakfast. Liz found the free Wi-Fi connection and downloaded her email, going directly to the one Paul Russo had mentioned in last night's voicemail. While she was waiting for the PDF attachment to open, Connie put a tray down on the table and passed her a cafe au lait and some kind of heavy, sticky sweet roll.

  "We're definitely out of the realm of French pastries," Connie remarked as she sat down.

  "Get that email from Paul okay?" Dani asked, pulling out a chair.

  "Yes. I'm just waiting for the attachment. There it is. Same picture. That's definitely the guy who called himself Contreras."

  Dani and Connie stood up and crowded behind Liz, peering over her shoulder.

  "Which one?" Connie asked.

  Liz pointed. "Senator Peter Davidson."

  "No wonder he was traveling incognito," Dani said.

  "Not bad looking, if you like that type," Connie said.

  "Neither's his wife," Liz added. "Let's call Paul."

  Dani took the sat phone out of her pocket and turned it on. Glancing at the screen, she said, "Let's eat first. We're an hour ahead of him; give him a chance to wake up and get a cup of coffee."

  Liz nodded and picked at her sweet roll with a plastic fork. "Yuck! Nothing like an English copy of a French pastry." She pushed it aside and picked up her coffee.

  "What's the story on Paul?" Connie asked.

  Dani looked at her for a moment before answering. "We just met him about the time we bought Vengeance," she said. "He's a friend of my godfather's."

  "Who's your godfather?"

  "His name's Mario Espinosa. He lives in Miami, and he and my father were business partners since before I was born. He's kind of retired, like Papa, but he's got connections all over the place. He has a regular group of friends that gets together for lunch in Little Havana every week; Paul's part of that crowd."

  "He's a cop?"

  "Retired. He's some kind of special Federal Marshal; guess he was appointed back when he was working. That means he can serve arrest warrants aboard U.S. flagged vessels in international waters. That's how he came to meet us. He's helped Phillip and us out a couple of times now, besides that mess you were in with Alfano,"

  "He looks pretty young to be retired," Connie said.

  Dani shrugged. "I don't know. I guess he must be about Phillip's age."

  "Nice guy," Liz added.

  "Married?" Connie asked.

  Liz gave her a hard look this time. "Why?"

  Connie smiled. "Just making conversation."

  "He never mentioned a wife," Dani said.

  "Yeah, but neither did Contreras -- erm, Davidson," Liz said.

  "It's 7:30 in Miami. Let's call him and see if a woman answers," Dani said, punching a button on the phone.

  Paul answered, leaving them to wonder about the presence or absence of a female companion. They took care of their business with him, finished breakfast, and caught a taxi to the boatyard in Spanish Town.

  ****

  Paul finished his breakfast before he called Luke Pantene to ask about Peter Davidson. He caught his old partner on his way out of the office, headed for the scene of a fresh homicide. Luke suggested that Paul call Maggie O'Malley, a freelance journalist who covered local politics.

  "But he's a U.S. Senator," Paul protested.

  "Maggie'll know all about him. Trust me; she's my go-to gal for politicians. I gotta run." He rattled off a phone number and disconnected.

  Paul dialed the number, surprised when it was answered on the first ring.

  "Maggie O'Malley," croaked a voice that conjured up images of whiskey and cigarettes.

  "Hello, Luke Pantene suggested…"

  He was interrupted by a barrage of explosive coughs, quickly muffled by a hand clapped over the mouthpiece. He waited for a moment, wondering what she looked like while her coughing fit subsided. He decided that if her appearance matched her voice, he might not want to know…

  "Sorry 'bout that. Damn cigarettes; wish I could quit. No, I don't, either. You were saying?"

  "Yes. I'm Paul Russo; I used to be Luke Pantene's partner. He suggested that I call you."

  "Ahem," she coughed softly. "Dammit. Gets better after a few cups of coffee. I remember you. Handsome Italian boy. You were Luke's boss, weren't you?"

  "I'm retired."

  "Yeah, sure. Me, too. What can I do for you?"

  "I'm looking for some background on Senator Peter Davidson."

  "There a story here?"

  "I thought you were retired."

  "Until I find the next big one."

  "Okay. I don't know yet, but there might be. Heard something about a yacht and a stripper down in the islands, but I haven't got details yet. He connected to Sol Levine?"

  "Maybe. Yacht and a stripper, huh? They never learn. Wanna buy a retired hack breakfast and let's see what we can work out?"

  "Sounds good. Pick your place."

  She gave him the address of a notorious greasy spoon in a rough neighborhood near City Hall.

  ****

  They found Escape without difficulty. She was wedged in among a number of other boats in a corner of the yard that was clearly devoted to long-term storage. Dani led the way through the dried mud, stepping over all manner of rusting junk, until they were standing below the boat's bowsprit.

  "She needs some serious TLC," Liz said, looking up at the dingy, faded vessel.

  "At least," Dani agreed. "She's not going to command a premium for cosmetics. That's for sure."

  Connie stood on tip-toe to reach the side of the hull above the chipped, dark blue paint stripe of the waterline. She ran a finger over the dull white finish and examined her fingertip. "Is that paint?" she asked, looking at the chalky dust.

  "Probably," Dani said. "just based on her age, she's almost certainly been painted at least once. The unpainted gelcoat doesn't last that long down here."

  "Either way, she needs paint," Liz said, looking up at the strips of varnish that were peeling away from the teak along the toe rail. "The teak needs some attention, too."

  "Is this pretty bad?" Connie asked.

  "Not necessarily. It's just cosmetic; varnishing the teak is a continuous maintenance task, and you can figure on painting every ten years, give or take." Dani was walking around the hull, sighting along the various surfaces as she talked. "There are no obvious signs of serious collision damage. At first glance, the hull looks sound."

  "It looks pretty discouraging to me," Connie said.

  "If we hauled Vengeance and left her sitting in the yard like this for a couple of years with no attention, she'd look the same way. There's nothing here that says 'walk away' yet."

  "Good morning, ladies!" A man dressed in neat, casual attire appeared from around the bow of the adjacent boat. "Are you interested in Escape?" he asked, in a soft voice with a touch of a British accent. He smiled at his little joke.

  "Possibly," Connie said. "I'm beginning to shop for a boat, and also a friend of ours in Miami is in the market. He found Escape on the Internet and we were here, so we decided to take a look."

  "I see. I'm Harold Jenner; most folks call me Harry. I listed Escape last year. I can show her, if you like."

  Connie looked at Dani, who nodded slightly. "That would be nice," Connie said.

  "I'll have to go back to the office and get the keys."

  "We'l
l walk with you," Dani said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get a copy of the listing so that we can share it with Paul, our friend in Miami."

  "Sure. That's no problem. Are you ladies staying at one of the resorts on the island? I saw you get out of a taxi."

  "No. We're here on a boat. I'm Dani Berger, and this is my partner, Liz Chirac. We own and run Vengeance. She's…"

  "A beautiful thing," Harry interrupted. I saw her at anchor here the other day. "Herreshoff, isn't she?"

  "A replica of his Bounty," Dani agreed. "Thank you, Harry." She extended her hand.

  He smiled and nodded as he shook her hand. "Liz," he said, shaking hands with her as well, and turned to Connie.

  "Connie's our friend, and she has Vengeance on a term charter while she's looking."

  "Nice way to shop for a boat," he said as he took Connie's hand.

  "What's the story on Escape?" Connie asked, as they walked back to the office.

  "Oh, pretty standard. An American husband and wife retired and sold up; they were looking for a boat that was 'big enough to live on.' Kills me when couples say that. It always spells doom. No sailing experience, so they couldn't imagine living on anything smaller than 60 or 70 feet, but the broker talked them down to 50. They didn't have a clue about what they were getting into. Spent a fortune fixing her up for 'offshore' work, and then took her down the Intracoastal Waterway from the Chesapeake to Florida. They made it down through the Bahamas to Luperon and then Puerto Rico before they got here. They barely even sailed overnight -- let alone 'offshore.' Never out of sight of land. The woman missed her grandchildren, so they put the boat on the hard for a trip home, and they haven't been back since. Happens a lot. Boat's in great shape; needs a little paint and varnish. She'd be perfect for running charters; lots of room, wide screen TV, microwave. The interior will knock your socks off."

  He ushered them into an office and opened a file cabinet, flipping through the folders for a moment. "Here we go. Let me just burn you a copy of the listing." He pulled three sheets out of the folder, dropped them in the sheet feeder on a copy machine and punched a button. "I'll just get the keys while that thing warms up", he said, stepping into an adjacent, closet-sized room for a moment.