Gail studied his profile past the rim of black hair— curved nose, rounded jaw. She had never seen an Indian male's face so close. If he had to shave more than once a week it was only because his grandfather was white. Renee must have been fascinated.
"How did you become friends with my sister?"
He turned slightly. The light shifted on his hair, a blue-black shimmer that caught the silver in it. "I met her at the museum, got to know her."
"Before you saw her, did you know she worked there?"
"Irene might have mentioned it. Yeah. I think she told me her daughter was a volunteer."
He lies so well, Gail thought. "Tell me about her. What was Renee like then?"
"A hard question. How do we know what's in another person's head?" He leaned his elbows on the railing and seemed to study the purple hyacinths floating in the slough. "The first time we talked, we got into a conversation about legends and myths and religion, which I know something about because I studied it."
"In college?"
"Out west. And I've studied on my own, as well. We had some pretty good discussions. She liked to talk about spirit, about separating your spirit from the world, the pure from the evil. I told her you can't. They're inseparable, like light and shadow. You have to accept both of them."
"She was arrested for trafficking in cocaine. Did she tell you that?"
"Yes. I told her she took risks because she was afraid of death, and she wanted to see if she could touch it and survive."
"Did she say anything about who she was involved with?" He didn't answer and Gail began to wonder if she had only thought the question in her head. She added, "Did she say whose boat it was?"
"A friend of hers. She didn't say who. She said he didn't know she'd gone and he was mad as hell when he found out. I don't know whose it was."
"Could it have been Carlos Pedrosa?"
Another silence. He seemed to be trying to figure out how much to say.
"You knew he was her lover," Gail said. Jimmy nodded.
"And her source for cocaine, before she got off it?" His expression did not contradict her. "What did Renee tell you about him?"
"Not a lot. Cuban builder." Jimmy walked further into the shade, then sat in the lawn chair, extending his legs in front of him. He wore slip-on blue canvas shoes, still sandy from the alligator pit. "She was going to have his baby."
"I heard." Gail turned her head to watch the heron wading in the shallows. "Did she want to marry him?"
"No. They weren't seeing each other so much before she died. Her decision."
"How did he feel about that?"
''Not too good, from what she told me. He wanted her to get rid of the baby, they could go on the way they had. She wasn't sure. I told her to keep it. I said it was a way of starting over with her own daughter, a new life."
"Why do you say it was a daughter?"
He raised one shoulder in a shrug. "Because it was."
"What else do you know about Carlos Pedrosa?" she asked.
"Less than you know, probably."
"Do you think he's capable of murder?"
Jimmy Panther tented his fingers, tapped them against his chin. "If he was pushed."
Gail took a chance. "Edith saw you with Carlos and Renee in the reading room at the Historical Museum about six weeks before Renee died."
Jimmy Panther said, "More from Edith Newell."
"What were you doing?"
He continued to look at her without expression, then said, "He was interested in Florida history. Renee brought him to talk to me."
"What about?"
"Various things. The Spanish period, mostly."
His answers were getting shorter, Gail noticed. "You spent a lot of time in the reading room. What were you studying?' '
"History. Indians. I'm planning a cultural museum out here. It pays to know something about my own culture."
"Which? Miccosukee or Tequesta?"
He let his clasped hands down on his lap. "Seems like we're back to the mask."
"Why did Renee have it in her closet?" Gail asked.
"I told you. She was showing it to shops in the Grove."
Gail laughed, and surprise flickered across his face, then vanished. She said, "Oh, come on. You knew how valuable it was. I'm surprised you ever let it out of your sight. You said your grandmother made it. No. Not true. Not even true that your grandmother kept it under her bed. I think you found it in a burial mound, perhaps courtesy of our unwitting county archaeologist."
Jimmy Panther's impassive stare was his only reply.
"It's not easy to sell pre-Columbian artifacts you take out of the ground," Gail said. "It's highly illegal. They belong to the state. You need someone with connections. Someone you can trust. Like Renee. The girl with a reputation. Renee knew all kinds of people, including Carlos Pedrosa. You lent Renee the mask so she could show it to him. So far, so good?"
Jimmy didn't answer. The air was heavy, no wind coming through the trees. She could hear a jet high overhead.
"But Carlos wouldn't have been interested if there were just one artifact. How many masks are there? Or pots. Or whatever. There had to be enough to make it worth his while. Then, before a buyer could be found, Carlos and Renee argued. She wanted out. She knew things that could ruin him. He killed her. And the mask was still in her closet."
Gail lifted her hands, let them fall. "Maybe he killed her. Maybe they even fought over the Tequesta mask. I think he had his motives, but I can't prove anything."
"Good for you if he did."
"Yes," Gail said. "Good if he did."
"You've got some interesting theories," he said.
She pushed away from the railing, stood looking down at him in the chair. "Jimmy, I'm not trying to get you in trouble with the state archaeologists. I'll make Edith Newell swear the mask never existed. You can have it and no one will know. Look, my attorney is going to contact you about all this, but I want to hear it for myself. I want you to tell me about Carlos Pedrosa."
After a few seconds he asked, "What do you mean about Renee knowing things to ruin Carlos?"
"He was embezzling from his grandfather. She helped him hide it."
"Yeah. She said he was in trouble and she wanted to help him out." Jimmy Panther looked up at Gail, his eyes going into slits in the sunlight. "She let people use her. Carlos for one. Before she died, though, she was doing some heavy thinking. She was angry. You could look at her and see it. You could stand next to her and feel the heat pouring off. She was mad at somebody, that's for sure. I knew something would happen, but I didn't know what."
Gail moved out of the way when he rose to his feet. He wasn't a tall man, but broad, the faded T-shirt snug across his chest.
He said, "Okay. Carlos was going to find a buyer. I got the mask where I told you, from my family. Where they found it, I don't know. It hasn't got anything to do with Renee dying that I can see. I never heard her and Carlos disagree about it."
"What are you going to do if I give it back to you? Let him sell it?"
"No. That deal is off. It was never meant to be. There was disharmony with Carlos Pedrosa. Maybe that's one reason Renee died, you never know. I feel bad about that."
Gail said, "Would you consider donating the mask to the museum?"
Jimmy smiled again, shook his head, the light glinting off his hair. "Tell Edith Newell it belongs to us. The people out here, where it came from. We won't let it go again."
In the parking lot, the cardboard box on a mildewed picnic table under the trees, Gail opened the flaps. She turned back the bubble wrap and cotton batting that Edith had put inside. The Tequesta mask was nested in the center. She pulled it out carefully, blowing away some dust on its forehead. In places the dark red surface still gleamed, remnants of a rich patina.
Jimmy traced the crescent on the deer's forehead. "That means it's a peaceful creature," he said. "The ones that eat flesh, like the bobcat or panther, they have lightning over their eyes." He made a jagge
d motion with one finger.
Gail gave the deer's face one last look—flaring ears, gently rounded eyes—then tucked it back into the box and handed it to Jimmy Panther.
Twenty-Two
Miriam came into Gail's office with some phone messages and went out again. Gail flipped through them.
Edith Newell from museum, has more info. Do you want to renew your Film Festival
membership early for next year? Call Anthony Quintana.
Gail returned to her book, Volume 403 of The Southern Reporter. She was drafting a cross-reply brief for an appeal. Insurance underwriter bitching about a three-million-dollar judgment. Subsidiary company wanting a share. Gail wished she could throw it all out her window and watch the pages spin and flutter to the street. If her window weren't caulked and screwed shut.
She tossed her pen onto a stack of research notes and looked at the messages again. Call Anthony Quintana.
He had called twice yesterday and she hadn't called back. The memories of him and Renee were too close to the surface. He had lied to her about that. A lie by omission. She turned the piece of paper facedown, feeling as though she had just run up a flight of stairs. Whatever he wanted, he could wait.
She checked her watch. Eleven-thirty. Ray Hammell should be back from court.
He wasn't, and his associate was with a client. She asked to speak to his law clerk.
When Alisha came on, Gail said, ' 'I meant to call yesterday afternoon and got busy. You guys don't have to bother showing photos of Carlos Pedrosa to Edith Newell. He was the man at the museum. Jimmy Panther says so."
"What'd you do, go talk to this Indian on your own?"
"Tell Ray I couldn't help myself. Jimmy also confirms Carlos was the father of Renee's baby. Carlos wanted her to have an abortion, and apparently they argued about it."
"Ooh. Ray's gonna like that."
"I thought so. Jimmy will talk to him. But I don't think the Tequesta mask had anything to do with Renee's death. How about Betty Diaz? Any news on her?"
"We're looking," Alisha said. "We had someone keep an eye on her over the weekend. Carlos was nowhere to be seen. There's nothing going on between those two, far as we can tell. I think Ray's going to give it another week or so, then drop a subpoena on her."
"Maybe she's a good liar."
Alisha laughed. "You never heard Ray get hold of somebody. I'll give you the deposition transcript, you remind me."
"What about that boat, La Sirena? I want to hear some more good news," Gail said. "Tell me it belonged to Carlos."
"It didn't. I just got the phone call on that an hour ago. Hang on, let me find my notes." There was the clunk of a phone hitting a desk. A while later, pages turning. Alisha said, "The boat was seized and forfeited to the state ... Okay, here it is. The owner was Nelson Restrepo, a Colombian with an office in Panama, doing business— if you can call it that—in South Florida. They would've brought him in, but he'd already left the country. Jumped bail on a bank fraud charge."
Gail leaned way back in her chair. "Oh. My my."
"My my what?"
“Is this the same Nelson Restrepo who was on trial for cocaine trafficking a few years ago? It's not exactly a common name."
There was a pause. "Gee, I don't know. I wasn't down here then. Why?"
"Something else for you to mention to Ray Hammell. Restrepo was a client of Anthony Quintana."
"Is that so?"
"This is getting complicated. Tell Ray—" Gail's laugh trailed off.
"Tell him what?" Alisha prodded.
"I don't know what to think of this."
"You're on trial for murder, you don't have to think. Let Ray figure it out."
Gail said, "The boat was seized just south of Bill Baggs State Park. That's on Key Biscayne. Anthony lives there. He has a dock in his backyard."
"Uh-huh."
"And they—Anthony and my sister had an affair last year. Did he mention that to Ray?"
"Nope. Or if he did, Ray didn't tell me about it. They've had some fairly long discussions about your case, but I don't think this little item came up."
Gail traced through her eyebrow with a forefinger, smoothed it down again, wondering if Anthony had told Ray Hammell why he had withdrawn from the case. Ray, no puedo. I can't do it, man, because your client had her face in my lap and her hand on my zipper.
"Gail, you still there?"
"Yes. I'll talk to Ray about this later. Tomorrow. We have an appointment at four o'clock."
Gail picked up Anthony's message again, then held it over the trash can. She had learned not to believe in coincidences. She didn't know what was going on exactly, but something was. Son of a bitch. He had been lying about more than Renee.
She scanned the message about the Film Festival. No point in buying tickets for a week of foreign films. The warden wouldn't let her out to see them. She crumpled the slip of paper.
She frowned at the message from Edith Newell. More info? She got her purse out of her desk drawer. Might as well walk down to the museum, maybe grab a sandwich on the plaza. Besides, she had some info for Edith. The Tequesta mask wasn't coming back.
Edith Newell pushed her glasses up and squeezed the bridge of her nose. She gave a long sigh and took her hand away. Her glasses dropped back into place.
She said, "I suppose you had to. I apologize for snapping at you, dear. God knows I might have done the same thing, in your position." She rolled back from her desk, the wheels on her chair squeaking. "Never mind. I said I'd help you and I will. Come on." She glanced at her watch—a man's Timex with a stretchy gold band. "I've got a few minutes before I'm due at the Conservancy."
They made their way along the corridors in the basement, then up the stairs to the lobby, Edith favoring her bad leg, grumping at Gail's suggestion that they use the elevator.
Edith explained about requests for copies. Up until the first of the year, when a new operations manager had put a coin-operated copy machine into the reading room, anybody who wanted copies had to fill out a form and give it to a staff member.
"Then they'd have to wait for the person to go downstairs and make copies in the office," Edith said. "A quarter a page."
Gail held the door to the reading room and followed Edith inside. Several high school students sat at the long tables with open boxes of old photographs. The noise level dropped when they saw Edith.
Edith spoke close to Gail's ear. "I found a whole drawer full of receipts in our bookkeeper's office, going back since we opened. Imagine keeping such trash. Well, what's a museum for, I ask you. Anyway, the name of the person wanting the copies would usually be on the receipts, and sometimes what was being copied. Sometimes not."
They walked along the rows of bookshelves and filing cabinets to the rear of the reading room, where two microfiche machines sat under gray plastic dustcovers.
Gail said, "You found Jimmy Panther's name."
"Indeed. The first notation was two and a half years ago." Edith led Gail to a metal cabinet with wide, shallow drawers. "I looked for what he wanted copies of. There must have been more that no one thought to jot down, but here's what I found, all noted within the last year. I stuck them in here."
She gestured for Gail to move out of the way, then opened the top drawer, which slid smoothly out on rollers. Inside were maps and four plastic zipper bags. Edith laid the bags on top of the cabinet. Two contained yellowed pamphlets, one a faded paperbound report of some kind, and the last a single sheet, its edges crumbling. All the bags had numbers on them. Filing codes.
"These two here—" Edith slid the pamphlets closer "—are requests to the U.S. Congress dated 1833 and 1836 for additional money for a survey of the great swamp. That was before it was called the Everglades. There's a tiny reference in both of them to locating Spanish gold supposedly removed by the Tequesta Indians from the ship Santo Espíritu in 1732."
Edith held out the bagged sheet of paper. ''This is from an 1872 surveyor's report," she said. "Josiah Tinsley describing
ancient Indian encampments on hardwood hammocks—islands—in the east Everglades." She whisked the sheet away and replaced it with the report, bound in faded blue paper. "And this. An 1878 U.S. Army Corps of Engineers geological survey, same area. Water levels. Ground elevation. This is before they started cutting in all those drainage ditches and canals. It's mostly dry land now."
Edith rolled out the drawer again. "Look. Maps." She closed it, opened the next. "This cabinet is full of maps, top to bottom. Road maps, survey, Army maps—" Bracing herself, she came up slowly from slamming the bottom drawer shut. "Accessible to anybody. And yes, several people saw him back here looking through these drawers."
"Lost Spanish treasure buried in the Everglades?" Gail gave Edith a sideways glance. "And Jimmy Panther was trying to find it."
"Oh, who knows what he was really doing?" Edith stacked the plastic bags and handed them to Gail. "Here. If you want to, run downstairs and make copies. Tell Rosa I said no charge. I'd do it myself but I haven't got time."
Gail followed her back through the reading room. Edith's voice dropped to a whisper again.
"You asked me a while ago about the Tequestas going to Cuba? I looked it up yesterday. The Spanish government in Havana sent a ship to rescue them from attack by another tribe in 1711. Two hundred and seventy went to Cuba, most of them died, and some returned home. Then they came under attack again and in 1732 the Spanish sent two more ships. The Santo Espíritu was one of them."
Gail pushed open the glass door. Laughter was echoing in the lobby. Two rows of schoolchildren lined up at the stairs.
Edith headed for the main entrance. "The legend is— and I hadn't thought of this for years, until I saw those papers—the Tequesta came on board for food. They got into the rum, sailors and Indians alike, and by morning the Indians were gone. So was the captain's strongbox. Coins, bars. Who knows what was supposed to be in there?" She made a snort of laughter. "The Spanish crown jewels."
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