by Liz Dodwell
“Finn, could we all sit down? Joshua and I have something we want to talk to you about.”
This sounded serious. “Why don’t I get us some iced tea, first? Joshua, I can make one of those strawberry smoothies you like.”
He gave a crooked little smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and nodded. “Yes, please.”
When I got back with the drinks Finn was telling Michael about our search, but he stopped talking as I set the glasses down. I claimed one of the remaining chairs and we waited for Michael to begin.
“As you can imagine, we were all in a state of shock when we said our goodbyes a couple of weeks ago. Grace and I talked things through with Joshua and felt he was handling things pretty well. He’s always liked to spend time on the computer, so when he shut himself in his room we figured he was researching his fossils as usual…until a few days ago.” Here, Michael looked over at his son. “Why don’t you explain, Joshua?”
The boy leaned forward; elbows on knees, hands clasped, his expression earnest.
“Her name’s Aubrey Poulsen. There’s an article that says she got lost at a festival. But she was never found and she was wearing those pink sneakers and I think she fell in the water and…”
“Hold on, son. Start at the beginning, when you decided to look for the pink shoes.” Then between them, father and son explained what had brought them to us today.
Joshua had not been able to put aside the fact that there had once been a little girl who wore bright pink sneakers, and that something terrible must have happened to her. He spent hours trolling the internet until he finally found a reference to a child who had gone missing while vacationing with her parents in Belize. According to the brief police report the family had been at the San Pedro festival, with thousands of other people, when Aubrey went missing. She was described as a brown-haired, brown-eyed ten-year-old, wearing a flower patterned T-shirt, yellow shorts and bright pink air sneakers.
“Although I write fiction novels now,” Michael stated, “I used to be an investigative reporter. I managed to track down Aubrey’s mother and spoke with her on the phone. She lives now in Austin, Texas. She was very willing to talk and sent me information from a private investigator she and her husband hired in Belize.
“Hand it to Finn, son,” he said to Joshua, who held out a slightly battered blue folder.
Peering over Finn’s shoulder, in large letters on the cover I read, Aubrey Poulsen. Beneath, in smaller letters, was daughter of Pipaluk (Luki) and Lenard.
“Luki?” I queried.
“It’s pronounced ‘Lucky.’ She’s part Native American.”
Finn opened the file and an eight by ten picture filled the page. The face that gazed out at us was the color of warm golden sand. Dark hair had been pulled into a single braid and lay across one shoulder. The lips were closed in a shy smile that emphasized high cheek bones and lit up her dark eyes. She looked so alive. She looked like a child who should have a happy and bright future ahead of her.
With a sigh, Finn gently closed the cover and I knew he was thinking as I was. “Keep talking,” he said to Michael.
“There’s not a lot. The police pretty much dismissed it as a child wandering off. They had bigger things on their hands at the time. A rare Maya artifact had been stolen from the museum and, for them, that took precedence over parents who couldn’t keep track of their daughter.
“The investigator, a local named Doren Gillett, appears to have made an honest effort to locate Aubrey. You’ll see from the notes in the file he questioned a lot of people, flyers were posted, ads put in the newspaper, a reward was offered, but not a single lead came of it all.
“Here’s what makes the story even sadder. The father blamed himself for Aubrey’s disappearance, started drinking heavily and a few months ago stepped off the sidewalk in front of a truck and was killed.”
“Suicide?” Finn asked.
“There’s really no way to know. He was drunk at the time and could have just slipped. Or maybe he couldn’t take the guilt any more. Meanwhile, Luki told me she is broke because they spent all their money looking for Aubrey.”
For a few moments there was silence, then Finn spoke. “It’s a terrible story, but what do you want of me?”
“To find out what happened.”
It was Joshua who had chimed in. We all looked at him. “You’re good at finding things; everyone says so.”
“It’s not that simple.” Finn for once looked a little helpless.
“Look,” Michael got to his feet and began pacing, “when Joshua first brought this up I figured he’d forget about it after a while, but he hasn’t. In fact, he’s been having nightmares lately. So Grace and I have talked things over and we feel we can’t just let this go. We don’t have a lot saved up, but my books are starting to do well and we have enough to get you to Belize with a little payment for your services.”
Astonished, Finn shook his head. “Michael, any evidence is ice cold by now. And why would you think I can do more than the local police and investigator? I’ve never even been to Belize. You’d be wasting your money, I’m afraid.”
“You’ve worked miracles before, when cases are cold.” He had a point there.
“Please, Finn,” Michael’s small voice broke in.
“Here’s what I’ll do,” Finn said. “We’ll be taking Time Voyager back to Mud Bug Island in the next couple of days. Once we get there I’ll go over everything in the file and let you know what I think.”
A smile creased Joshua’s face. Finn turned to him. “I’m not promising anything, young man.”
“OK, Finn,” the boy said, still smiling.
Five
“And that’s everything we know.” I looked at Bert as I set my beer down and leaned back in the chair. Bert is Elbert Lex Van Nifterik, the young multi-millionaire entrepreneur who owns Mud Bug Island off the west Florida coast. Owing to Bert’s generosity, Mud Bug is now Time Voyager’s home base. In return for free dockage, Bert likes to involve himself in our adventures, which is an even better deal for me and Finn as Bert is a genius on the computer.
So, here we were, on the patio of Bert’s home, talking about a dead body. There was a surreal quality to the conversation because, not so long before, a body had been found on that very same patio. In fact, it was after Finn solved the crime that Bert had offered us a mooring.
“I think you should go.” Bert emphasized his words with a brief nod of the head.
Finn sighed. “It doesn’t appear as if a crime was committed and, a year later, I don’t see how I can find out more about a missing child than the local authorities did at the time.”
“But that’s the point,” I said, “the police really didn’t look.”
“Phill, I know you want to help Joshua; so do I. You have to keep in mind, though, it may be a dead end and then the boy will be even more disappointed and we’ll have wasted the Bumbry’s money for nothing.”
“Isn’t that for Michael and Grace to decide?” I was beginning to sulk.
“Not if you don’t use their money,” Bert said. We both turned to him.
“I want in on this search. Unfortunately, I can’t actually go myself; I have to be in California this coming week for the unveiling of my latest game.” Amongst other things, Bert created pirate-themed video games. “However, I can certainly afford to pay for both of you, and Michael, to go to Belize. You’ll have to fly commercial, though. I’ll be using the jet myself.”
“Jet? What jet?” This was the first I’d heard of Bert owning a jet.
“It’s just a Learjet 60. I’m thinking of trading it for something a little bigger. This doesn’t have quite enough range to get to San Francisco without stopping to refuel.”
Wow. I should consider trading treasure hunting for the video gaming business.
With Bert’s urging, it didn’t take long for Finn to agree to the trip. We looked up flights from Miami to Belize City and found several options, so called Michael to discuss times.
“The sooner the better,” he said and we booked ourselves on a nonstop flight with American Airlines for the day after tomorrow. Business class, I might add, at Bert’s insistence.
“Now that’s taken care of,” Finn said, “just for the heck of it I’d like to get as much information as possible about the theft that was keeping the Belizean police so busy.”
“You think there’s a connection?”
“Unlikely, but let’s be sure.”
Bert stood. “I can take care of that. You and Phill need time to get yourselves organized.”
“There’s not much…” I began, then was struck with a thought. “Who will take care of Shrimp?”
“That would be me,” a very British voice said.
Monks, who is Bert’s butler and bodyguard, stepped onto the patio to collect our empty glasses.
“You’re not going with Bert?”
“Apparently, arrangements have been made by the video company for Bert’s protection, and I am to stay here and oversee installation of an upgraded security system.”
“You’re the only one I can trust,” Bert shrugged.
Actually, there was more truth to that than you might know. Monks was the only full-time staff living on the island. Twice a week a cleaning service came over, and other help was brought in as needed. A gourmet meal service shipped to the island monthly and the food was stored in a large walk-in freezer. Everything was designed to maintain the privacy Bert embraced. Finn and I were pretty privileged to be a part of the young man’s “family.”
“Monks, you’re a prince,” I said. “Don’t overdo the treats, though. I don’t want her getting chunky.”
“That won’t be a problem with Bert away.” Monks sent a knowing look in his employer’s direction. Bert stuffed his hands in his pockets, “Uh, I’ll go search for that information,” and headed indoors.
I directed my attention to Monks. “I didn’t think Bert was much of a cat fan.”
“Huh. We now have a standing order for 20 pounds of shrimp a month to ensure your cat will never be deprived of her favorite crustacean.”
Good grief.
“Alright.” Finn directed his words to me. “Let’s go figure out what we need to take with us. I hope your passport’s in order.”
“Absolutely!” But where had I put it?
Six
We were staying at the Radisson Fort George Hotel on Belize City’s Caribbean coast. Bert had done us proud. The hotel was definitely deluxe, with its own marina and dive facilities and a really well-stocked bar. We were just half a mile from downtown, and only an hour by fast boat to Ambergris Caye.
I wondered if we’d have any chance to explore the area. The Maya first settled in Belize around 1500 BC. Europeans didn’t make their homes here until the 1600s when the English arrived. As you can imagine, there’s an amazing blend of cultures and lots to see and do. I could also enjoy zip lining through the tropical forest or river tubing through Maya caves.
It was late afternoon when we reached the hotel. Belize City is an hour behind Florida time during the winter months so, for us, it was cocktail hour. However, anxious to make a start, Finn had called the PI, Doren Gillett, the moment he hit his room and had arranged for us to meet at some place called Nerie’s Restaurant, where we could talk over dinner.
Michael joined us in the hotel lobby. It was less than a ten minute walk to the restaurant, and after hours of traveling we were glad to stretch our legs a little. Nerie’s was in a dumpy neighborhood in a very unpretentious corner building with one of those old-fashioned, red Coca Cola signs hanging from the side. It looked as if we were about to get a taste of local experience.
We were greeted warmly, but when Finn announced we were to meet Doren Gillett the friendliness quotient went even higher. Apparently any friend of Gillett’s was a friend at Nerie’s. Ushered to a discreetly located table our host stated that Gillett had not yet arrived and suggested we enjoy a bottle of the local Belikin beer while we waited.
“Sounds good to me,” Finn said.
Before the brews arrived a dark-skinned man entered. He had close-cropped hair and van dyke beard. He hesitated and looked around. As soon as he noticed us he moved in our direction. I nudged Finn. “Looks like our guy.”
We all rose and exchanged handshakes and polite greetings. Gillett spoke with a very proper English accent and was much younger than I’d expected. I’d automatically envisioned the kind of hard-boiled, older guy you get in a lot of detective stories, but Gillett was no more than early thirties.
“You don’t sound Belizean,” I said.
His mouth formed a lop-sided grin. Sexy. “That’s because I’m British by birth, though my heritage is African-Caribbean. Any ethnic accent I might have had was long gone after years of private schooling and then three years at Oxford.”
Michael propped his elbows on the table. “Oxford University? I’m impressed. What did you study?”
“Mathematics.”
“But here you are as a private eye in Belize.”
Doren smiled again. It was very infectious; he was definitely easy on the eyes. “After Oxford I wanted to travel. I went through Europe, South America, even Nepal. When I came here I fell in love with the country. That was three years ago. Currently I have permanent residency status; in a couple more years I will be able to apply for citizenship.”
“But why detective work?”
“I’m a mathematician; I like detail. And it beats the hell out of bussing tables.”
“Tell us how you came to work for the Poulsens.”
Finn coughed and cast an apologetic look toward Michael. “Can I make a suggestion? How about we eat and then get down to serious business?”
That certainly suited me. I’m always ready to eat.
We chowed on conch soup with sides of coconut rice and beans, washed down with more Belikin. Conversation remained light, Doren entertaining us with stories of his adopted country. When we were all sated and the dishes had been cleared we automatically looked to Finn to take charge.
“Alrighty, then. Doren, we’ve all read the summation of your investigation that you sent to Mrs. Poulsen, but I’d like to hear it in your own words. Especially anything that wasn’t in the report.”
“There’s really nothing much I can add. I’d only been in business a few weeks, hadn’t had anything more exciting than looking for a lost cat or two. When the Poulsens came along I was thrilled. Don’t misunderstand, the circumstances were tragic but I was thankful to be looking for a real person instead of a wandering pet.
“At first I was convinced the child had simply got lost at the San Pedro festival. Thousands of people attend and someone must have seen her. The parents gave a description of her wearing sunflower yellow shorts and neon pink sneakers. She was hardly inconspicuous.
“I posted dozens of flyers all over the island, distributed hundreds more and talked to more people than I could say but not one person came forward with information. I ran ads in local publications, persuaded them to feature articles about Aubrey and still there was nothing.”
“Do you think the theft of Maya jade from the Belize Museum hampered your search?” Michael asked.
“You’re suggesting the publicity about the theft detracted from interest in a child’s disappearance?”
Michael nodded.
“There’s no doubt it made a difference in the police investigation, but I can’t say it impacted mine. In fact, it became very personal for me. I would look at Aubrey’s picture and imagine this sweet little girl afraid and lost and I’d redouble my efforts. Long after the Poulsens left here I kept looking. I extended my search far beyond Ambergris Caye, hoping all the time that I might one day pick up the phone and say, ‘I’ve found her.’ ”
“And there was nothing at all that struck you as odd?”
Doren ran his hand through his short hair and leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. “Well, yes there was. The Poulsens took the water taxi from the city Marine Termi
nal to San Pedro. I interviewed everyone I could find at the San Pedro docks and there was one old Kriol, a local chap, who spends his days hanging around fishing and people watching and he absolutely swore the girl had not got off any of the water taxis.”
“That’s hardly surprising,” I said. “An old man, thousands of tourists…”
“I know. But several people told me he was the guy to talk to, and he was so emphatic it really struck me. That’s not all, though. When I widened my search to Belize City - even got a couple of minutes to make an appeal on a local TV news show - suddenly, several people contacted me saying they recalled seeing Aubrey around the Terminal. Now that seemed strange.”
Finn chewed his bottom lip and nodded thoughtfully. “I agree. She was memorable in Belize City but not San Pedro. Makes a person wonder if she ever got to the island. Did anybody recall who Aubrey was with when they saw her?”
“Just vague references to a women who it was assumed was her mother. One person thought she was with both parents.”
“What are you thinking, Finn?” Michael asked.
“I’m thinking we need a good night’s sleep so we can be ready to fight another day.”
“No, I mean about…” Michael began when I interrupted him.
“Don’t waste your breath. He’s got an idea about something but you won’t get anything out of him ‘til he’s ready.” I’d had plenty of experience.
That said, we let Finn take charge of the check, said all the usual stuff to Doren about staying in touch and letting us know if he thought of anything else, and departed for our hotel.
Seven
Ambergris Caye is the largest of the Belizean islands and San Pedro is the only town. Fishing and coconuts are traditional ways of earning a living but now take a back seat to diving and tourism.
Finn, Michael and I had cast off from the Radisson marina at about nine in the morning. The hotel had arranged rental of a 25-foot Aquasport Osprey for the day and we’d set out to follow the course the Poulsens must have taken.
