The Origin Of Murder (Roger and Suzanne South American Mystery Series Book 8)

by Jerold Last

  We both sipped some of our coffee before he continued. “I would be glad to answer your question, Señor. For example, perhaps I can share a couple of our missions that will overlap your visit to the islands. There have been recent reports of unregistered ships in the island reserve waters that we patrol. The islands themselves are a relatively small cumulative landmass of only about 3,000 square miles, more than half of which is Isabela Island. However, when we include the ocean between the islands we have to patrol a total area of more than 36,000 square miles just to cover the territorial waters of the Galapagos Islands. That requires a lot of time and a systematic approach, as well as strong co-operation with your country, which controls the satellites that maintain surveillance over this area of the Pacific Ocean. Keeping track of all the ships and boats in this area is a major responsibility for our military forces here.

  “A second mission our Ecuadorian Air Force has been assigned is to prevent drug smuggling, especially of cocaine, from Peru and Ecuador through the Pacific Ocean to your country. The smugglers are technologically sophisticated and very well funded, so this is a difficult task. They use ships, boats, submarines, and aircraft to transport the drugs, so our job is like looking for several small needles of different shapes and sizes in an enormous haystack pretty much all of the time. We have to have planes in the air more or less continuously to accomplish this part of our mission. Maintaining these planes, most of which are old and reaching the end of their useful service careers, on an isolated air base 600 miles offshore can be a challenging task.”

  The general paused to sip more of his coffee before he went on with describing his responsibilities. “We are also expected to cooperate with the civilian police authorities and transport them to any crime scenes they have to investigate within the Galapagos Island Reserve. And, finally, we are responsible for the prevention of poaching of any of the protected species in the Reserve. Our biggest problems in this regard are illegal fishing and illegal taking of Galapagos Tortoises. The largest tortoises are very old, over 100 years of age, and slow, which makes them easy to catch. There’s a lucrative market for them in Asia and the Far East, where traditional medicine values them highly. Recently, we’ve had an unusually high amount of activity among the tortoise poachers and the illegal fishermen, as well as the usual high activity among the drug smugglers.”

  There was a long pause as General Aleman peered out of the plane’s window. I assumed he might be waiting for me to ask something else. “Do you still fly planes yourself, general? Or are you too busy with your administrative duties to fly?”

  “I still fly several times per month to keep up my skills. You may see me one of the days you are cruising. I usually pilot one of our transport planes, a Twin Otter, even though I’m still certified for our fastest jet fighters. The fighters may be more glamorous to fly, but that’s a sport for the young pilots, not us older officers.”

  The general looked out of his window again and seemed to be studying the surface of the ocean before turning back to me. “How about you, Señor? What kind of work do you do when you’re not visiting the Galapagos Islands?”

  “I’m a detective in Southern California.”

  “Oh, you’re a policeman,” he replied.

  I paused to think about how much I wanted to share with a stranger. He’d seemed pretty forthcoming with me, so it seemed appropriate to follow suit. “No, I’m a private detective. I used to be a Los Angeles Police Department detective, but these days I much prefer to be my own boss and work when I want to.”

  Aleman absorbed this snippet of information, processed it, and asked me another question. “What kind of crimes did you investigate while you were a detective with the police, Señor Bowman?”

  “Hmmm,” I said to myself, “he understands how a police department works. It’s a strange question in this context but I can’t see any harm in telling him the truth.”

  I concealed my soliloquy with myself by elaborately sipping from my almost empty coffee cup then replied. “I was a homicide detective for most of my career with the Los Angeles Police Department. I investigated murder cases. Do you ever see any murder cases here in the Galapagos Islands, General Aleman, or is all of the violence left behind when the tourists get on the plane in Guayaquil?”

  The general smiled enigmatically. “There are very few crimes of violence here in paradise, Señor Bowman. But it is strange that you asked me this question since we had a park ranger killed here last week on one of the islands you may be visiting. Our local police are investigating the murder, which they believe might have been a crime of passion. Apparently this particular park ranger was involved in several romances on the island, and a few of his conquests were married women.”

  There was a long pause before the general asked me his next question. “Have you been to South America before, Señor?”

  “Yes, we have. My wife Suzanne and I have been to just about all of the countries in the south of the continent. We’ve visited Uruguay, Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay, Peru, and Chile. But this is my first trip to your country, general.”

  He digested the list of destinations. “That’s an unusual assortment of countries to have visited as a tourist, Señor. I’d ask if you were on a cruise, but the inclusion of Paraguay suggests otherwise since it is far inland and has no seaports since they lost Antofagasta in their war with Chile and Argentina more than a century ago. Was that some sort of tour you and your wife took or were you visiting all of those countries on some sort of detective business?”

  I had an easy and well-rehearsed cover story to use as an answer for that question. He didn’t need to know there had been at least six separate visits to the region and well upwards of a couple of dozen dead bodies to spice things up for us. “My wife is a scientist, General Aleman. We visited all of those countries so she could collect certain local plants she needed for her research work back home in California. I kept her company and got a chance to visit some very interesting places like Iguazu Falls and Machu Picchu, as well as learning a little bit about South American history.”

  After a longish pause, General Aleman resumed the conversation. “What do you think of Ecuador thus far, Señor?’

  That was easy. We’d only been to one place thus far, not counting airports. “Quito is a lovely city to visit. I find everything about Incan culture and history fascinating. But that’s the only place we’ve seen so far in Ecuador. I’m looking forward to the next several days here in the Galapagos before we head back home.”

  Another short pause, then, “Can you see out of the plane’s windows, Señor?”

  I leaned towards the small window to the general’s right side. “A little bit. The angle is wrong but I see the ocean and some small islands in front of us and to the right.”

  General Aleman smiled broadly. “Welcome to the Galapagos Islands, senor. What you are looking at down there are Baltra and North Seymour Islands, the smaller islands, and Santa Cruz, the much larger island. We should be on the ground in just a few minutes. It has been my pleasure to talk with you. I hope you enjoy your visit.”

  “Thank you, General Aleman. I’m sure we will.”

  As we flew into Baltra, passengers seated by the windows had a great view of several of the Galapagos Islands from above. The islands are volcanic and vary a great deal in age. Some are millions of years old while others are relatively new in geological terms, as the volcanic eruptions have continued to the present time. This is still an active chain of volcanoes, physically and visually similar in many ways to the Hawaiian Islands. Specific islands, we were to learn, had unique vegetation, which could differ from the nearby islands just a few miles away, depending on their age.

  The airport, shared by the Ecuadorian Air Force and commercial flights, is primitive and no-frills. There are no shops or restaurants in the terminal, which is just a glorified Quonset hut. The general had warned us about this---another new airport recently completed on San Cristobal Island also services commercial flights. It receiv
ed only a tiny sum of funds for frills, so by U.S. airport standards it is still primitive, but you can get food there. Baltra remains as the only airport in the Galapagos with facilities for planes to remain overnight, so private planes have to go there. We disembarked with our gear. As a domestic flight, there was no customs or passport inspection. Nor were there police, soldiers, or airline employees guiding the passengers where to go. We were on our own to find our tour, as was everyone else. Suzanne, Bruce, Robert, and I followed the passengers disembarking in front of us, who drifted towards the Quonset hut.

  Our plane was parked apparently at random on the tarmac behind the Quonset hut. Inside the hut (aka, the airport) were small booths with signs advertising which tourist agency was selling tours of the islands just in case an occasional visitor hadn’t prearranged their ship assignment. It was crowded, noisy, and uncomfortably warm. Most of the passengers continued on outside to the front of the hut, where small clumps of tourists were forming around local guides with signs identifying them on a grassy area containing several cactus plants. Our guide, who carried a sign with the names of our ship and the travel agency written in bold capital letters, greeted us just past the exit gate when we walked directly to her. “Good morning, you must be Señor Bowman.” I nodded yes. She checked a name on her list.

  “May I assume you are Señora Bowman?” she asked Suzanne, who nodded affirmatively and answered “yes”. Another name was checked off her list.

  “You are travelling with Señor Bruce and son Robert?” she asked. “And this man and boy are them?”

  “Yes,” replied Suzanne. Check, check went the guide’s pen on the list.

  We looked around us, seeing a milling throng of passengers from our flight finding their personal baggage from a random assortment on the ground. Bruce and I collected our baggage, which was scattered on the tarmac. Everybody else also found their bags and the correct tourist guides to herd them towards the waiting buses. We joined the scrum moving away from the terminal behind our guide, and followed the crowd departing from the utter chaos around the landing area. The only structures we could see taller than 1-story in height were the control tower, just south of the Quonset hut, and a cell phone tower rising just in front of the middle of the hut.

  Our guide quickly assembled everybody from the flight traveling on the Santa Cruz, about three dozen of us. The same process was occurring all around us for the other ships and tours collecting passengers from this flight. The process would be repeated several times a day as other flights containing tourists arrived on the island. Amazingly, two of the passengers joining us on the Santa Cruz for the next several days were Eduardo and his companion, who were still pointedly ignoring us.

  Our guide led us to the basic island transportation, a well-worn bus that collected us, drove a short distance to the harbor, and delivered us to the pier. We climbed down from our bus, walked across the rough dirt and sand parking area, and stopped at a low wooden dock. We’d board the Zodiac dinghies here that would become our transport on and off the ship for the next several days. The guide divided us randomly into groups of about 12 each, gave each of us a life jacket and showed us how to wear it properly. There was even a tiny life jacket, which fitted him perfectly, for Robert to wear on the short dinghy ride to our cruise ship.

  The guide took the groups out on the pier, one by one, to learn the proper way to enter and leave the bouncing Zodiacs. She explained the process to us. “There are no deep-water piers on any of the islands, including Baltra, so only the smallest motor launches and sailing craft can pick up or deliver passengers to a beach. All other movement on and off a ship has to be done with some form of dinghy. For a large luxury cruise ship like the Santa Cruz, which takes about 100 passengers, the inflatable Zodiacs with good outboard motors are the standard water taxis used for this purpose. These are the same rubber craft you might have seen scuba divers using in the Pacific Ocean off the California coast for fishing and diving. Suitcases and backpacks belonging to passengers will travel to the Santa Cruz on their own dinghy, which is handled by the staff, and will be delivered directly to your cabins.”

  Our dinghy’s destination, the M/S Santa Cruz, was going to be our ship for the entire Galapagos tour. It’s the largest, and by far the most luxurious, ship of the Galapagos fleet, and charged its passengers accordingly. The inauspicious appearance of the dock, the lack of luxury of the dinghy, and the appearance of the ship’s exterior didn’t seem to live up to the promises of the brochure. Nor did the choppy waves in the bay and the free Dramamine tablets and Scopolamine patches being distributed to any and all passengers requesting them. Suzanne and I wore acupressure bands a friend had loaned us to counteract motion sickness. They seemed to work, and we wore them on our wrists constantly for the rest of the trip. Bruce’s years in the U.S. Navy had made him immune to seasickness so he just laughed at our precautions.

  The old saying, “You can’t tell a book by its cover,” turned out to be true in the Galapagos Islands. Late Monday morning we finally boarded the M/S Santa Cruz. On board the ship, luxury took over. A recent refitting meant everything on board looked, and was, new. Even the beach towels! Everything was clean and shiny. As we boarded the ship from the bouncing Zodiac, a burly crewmember held on to everybody’s arm to ensure that nobody fell over the side, and we were immediately handed a glass of some refreshing local fruit drink by another neatly uniformed crew member.

  The Captain greeted each arriving passenger, directing us to an elegant buffet lunch in the dining room for lunch and an orientation lecture. Simultaneously, the ship’s stewards delivered our suitcases to our cabins. Our tablemates at lunch included Raul and the Kaufman sisters, who made sure we’d stay together by plunking themselves down at our table before anyone else could take the seats. While we ate the lavish meal, we listened to a briefing by the chief guide on how we were going to get on and off the ship to visit the Islands in pre-arranged groups of ten to fifteen tourists.

  He looked at the crowd, cleared his throat, and jumped right into his presentation. “You’ll eat all your meals here in this dining room. Breakfast and lunch are served buffet style, so you don’t have to begin at a specific time. Just make sure you assemble on deck for the island tours promptly, please, so we can stay on schedule for the tours. Everyone will be notified over the ship’s PA system when we plan to assemble to depart for an island tour.

  “Dinner is served on a schedule. The crew has a lot to do on this ship, so please be on time for dinners. It makes everything much easier for the crew and the passengers when we can get the food cooked just right for you. We have a wide range of food available, vegetarian and with meat. We serve a lot of fresh fish and seafood, and a lot of fresh fruits and vegetables, so the cuisine is healthy. Ham, cheeses, and other sandwich foods are always available if you miss a meal or if you just want a snack. We’re especially proud of our deserts, a specialty of our chef.”

  The chief guide looked around the room at almost 100 passengers either sitting at tables or still milling around waiting to be told what to do. “There isn’t any assigned seating at meals. We hope you’ll move around and get to know as many of your shipmates as possible. It will make the entire experience richer for you all. If you want to sit with your friends, please feel free to do so. If you sit with strangers, please introduce yourself and try to make others feel comfortable with you.”

  He went on to explain how the island tours would work. “Each small group has its own guide assigned to it. You will island hop with the same group most of the time. Every afternoon upon returning from our visit to the island de jour we’ll have a lecture by a highly trained biologist about what we’ve seen on the islands we visited and what we’ll be seeing the next day. We’ll separate you into tour and lecture groups to allow the guides to speak different languages to passengers for their convenience, mainly Spanish, French, or English.”

  At about this point we were finishing lunch while the ship weighed anchor. We set sail for the nearest
island to Baltra, North Seymour, which would be our first taste of Darwin’s voyage of discovery. Everybody got up to look at the map on the wall and get oriented as soon as the captain announced our destination over the ship’s Public Address system.

  The chief guide harrumphed a couple of times to get our attention. “I want you all to please pay close attention. As I call your name, please join the group I indicate. You’ll notice there are six assembly areas, each marked with a different color, which will define your tour groups for the rest of the trip. There are more than ninety of you. We’ll have six groups, two Spanish speaking, three English, and one French. Each group will be named for a particular species here in the Galapagos. Your guide will be fluent in both Spanish and the language of the group. Today is a dry landing, so wear comfortable shoes and clothes suitable for a hike. We’ll meet back here immediately after the captain announces our arrival at North Seymour.”

  We quickly found our cabin and unpacked. Out came shorts and sneakers. The arrival announcement for North Seymour Island came about half an hour later.

  Chapter5.Monday Afternoon-North Seymour Island

  Darwin: The natural history of these islands is eminently curious, and well deserves attention. Most of the organic productions are aboriginal creations, found nowhere else; there is even a difference between the inhabitants of the different islands; yet all show a marked relationship with those of America, though separated from that continent by an open space of ocean, between 500 and 600 miles in width. The archipelago is a little world within itself, or rather a satellite attached to America, whence it has derived a few stray colonists, and has received the general character of its indigenous productions. Considering the small size of these islands, we feel the more astonished at the number of their aboriginal beings, and at their confined range.