A DANGEROUS HARBOR

by RP Dahlke

  At the top of the ladder he took a moment to admire the woman leaning out of the cockpit, her mouth stretched into a broad smile as she drank in the warm sun.

  Reluctant as he was to break the spell, he cleared his throat. "May I trouble you for a soft drink?"

  Katy ducked back into the cockpit, unleashed the tiller from its bungy and said, "You might as well make yourself at home, Raul. And there should be beer in the icebox," she called after him. That is if Gabe hasn't drunk them all by now.

  He came topside, handed her one of the beers and stumbled over to the downwind side and sat.

  Katy patted the seat next to her. "With the boat heeled, you'll be more comfortable on the upside. Brace your feet and you won't slip off."

  He pivoted around and backed into a spot next to her.

  His fragrance, that personal male aroma that either attracts or repels a woman, was definitely winding up her hormones again. Don't give in to dangerous fantasies, Katy, the man is married, for cryin' out loud.

  To force herself away from uncomfortable thoughts, she said, "So, do you think you like sailboats?"

  He lifted his large Roman nose and sniffed the air. "I love to be on the water. I even like to be on my brother's boat, unless the hold is filled with fish. But this is different, so quiet, so, ah—that's it, of course. You have turned off the engine and we are powered only by the wind."

  Only the memory of having her boat cushions ripped apart and her personal life invaded kept her from completely enjoying the moment. It was time to admit defeat.

  "It was easy enough to find the list tucked behind one of the photos I keep on my wall. So I guess the cushions were simply for fun."

  "We arrested Spencer Bobbitt this morning."

  "You have the evidence you need then?"

  "Another anonymous tip and this time we found Spencer's gun jammed into an old tire in the arroyo below the RV park." His eyes were watchful as he said, "You know the place on the cliff above Marina Mar where the Americans live?"

  "You mean where Gabe lives."

  He didn't deny it, only nodded, watching her reaction.

  "Do you suspect Gabe of being the tipster or the shooter?"

  "I haven't decided."

  "You're waiting for me to tell you? I don't know Gabe that well, not anymore, I don't. But you have someone watching him—to make sure he doesn't run?"

  Raul nodded, apparently still wary.

  As if reading his mind, she said, "If you're thinking that I would protect Gabe Alexander at all costs, you're wrong, Raul. I won't. I don't want anything bad to happen to him, but if he's guilty, I won't protect him, either."

  He nodded again, waiting. "Then perhaps you have pricked a nerve somewhere. Other secrets someone does not want you to know."

  "Why don't you help me out here, Raul? Tell me what you have on these particular people."

  He said, "Other than her passport, Astrid Del Mar is a blank page, and Fred McGee is from LA, and he works for your Internal Revenue Service."

  She thought of Bruce's comment that the FBI was looking at Wally Howard. If the IRS was also investigating Wally Howard they would want to make sure they got any and all monies owed to them before the feds put him away for good. That would explain his sour disposition towards her interest in the case and his cover as a lousy magician.

  Raul said, "If there are details that link Fred McGee and Spencer, I would be glad to know of it. Perhaps Jeff Cook might be willing to share with you."

  His comment burst her earlier happy mood. "What, pillow talk? Not with me, Inspector. Besides, Astrid gets first dibs right after Myne is through with him."

  Raul knew a mistake when he saw one, but what else could he do? Better this way than to allow his growing admiration for her to bloom into a flirtation that could go nowhere. "Dibs…? I see that you have learned important things already. Anything else?"

  She hesitated, then said, "We both know Booth didn't walk off that dock; he was murdered for that tape I gave you the other day. Who he was blackmailing—Spencer? Wallace? Fred?"

  He gazed pensively at the bug-sized cars hurtling along the malecon. "I don't believe it was Spencer."

  "And my cushions? That could have been the work of a woman." She thought again of Astrid, and then of Ida Howard in tears, crying that it was "already too late." Why was it too late?

  Raul interrupted, "You know, it may not have anything to do with Spencer. It could be that you have scratched at some secret by one of the witnesses."

  Katy stiffened, her drifting thoughts knocked back into high alert by his words. Frightened suspects, she knew, can be as deadly as any killer. She licked dry lips and tasted the bitter truth. Her attempts to save her career or Gabe from prison may now be the least of her worries.

  By the time Katrina and Raul motored though the rock barrier, a cooling fog had blotted out the stars, dimming the city lights until everything—buildings, boats, people—was cast in a dull visceral rusty red. Katrina shuddered against the depressing sight and her own thoughts. She'd been lulled by the warmth of the blue sky and the Mexican waters until her lethargy had been slammed back into reality.

  Unaware of Katrina's apprehensions, Raul jumped onto the dock, cleated the lines, then sat on the coaming of the cockpit. "If you will pass up your cushions, I will take them with me."

  "Evidence?"

  "Tomorrow, I will have a very reputable upholstery shop re-cover them for you. He will use only the finest materials and you will never know they were damaged."

  "Great. How much do you think it will cost?"

  "Nada," he said, curling his fingers in a manner to indicate she should start passing them up. He waited, expecting no objection.

  "You don't have to do this, Raul."

  "I want to—please." He smiled warmly, the light in his amber eyes directed at her with compassion and something else she didn't want to admit.

  This was an unexpected surprise. His behavior, swimming between gruff disinterest and back to warm intimacy, left her constantly off balance.

  His offer certainly appeared genuine and if she didn't accept it, she would go without until she got home to San Francisco. Besides, she had to admit, he did owe her, so she went below and passed them up to him.

  "I can help you carry them to your car," she said, looking at the pile.

  "Not necessary," he said, and turned to whistle lightly. A young man pushed off from where he was leaning against the corner of Bandido's building and trotted over, picked up the cushions and disappeared into the dark.

  Raul turned back to Katrina. "One more thing, I am putting another man on the dock at Marina Mar to watch your boat."

  "You mean watch me."

  He nodded. "That too. I will put another one at the entrance. So they don't stand out too much, they will both wear the hotel uniform. You have my number. If you need help, my man on the dock will come immediately."

  She didn't bother to argue that a man watching her boat or her would do no good to someone intent on getting to her and without thinking, she asked, "But what if I want you?"

  "I will always come—if you want me."

  He gave her boat a pat, and then hefting his briefcase, vanished into the night, whistling a melodious tune.

  Chapter Sixteen:

  Katrina steered her boat past the green and red entry lights to Marina Mar. Even with her foul-weather coat buttoned up against the cool night air, she shivered at the mounting dread spreading from her scalp down to her toes.

  Cutting the motor, she drifted soundlessly into her slip, secured the lines and after feeding the kitten she then went topside with a cup of hot tea to watch the RV park's nightly bonfire. The fire crackled and spiraled high into the rust-colored fog until the flames punched holes into the night.

  When the fire died down and the sounds of laughter quieted she took Gabe's flashlight and her boat knife for security and scrambled up the rocky path next to the marina and pounded on his door.

  "Go away," the trucule
nt voice called back.

  "Gabe, open up, it's me."

  The door jerked open and Gabe poked his head out the door. When he saw who it was, he growled, "What're you doing here?"

  "I came to see you," she said, thinking it might not have been a good idea after all. His eyes were bleary from drink and she thought, rather belatedly, he might not be alone. But when she started to back away, he reached out and pulled her inside.

  Unsure of what she should do now, she watched him flop down at his dinette and put his head on the table. Turning to leave, she said, "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

  "No, wait," he said listlessly.

  "Sleep it off, Gabe. Today has been bad enough without having to deal with a drunk."

  His eyes were bloodshot, his tanned face pasty under the dim overhead light. "I'm not drunk. We held a wake for the guy who owned my trailer and it turned into an all-day affair." He stroked the smooth surface of the dinette, then, looking around the interior as if seeing it for the first time, said, "Guess it's mine now. I'd say it's about the same size as a federal prison cell, wouldn't you?"

  Not drunk, just feeling sorry for himself.

  "Saw your boat go out today," he said. "Thought you decided to go home."

  "I went for a sail." So she thought to unburden herself to someone who understood her, who would empathize with her position, stuck as she was investigating a crime in a foreign country. Silly now to imagine she might be able to think that person would be Gabe.

  He rubbed at the bloodshot eyes. "Well, then… hungry?" The sagging cheeks lifted in a lopsided smile. She hated this, seeing him dull-witted and boozy.

  "Then would you like a drink? No beer but I got whiskey… ah, not whiskey. I remember, rum and coke, right? That's still your drink of choice, isn't it?"

  The gesture, serving her up her favorite cocktail, made her feel ashamed of herself. Unlike her, Gabe had nowhere to go.

  "Okay. Light on the rum please." Besides, after today she could use one.

  He nodded, got up, threw open cupboard doors and handed her an ice and Coke topped with a splash of rum, a slice of lemon on the edge, and laid the glass on a cocktail napkin in front of her.

  She smiled. "That was very smartly done."

  "Tended bar in Panama for a while."

  No doubt he'd held twenty temporary jobs while he was on the run.

  She pushed at the ice in the drink with a finger and said, "My boat was broken into today, Gabe. The cushions slashed and Raul Vignaroli's list of witnesses taken."

  He reached out and took her hands in his, genuine worry on his face. "You weren't there? Thank God. I told you to give the tumbler on that lock a good couple of spins. You should stay here tonight. "

  She pulled her hands out of his. "I locked it before I left and if it hadn't been for the slashed cushions, I would've thought it a job by a pro. The B&E guys I know wouldn't have made such a mess of my things."

  Gabe snorted. "And you think those slashed cushions were no more than a momentary lapse of good manners by some burglar? You're not safe on that boat anymore, and the Mexicans are no match for the likes of someone with Spencer Bobbitt's influence. You should stay here with me."

  "Thanks, Gabe, but that's not going to happen. The police arrested him this morning," she said, carefully watching his reaction. Hadn't he told her he didn't know Spencer or Booth? "They got an anonymous tip about the weapon that shot the girl and it's no surprise that it belongs to Spencer Bobbitt. Want to guess where they found it?"

  He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at a shadowy corner of his trailer.

  To keep her disappointment in check, she knocked back the last of her drink. "Someone dumped it into that arroyo that meanders under the footpath up to your trailer park. Any thoughts on how it got there?"

  He swirled the ice in his drink before answering. "You don't think I had anything to do with killing that girl, do you?"

  "Gabe, you've been here all along, you found Booth's blackmail tape… unless you've had it all along and you were in on it with him."

  "No!"

  "Then did you find it or did you take it from him before you pushed him into the water to drown?"

  Gabe's eyes widened. "I swear to you, I didn't have anything to do with Booth going into the water." Then he blinked. A tell she knew well from her training as an investigator in the SFPD. He was keeping something from her and the knowledge of it made her ill.

  "But you had something to do with the other one? The girl? Did you drop that gun in the arroyo? Were you there, in on it with Spencer Bobbitt? Tell me, what did you do!"

  "Kat, you know me better'n anyone. I may be a lot of things, but I'm no killer."

  She waited.

  He reached up to wipe away the beads of sweat layered his forehead. "You really have changed, haven't you?"

  "I'll take that as a compliment. So, start talking."

  "Whatever you do, don't turn your back on Spencer Bobbitt."

  "I don't see any cloven hooves on the man."

  "Yeah, well you won't until you feel the pitchfork up your ass."

  "You speaking from personal experience?"

  He sighed deeply, as if his broad shoulders were unhappily carrying around the weight of too many secrets. Then he got up and took the drink glasses over to the sink and sloshed soap in them, then sluiced water around each and set them in a wire rack to dry. He turned back to her and leaning against the counter, said, "Ever hear the story about the blind mule? No? Well, Buddy wouldn't pull his own weight unless the farmer pretended he had another mule in harness. He'd call out, 'Giddy-up Buddy, giddy-up Dandy.'"

  Already exhausted from her long day his delaying tactics were beginning to grind on her last nerve. "Is there a moral to this story?"

  "Yes, there is. Chief Vinegar is letting you do his dirty work and you're just as alone in the job as old Buddy the mule. You shouldn't be here, doing any of this shit, not on my account. I told you I can take care of myself, fade into the back hills, hitch a ride south on a boat or a truck. There's no reason why you should put yourself in harm's way."

  She didn't bother to remind him that she was just as stuck here as he was. "I appreciate that, Gabe."

  He sat down again, rubbing at his scalp as if a genie might appear and make it all better. "I was outside, having a smoke. Heard this sound, like a mewling kitten. After it didn't stop, I followed the sound and found her. I was afraid to pick her up, she was bleeding pretty bad. If I'd only known …."

  "Known what—that I'd be the one who would find her floating on a patch of sea-grass out in the Pacific? Are you saying that you dumped her in the water to drown?" Shocked, Katy was furious.

  He put up a shaky hand to ward off the expected slap. "No, that's not the way—I… I was going for help when I bumped into Booth. He said he'd make the call if I'd stay with her. I did and he came back with a Mexican kid…"

  "It was a Mexican kid attacked me after I left your place a few nights ago."

  He licked at his lips and continued, "…and brought a blanket. I thought they were going to take her to the hospital. Come on, Katrina, don't look at me like that! Mexico has free medical care but you've got to have a way to get there and I don't have a car. And I couldn't call an ambulance, either 'cause I didn't have the cash to pay for it, but Booth did, or at least, he said he'd take care of it."

  "Did you see Booth the next day? Ask him what happened to the girl?"

  His face lost all expression.

  Of course he didn't. It might involve the police and where his passport might be—things that could get him thrown into jail. And there was the obvious exchange of favors to consider. He had kept it secret, thereby banking a favor should Spencer be the killer and that might come in handy. At least he understood that Spencer's pitchforks and cloven hooves were no match for what he owed Katrina Taylor Hunter.

  "Then instead of taking her to the hospital, Booth threw her into the sea to drown."

  Gabe sighed deeply and gazed at the fl
y specks on his ceiling. "It may have happened that way, I wasn't there, I swear."

  Katrina suddenly felt sick and claustrophobic. She stood up. "You'd better be telling the truth, Gabe, or I swear, this time I'll let you rot in a Mexican jail."

  He gulped, mashing his callused hands together in a knot. "Katy, I've been eaten up with the guilt of it—but what else could I do?" He looked up at her. "What a fine reunion this has turned out to be, huh?"

  Reunion? She had the insane desire to throw back her head and howl with laughter. Their so-called reunion started out in the police station and just like last time, had all the earmarks of a train wreck.

  Back on her boat, she started a new list and this time she chose a hiding place where no man would consider looking… a Tampax box.

  Someone had carried the bleeding girl to a car, but instead of taking her to the hospital where she might've been saved, they chose to take her to the RV park instead. Was that because they hoped to incriminate Gabe or was it to dump the responsibility for the body on him?

  Could the timid Wally have what it takes to murder a teenager in order to incriminate Spencer and secure the patronage of his mistress? No, surely not Wally. He'd been the first to jump in the marina water to help secure Booth's body into the sling.

  Too weary to brush her teeth, she did remember to put in the hatch boards that would keep the kitten from wandering off the boat, but since her only working fan was in the main cabin, she left open all the portholes in the off-chance a breeze would cool the interior. Then she put away the list and crawled into her bunk. Tomorrow, she would find a way to tell Raul about Gabe finding the girl and Booth coming to move her.

  A persistent knocking jerked Katy up and out of her bed. The sun was up. She looked at her watch; it was already nine a.m. "Who is it?" she called, pulling on her shorts and a sweatshirt.

  Astrid was standing outside, anxiously scanning the dock.

  "Good morning, Astrid," she said, looking around the quiet dock. "I'm just up, but come aboard and I'll make some coffee."