by Rene Fomby
He checked his cell phone, but no messages had come in overnight. It was still fairly early in the morning, so he decided to head on down to the hotel restaurant for a cup or two of strong Mexican coffee to get his brain cleared out. But before he left, he called his wife back home in Washington D.C. He’d left the bar way too late the night before and didn’t want to wake her up in the middle of the night. Actually, the truth of the matter was he didn’t want her to catch him slurring his words after he’d broken down and shared a few more rounds of tequila with Espinosa.
He checked his watch and instantly regretted calling her so early, even as he heard the first ring on the other end, but her voice when she answered was bright and alert, so he figured he hadn’t woken her up from a dead sleep.
“Gavin! I see your old cell phone is working again. So things must be improving out there in Mexico land.”
Gavin smiled to himself. He never tired of hearing her voice. “Actually, Andy Pandy, they are. We’re back on the island, staying in a nice hotel just outside of the main part of town. Cell phone service is finally functioning out here as of this morning, and I hear that the eye of the hurricane is going to miss us.” He hoped his little white lie about the cell phone tower would provide at least limited cover for his failure to call her just as soon as he got back on land.
“Yep, I pulled the feeds off the weather satellites late last night and double-checked the numbers myself. My bet is Bonnie’s going to land just east of Port Arthur. Sucks to be them, but the main thrust of the storm should miss any major population centers. Of course, they’ll still have to deal with all the rain.”
Gavin chuckled. “Trust me, after what we’ve had to deal with out here over the past few days, I’d take wind over rain any day. In fact, I woke up this morning dreaming happily about you and me relocating out to Arizona.”
“Or we could always see if your old apartment in Rabat is still available,” Andy suggested playfully.
“Not a chance. Especially now that I’ve finally figured out how to make Moroccan tajines all by myself at home. But hey, it’s good to hear you were up late last night running numbers, instead of hitting the singles bars looking for a substitute husband.”
“Trust me, one husband is enough for me,” she giggled. “More than enough, actually.” Her voice turned conspiratorial. “What’s going on with the case? How did the DNA evidence turn out?”
“I’m still waiting for the lab rats in Cancun to get back to us about a possible match. Espinosa put a rush on it, even though he kept insisting it wasn’t necessary, so we should have the answers back just as soon as they show up for work this morning. And considering where we are right now, there’s no telling when that’ll be, exactly.”
“So nine or ten-ish, then. I’m actually sitting on pins and needles, out here, wondering who it’ll be. Do you promise to call me just as soon as you find out? After all, I’m the one who hacked into your highly classified military email account to get you the info. And then covered up all the evidence of your crime before the Military Police came crashing through the front door and busted you for it.”
“I’m not sure hitting the shift key on my keyboard counts as hacking, but yeah, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Super. Thanks. Well, love chatting with you, hubby, but I know how cranky you get in the morning before your first cup of coffee, so I’ll let you go. Thanks for calling. I miss your voice.”
“I miss you, too,” Gavin said, hanging up and staring at the phone for a few seconds before pocketing it and heading downstairs for his first cup of morning courage.
50
Hotel Bar
The restaurant wasn’t open yet, but an urn of coffee had been set up in the bar, so Gavin grabbed an empty cup and filled it to the brim, black, hot and strong. After the late-night drinking session that effectively signaled a final and well-deserved farewell to the decade-long unofficial scuba club, and given the fact that the group from the catamaran were the only remaining residents of the hotel who hadn’t already been evacuated off the island well ahead of the hurricane, Gavin found himself sitting at the bar all alone. Which wasn’t really a problem this particular morning, because he thought it might give him some well-overdue quiet time to revisit and rethink all of the evidence in the case. Something important still nagged away at him at the ragged edges of his memory, something that evidently hadn’t made its way into his notes. Or at least in any way that made sense.
He stared down into the black abyss of his coffee, treating it as an oracle of sorts, a steaming crystal ball of dark mystery and secrets. Or maybe more like one of those toy eight-balls he’d played with as a little boy growing up on a cotton farm outside of Lubbock, Texas. He wordlessly asked himself, is Trevor the killer? And he could almost see the answer forming on the surface of his coffee. Nope. Try again.
The DNA evidence, that was important, but was it critical to the case? Was it really the gold standard, at least in this instance? He could think of a thousand ways it wasn’t, and only one or two ways it was. Similar to the stash of money out in the Caymans. As much as he wanted the answers to those two mysteries, deep down he knew that wasn’t what was truly bugging him. It was something else, a flippant remark that hadn’t registered at the time, but now held the key to the entire case. But for the life of him he just couldn’t seem to dredge it up.
Of course, the answer to that particular problem wasn’t to dwell on it. Gavin knew all too well that typically, any time he tried to dive deep into his memory to dig something up, he only managed to shove it down even further into the void. And that was almost certainly the problem, here. He’d been trying way too hard to remember, and instead he just needed to relax his mind and let the answer find its way out to him all on its own.
How to relax? He took a long sip of coffee, and thought about his wife, Andy. Lieutenant Commander Andrea Patterson, signals specialist for the United States Navy. The woman who had saved his life at the very moment the entire world came crashing down upon his shoulders, the moment he failed the two FBI agents on his watch by looking left when he should have been looking right. And then he had somehow managed to find a way to repay that favor several months later by saving hers. Well, along with a little help here and there from an intrepid, never-say-never band of American Navy SEALs.
He pulled up the photo gallery on his phone and flipped through the pictures he had taken of the two of them during their beach-side wedding and their all-too-short honeymoon in Barcelona. Not for the first time he wondered if he should finally break down and stop resisting, if he should give the whole daddy sweepstakes thing one more college try. It hadn’t worked out all that well for him the first time, that part was all too clear. His two children with his first wife now seemed to be permanently estranged, likely poisoned against him forever thanks to their mother’s venomous words and ways. But Andy wasn’t like that, could never be like that. She would be there for him always, just as she had been there for him every single day since he had first caught her bending over an airport luggage carrousel in Rabat in deliciously tight yoga pants. An incident she still hadn’t let him forget. But still, ever since that moment she had become a constant force in his life, guiding him through the twisted ruins of his broken past, helping him learn how to accept today and forget the past, helping him learn how to forgive himself for his many, too often fatal mistakes.
At that very moment he made his decision, the decision he had been struggling with for months. And at that very same moment the answer he’d been blindly chasing for days drifted out of the black eight-ball chambers of his mind and floated, bright and shining, right in front of his tequila-ravaged eyes. Billie Peterson. The Fix-It Man.
51
Hotel Bar
Espinosa joined Gavin in the bar about an hour later, pouring ample quantities of milk and sugar into his coffee before grabbing a seat across from him. The other members of their ragged little crew started drifting in, as well, their overind
ulgence from the night before showing clearly on all their haggard faces. Gavin noticed Billie and Sally’s faces among them—evidently Sally had been released from the local hospital and was once again among the living. For now, at least.
“What have you got for me?” Espinosa asked as soon as he sat down. “You ready to finally put this thing to bed so we can all go home?”
“First flight out leaves late tomorrow morning, out of Cancun. I called just a little while ago, and apparently the airport here on the island is out of whack until they can clear away all the debris from the storm. Since it looks like we’re stuck out here for at least another day, we might as well make the most of it, don’t you think?”
“Suit yourself.” Espinosa drained his coffee in one long gulp and stood up to refresh it. Gavin remembered how the Mexican agent had paced him two shots to one all night long and figured the coffee might do him some good. Besides, it was best to let him recuperate a little while longer before springing the news of the new memory on him.
The hotel manager didn’t think it was necessary to open up the restaurant for only eight breakfasts, and most of the kitchen staff had stayed home until the storm was over and tourists returned to the island, so he arranged for a simple breakfast of eggs and bacon to be served up in the bar. Halfway through his breakfast Gavin’s phone buzzed, and he and Espinosa pulled out their phones simultaneously and checked the message. The DNA match was back, and the results didn’t exactly surprise him. He texted the info to Harry and Andy, then put down the phone and finished his breakfast without a word.
He was just polishing off his last bite, wiping up the final clinging smear of egg yolk with a wedge of whole wheat toast, when his phone rang again. Flipping it over, he saw it was Harry on the line.
“What you got, brother?” he asked, automatically checking the time on his watch. Just short of nine thirty. That was quick.
Espinosa leaned over to try and listen in on the conversation, but could only clearly catch Gavin’s responses to what was being said.
“Uh huh, right. Yeah, good thinking on that. You’re kidding! Nope, you’re right, never saw that one coming. Okay, along with the news I just sent you, I guess that means we’ve got to get the whole gang back together again for one last pow-wow. Thanks tons, little buddy. I think you’ve managed to crack the whole nut wide open. I swear, I’d recommend you for a spot at the Bureau in a heartbeat, but quite honestly I think that’d be a step down for you.”
Harry said something, and Gavin laughed. “No, you’re right. My letter of recommendation would be the last thing you’d want to be waving around the old J. Edgar Hoover Building, for sure. Probably just get you arrested and charged as a terrorist under the Patriot Act. But at the very least I owe you the biggest steak dinner money can buy, no doubt about that.” He paused to give Espinosa a knowing wink. “Okay, then, Harry, you wrap up everything out there and I’ll handle things on this end. I’ll call you as soon as I get back to the States.”
Gavin hung up and stared off into space for a long moment, thinking. Espinosa just glared at him, demanding an explanation. Finally, Gavin’s eyes refocused and drifted down to meet his colleague’s.
“Detective Espinosa, I’m afraid we may have been a little hasty in arresting Mr. Johnson last night. As it turns out, there were a few more juicy bits of evidence that needed to be ferreted out, evidence that now makes it abundantly clear just exactly what happened down there on that night dive. And just who, in fact, did the final dirty deed.”
52
Hotel Bar
Gavin pulled Espinosa off to the side, well away from any prying eyes and ears, and filled him in on what he and Harry had found out. Espinosa’s eyes went wide as he worked out all the implications of the new evidence, and finally realized the folly of his rush to judgment in the case. His head was pounding almost as hard as the surf outside, whether from the impact of the new evidence or from all the alcohol he had poured down the night before, and he left Gavin for a moment to ask the front desk for an aspirin and a bottle of Tipo Chico to wash it down with.
When he returned, he saw that Gavin had sketched out all the details of the case on a fresh sheet of notepaper, and looking down the list he had to agree that Gavin’s insights into the identity of the real killer were rock solid. Still, he couldn’t let go of the feeling that somehow Trevor Johnson was nevertheless implicated in some form or fashion in the matter. It was hard to simply ignore all of the evidence that still linked him to the crime.
Gavin waved his hand around the room. “I think under the circumstances we should gather the entire gang together one last time, for one last reunion, don’t you think?”
“Why don’t I simply arrest—”
Gavin shook his head sharply. “Because we still don’t have everything locked down airtight, and I’d prefer to get something like a confession or two in the bag before we call this one a done deal. We’ve already made that mistake once.”
Espinosa’s face looked like it had just been slapped. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll have Johnson brought over immediately. And I’ll have several more officers available to make the arrest.”
“Super. I’ll let everyone know we’re going to make an announcement in, say, one hour? Will that be long enough to get Johnson here?”
“More than enough. He’s locked up in a cell downtown, so I can have him here in thirty minutes or less.”
“Okay, let’s make it thirty minutes, then. And we may as well do it here, in this bar. Since everyone is already present.”
Espinosa nodded gravely. “Sounds good. I’ll make the call for someone to bring Johnson over.”
“Perfect.” Gavin turned to stare out the window at the storm outside, which was finally showing some welcome signs of easing up. The rain had slowed to a moderate drizzle, and the lightning was moving north, toward the East Texas shoreline. “Um, if you don’t mind, there’s one last niggling detail out on the boat I thought about this morning, one last little bit of evidence I need to check on before we start.”
“I thought you said last night that you’d never step onboard another boat for as long as you lived,” Espinosa reminded him with a chuckle.
“Well, seeing as how taking the ferry over to the mainland is the only way I’m ever getting off this island, that may have been a bit of an exaggeration. The tequila getting in a word edgewise here and there, you know? And to be honest, I really wish I’d thought of this a little earlier, when we were still out there on the boat, but it just came to me a few minutes ago while I was sucking on my first cup of coffee.”
Espinosa eyed the steady rain outside himself, shaking his head slowly in the process. “Okay, well, the front desk says they have some extra raincoats and umbrellas just for occasions like this. I’ll try and hold down the fort in the bar until you get back,” he said, turning back to face Gavin. “But whatever you’ve got going on, it must be pretty important to face all that again so soon.”
Espinosa arched an eyebrow, like he was expecting a better explanation, but Gavin just waved him off. “It’s just a hunch, really, but if I’m right, it’ll sure clear up a whole lot of unanswered questions in the case. And exact no small amount of revenge for yours truly.”
“Your attacker, then.”
“Precisely. And as Fred Astaire once famously said, if you’re determined to spend any time outside singing in the rain, you better bring an umbrella.”
“Singing in the Rain? Fred Astaire? I’m pretty certain that was Gene Kelly.”
“Huh. Really? No, it was Fred Astaire, all right. And Ginger Rogers. Maybe they had a different version for your people down here. Anyway, the point is, even if you’re slinging in the rain, it still takes some time before the umbrella gets completely dry. So when you do finally come indoors, you gotta be careful where you stash it.”
With that, Gavin signaled his goodbye with a short one fingered salute and headed for the front desk, dropping his coffee cup off near the ki
tchen as he walked past.
53
Hotel Bar
The seven suspects were all lined up in front of Gavin in a loose semi-circle of chairs, while he stood facing them and Espinosa leaned against the bar, letting Gavin have the distinct personal honor of revealing the true killer. He figured it was only fair, since it was Gavin and Harry Crawford who had ultimately cracked the case. Gavin held up a hand to get their attention, then dove right in.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as you well know, last night we arrested Trevor Johnson for his wife’s murder. As my colleague here kept pointing out, all of the evidence we had in this case up until then pointed directly at him. And, as Detective Espinosa further pointed out,” he paused to nod in Espinosa’s direction, “almost every single time in these kinds of cases, it’s the husband who did it.”
“Ninety-nine percent of the time, in fact,” Espinosa added.
“Exactly. And I can’t help but think that factored into our killer’s little plans. Make sure all of the evidence sold the notion that Trevor Johnson was acting all alone in the murder, thereby setting him up for the fall.”
“I could have told you that!” Trevor shouted, almost leaping out of his seat in the process.
“Right.” Gavin paused to take in all of the eyes in the room, one by one, watching for any indication of guilt. And paying special attention to three particular sets of eyes. “Anyway, we made the arrest, and what’s done is done. But now we have some new evidence in the case, evidence that points us in a completely different direction.”
He paused again, and saw a wary and dangerous look starting to blossom in one of those sets of eyes.
“And I guess that brings us to the subject of why Detective Espinosa and I have asked you all here this morning. As it turns out, we have finally solved the mystery of who killed Katy Mulcahey at the bottom of Cozumel harbor several nights ago. And this time there can be no doubt. No doubt at all.”
