The Blood Betrayal

by Don Donaldson

  Beth eased up on the gas and guided the car down the gravel drive to a blocky, flat-roofed stucco house with each wall painted a different pastel color. Beside the house, at the end of the drive, was a poorly tended vegetable garden, wooden stakes for the peas rising above the other plants.

  In front of the house, next to a stubby palm tree, was a motorcycle. As they drew near, a good looking kid about sixteen, who had been crouching on the other side working on the bike, stood up, a wrench in his hand, a sullen expression on his face.

  “That’s probably her son, Juan,” Carl said.

  “Doesn’t look too pleased to see us.”

  “Considering he lost his father not long ago, I suspect happy expressions are in short supply around here.” He popped the glove box and retrieved the stack of letters Rosa Suarez had written to Hollenbeck.

  “Be easier for you to maneuver around if I take them,” Beth said.

  Carl handed her the letters. “Thanks for the thought.”

  They got out of the car under Juan’s cold stare, and Beth waited by the front bumper while Carl got his crutch out of the back seat. Together, they walked up to the motorcycle, Carl wearing his shirt outside his pants to hide the gun and holster in his waistband.

  “Who are you?” Juan sneered, coming around the back end of the cycle, the hand with the wrench whitening from the pressure of his grip.

  Though the wrench commanded a good part of Carl’s attention, he also saw that the kid was dressed like a rapper; football jersey hanging to his knees, denim jeans a foot too long gathered at his ankles, a big gold medallion on a gold chain dangling from his neck. Youth. At least he spoke English.

  “I’m Carl Martin and this is Beth Corbin. We’re here to see your mother.”

  “What for?”

  “That’s between your mother and us. She’s expecting our visit.”

  Before Juan could reply, the front door of the house opened, and a slightly overweight woman with shiny black hair pulled into a bun like a flamenco dancer and skin the color of strong tea, stepped out onto the porch. She wore a form-fitting pale green dress spotted with large yellow orchids. Oddly, she was barefoot. Though she had to be on the wrong side of fifty, Carl thought she was still a striking woman.

  “It’s all right, Juan, she said. “I knew they were coming. Just go back to whatever you were doing.” She glanced quickly at the letters, then her gaze traveled up to Beth’s face.

  Responding to that, Beth walked over, extended her empty hand, and introduced herself.

  Arriving a moment later because of his infirmity, Carl did the same.

  Rosa turned and motioned for them to follow. “Please come in.”

  They entered a sitting room populated with high-backed wicker furniture the same color as Rosa’s skin. The drapes and the cushions on the furniture were earth tones and orchids. Behind the sofa, a picture of Jesus hung over a crucifix.

  “Sit wherever you like,” Rosa said. “Would you like some juice? I have pineapple, guava, mango . . .” She waited, arching her dark brows in anticipation of their choice.

  Beth and Carl politely declined, causing Rosa’s brows to plummet in disappointment. Looking at her more closely, Carl saw that her eyes appeared puffy and slightly red, perhaps from crying over Hollenbeck’s death.

  He chose a chair sitting slightly apart from its wicker relatives so he could maneuver with his crutch. Beth slid behind the wicker coffee table onto the sofa.

  Rosa pulled another chair around to the front of the coffee table so they made a tight little group, then sat down and pointed at the envelopes in Beth’s hand.

  “Are those my letters?”

  “Yes,” Beth replied, leaning forward and extending the stack across the table.

  Rosa took the letters, put them in her lap, and covered them with her hands. Looking at Beth, she said, “Did Arnold ask you to return them?”

  “This is going to sound odd,” Beth said. “But we never met Dr. Hollenbeck.”

  Rosa’s brows crept together. “Then how did you get my letters?”

  Beth looked at Carl.

  “We found them in the burned ruins of a cabin he owned,” he said. “Under the floor in a metal box.”

  “Did you read them?”

  “Only the last one. I apologize for that. We didn’t know at the time what they were.”

  “Did his wife see them?”

  “This was after his death. She died in the same accident. It seems likely to me that hidden as they were, she probably never knew they existed.”

  “This cabin was in the States?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you came all this way just to return my letters . . .”

  “Not entirely.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Dr. Hollenbeck is part of a mystery we’re trying to solve.”

  “Are you police?”

  “No. It’s a mystery that affects us personally. Beth’s parents died a few years ago and were cremated. We thought we knew where the remains were, but it turns out they’re missing.”

  “And I’d like very much to have them back,” Beth said.

  “How was Arnold involved in that?”

  “We don’t know for sure he was,” Beth said. “But are just following every lead we can find.”

  “I won’t be involved in anything that dishonors his memory.”

  Carl had considered lying to her about their interest in Hollenbeck. He wished now he had.

  “Even if he is the key to finding my parents’ remains, there’s no reason to believe he did anything wrong,” Beth said. “So please don’t feel you’re being disloyal to him by speaking to us.”

  Carl held his breath to see how Rosa would take this artfully worded response.

  She mulled it over for a few seconds, then said, “All right. We can talk. But if I don’t like the direction of the conversation at any point, I’m going to stop. What did you want to know?”

  Carl relaxed. “When did you two meet?”

  Rosa’s expression softened, and a little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “July, nineteen seventy. I remember the month because the Flamboyan were in bloom and he put a blossom in my hair.”

  “Where was that?” Beth said.

  “Where we met?”

  Beth nodded.

  “A cantina in Loiza where I was a dancer.” Her eyes suddenly darkened. “A dancer, not a whore.”

  “Why was Dr. Hollenbeck in Puerto Rico?” Beth asked.

  “I guess you know he was a . . . how do you say it . . . a . . . doctor who delivered babies. He must have been a very famous one, because he was in Loiza to see several patients he had in the area.”

  “Pregnant women?” Carl said.

  “Who else? For a while he came here every six weeks or so to check on them.”

  “Do you know any of those women?” Carl asked.

  “No. After a year or so, his visits became less frequent . . . dropping to once every four months, then twice a year, and finally, rarely.” A wistful remembrance from her past drifted over her. “It took me a long time to realize he didn’t want me enough to be with me all the time.”

  “When his trips began to fall off, particularly when he was present only twice a year, he must not have been seeing patients,” Carl said. “Were those trips to visit you?”

  “I’d like to think they were, at least partially. But mostly, they were business. He was on the board of a charity that operated some orphanages in Puerto Rico.”

  Carl and Beth exchanged a glance saying so that is what was on Portobella Road.

  “Do you remember the name of the charity?” Beth asked.

  Rosa’s gaze dropped to the floor as though the name might be woven into the carpet. She
looked up, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I either can’t recall or never knew. I’m not helping much, am I?”

  “You’re doing fine,” Beth assured her. “Did you ever visit those orphanages?”

  “No.”

  “In your last letter to him,” Carl said, “you mentioned he lost his PDA while he was here. When was that and how did it happen?”

  “That visit was to see me. It was about seven months ago. We had dinner out, and then came back here to talk some more about . . . everything. Around the time he was going to leave and go back to his hotel, it began to rain, one of the heaviest I’ve ever seen. And the wind was incredible. It just wouldn’t stop. There was no way he could drive in that, so I invited him to stay over.” Her eyes sharpened and she gave each of them a pointed look. “Just to sleep. That’s all.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “Between the time he arrived and the time he left, his PDA went missing.”

  “In your letter you said you believed Juan took it.”

  Just because a mother says something negative about her child, doesn’t mean anyone else can, even if they’re repeating something the mother said. Rosa now taught Carl that principle. Bristling with indignation she said, “Why do you come into my home and insult me and my son?”

  Carl was so flummoxed by her reaction he didn’t know what to say.

  So Beth tried her luck. “We know this is a good Catholic family. And that you’ve taught Juan well. It’s like you said in your letter, Juan is still feeling the pain of losing his father. He was just defending his father’s honor like any good son would.”

  Rosa’s demeanor lost its edges. She looked at Carl and tilted her head to Beth. “See, she understands.”

  Afraid that if he replied, he’d tear out the repair Beth had sewn into Rosa’s hurt feelings, Carl kept quiet and hoped Beth knew where to go next.

  “Mrs. Suarez . . . we’ve been working very hard to track down any of Dr. Hollenbeck’s remaining computer records, thinking we might find a lead there to my parents. But there’s nothing left. All his computers have either been cleaned of their former files or sold to people whose names we don’t know. That PDA is our last hope.”

  Rosa looked at Beth with sympathy. “Juan has never admitted he took it.”

  “Would you mind if we spoke to him about it?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “It will probably go better if you’re not listening.”

  “I’ll stay in the kitchen until you’re through.”

  “Thank you for all your help,” Beth said.

  Nodding, Rosa got up and left the room.

  “Good job,” Carl whispered to Beth as they headed for the door.

  Outside, Juan was still working on his motorcycle.

  Carl looked at Beth to see if she wanted to handle this too, but she silently mouthed, you do it.

  Carl hobbled around to the side of the bike where the kid was kneeling. “I used to own a motorcycle.”

  “That just thrills me all to hell,” Juan replied, his eyes remaining on his work.

  “You seem like someone who keeps in touch with things going on around him. So, I’d like to offer you a little business deal.”

  Juan looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m in the market for a PDA, you know, one of those little electronic gadgets where you can keep addresses, phone numbers, your daily schedule.”

  Juan stood up, his face hostile. “Is this about that old dipshit’s PDA? Cause if it is, I didn’t take it.”

  “It’s not about that at all. I’m just looking to buy any PDA, providing you could provide it in the next few minutes.” Carl then endured Juan’s silent stare, wondering if he’d take the bait. But even if he would and did hand over Hollenbeck’s PDA, there was no assurance its records hadn’t been wiped clean.

  Juan looked at the closed door to the house. Lowering his voice he said, “How much you willin’ to pay?”

  “Fifty bucks.”

  Juan shook his head and again squatted beside the bike. “Ain’t worth my trouble.”

  “A hundred,” Carl countered.

  Juan stood up. “Two hundred.”

  “Done.” Carl extended his hand to seal the deal, but Juan just glanced at it with contempt.

  “I’ll need fifty in advance.”

  Carl took out his wallet, removed two twenties and a ten and handed them to the kid.

  “Now get in your car,” Juan said. “At the road out front turn right and drive until you come to a big tree with nothin’ growin’ under it and a lot of papers and crap on the ground. Wait there for me.”

  While Juan watched, Carl and Beth went to the car, where Carl threw his crutch into the backseat, then joined Beth, who had already gotten in. With the door shut so Juan couldn’t hear, Beth put her hand over her mouth in case he could read lips, “Do you trust him?”

  “No. But what else can we do?”

  A few minutes later, spotting the tree Juan had described, Beth pulled off the road, circled under its spreading branches, and came to a stop, facing forward. She put it in park and left the engine running.

  “What if this is . . . what do you call it . . . a setup?” she asked. “And right now he’s somewhere arranging for us to be robbed.”

  Carl shifted in his seat and got Mahler’s gun out of the holster in his waistband. “He can try.”

  Five minutes passed silently, then six.

  “I don’t think he’s coming,” Beth said, facing Carl. Then she lifted her eyes and focused on a point beyond the passenger window. “Wait. There he is.”

  Carl turned. Through the glass he saw Juan emerging from the heavy brush fifteen feet from the car. He was moving fast with something in his hand. When the kid was just a few feet away, Carl caught a better glimpse of the object and realized it was a gun.

  Carl’s mind and heart began a chariot race. Juan apparently intended to shoot him through the window, then kill Beth and take whatever he wanted.

  “He’s got a gun. Get us out of here,” Carl shouted.

  Flustered, Beth pulled the car out of park into neutral and gave it the gas.

  Carl was watching Juan, so he didn’t understand why they weren’t moving. It was all happening so fast. The kid was now at the window.

  Carl didn’t want to shoot him if he didn’t have to. But if he hesitated, that would give Juan the advantage and . . .

  The kid was raising his gun hand. All time for thought was over.

  Carl rolled to the left as he raised Mahler’s automatic and pointed it at the threat on the other side of the glass. His finger tightened on the trigger and he prepared himself for the blast, which would be thunderous in the closed car.

  Chapter 42

  THERE WAS NOTHING now in Carl’s world but a tunnel leading to the assassin looming in the window. Then, an instant before Carl’s trigger finger passed the point at which nothing could be called back, he saw the gun in Juan’s hand.

  No. Not a gun. Shit, it was a PDA. Carl released the tension on the trigger.

  Seeing the gun leveled at him, Juan backed away from the car.

  Carl rolled down the window and lowered his weapon. “It’s okay. I didn’t know. I thought you had—.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you man?” Juan said. “Why you pointin’ that thing at me?”

  “Misunderstanding, that’s all.”

  Knowing now that everything was okay, Beth relaxed and took her foot off the gas.

  “I see you got what I wanted,” Carl said to Juan.

  The kid approached the car warily. “Just give me the rest of my money and I’ll get out of here.”

  The deal was consummated, and the kid took off down the road toward home.

  “That was exciting,” Beth said.r />
  “Guess with all that’s happened, I’m a little edgy.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t shoot him.”

  “That would have just topped off our trip, wouldn’t it?” Carl took the PDA out of its case and turned it on.

  “Is it Hollenbeck’s?” Beth asked.

  “Don’t know yet,” Carl said, working the little keyboard. “At least the battery works.”

  He wasn’t familiar with the particular model, but after a little experimenting, he successfully navigated to the schedule function and found that the last entries were seven months ago, which was around the time Hollenbeck had last been in Puerto Rico. So far so good. Then Carl navigated backward on the scheduler and hit the proof he needed: an entry titled, visit Rosa, followed by a flight itinerary originating in Little Rock. He looked at Beth. “It’s his. Let’s go back to the hotel and see if all the trouble we went through to get it was worth it.”

  FORTY MINUTES LATER, Carl said, “Here’s something interesting.” In this context the word interesting was a relative term. Because after he’d just spent twenty minutes roaming around Hollenbeck’s PDA without finding anything to justify the money and time he’d spent obtaining the thing, he had unreasonably high hopes for the file he’d just found titled: Passwords and Pins.

  The first entry in the list contained the PIN number for accessing Hollenbeck’s investment account at Vanguard. The next was for his account at Fidelity. Where most people, including Carl, used the same passwords or PINs whenever they needed one, Hollenbeck seemed to dislike that practice, hence his need to keep a list. Carl’s first reaction to finding these PINs was that he now might be able to see how much Hollenbeck was worth. But then he remembered the guy was dead and those accounts were most likely closed.