Wonder Woman interrupted me. “She is certain this man was the captain of the boat?”
I shrugged. “She seemed to be. She said they stayed in the Bahamas quite a while, and then they got on another big boat—possibly the Miss Agnes—to come here. The same man captained both boats.”
“What about the dead woman? Did the child know her?” Rusty asked.
“She said she was no relation, but she seemed to watch out for Solange, even in the Bahamas. Her name was Erzulie, I think. Oh yeah, and the kid says her father is an American, that she learned to speak her English from him. She doesn’t know his name, just that everyone called him Papa Blan— that means white father—and she was under the impression she was coming to America to be with him.”
“She saw who killed the woman,” Collazo said.
“She says the bad man did it. It wasn’t really clear whether she witnessed it, or was just told he did it. All I know is she’s terrified of him.”
Agent D’Ugard said, “Miss Sullivan, if she can identify this man as the captain of the Miss Agnes and the killer, then that little girl is in serious jeopardy. I believe we should take her into protective custody.”
“Isn’t that what you have here?” I pointed to her room. “A cop outside her door? And isn’t this where somebody just got to her? Come on. It’s not like this is some big mob case. I know she’s not going to be high priority to you guys. My attorney, Jeannie Black, has offered to take her in.” I told them about Jeannie’s background providing foster care and about the security she could provide. To my astonishment, they relented.
We shook hands all around, and then they wanted to see Solange. She was still curled up on her side and her hands were clenched in small fists, resting against her forehead. D’Ugard and Elliot took quick looks, as though they couldn’t bear to look at her, and then left to go have a little private tȇte-à-tȇte in front of the elevator.
Collazo stopped me outside her room. “There is something more. Something you didn’t tell us.”
Leave it to Collazo. It was like the guy had a sixth sense and always knew what I was thinking. “Well, there was something, but Mr. Border Patrol thinks it was nothing.” I told him then about seeing the sneakers under the curtain and chasing down the dubious Todd.
“We know somebody was in there, and I think he was the guy.”
Collazo nodded and took out that little notebook of his and wrote some notes, then stepped in way too close. I could feel the humid heat coming off his body, and I could smell his sweat. “You need to come in to sign a formal statement about finding the body yesterday. Maybe sit with an artist to sketch this orderly. I’ll drive you over right now. Elliot can stay with the girl, and I’ll have an officer drive you back.”
“Okay. I’ll ask him.”
I turned from Collazo and watched Rusty leaning casually against the wall, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, drawing the fabric tight across his backside, while Wonder Woman leaned in to him, talking with her hands more than her mouth. He had a little half-smile on his face that made him look like he was enjoying every motion she made. I was glad to interrupt them.
X
Collazo wasn’t present while a female officer took my official statement. He’d heard the story already and, for once, he wasn’t accusing me of holding anything back. When it had been transcribed and I’d signed it, the woman called in an artist, and we ended with an okay likeness of the man I’d seen at the hospital. I was amazed at how little I really remembered of his face beyond the mustache and beard. When it came to the shape of eyes, nose, and ears, I just hadn’t paid enough attention.
I went upstairs to Collazo’s desk in the back of the room full of detectives’ desks. He sat with his jacket draped over the back of his chair, his head bent over a mound of paperwork.
I sat in the chair opposite him. “Hey, does the Fort Lauderdale PD have a Haitian officer?”
He shook his head without looking up.
“You’re kidding,” I said. “How many people work here?”
“Something like five hundred. The translator I brought with me is a civilian, an outside contractor.”
“You mean you don’t have anyone who speaks Creole working for Fort Lauderdale PD? Man, you guys need to open your eyes. Look around at this city.”
For just a second, he flicked his eyes up at me. “They don’t consult me on their hiring decisions.”
“Collazo, you are a piece of work.” It was kind of nice not to be adversaries, to be cooperating with the detective. He stopped writing and looked up at me. He held his gold pen in front of his face, his hands clasped around it. He seemed to be deciding something.
“You need to get this girl to talk to me,” he said.
This was a moment to remember. Collazo needed my help. I could be nasty and rub his nose in it, but I decided it would be smarter to use the moment.
“You got any kids, Collazo?”
“No,” he grunted, and went back to his paperwork.
“Me neither,” I said.
“Just get her to talk to me.”
I leaned across his desk. “There’s something about this kid. She gets to me. I’ve never even liked kids before. But this one... it’s something about how she looks at me, I think. She totally believes that I can help her. Do you think that’s what it’s like to be a parent? I don’t know. It scares me.”
He looked up from his paperwork. “Miss Sullivan, we are through here.”
“You just want to get to Solange before Miss FBI does, huh?”
He shot me a look that was supposed to deny my accusation but had the opposite effect.
“I might be able to help you, but I need something from you as well. Can you give me the name of your Creole translator?”
He pulled a yellow Post-it pad to him and wrote down a name and number. “She works for a radio station out in Davie—they do Caribbean shows, reggae, that kind of music. You can usually find her there or leave a message.” He tore off the note and handed it to me.
“Okay, the kid has been talking to me. I don’t know what’s wrong with her right now, but as soon as she comes out of it, I’ll call you.”
He nodded and bowed his head over his paperwork again.
“So, anyway, nice talking to you. And thanks,” I said, standing up and holding out the Post-it note. “This is weird, us working together all nice like this. You haven’t even accused me of anything yet. I hardly recognize you.” I smiled at the top of his head and turned toward the door.
“We’re not working together, Sullivan,” he said to my back. “You’re not working anything. Go back to your little tugboat.”
I turned back at the door. “Ah, there you are, the Detective Collazo we all know and love.” I waved my fingers at him. “Bye.”
It was after four o’clock by the time the officer dropped me off at the entrance to Broward General. Rusty was gone, Jeannie had returned, and Solange was unchanged. Jeannie motioned me over to the far side of the room. I brought her up-to-date on what had happened. We spoke in whispered tones because of the cop outside the door. Solange seemed more unconscious than asleep.
“There are two ways we can do this,” Jeannie said. “I could go out and get the paperwork done legally and get myself appointed as her temporary guardian. That might take several days and then any yahoo who is out looking for her would be able to trace her to me. Or we could snatch her. Personally, since I don’t really want any machete-wielding Haitians showing up at my house tonight, I vote for number two.”
“Wouldn’t that be like kidnapping or something? I’m not up for doing something that might get me sent to jail.”
“Nah, not to worry. We’ll let Mr. Greenjeans know we’ve got her, and he agreed to her staying with me. I don’t see it as a problem. We just don’t want to leave a forwarding address here at the hospital.”