“If we were married, you wouldn’t be a cop. You’d have no need of work. You could just learn to cook and-”
“And be a proper married woman?”
“-and take care of our children and-”
“Enough of this,” said Tomaso. “We’re all tired, and this is not the time to repeat old arguments.”
Qui replied, “I got it. I got it already. You don’t either of you want me on the case, because you expect me to fail. You want me to drop the case, and I want you to drop this discussion,” she demanded. “Now I’m going to shower and to sleep.” She hugged her father as she passed by, “Goodnight, Papa. I’ll see you in the morning. Good-bye, Montoya.”
Montoya shrugged at Tomaso, who advised, “She’s angry; give her a moment. Let her cool down.”
Montoya, a look of defeat in his eyes, sat down and lifted his rum. The two men sat quietly, each lost in contemplation at the disturbing news Qui had brought home.
His drink gone, Montoya stood and said, “Good night Tomaso.”
Tomaso advised, “A warning, Montoya, she’s like her mother, spirited, easy to anger-like a scorpion. Best not provoke her any further.”
Not a man to take advice, Montoya nodded and left in pursuit of Qui. Tomaso stared at his retreating figure, a gift-wrapped package now in Estaban’s hands. The older man shook his head, thinking that once again the doctor was assuming Qui could be distracted from her convictions with material things. Qui’s attention might be temporarily distracted; however, her loyalty and affection could not be bought. The younger man couldn’t be further from understanding her, so how would Montoya ever win her?
In a moment, Estaban stood knocking at Qui’s door, the pretty package in hand. He caught her undressing, a sight he relished.
“Baby, sweetheart, you should listen,” he began, holding the present behind his back. “A thing like this case of yours…just being involved as a secondary, could bring you harm.”
“I’m primary investigator on this one.”
“My God…but this will be a…a volcano with everyone getting burned. I just don’t want you to get hurt! That’s all I’m saying.”
“Montoya, as lead investigator on the case, it’ll take an act of God or Gutierrez to remove me from it. So say no more.”
“We can get Tomaso to make a few phone calls.”
“No, damn it! You will not start this bullshit now, not again!”
“We’re not talking simple murder! This is an international incident-three foreigners dying on Cuban soil while attending a medical conference? This can only make Cuba look bad. Fidel will be involved, and you’ll be the focus of everyone’s attention.”
“I understand your concerns but-”
“This is something the State should handle, not the police. Too many unknowns. Americans, that alone means trouble.”
“Montoya, I asked you to drop it.” Her eyes flashed where she stood now in bra and panties.
“You’re so gorgeous dressed like that.” He began to approach her when her angry eyes stopped him.
“Come on, Qui, bodies tossed in the sea like trash?” He paused to enjoy the sight of her, then attempted to drive home his point. “This is a dangerous game, Qui! Whoever’s behind this isn’t gonna stop at a badge, a uniform, a Walther PPK, or a beautiful woman.”
“Stop it or go home. I will not hear anymore of this!” She even more fiercely glared at him, fist clenched, teeth gnashing.
“Damn it, Quiana, I am squarely on your side. I love you.”
“Damn funny way of showing it.”
“Here. I got this earlier. I wanted us to enjoy it. Together,” he handed the package to her.
Grabbing it, she exclaimed, “Why do you do this? Give me presents when I am angry with you?”
“I got it before all this started,” he protested. “Go shower and model it for me. I’ll go read a journal unless you want me to join you-wash your back maybe?” he cajoled.
“Showering I can do for myself without anyone’s help. Right now, I need to be alone, period.” Grimacing, she stalked off to shower, taking the pale blue, beautifully wrapped box with her. Damn him to hell, she sourly thought.
After several minutes under hot water and finishing with cool, her anger as well as the stench of death had vanished. Toweling her hair, she glanced with distaste at her choice of plainclothes detective wear amid her underwear in a heap on the floor. How many washings would it take to get the smell out, she wondered. The odors clinging to her couldn’t be pleasant for Estaban, or were they? He’d never made a single complaint.
She reached for the package and undid the careful wrapping, wondering anew how Montoya afforded this sort of indulgence. She reached in and lifted out the most beautiful nightgown and negligee she’d ever seen. The gown, made of soft smooth blue satin, felt cool to the touch. She pulled it over her head, adjusted straps to fit, and gazed at her reflection. It seemed made for her alone, her nipples showing clearly, the fabric curving snugly over her breasts, just tight enough over her hips to outline her derriere. Too much sitting. Need to get more exercise. The high leg opening revealed plenty of skin. The delicate pattern along its edge drew the eye to the line of the leg. She smiled at her mirror image, enjoying this look, all of her earlier frustration morphing into something akin to a grudging acceptance of Montoya’s concerns, her displeasure buried, but not entirely vanished. Faintly patterned and nearly transparent, the sheer silk negligee caressed her skin-this final sensation burying the last vestiges of her annoyance. The thing must have cost a fortune. He knew she’d disapprove of his extravagance but love it all the same.
Oh Montoya, if only my misgivings about us would dissolve as easily as my annoyance with you. She vowed that for the rest of the night, there would not be a single serious word between them. This would be a night he’d remember for a long, long time. She smiled as she turned off the light, extinguishing all thought of the outside world, to join him where he awaited her in bed.
12
Earlier, receiving dock, Benilo’s morgue
“What do you mean, the bodies are not here?” shouted Arturo Benilo at the morgue assistant. “I watched them leave the marina! Two Americans, and a Canadian woman! Bloated, white as milk. Lost? Who the fuck lost them?” He was not used to working with this new young man, Jesus del Campo, and Benilo’s palpable anger over the absurd absence of not one but three bodies threatened to burst a vein in his neck.
“No, no, no, doctor, sir, I didn’t lose nobody…I mean no bodies.”
“Then by God produce them, Jesus! Where are they?”
“The bodies never really got here!” replied the boyish wide-eyed Jesus.
“What do you mean, ‘never got here’?”
“Some men had a hearse and papers. I didn’t know where you were so…”
“Where? Where did this body-jacking occur?”
“Out in the parking lot. The bodies never saw the inside the morgue.”
“So never officially in your possession?”
“That’s correct, sir”
Benilo had become immediately suspicious the moment he learned of this outrage. “This is not done,” he muttered. “Why the hell wasn’t I called?”
“I…I couldn’t reach you. They had papers.”
“Papers, really?”
“Orders. Enrique and Pedro had their hands in the air.”
“What else? Details. Give me de-”
“They moved the corpses into an unmarked van. Said the killings resulted from-”
“Illegal drug business?”
His face a study in surprise, the young assistant exclaimed, “How’d you know?”
“Said they’d take care of any details, yes?”
Jesus kept nodding. “Said they’d prepare the bodies for shipment home.”
Conveniently losing them in a sea of shipping containers, thought Benilo. Could be months before they resurface, if at all.
Jesus continued to fight for breath. “I–I swear to you, there was no stopping them. Any resistance…I mean…I could not-”