On shore, she saw a thin, tall man, who for a moment she mistook for her father-a ridiculous thought she immediately dismissed. No way had her father rushed from Miramar to her side to ‘fix’ whatever problem his ‘little one’ faced-in spite of his habit of interference. Her mind instantly readjusted: must be the elder statesman of forensics, Dr. Arturo Benilo. Curious about Benilo, she looked forward to meeting her father’s old yet estranged friend. According to her father, Benilo- reputed to be manipulative, cautious, and practical-always kept his cards close to his chest.
She stepped from the pilothouse and made her way to the deck, thinking this long day was about to become even longer.
Dr. Arturo Benilo ME stood on the docks, bored, staring out at two approaching boats, one a police harbor boat, the other an old shrimp trawler. He’d been told that the crime scene was on that shrimper.
For some time, he’d curiously watched a single silhouetted figure moving about at the bow of the old tub being guided ashore. As the boat neared, he recognized the pose of a woman in trim dark pants and blouse. Her pose and movements looked startlingly familiar, reminding him of his long ago lover, Rafaela, a blonde blue-eyed beauty as fiery as the idealism that inspired the revolucion. She’d chosen his best friend, Tomaso Aguilera, marrying him instead of Arturo. Years later, Rafaela had died giving birth to Quiana. As he continued to watch the approaching crime scene, he realized the figure must be Rafaela’s daughter, Quiana Magdalena Aguilera, all grown up. Standing erect, she could not hide the grace that’d been her mother’s, and he wondered if she was as beautiful as Rafaela.
While not altogether surprised to learn from Hilito that the lead investigator was a woman, Dr. Benilo had been startled to know he was about to meet Tomaso Aguilera’s daughter. He’d previously heard of her advancement in the police force. “Ahhh…irony…figures,” he muttered. “Things come full circle.”
Her pacing suggested nervous energy at a low boil, reinforcing his memories of the beautiful Rafaela. He felt an instant certainty that Quiana, like her mother, was also the essence of pride and self-reliance. Perhaps, at times, a stubborn pride with her mother’s sudden flashes of lightning arrogance, but did she have the confidence and personality that made everyone who knew Rafaela forgive her temper?
As the floating crime scene made final approach, Benilo took a deep breath and steeled himself for this challenge to his office-investigate a triple-homicide alongside a rank beginner, suggesting no one wanted to uncover the real answers. Add to this the twist of Rafaela’s daughter as lead investigator, representing a challenge to him on a personal level. He sighed and muttered, “It’s going to be a long night.”
When the Sanabela suddenly and noisily bumped against the dock, Qui grabbed the weathered boat railing with both hands. As the Sanabela settled, Qui promised herself to observe and learn what she might from this man Benilo. Taking a moment to call in her position, Qui let a seemingly disinterested Gutierrez know they’d docked and that the ME had arrived.
She watched Tino grab the tossed lines and secure the boat in the slip. Suddenly, another man came rushing forward, from a recently arrived jeep. He’d climbed out, hands waving, shouting, “You can’t dock that broken-down old hulk in my marina! Toss off those lines! Go away!”
Tino held up his badge to the man, who fell silent in mid-shout. The dockmaster slinked off toward the safety and order of his world-a nearby small shack, his kingdom.
Given the laws in Cuba, the dockman knew that if it suited their purpose, the police could put Estrada’s boat in his living room, or do far worse to him. Qui considered the cost of exerting such power in rampant disregard to people-how much good will was lost in the community when police did as they damn well pleased. Little wonder people feared the police.
To Estrada standing next to her, Qui said, “Uncle, your boat is now officially impounded. I’ll do all I can to release it as soon as possible, so your life can return to normal.”
“How do you define normal?” he sarcastically replied, thinking of his loss in under-the-table sales of specialty seafood. Anticipating his men and their families joining the population’s thirty percent going hungry, he said, “I curse those who’ve made fishing illegal, a senseless stupidity on an island.”
“Careful uncle, people can hear us,” she cautioned. “I’m sorry this has befallen you.”
“What am I to do while Sanabela is in police custody?”
“Take time with your family.”
“Which one?”
She grinned knowing he had family and ‘family’ all over Cuba. This was more like the ‘uncle’ she knew.
Her smile evaporated at the sound of rising voices once again on the dock. A crowd had gathered round to observe, question, wonder, and gossip-an audience to the night’s curious entertainment. Qui was grateful Tino had earlier cordoned off the area, keeping the avid onlookers at a distance. The growing audience had become vocal, asking what had occurred on the boat.
Catlike, Qui jumped from the boat, and as she approached the men, hooting and whistling erupted from the crowd. Many in the crowd were out of work day laborers. A large element of the population made no distinction between the regime soldiers and the capitol police, despite realities, which made for a lot of catcalls and asides.
“Hey, beautiful police woman!” came one lone cry from amid the herd where safety in numbers did not always protect.
“Arrest me!”
“What? You need the state to feed you today?” Qui replied, smiling.
Laughter erupted from the crowd.
“Do you have handcuffs?” asked another.
She dangled a huge pair of cold metal cuffs overhead. “You bet!”
“Hombres!” shouted Tino at the crowd. “Show some respect!”
Qui’s amusement with the situation grew in relation to the jeering. She doubted that one female lieutenant on the Havana Police Force could make a significant difference, in the uneasy citizen-police relationship- especially with the Secret Police terrifying Cubanos at every turn — but her nature dictated a more humane approach, concession over threat, compromise over force.
“Tino…I’ll handle these gentleman,” she said, and then spoke in a more serious tone to the crowd. “Look, we’re just trying to do our jobs, OK? Do yourselves a favor and break it up! You don’t wanna get me angry, do you?”
This brought on a raucous outburst of good-natured laughter and a bit of cheering from the men. They liked her; she was different.
“I’ll take that as a ‘No.’ This is a difficult situation. Murder…a crime scene that-”
“Why should we care?” called out someone from within the crowd.
Qui shook her head. “I warned you once. I won’t do it again.” Invoking the mantra of cops everywhere, she continued, “This is police business.”
Tino said to her, “No one’s gonna leave till they see more.”
“Yeah, we’re up against the universal drug…curiosity. OK!” she shouted for attention. “So long as you behave yourselves, stay and watch!”
Turning back toward the boat, she saw the mysterious Dr. Arturo Benilo quietly slip aboard Sanabela.
7
Acknowledging no one-not even Captain Estrada, Dr. Arturo Benilo stepped aboard the trawler. He’d successfully maneuvered through all the hoopla of the crowd without notice, his hefty black valise-stuffed with medical paraphernalia-shifting his weight from side to side. He knew the value of anonymity and silence and used each whenever it suited, and now it suited.
At mid-ship, Benilo turned to watch Detective Aguilera take leave of the crowd. She’d seen him and would soon be on his heels, but he wanted a moment alone with the dead, as was his preference and custom. New and eager to do well, the young detective would probably irritate Benilo by introducing herself and reading from her notes, details she’d uncovered about the victims-all of which would color his initial impression of the scene and the dead. Accustomed to detectives like Jorge Pena, who sleepwalked through an investigation, Benilo so far found her enthusiastic, a rare trait in a cop in today’s Cuba. Because a crime scene inevitably turns into a spectator sport, Benilo had to admire her deft handling of the curious crowd. Amused by her clever tactics, it was not lost on him that she’d won her point without arguing-so like her mother.