“Not so much then. I’d say he was most entertaining when he went over there to visit Captain Pintado’s wife.”
Jack tried not to show his surprise. “You mean Lindsey Hart?”
“Yes.”
“How often did you see Lieutenant Johnson and Mrs. Hart together at the Pintado house?”
“Many times.”
“Now, you told me earlier that you were part of the midnight to eight A.M. shift. So, I want you to think about this carefully. Are you sure you saw Lindsey Hart together with Lieutenant Johnson many times between midnight and eight o’clock?”
“Oh, yes. I saw them. Usually more like between two A.M. and five A.M.”
“You actually saw them together inside the house?”
“Sure. We have sophisticated equipment. A tiny slit in the blinds is all we need to see into the bedroom.”
“The bedroom,” said Jack, his words almost involuntary.
“Yes. The bedroom.”
“I hate to sound stupid, but what was Lieutenant Johnson doing in the bedroom with Captain Pintado’s wife in the middle of the night?”
He smiled and said, “What do you think they were doing?”
“Nobody cares what you or I think they were doing. I want to know what you actually saw them doing.”
Castillo glanced at the colonel, uttering a few words and expressions that Jack didn’t understand. The colonel looked at Jack and said in English, “They were going at it like a couple of porn stars.”
Jack was silent, his eyes momentarily unable to focus. “How often did you see them together?”
“Maybe once a week.”
“When was the first time you saw them together?”
“I’d say about two months before Captain Pintado’s death.”
“When was the last time you saw them together?”
“The night Captain Pintado died.”
“They were together the night Captain Pintado was shot?”
“Yes. Lieutenant Johnson left the Pintado house around three A.M. Mrs. Hart left the house for work around five-thirty. Then about twenty minutes later, Lieutenant Johnson came back to the house and entered through the back door. He left about ten minutes later, and then the police arrived about sunrise. You know the rest.”
Again, Jack fell silent. He’d expected to hear about an intruder, and instead he’d been whacked between the eyes with a sex scandal.
The colonel said, “Thank you, Private Castillo. That will be all for now.”
“I have a few more questions,” said Jack.
“That will be all for now,” the colonel said, speaking as much to Jack as to the soldier.
The private rose and left the room. As the door closed, the colonel looked at Jack and said, “Surprised?”
Jack nodded, as if nothing came as a surprise any longer. “What do you expect me to do with this information from Private Castillo?”
“That’s what I’m here to discuss. First, do you like what he had to say, or do you not like it?”
“I’m not sure,” said Jack.
“It is one of those two-edged swords, isn’t it? You have the lieutenant headed over to the Pintado residence right around the time of the murder. Or at least the time of the murder as established in the NCIS report, which I’ve seen, by the way.”
“Naturally.”
“So, you have the lieutenant at the Pintado house at the time of the murder. But you also have him involved in an affair with the victim’s wife. They both have motive. They both have opportunity.”
“You talk like a lawyer,” said Jack.
“I watch a lot of Law and Order. American television is my one capitalist indulgence.”
The opulent surroundings offered Jack plenty of opportunity to argue about the extent of the colonel’s “capitalist indulgences,” but he let it drop. Jack said, “Are you still offering to make Private Castillo available to testify at Lindsey Hart’s trial in Miami?”
“That depends,” said Colonel Jiménez. “If you like what he has to say, then yes: I am offering to make him available to you.”
“No strings attached?”
“No strings.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t I believe you?”
The colonel took a cigar from the humidor on his desk, rolled it between his thumb and index finger. “I said it before, and I say it again. You are such a skeptic, Mr. Swyteck.”
“I told you the last time we met: I’m not cutting any deals with the Cuban government.”
“We are not after any deals.”
“Then what’s in this for you?”
“We have decided that it is delightful enough for us to show the world that Alejandro Pintado’s son was married to a slut and was murdered by his best friend.”
“And what if I decide to deny you that pleasure?”
“Meaning what?”
“What if I simply decline to call your soldier as a witness?”
“I suggest you think very hard about that. Or it’s Lindsey Hart who suffers.”
“Maybe Lindsey is willing to take that chance.”
“Maybe. But perhaps there are others who do not have the luxury of choice.” He reached into his drawer and removed an eight-by-ten photograph. He laid it on the desktop.
Jack examined it. A group of people were standing on the sidewalk, watching as men in dark green uniforms hauled their belongings into the street. Clothes were strewn in the gutter. Furniture had been busted into pieces. “What is this?” Jack asked.
“Look closely,” said the colonel.
Jack tightened his gaze, and then he recognized it. Standing off to one side was Felicia Méndez, the Bejucal woman to whom Jack had spoken about his mother. She was sobbing into her husband’s shoulder. Others in the photograph were crying, too, including two young girls, perhaps six and eight.
“This is Casa Méndez,” said Jack.
The colonel sniffed his cigar, savoring the rich tobacco. “Yes. I’m sorry to report that they lost their leasehold. Just happened yesterday. Thirteen people, no place to live now. Such a shame.”
“You took their home away?”
“It’s not like they can’t get it back. Or should I say, it’s not like you can’t give it back to them.”
“You son of a bitch. Is that what your boy in Miami meant when he said you’d treat my family like gusanos?”
“Indirectly, yes. Of course, we know that the Méndez family is not your family. But this is a good starting point.”
“Are you implying that you have designs on actual blood relatives I may have here in Cuba?”
He nearly smiled, then his expression ran cold. “It wouldn’t be much of an implication if I were to come right out and admit it. Would it, Mr. Swyteck?”
Jack didn’t answer.
The colonel rose and pushed a button near his telephone. The double doors immediately opened, and the two soldiers posted outside his library entered.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Swyteck. I’ll give you a few days to consider your response.”
“Colonel, I-”
Colonel Jiménez cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Talk to the dead captain’s wife.” He chuckled to himself and said, “Aye, would I love to be the fly on the wall for those conversations?”
Jack wanted to slug him, but he held his tongue. The more he kept talking, the more likely he was to say something about Jack’s half sibling, and despite all the threats, it wasn’t clear that the colonel knew anything about that. Jack didn’t want to be the one to tell him.
“You’ll hear from me. One way or another.” Jack left the colonel’s residence in the company of the two soldiers, saying not another word all the way to the airport.
27
Jack had five hours to kill at Havana Airport. The first leg of his circuitous Miami-via-Cancun journey wasn’t scheduled to leave until dinnertime, so he found a seat at the restaurant and grabbed a demitasse of espresso, which made him only more restless. One more cup of this stuff, and he probably could swim home.
“More coffee?” the waitress asked.
“You don’t happen to have decaffeinated, do you?”