As he typed, the room echoed with shifts and returns, an old squad-room sound he hadn't heard since the introduction of computers. But no matter how hard he hammered the keys, his words were barely imprinted on the paper. When he examined the ribbon he understood why-it was so old, so used, that in many places it was torn all the way through.
When the affidavit and translation were done, Luis dropped Janek in front of his hotel. He would take the documents to Tania for approval, take her before a Cuban judge for the swearing-to ceremony, then return.
Back in his room, Janek took off his clothes and again inspected his body in the mirror. Although there were still a few sore spots, the blue marks had nearly faded.
He lay down on the bed. He didn't want to think about his experience with the Seguridad. He needed to think about Mendoza. is it possible, he asked himself, that Timmy faked the Metaxas letter and pressured Pefla to commit perjury? The thought was so chilling, he put it out of his mind. Then he fell asleep.
At nine that night Luis was back, treasures in hand. The executed documents, sworn to by Tania in the presence of official witnesses, bore a variety of flamboyant signatures, indented seals and one big red wax seal securing a piece of multicolored ribbon to the paper.
"These are beauties!" Janek said. He embraced Luis. "Thank you.
You've really saved my ass!"
Since neither one was hungry, they decided to take a walk. Luis led the way from the boisterous atmosphere of La Rampa to a well-kept area of suburban blocks nearby. Here old-fashioned lamps lit silent shady streets and the air was perfumed with the aroma of night-blooming shrubs.
They talked about police work-what they liked about it and what they didn't, the boredom and the pleasures of it, the exhilaration that always came when an investigation began to break open a case. They talked about detectives who solved crimes by the numbers, and others, like themselves, who worked more by hunch and touch.
"I usually go in the way you go into a labyrinth," Janek said, "trying to feel my way around. Sometimes I'm clumsy. I run into the walls. Other times I get completely lost.
In the end, if I manage to get to the center of the thin it's because on some level or other I felt it. Know what I mean?"
Luis nodded. "A sixth sense about people, what they are like, what they are likely to do."
"Right," Janek said. "So, let's talk about that. What did you feel about Tania?"
"My professional opinion?"
Janek shook his head. "Your gut reaction." Luis paused. "I felt she was a very strong woman."
"But maybe not so strong as she wanted you to believe."
"Perhaps not."
"So, what do your instincts tell you about her, Luis? Did she lie to me?
Did she tell me everything?"
Luis thought again before he answered. A parrot, his cage secured to the railing of a porch, screeched shrilly as they passed.
"She is safe here, the case is old, so she has nothing to gain by lying.
Still, she is human. She could be holding something back or leaving something out."
"Why?"
"Perhaps to make herself look better in our eyes."
"Or in her own. That's something I've learned about stories, Luis.
People have to live with themselves, so they interpret what they've done in ways that make them feel good."
Luis nodded.
"Thing is," Janek continued, "if Tania set up the final date with Metaxas, she'd have to bear some responsibility for what he did. She doesn't want to bear any responsibility for it. That may be why she ran-"
"Do you think she lied about that?" A dog howled in the distance.
"I'm not sure it makes much difference. She says she screamed a lot when she saw Mrs. Mendoza hanging in the studio. That's something we didn't know. We didn't know she'd gone over there that night. But I'm certain she's telling the truth."
"How can you be?"
"A neighbor called our emergency number, nine-one-one, to report screams just after seven o'clock. That's when Tania says she arrived to clean the place up. All these years we've assumed that the neighbor heard death's screams, something we couldn't reconcile with the fact that our people found her gagged."
Luis spread his arms. "Well, there you are-Tania was truthful. "
"About that, yeah. But I still have a problem with Metaxas. He was slow-witted, known for being sweet and well mannered, except of course when in the ring. Suppose Tania did set up the date with Metaxas, like he wrote in his note. Does that mean the note couldn't have been faked or forged?" Janek shook his head. "There're too many other things that don't fit-like why would Mendoza risk a face-to-face meeting with a hired killer and why would sweet Gus use a woman's body as a punching bag? If he was capable of that, why would he feel remorse about it afterwards? There are four things that tie Metaxas to the murder: his suicide; his note; the five-thousand-dollar money order to his mother;
Peiia's testimony. All four could have been manipulated. It would have been difficult, but it could have been done. What Tania has to say has little bearing on that… if she lied a little or left a few things out. But suppose Tania told us a very big lie." He glanced at Luis.
"Suppose she brokered the whole deal for Mendoza, not just the date but the killing instructions and the murder fee, too. Suppose she hired Pefia, the only other likely hit man, then ran away with enough money so she could buy a plane ticket here and set herself up when she arrived.
Did Jake Mendoza pay her off Was part of the deal that she run down here to divert attention? That script might work." He paused.
"It certainly isn't impossible."
"But only if she told a very big lie," Luis added.
"Right… " Janek paused. "For me the issue isn't whether Mendoza arranged the killing of his wife. I'm pretty sure he did. The issue is whether my old friend, Timmy Sheehan, decided that if he couldn't legally nail Mendoza, he'd fake up a chain of evidence using sweet, dumb Gus Metaxas as his fall guy. That, Luis, is such a horrifying possibility, it makes me sick to think about it."
"I understand. But what's the answer? Do you think Tania was telling a big lie or not?"
"I don't think she was, but I can't be sure."
As they approached La Rampa and the hotel, Janek explained how he was going to proceed.
"Even with my tapes and documents, they'll ask me about Tania's demeanor. That'll put me in a position where I can skew what she said."
"Skew?"
"Slant it. Put a spin on it."
Luis looked worried. "How will you skew it, Frank?" "I'll act like I believe everything she told me. I'll put her statement out, then sit back and watch what people do."
"YOU believe someone will do something and give himself away?"
"I hope so. If someone gets provoked, it might answer a lot of old questions."
At the Habana Libre they stood in silence by the door. Janek turned to Luis. "You've helped me so much. Is there some way I can repay you?
Anything I can send you from the States?"
Luis shook his head. "Perhaps one day I will come see you in New York."
Janek nodded. The pride of the man continued to impress him. "Have you been to America?" Luis said that he had not, but that he had relatives there among the exiles, as did his wife.
"Most Cuban families do. In that way the revolution was expensive for us-it split us up. Now we wonder what will happen if things change here and our exiles come home.
Will they try to dismantle our medical and educational systems, demand their old property back? It is better for us not to think about such things, better to simply go on as we have for thirty years. And if we have no paper or fuel and barely enough to eat-well, then, at least we know we are defending our revolution. That, Frank, is the beauty in our pain, the luxury of it. Do you understand?"