Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (best desktop ebook reader .TXT) 📗

life. He put his face right up close and spat at him. He said that if Gonzalo was dead, Humberto would die, too, and Paul would spend the rest of his life in Monte Cristo, a notorious prison in Amazonia, where he would be tortured until he begged for death.”

“What did you do?”

“Paul made an executive decision, as he needed to. He was probably right in this case. He said if we stuck around and waited for the police, or if we handed ourselves in, we were as good as dead. Especially him, Humberto, and Carmela. He said we had to go, right then and there. He had a boat moored by the house and we should use that to get to Macapá, where we could get passage to the U.S.A. The moron of his whore insisted on collecting her jewels and her clothes. That delayed us, and it cost her her life, and almost cost Reggie his.”

“Gabriel came back?”

She nodded. “Yes, he came back, with his farm hands. They got Luz in the house. I don’t want to even imagine what they did to the stupid bitch. Reggie was shot in the head just as he was clambering aboard the boat.” She paused, looking into her drink. “They didn’t kill him, but it might have been better if they had.” She sighed and shrugged. “God alone knows how we didn’t kill ourselves that night. We must have been doing forty miles an hour down the river, dodging logs and heaven knows what else. We dropped Carmela at Fordlandia...”

“Where?”

“Don’t laugh. It is actually called that. Fordlandia. She had family there. We eventually made it to Santarem, where Paul bought another boat and we got medical attention for Reggie. It cost a small fortune in bribes to buy the doctors’ silence, but we managed it. Then we sailed on to Macapá, where we bought papers for Humberto and caught a ship for New York. If you have money in Brazil, you can buy anything. And anyone.”

I drained my glass. “I am going to need names, dates… the name of the ship… I’ll need you to make a formal statement.”

“I know.”

“I won’t use the information if I don’t have to. But you understand that Humberto may have killed again, twice.”

She nodded. “God, what a mess.”

“That night, the night of Simon’s murder, where was Humberto?”

She shook her head. “I assumed he was with Paul at the church.”

“Did Paul say anything to you, after he phoned Sylvie?”

“No. Just that there had been a break-in and that Simon had been killed.”

I stood. She watched me. Her expression was both strong and pathetic. She smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile. “I don’t suppose you want to stay?”

I smiled back. It was the same kind of smile. “Thanks. I’m spoken for.”

“How delightfully old-fashioned of you.”

I left her at the door, climbed into my ancient Jaguar and headed home, thinking about my choice of words. Spoken for. An ancient Latin phrase crept into my head. Res ipsa loquitor: the thing speaks for itself.

That was me. The thing. The dinosaur speaks for itself.

Fourteen

The next morning it was drizzling from a low ceiling of heavy cloud. Dehan was waiting in the doorway of her apartment block and dodged across the road when she saw me coming. She climbed in and slammed the door as I pulled back into the traffic. I tried out a smile.

“How was your evening?”

She shrugged. “How did it go with Elizabeth Cavendish?”

“It is quite a story.”

She listened in silence as I recounted it. When I had finished, she said, “So what are you thinking? It kind of supports what we were saying yesterday.”

“On the face of it.” I threw her a smile. “Prima facie.” She didn’t respond. I went on. “So I am thinking I need to break Paul down and get the truth out of him. At the same time, I think I would like a warrant to search the church, the rectory, and the grounds.”

“What about Sylvie?”

I shook my head. “Right now, trying to talk to Sylvie is a waste of time. She’ll just keep seeking refuge in her supposed amnesia. I think she has almost come to believe it herself. No, we need to appeal to Paul’s self-interest. Not Reverend Truelove, but the real Paul, the amoral Amazonian adventurer.”

She cocked her head on one side. “He sounds like a man who’d go a long way to protect his son.”

“Up to a point, you’re right. But he has a pretty warped sense of what protection means, hasn’t he? He did risk his own life to get him out of Brazil, but wouldn’t risk his business deal to protect his son from a bully.”

She turned away and gazed out the window at the wet people hunched under their umbrellas, jostling each other on the passing sidewalk.

“True.”

After a bit, I asked her, “You alright?”

She looked surprised, but didn’t smile. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine.”

We climbed the stairs to the captain’s office in silence and I tapped on the door.

“Come!”

I opened the door for Dehan and she stared at me blankly, so I went in ahead of her. The captain beamed when he saw us and stood, reaching for our hands like we were the guests of honor at his restaurant.

“Stone! Dehan! Come in, come in, sit. I have been expecting you to show up.” He laughed. “You were about due!”

He sat as we sat, smiling. The corners of his eyes creased around his graying temples, making him look comfortable and reassuring.

“To turn JFK on his head, let me ask you, what can your police department do for you?”

He expected a laugh, so I gave him one. Then, I explained the case in some detail, told