Ralph? He may need help liaising with the Cuban authorities. I don’t think anyone in his office speaks Spanish. Mrs. Kelly is the type to go running to the media. You know what they’re like. They’ll publish just about any juicy allegation, truthful or not. And she’s full of them.”
“You mean full of it . In other words, you want me to deal with her so that you don’t have to.”
“You see? There’s that fine legal mind of yours at work.” O’Malley grinned. He looked at his appointment book and scribbled down a number on a pad. He tore off a page and handed it to Jones. “Here. They own a drugstore. She said it’s best to call her there; the home number’s unlisted.”
“For this, you owe me,” Jones said. “I don’t suppose you have any pull with Accounting, do you?”
THIRTEEN
Inspector Ramirez removed his jacket and unbuttoned the collar of his cotton shirt. With the wind finally calm, it was a scorchinghot day. Even the cooler rooms of the beautiful multi-turreted building that served as police headquarters were hot and humid behind the thick stone walls.
A green gecko hung upside down by the cracked window, breathing lightly. Ramirez ignored the small intruder and sat behind his desk.
The Minister of the Interior had instructed Ramirez to deduct the cost of his airfare from the Major Crime Unit’s already meagre annual budget. Ramirez would need to complete a mountain of documents to explain the reason he was transferring funds out of the country or risk being investigated by Cuban Intelligence for fraud.
That would be embarrassing, Ramirez thought. I would have to bribe them to drop the investigation. That’s when stealing money from the exhibit room would be a necessity.
A tall Afro-Cuban man knocked on Ramirez’s open door. “Inspector Ramirez? Do you have a moment?”
The man wore a light coloured shirt and a black suit that hadseen better days. It was stained with ingrained dirt on the pant legs and jacket cuffs. But Ramirez could hardly criticize him for that. All Cubans had problems keeping their good clothes clean, with dry cleaners few and far between and the continual shortage of laundry soap. Some used diesel, which worked well but smelled, and there was always the danger of exploding into flames if someone nearby lit up a cigar. Dressing well was a risky business.
“Yes?” Ramirez looked behind the stranger. He had no police escort, which meant he had to be a plainclothes policeman from another division.
“My name is Juan Tranquilino Latapier. I have been sent here from El Gabriel,” the man confirmed. “I understand you are investigating the death of an old woman who was stabbed with a fish knife?”
“News travels fast,” said Ramirez. “Yes, the body was found early yesterday.” He was surprised a detective from a small village outside Havana had heard of the murder.
The tall man smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “I have a similar file, although mine involves two children. Both were stabbed to death, but in one case the knife was left behind in the body. I understand that was the same with your victim. I am only in Havana for a few hours, but I thought perhaps we could assist each other. Share information.”
“Of course, Juan. Please, sit down. Tell me more about your investigation.”
Latapier sat across from the inspector on one of the two badly worn upholstered chairs. “The two children were murdered about a year ago. The first was a little girl named Zoila. You may have heard of this. It caused quite a stir locally.”
“Zoila?” Ramirez cast his mind back. The name was vaguely familiar. “I think I read about it, probably in a police report.”
“She was barely four years old when her body was found. Shewas disemboweled in her own backyard, the heart cut from her chest.”
“That’s disgusting,” said Ramirez, thinking of his little daughter, Estella. “What kind of monster would do such a thing?”
“Well, that’s the
“You mean full of it . In other words, you want me to deal with her so that you don’t have to.”
“You see? There’s that fine legal mind of yours at work.” O’Malley grinned. He looked at his appointment book and scribbled down a number on a pad. He tore off a page and handed it to Jones. “Here. They own a drugstore. She said it’s best to call her there; the home number’s unlisted.”
“For this, you owe me,” Jones said. “I don’t suppose you have any pull with Accounting, do you?”
THIRTEEN
Inspector Ramirez removed his jacket and unbuttoned the collar of his cotton shirt. With the wind finally calm, it was a scorchinghot day. Even the cooler rooms of the beautiful multi-turreted building that served as police headquarters were hot and humid behind the thick stone walls.
A green gecko hung upside down by the cracked window, breathing lightly. Ramirez ignored the small intruder and sat behind his desk.
The Minister of the Interior had instructed Ramirez to deduct the cost of his airfare from the Major Crime Unit’s already meagre annual budget. Ramirez would need to complete a mountain of documents to explain the reason he was transferring funds out of the country or risk being investigated by Cuban Intelligence for fraud.
That would be embarrassing, Ramirez thought. I would have to bribe them to drop the investigation. That’s when stealing money from the exhibit room would be a necessity.
A tall Afro-Cuban man knocked on Ramirez’s open door. “Inspector Ramirez? Do you have a moment?”
The man wore a light coloured shirt and a black suit that hadseen better days. It was stained with ingrained dirt on the pant legs and jacket cuffs. But Ramirez could hardly criticize him for that. All Cubans had problems keeping their good clothes clean, with dry cleaners few and far between and the continual shortage of laundry soap. Some used diesel, which worked well but smelled, and there was always the danger of exploding into flames if someone nearby lit up a cigar. Dressing well was a risky business.
“Yes?” Ramirez looked behind the stranger. He had no police escort, which meant he had to be a plainclothes policeman from another division.
“My name is Juan Tranquilino Latapier. I have been sent here from El Gabriel,” the man confirmed. “I understand you are investigating the death of an old woman who was stabbed with a fish knife?”
“News travels fast,” said Ramirez. “Yes, the body was found early yesterday.” He was surprised a detective from a small village outside Havana had heard of the murder.
The tall man smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “I have a similar file, although mine involves two children. Both were stabbed to death, but in one case the knife was left behind in the body. I understand that was the same with your victim. I am only in Havana for a few hours, but I thought perhaps we could assist each other. Share information.”
“Of course, Juan. Please, sit down. Tell me more about your investigation.”
Latapier sat across from the inspector on one of the two badly worn upholstered chairs. “The two children were murdered about a year ago. The first was a little girl named Zoila. You may have heard of this. It caused quite a stir locally.”
“Zoila?” Ramirez cast his mind back. The name was vaguely familiar. “I think I read about it, probably in a police report.”
“She was barely four years old when her body was found. Shewas disemboweled in her own backyard, the heart cut from her chest.”
“That’s disgusting,” said Ramirez, thinking of his little daughter, Estella. “What kind of monster would do such a thing?”
“Well, that’s the
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