Chapter 42

 

“She sounded very surprised to hear from me,” Pen told Sandy later that evening. “You know how, if you’ve traveled with a group, it’s easy to become chums with your fellow tourists but once everyone returns home they are never in contact again. Despite the fact I was with her on the day she was due to have surgery, she acted hesitant, cool. She certainly wasn’t in a mood to share information from the death certificate.”

“Not surprising. And I’m not sure what we would gain by knowing, anyway. Did you learn anything at all?” In the background Pen heard an electric can opener and pictured Sandy opening food for the two cats.

“One thing, and it required spur-of-the-moment thinking on my part, of which I’m rather proud. I said a dear friend was traveling to the Philippines next week and wanted to take a fishing trip. Would she tell me the name of the charter company Clint used, as I would most definitely not want my friend going out with someone so irresponsible.”

“She believed that?”

“I think she was simply too stunned at the audacity and rudeness of the question to think of a way to refuse. She told me it was a man named Tiko Garcia with a company called Best Fishing.”

“I’m surprised she remembered it.”

“She told me she was unpacking. There was a brochure among their things and she even gave me the phone number. I tried it and was told Tiko is out with some customers. I’ll give it another go later.”

“You might do some online research, or ask Amber to do it. See if there are other businesses nearby. If Tiko isn’t willing to talk, maybe someone else remembers the day he claims to have lost a customer overboard.”

“An excellent idea. It can’t be a common occurrence and there had to be talk around the docks. That is, if they stuck with the same story locally as the one they gave Kaycie. If the story differs, I’d love to hear their version.”

“Also, what about the crew? I imagine at least one crew member goes along on each trip. These rich guys like someone to bait their hooks, hand them a beer … things like that. Maybe you can get a name and speak with that person separately from Tiko.”

“Sandy, you’re brilliant. I shall make the call while Tiko’s away.”

Within five minutes she had the crewman’s name—Angelo Reyes. Using a young and flirtatious tone gained her the man’s phone number, after being told he was not working today.

Angelo answered on the first ring, as if he was expecting a call. From the tone of his response it clearly wasn’t an American woman with questions about an accident. She’d taken the approach that she was a dear friend of the victim’s wife, who was stricken with grief because of all the unanswered questions, a woman who hadn’t slept in a week.

“I didn’t see nothing,” he stated flatly.

“You do remember Mr. Holbrook—a man in his mid-forties, chubby, balding, something of a braggart?”

“Braggart?”

“You know—he talked about himself a lot.” It was Pen’s impression of the man.

“Si—this one, he did that.”

“We heard there was a bad storm? He fell overboard?”

He hesitated. “Storm? Si—if that is what they say.”

Pen wished she could see Angelo’s face. She would bet he couldn’t make eye contact.

“Angelo, please just tell me. Was there a storm? Was the sea very rough?”

“The man fall over, but only Tiko see him. He send me below to get more bait.”

“And Mr. Holbrook—he simply fell over?”

Another pause. “The deck, it is slippery. He not have life jacket.”

“Why wouldn’t Tiko have reported it that way? Why did he say there was a storm?”

“Ma’am, I do not know. The rules, they say life jackets.”

Well, an operator who broke the rules and then lost a passenger might certainly fudge the truth to save his own neck, she supposed. She asked what happened next but Angelo remained unforthcoming; she had to pry for every detail.

“Did Tiko shout for your help?”

“He yell, yes. Another boat nearby, it come. We all start to look.”

“It must have been very frightening. Did you look for a long time?”

“In ten minutes you know if you will find someone. He not come to the top anyplace.”

A commotion started in the background, as if Angelo had walked into a bar or crowded room. He didn’t seem to hear much of what she said after that. She thanked him and hung up. Most likely she had learned all she would get from him anyway.

She went to her kitchen and flicked the switch on the electric teakettle, debating her next moves. Calculating the time difference, she realized it would soon be getting dark along the Pacific Rim. Perhaps Tiko’s charter boat would be pulling into port about now. When the kettle shut off, she brewed a cup of tea and carried it to her desk.

As the overseas call rang, she decided to go back to the insurance-investigator tactic with the charter boat’s owner. He would surely give as gentle a spin as possible to a grieving widow’s friend, but with an authority figure he might feel compelled to relate details.

“Best Fishing—we have the best fishing experience in the islands,” came the voice of the woman who’d earlier told her Tiko was out on the boat. “Ah, yes, the English lady. He docked the boat a minute ago. I get.”

Pen waited, almost hearing the overseas phone rates tick by as she sat there on hold. In nine minutes a man’s voice came on.

“Tiko Garcia.”

She went through the spiel about being with Assured Life Insurance and asked the same sorts of questions she had posed to Angelo. Tiko was more experienced at covering his rear end, obviously. His responses were rote, his facts never wavering. Mr. Holbrook refused to wear his life jacket, he slipped on the wet deck and fell over the side. As Angelo had, Tiko dodged her direct question about the storm, repeating only the parts about the life jacket and the wet deck.

“Who else assisted in the rescue effort?”

“My deck hand, Angelo.”

“Did other boats come along and help you look for the victim?”

“There might have been one or two. There’s always boats nearby—it’s a hot fishing spot.”

“But no one ever caught sight of Mr. Holbrook in the water?”

“That’s right. Look, lady, my customer is outside with his catch. I gotta go take their picture.” He hung up without waiting for her response.

Pen chafed at the abrupt end to the conversation, yet she couldn’t think what else she would have asked. She felt sure Tiko was hiding something but darned if she could figure out what.

Amber had provided three more leads and Pen decided to stick with it and follow them now. Time really was becoming of the essence. These numbers were for businesses near the dock where Best Fishing operated. Pen pictured a row of wooden shacks and a couple of docks with smallish, rusted boats that creaked as the water bobbed them against the pilings.

The first number she dialed was for Willie’s Crab Shack, most likely a walk-up little eatery with a couple of plastic tables and chairs out front. The man who answered said yes, he was the owner. Didn’t remember the day in question but since he wasn’t especially friendly with Tiko it wouldn’t be unusual that he’d only heard about the missing man secondhand, a couple days later. He stayed busy serving up crab tacos and rarely looked at the boats as they came and went. According to him.

An American man answered the number she called for Island Bait and Tackle, which Amber had noted was immediately next door to Tiko’s office. He said his name was Stink. Pen suppressed a vision of the bait shop and got on with her questions.

“Yeah, I heard about that.” He had a laid-back voice, which made her think of someone who’d lived the island life for a very long time, or he smoked a lot of pot. “Kind of a fat guy wearing a polo shirt with a couple buttons down the front?”

Pen gave the best description she could envision, since she’d only seen Clint in a business suit.

“Yeah … I suppose that coulda been him. You know, I woulda swore he went out with Alphonse, not Tiko. But, you know, my memory’s not what it used to be. You’re prob’ly right. That’s what I told the other guy, too. Stay down here long enough and the days all blend together, ya know?”

“Other guy?”

“Yeah, the one who came out here a couple days ago, all white shirt and tan slacks, from the insurance company? You know him? Maybe not—it’s gotta be a big office. That corporate shit, that’s why I moved down here.”

“I’ll look him up. Do you remember his name?”

He laughed. “Ha—I barely remember my own name some days. Hang on, let’s see …”

He set the phone down with a clunk and she heard the crisp sounds of paper rustling in the background.

“Yeah, okay. Here’s a card he left behind. It’s … geez, I gotta get me some glasses … it’s Bradley Muggins. Weird name, huh.”

Pen couldn’t very well ask the name of the insurance company or the phone number on the card, but she figured Amber could come up with those. She thanked Stink for his help, her mind flying ahead. So, a real insurance investigator was asking questions, too.