Diver Down (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (19 page)

Graeme looked at me. “Isn’t that the drug that killed Michael Jackson?”
 

“He wasn’t in a hospital setting,” I said. “It wasn’t Propofol that killed him. That was the doctor.”
 

“It’s perfectly safe,” said Dr. Navarro. “You can stay with her, if you like.”
 

“And Mercy?” asked Graeme.
 

“If you like.”
 

Dr. Navarro had Lucia taken to an outpatient surgical suite and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it. The room may not have been American grade, but it had the basics and they were spotless.
 

“You were expecting a hut?” asked Dr. Navarro.
 

“I don’t know what to expect anymore,” I said.
 

“We get that a lot in Roatan.”
 

The anesthesiologist came in and administered the Propofol drip. Then he left, which didn’t thrill me, but we were lucky to have the stuff in the first place. Lucia was out immediately and it was nice to see her lovely face relaxed in sleep. Dr. Navarro scrubbed in and laid out his own instruments. He palpitated the wound and started digging around. Graeme was sitting on a stool at Lucia’s head and the stool’s wheels started squeaking. I looked over just in time to watch him do a header into the gurney and fall to the floor.
 

“Any blood?” asked Dr. Navarro, not looking up.
 

I rolled Graeme over. “Nope. Just your basic pass out.”
 

“Drag him out of the way, in case we have any problems.”
 

I grabbed Graeme’s limp arm and dragged him across the room like a bag of wet laundry and propped him up in a corner. He moaned and I patted his cheek. “Graeme, wake up.”
 

“What?”
 

“You passed out,” I said.
 

His eyes fluttered. “Why?”
 

“Cause you’re not a murderer.”
 

“Huh?”
 

“Don’t worry about it. Stay here until it’s over.” I went back to my stool. “How’s it going? See anything?”
 

“Yes, I do,” said Dr. Navarro in a low whisper.
 

“Well…”
 

“You know your theory about this not being an accident?”
 

“Yeah,” I said slowly.
 

Dr. Navarro inserted a pair of forceps into Lucia’s wound. It made a juicy squelch and he pulled out an inch-long strip of bloody, pus-covered plastic. “You were right.”

Chapter 9

LUCIA LAY SLEEPING in her hospital bed with Graeme crashed out in the chair beside her. Dr. Navarro took two stitches to close my forehead wound and gave me a Band-Aid with Hello Kitty on it, donated by a tourist he said. Then the doctor, Bruno and I gathered around a small procedure table, looking at the bloody strip lying in a metal basin.
 

“What is it?” asked Bruno.
 

“Evidence,” I said.
 

“Of murder?”
 

“Exactly.”
 

Dr. Navarro rubbed his forehead and then began pacing. “Mercy thought Lucia had been drugged with succinylcholine in addition to the stab wound. But her blood tests were clear. If that’s what was used, it wasn’t a large enough dose to kill her.” He did an about face and glared at us with an intensity that reminded me of Dad on a case. “I didn’t doubt Mercy, but I couldn’t figure out how the drug could’ve been administered. She had no needle marks. There was only the stab wound and that was done under water.”
 

“What’s that got to do with this?” asked Bruno, pointing to the plastic.
 

“That’s how he did it,” I said. “The stingray barb was coated with the drug and kept in a ziplock. He stabbed Lucia through the bag, delivering the poison into her system.”
 

“But it didn’t work.”
 

“No,” said Dr. Navarro. “But it could have. He was unlucky. Mercy was right there with her. There wasn’t time for the poison to take effect under water where Lucia would’ve been most vulnerable.”
 

“And she pulled out the barb immediately. The sea water probably washed out most of the dose.” I didn’t mention that I wanted her to leave the barb alone. That was procedure and the thought made me sick.
 

“I’ve called the police, but I don’t know what they can do,” said Dr. Navarro.

“You have proof,” said Bruno.
 

“Yes.” Dr. Navarro didn’t sound so sure. “They could choose to see this as an accident. It’s not the usual shooting or stabbing. That’s what they are used to dealing with. We don’t have test results to back up our claims.”
 

“The plastic will have to be tested,” I said. “There may still be traces of sux on it.”
 

“I will send it to a lab on the mainland. Results won’t come for weeks.”
 

“We’ll just have to convince them.”
 

And we tried. The National Police came and took our statements. They looked at the bloody plastic and nodded, but, in the end, did nothing. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe us. It’s just that they didn’t know what to do about it.
 

Officer Tabora stayed behind when his colleagues left. He was a tiny man with three hairs to call his own. He paced around the room, much like Dr. Navarro. “You must get her off the island.”
 

“I agree,” I said.
 

“You can’t do anything?” asked Graeme. “What about your CSI unit? What about figuring out who did it?”

“We don’t have a CSI unit. This island is about containment, not control.”
 

“It’s the Wild West,” I said.
 

“Yes,” said Officer Tabora. “The expats that come here to either retire or hide, say that it’s a sunny place for shady people. They’re right. If you’re looking to escape something, it’s a good place to come. I believe someone wants your wife dead, Mr. Carrow, but I’m telling you I don’t think I can do anything about it. There are any number of people on this island who could carry out such a mission and it’s the perfect place for it.”

Graeme rocked back on his feet. He was a guy who believed in law enforcement, despite being married to a Fibonacci. The cops couldn’t fix this or even contain it and it was blowing him away.
 

“But…”
 

“You have to leave,” I said. “We’ve been lucky.”
 

“What makes you think they won’t follow her back to the States?”
 

“I think they will, but our cops are equipped to handle this. Whoever did this, did it here for a reason. Roatan can hide a crime. They don’t want to get caught. They might find another target now that we’re on to them and being back where any attempt can be properly investigated will be a deterrent.”

“We’ll get on the first flight out,” said Graeme.
 

“I’m keeping her overnight as a precaution, but that plastic was the problem,” said Dr. Navarro. “I expect her to be up and around soon.”
 

Bruno and I said goodbye and went back to the Cavalier. The storm was over and except for the palm leaves and trash strewn around the parking lot, you’d never have know anything happened. The sky was back to perfect blue and there was a light, warm breeze. We dragged a large branch out from behind the car and got in. It was sopping wet in there and the seat squished when I sat down. I didn’t know what I was going to say to Bruno’s friend. The car wasn’t cherry, but holy crap we’d turned it into a gray sponge.
 

He was so quiet, he was probably thinking the same thing. We drove through Coxen Hole in silence, looking at the aftermath that wasn’t an aftermath at all. The streets were once again crowded with people and cars. The debris had been pushed to the gutters and forgotten. The Coxen Hole residents were once again laughing and shopping, but I was still shaken. The storm wasn’t over for me. Aside from the two stitches in my forehead from where I hit the glass door, the damp hair, and the chafed thighs from wet cutoffs, I was shaken on the inside. I guess maybe I was holding out hope that I was wrong. That Chuck was wrong. I always wanted him to be wrong, but this time especially.

Think about something else.

“Bruno, what’s up with you and my aunt?”
 

Silence.
 

“You may as well tell me. I’m the nice one, believe it or not. My mom will chase you around with a stick to get the truth.”
 

He glanced at me sideways and a hint of a smile appeared on his thin lips.
 

“Seriously. She knows I brought mace and she’s not afraid to use it.”
 

“You think your mother would hurt me,” he said. “She’s so…”
 

“Beautiful? Yeah. But behind that Marilyn exterior is the heart of a hard ass. She’s take you out and make it look like an accident.”
 

“Your aunt is, how you say, a unique person.”
 

“I agree. Are you having an affair?”
 

“We are having love. Does that offend you?” He stared hard at the road and his chest had moved closer to the steering wheel. Tense, anyone?

“It surprises me,” I said.
 

“Why? She is beautiful, like you and your mother.”
 

I didn’t know what to say. When it came to looks nobody and I mean nobody saw us in Aunt Tenne. The weight masked so much. She was easily the kindest person I knew. The one who kept my childhood secrets and sided with me against my crazy parents. But she was always alone. I’d never known her to not be alone.
 

I looked out the window and blinked back stinging tears. “If you hurt her, my mother will kill you.”
 

And she’ll have to wait in line.
 

He chuckled softly. “You don’t have to worry about me hurting her.”
 

“Do you know how old she is?” The weight masked that, too. Her face was full. Any wrinkle didn’t stand a chance.

“Fifty-two.”
 

I’ll be damned.

“How old are you?” There I went being nosy, just call me Mom.

“I am thirty-five.”
 

I nearly swallowed my tongue. “Are you serious?” I would’ve put him at forty-five easy.
 

“My life…it’s not an American life.”
 

I turned to him. “Neither is mine. Nobody is typical. So you don’t care about the age difference?”

He looked at me right in the eyes for the first time. “No, I don’t. Neither does she.”
 

“We’re leaving soon.”
 

“I know.”
 

“You’re coming with us, aren’t you?” I asked, but it wasn’t really a question.
 

“Yes.”
 

“My mom is going to flip.”
 

“I know,” he said.
 

“She’ll think you’re using Aunt Tenne to get to the States or something.”

“I know.”
 

We drove into the West Bay and turned onto La Isla Bonita Drive. “Um…are you?” I asked.
 

“No.”
 

“Care to elaborate?”
 

“No.”
 

Swell. This is going to be fun.

“It would help if Mom knew you better. Where did you study? How long have you been painting?”
 

Silence.
 

“Come on! Being an artist isn’t a capital crime. I know. I’ve almost been the victim of a capital crime. Twice.”
 

He pulled up at the front office and stopped with the motor running.
 

“You’re a pain in the ass,” I said. “And you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. If you don’t tell us who you are, my father will hound you into the dirt. It’s what he does. Hell, it’s what we all do.”
 

“I have to get the car back,” he said, softly.
 

“Fine. Make your own bed. My parents will staple you to the mattress.” I got out and Bruno drove away. Damnit. I didn’t handle that right. So what’s new?

Aaron appeared from behind the office, holding a tall glass and a square pastry on a stick. “You hungry?”
 

“What the heck! How is that you just happen to be standing there with food the moment I arrive?”
 

He shrugged.

“Did you know I was coming?” I asked.

“You hungry?”
 

“Yes. For the love of god, yes. I am starving. What have you got?”
 

“Monkey Lala and mango pie on a stick,” he said.
 

“That’s a thing?”
 

“It is now.”
 

“I’ll take it.” I took the luscious Monkey Lala and sucked down half in a gulp. I didn’t even need to bite into the pastry. The smell was so good it nearly filled me up with just that. “You’re amazing.”

Aaron didn’t answer. He stared at the mango pie. I almost didn’t want to try it, just to bother him. I was his taste tester. That’s what he came for.
 

I took a small bite and he went up on the balls of his feet. Pastry flakey, buttery with a hint of salt, but not regular salt. Something special. The filling? OMG! It was orgasm on a stick. There aren’t words. Seriously, there aren’t.
 

“Why aren’t you famous?” I asked, once I’d gotten ahold of myself.
 

“I am.”
 

“Where?”
 

“In Star Trek: The Force Unleased, Comic Con San Diego, Comic Con Denver—”

“I meant in the food world.”
 

He shrugged. “I got another lionfish.”
 

“Why in the world?” I asked.

“Mauro gave it to me.”
 

“Remind me to kick him.”
 

Aaron looked confused, but that was nothing new.