Hometown Favorite: A Novel (40 page)

"His name is Tyler Rogan, but he's probably using an alias;'
Hathaway said. "He's wanted for triple murder in Houston.'

The executive took the picture of Tyler out of Ms. Almen-
darez's hand and gave it back to Hathaway. He was very sorry,
but to his knowledge, this man had not been in the bank. With
international law behind him, he bid Hathaway good luck as
he escorted him to the bank doors. Hathaway watched him return to his office and close the door, then he turned on his
heels and exited the bank.

Still fifty feet from his car, Hathaway pushed the beeper
unlocking his front door.

He heard his name called and turned to see Ms. Almendarez
waving as she approached him in the parking lot; she wanted
to give him his hat. He might have one more shot with this
ploy. She placed the hat in his hand and, without saying a word,
began marching back to the front entrance.

"How can I thank you, Ms. Almendarez?" Hathaway said.
A woman walking away from him was something he had become accustomed to, but usually for relational missteps and
rancorous arguments. He must have too high an opinion of
his charms. Almost without breaking her stride, she made a
180-degree turn as she spoke: "I hope you enjoy your time in
Dominical, Detective Hathaway."

Then she disappeared through the double doors of the Costa
Rican National Bank.

He ran his fingers around the edges of his hat, reviewing in
his memory the scene inside the bank for any clues about where
he might have tripped up, when he noticed a card stuck inside
the silk fabric wrapped around the crown. The fact his charm
had not failed him was as important to him as the information
written on the card.

Mr. Mendoza entered the study to clean the room from the
aftereffects of the previous night. Tyler jerked his bloated face
from behind the safe, a cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes
red and rheumy. He could not close the safe door because in
each hand was a large stack of cash.

"What are you doing in here?" Tyler shouted.

Mr. Mendoza did not need a translator to interpret the wrath
of his master. His startled ancient body began to shake, and
he instinctively tried to explain himself with exaggerated gestures and rapid speech, which only infuriated Tyler more than
the pounding hangover and the surprise interruption. Tyler
slammed the cash down on his cluttered desk and began rummaging through the debris searching for his handgun.

"When I find my gun, you are one dead . .

Though Mr. Mendoza could understand the viciousness of
intent expressed for his intrusion, he did not understand the
specifics of the language. He remained in the room, compensating by raising his volume and hastening his explanation.

"You idiot;" Tyler shouted, his search for a lethal weapon
turning up empty. In frustration, he grabbed a paperweight
and hurled it at the old man. The paperweight splintered and
cracked the study door, and Mr. Mendoza crossed himself in
appreciation for Tyler's inaccurate throw. But his gratitude
was short-lived. The flower vase was next, and it shattered
against Mr. Mendoza's head, slicing a gash across his crown.
The old man smashed into the back of the damaged study
door. Holding his head, blood seeping through his fingers, he
managed to scramble out of the room before another missile
could make physical contact. Had Tyler's weapon been in the
study and not in the master bedroom, Mrs. Mendoza would
have become a widow.

Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza had been married for forty-seven
years. They had no children, but in each of the homes where
employed as domestics, they had always been surrogate parents and grandparents to the children whose families they had
served over the decades. When the last family for whom they
had worked needed to move to another part of the country and
wanted to take the Mendozas with them, the elderly couple felt they had reached a point where they could no longer make such
major life transitions for reasons of age and health. They worked
out an arrangement with the Ocean View Realty Company and
the former owners. The Mendozas would be an all-inclusive
part of the package. The former owners would maintain their
salaries and living expenses until the new owner took possession of the property.

The Mendozas regretted their decision the first day Tyler
and his entourage moved in. In the short time they had been
in Tyler's employment, they had witnessed more hours of debauchery and human depravity than they ever thought existed. The couple knew they could not survive in such hellish
circumstances but were lost about what to do. They needed a
home and employment. They went about their duties as unobtrusively as possible, trying not to disturb anyone, above all the
new owner, as they cleaned the destruction from the revelries
of each night before the crowd awoke from their slumbers in
the late afternoon for a repeat performance.

Tyler never allowed the two of them to go off the property
together. He always kept one Mendoza home and in sight,
assuring their silence. On the day Tyler decided to celebrate
the agreements with all parties involved in his business, Mrs.
Mendoza had to go to the market to purchase the food. Mr.
Mendoza paid for the taxi waiting for her outside the gate,
ready to take her to the market to collect the items on her long
shopping list. Each time they parted, the pair embraced as if it
could be the last time they might ever see each other.

She never shopped anywhere else but the outdoor market in
the center square of Dominical. All one needed to prepare any
dish could be bought at this bustling commercial center. She
loved to shop for food, and now, it helped to distract her from
the present nightmare she and her husband were living. While selecting some ripe avocadoes, she heard her name called, and
when she saw who had spoken to her, she burst into tears.

Danny Boyle was an American expatriate who had lived in
Costa Rica for the last eighteen years. He had made some
money in the stock market and wanted to escape to an underdeveloped tropical area where he could stretch his modest
wealth. He married a local girl, and after beachcombing had
become tedious, they decided to go into business developing
properties for well-heeled foreigners and created Ocean View
Realty Company. He did not discriminate. He took anyone's
money and never asked why someone with a vast amount of
wealth would come to Dominical and spend millions of dollars
on a second or third home. He was just happy some of those
paradise seekers came to him. They had made Danny Boyle a
rich man. But trouble had come to paradise when Detective
Hathaway stepped into his office.

Mrs. Boyle was not friendly. How dare an American detective
intrude on her business? How did he know anything about a
wire transfer that took place a short time ago at the Costa Rican
National Bank, and who had told him that Ocean View was
the agency that had closed a deal on the property whose buyer
might be involved in untoward circumstances? Hathaway had
met his match. No charm offensive was going to work in this
instance. Had Mr. Boyle not heard the heat in his wife's voice
and her tongue slipping in and out of English and SpanishSpanish when she needed to swear-the detective would not
have known what to do.

Danny Boyle came out of his office and looked into the
perspiring face of Detective Hathaway. Boyle's entrance offered
both parties a chance to catch their breath, and he opened a refrigerator and pointed to a variety of cold drinks Hathaway
could choose from that might lower the temperature. Hathaway took a seat and swiped the cold exterior of the soft drink
across his forehead.

Mrs. Boyle turned away when Hathaway displayed the first
picture of the Jobe crime scene, and Danny did not need to see
but a couple more to agree to help in any way he could. The
local papers had given the event some coverage early on, but
the story had dropped off the radar. Danny said the owner's
explanation for being able to buy such an expensive property
was his success as a producer in the music business, and once
the bank declared the money sound, Mrs. Boyle had handed
the buyer his keys and they had had nothing else to do with
him. Mr. and Mrs. Boyle nodded their heads in unison when
they looked at the record mogul's picture. He had purchased
the house.

Since the banker had refused to tell Hathaway who was in
possession of the account number, he was hoping for some incriminating behavior the realty company might have witnessed,
which could then justify bringing in local law enforcement. The
Boyles had known the Mendozas only a short time. They had
become acquainted when the former owners of the mansion
were ready to sell and signed an exclusive Realtor's contract
with Ocean View. The family had to move before the new owner
took occupancy, so the Boyles took it upon themselves to watch
over the Mendozas until the property sold. On more than one
occasion, the Boyles had enjoyed Mrs. Mendoza's cooking when
they came by to check on them and the property.

Because Mrs. Mendoza was such a creature of habit, Danny
knew they would find her at the outdoor market around the
same time each day. When told Hathaway's purpose for coming
to Dominical and upon seeing the picture of her employer, she again burst into tears. Even though she feared for their lives,
she and her husband would do anything to escape the tyranny
they had been enduring.

Were it not for Danny Boyle's credibility, the police would
have missed the small window to catch Tyler and his associates. Since he had been a longtime resident of Dominical and
he operated a successful high-end real estate company, Danny
was on good terms with local law enforcement. His clients and
their multimillion-dollar homes required special attention,
and he knew what it took to grease the wheels to secure that
kind of first-rate surveillance. But he also knew who could be
trusted with this unusual and dangerous information.

Hathaway presented his evidence, but the police captain was
not inclined to act with the speed Hathaway knew was necessary to catch Tyler until Boyle described what had been going
on in the house as told to him by Mrs. Mendoza. She had not
come in person because her long absence might endanger her
husband's life. This was not only an opportunity to apprehend
a murderer and thief but also a chance to arrest significant local
drug suppliers. Even if Hathaway could not find the evidence
he needed to convict Tyler of the crimes against the Jobe family,
Tyler would at least see jail time in Costa Rica for drug possession. It might not save Dewayne Jobe's life, but it would be some
consolation.

The police captain ordered the raid. Danny produced pictures
and blueprints of the property so the Dominical police team
could study and plan for what would prove to be a bloodless
takeover of Tyler's property, though the incursion was not without pain. The police bashed a few heads, and those who tried to
escape had their bodies bruised and scraped when tackled. It
was unusual for Hathaway to be without his weapon, but he was
unable to bring one into the country and not allowed to carry one on the operation. However, that made him feel more like
a general who had helped create the plan of attack and stayed
behind the lines until it was executed, a feeling he thought he
might grow to love the closer he came to retirement.

The benefit of having the schematics of the house also helped
Hathaway locate the safe. When the authorities had corralled
Tyler and the others at the opposite end of the house, he
slipped into the study. He did not bother with trying to crack
the safe. He brought along an expert with the right equipment
to remove the door without collateral damage to the room.
Hathaway was not interested in the stacks of cash. Once he
found what he wanted, he left. Before returning to the police
station where the Boyles were waiting for him, he stopped to
thank the Mendozas, hiding in their bungalow, offering them
a sufficient reward that guaranteed the couple a peaceful and
comfortable retirement.