Murder, She Wrote: Prescription for Murder (19 page)

“And I hate making it.”

“But why should we believe you?” Rodriguez asked. “Everything that Alvaro ever told me, and based upon information we’ve received from friends in Tampa, he was making progress.”

“Friends in Tampa?” I said. “You mean those spies your government has in Florida who report back on Cuban American citizens living there?”

The man from the Ministry of the Interior cleared his throat but said nothing.

“Please sit down, Dr. Hazlitt,” Rodriguez said.

“No, I won’t sit down,” Seth said. “You’ve brought Mrs. Fletcher and me here under false pretenses in order to satisfy your government’s need to benefit from Alvaro’s work. Let me tell you something, Dr. Rodriguez. I’ve always had mixed emotions about where Alvaro’s research should end up. On the one hand, I was pleased that a cure for Alzheimer’s would come out of the work of someone in America. At the same time, I felt sympathy for Cuba, where Alvaro’s work started and was supported for years. But the truth is that neither of our countries will benefit from his research because it didn’t lead anywhere, not to a deeper understanding of the disease, nor to a cure. In other words, Dr. Alvaro Vasquez was murdered by his son for no good reason.”

“That’s not true!” Xavier shouted, pounding the table with his fist. “My father told me he’d already made significant progress.” He looked at the official from the Ministry of the Interior, who was scowling at him. “He did. He even said that he had developed an outline of the next steps in his research that would lead to discovering a cure. Everything was in place. He just had to follow his outline.”

“He lied to you,” Seth said. “There was no outline.”

“Perhaps he simply wanted you to have faith in him,” I added.

“No! It’s true. It must be true.”

Rodriguez turned his mild gaze on Vasquez’s son. “That’s enough, Xavier. We will talk later,” he said. To Seth, he said, “I would like to believe that you have told us the truth about Alvaro’s research results, Dr. Hazlitt, but I have only your word for it. That is not enough for our government.”

“Then maybe these will convince you.”

Seth reached into his sport jacket pocket, withdrew the three thumb drives, and slapped them down on the table with such force that everyone jumped.

“W
hat are those?” Rodriguez asked once the initial surprise had dissipated.

“
These
,” Seth said, “are what was on Alvaro’s laptop, all his notes on his research.”

I felt myself release a sigh of relief. When I’d seen the red tape on our luggage, I’d feared that our captors had found the thumb drives and confiscated them. I hadn’t said anything to Seth. Our situation was upsetting enough. But he had been wise enough to keep such valuable items on his person, and we’d been fortunate not to be searched personally.

“Where did you get those?” Dr. Rodriguez asked.

“Dr. Vasquez left these thumb drives to me in a letter he wrote.”

Rodriguez asked Xavier, “Did you know about these?”

“Yes,” Xavier replied. “
He
told me about them yesterday. My father must have transferred his notes to them before he destroyed the laptop.”

“You have the letter?” Rodriguez asked.

“No,” Seth said. “I left it with the Tampa Police Department, along with a set of the thumb drives.”

“The police?” Xavier said. “You never mentioned them.”

“That’s right,” said Seth, “the same police who’ll see that you pay for your father’s murder.”

Xavier’s smile grew wide. “Don’t count on it, Dr. Hazlitt. Your police don’t have jurisdiction here in Havana.”

Rodriguez had picked up the thumb drives and held them as though weighing their contents. “You say that Alvaro’s research led to nothing?” he said.

“That’s right, Doctor. As much as I hate to admit it, Dr. Vasquez’s work didn’t cast any new light on Alzheimer’s disease. I wish it weren’t so.”

“Don’t believe him,” Xavier said. “I bet that when you see what’s on those thumb drives, you’ll know that he’s lying.”

Rodriguez said to the Ministry of the Interior’s representative, “I’ll look at what these devices contain overnight, sir, and report to you in the morning.”

“What about us?” I asked.

The ministry official answered, “You must remain overnight until Dr. Rodriguez completes his examination.”

“In that case, I need to make some calls back home,” I said.

“That will not be possible,” the ministry official said in a voice that warned arguing with him would be a waste of time.

Nevertheless, I tried. “There are people who are expecting us to arrive home today,” I said. “They’ll be worried when we don’t show up.”

“Depending upon what Dr. Rodriguez reports, you may be allowed to use your phone tomorrow. For now, this meeting is ended.” He stood and picked up his briefcase from the floor. “I will expect to hear from you, Dr. Rodriguez, no later than eight o’clock in the morning.”

Rodriguez was visibly relieved to see the ministry official leave. There was little doubt who was in charge, and I had the sense that the doctor was feeling pressure to come up with something that would please the taciturn government bigwig. “Well,” he said, “there is nothing more to do here except to see that you have a satisfactory dinner and a good night’s sleep.”

When the limousine pulled up in front of the cabin on the beach, a small white panel truck was also there. A young man wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and smoking a big cigar hopped out and came to where Seth and I stood with Dr. Rodriguez and our military escorts.

“Your dinner is here,” Rodriguez said. “I took the liberty of ordering for you.”

The young man removed an insulated box from the truck.

Rodriguez spoke to him in Spanish, and the driver carried our dinner into the cabin.

“A hot meal and a bed,” I said with a laugh. “I suppose we should be grateful we’re not in a jail cell.”

“You have a water view, too,” Rodriguez said, smiling. “I trust the accommodations are satisfactory.”

“And if they weren’t?” I said half seriously. “Would we be given suites in your best hotel?”

“I am afraid not,” he replied. “Please, go inside and enjoy your dinner before it gets cold.”

Seth, who by this time had calmed down, trudged to the cabin.

“I assume, Mrs. Fletcher, that I needn’t underscore the importance of you and Dr. Hazlitt remaining here for the night,” Rodriguez said. “We will not take it well if you decide to go for a stroll on the beach.”

He needn’t have bothered to remind me. I was hardly going to plan an escape, not with the armed soldiers in attendance. Even if we had been able to evade their notice, where would we go? We had no access to a vehicle by land, sea, or air. And while we knew we were close to Havana, the nearest American refuge was all the way on the other side of Cuba at the Guantanamo Bay Naval Base.

“Good night, Dr. Rodriguez,” I said.

He leaned close to my ear and said, “Believe me, Mrs. Fletcher, this is not how I would have arranged for your visit. Have a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow the sun will shine. It always does in Cuba.”

Seth had his suitcase open on the bed when I came into the cabin. He grunted. “Nothing seems to be missing.” He turned to me. “Pretty clever of me to keep the thumb drives in my pocket, don’t you think?”

“I do,” I said. “Thank goodness, too, because they’re our only proof of what took place in Dr. Vasquez’s laboratory. Without them, the Cubans wouldn’t have believed you. I’m sorry to say, though, I doubt if the man from the Ministry of the Interior will let Dr. Rodriguez return them to you after he’s examined them.”

Seth heaved a great sigh. “You’re probably right. Shame I can’t follow up with my plan to give them to the researchers in Boston. At least Al’s work might have saved someone else from following a wrong turn in the future.”

I set our dinner out on the desk—slices of pork in a marinade, served over black beans and white rice, lettuce drenched in a tart dressing, and two loaves of bread with olive butter. Also in the box were two slices of key lime pie, and napkins and utensils. The big surprise was a bottle of red wine and two plastic glasses.

“I suppose we should count our blessings for little things,” I said. “It’s a nice meal.”

“The least they could do for us.”

I uncorked the wine, filled the glasses, and held mine up in a toast. “Here’s to our visit to the People’s Republic of Cuba,” I said.

“Not funny, Jessica.”

“Better than wallowing in the situation we’re in,” I said. “Come eat. The pork looks good.”

After dinner I settled in the easy chair and got back to a novel I’d started in Tampa. I’d resolved to try to maintain a sense of humor and to keep things in perspective. There was nothing we could do about our situation, at least not until morning, and that wonderful Serenity Prayer popular with members of sobriety groups came to mind: “Grant me the strength to accept things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Seth had moved outside to sit on the porch. When my eyes started to close, I dog-eared the page I was on in the book and joined him. “I’m going to bed,” I said.

“Seems like a sensible decision,” he said. Then he started laughing.

“What’s so funny, Seth?”

He waved his arm at the door. “Here we are about to share a cozy little cabin in Cuba. Can you imagine what those nosey parkers back in Cabot Cove would have to say about that? Mara’s Luncheonette would be buzzing.”

“It would certainly give them something to gossip about.”

“Don’t want to give ’em any ammunition. I’ll sleep out here on the porch if you’d like.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “We both need a good night’s sleep. Let’s just not tell them about this part of our adventure. I’ll go inside and wash up, change, climb into bed.”

“And I’ll be along shortly.”

I was almost asleep when I heard him come in, use the bathroom, and get into his bed, and I realized how fortunate I was to be in this predicament with someone like Seth Hazlitt. That was my final thought as I drifted off.

•   •   •

To my surprise, I awoke refreshed, having slept solidly. I’d heard Seth get up and shower, and he was on the porch when I emerged dressed and ready for what the day would bring.

“Good sleep?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes. You?”

“Not bad, not bad. Wonder what kind of sleep
they
had.” He tipped his head toward the guards who were sitting on the ground under a tree. “When do you think they’ll be by to get us?”

“I have no idea.” My watch said eight thirty.

“Could use some breakfast,” he said, patting his stomach.

“Blueberry pancakes at Mara’s?”

“Don’t be cruel, Jessica.”

The limousine came up the road and pulled to a stop.

“You both look rested,” Dr. Rodriguez said.

“Dinner was good,” I said.

“Speaking of that, how about breakfast?” Seth said. “Expect breakfast at a five-star resort like this.”

“I don’t blame you for being irritable,” Rodriguez said. “Please pack your suitcases and come with me. We have a stop to make, and then we will make sure you don’t go hungry.”

Seth and I looked at each other.
Did packing our bags mean we would be leaving Cuba?

I asked.

“Yes, but we have things to do before you go.”

Since we’d never really unpacked, we were back on the porch within ten minutes. Two soldiers took our luggage and put it in the limo’s trunk as Seth and I got in the back along with Rodriguez. A solitary armed soldier shared the front with the driver.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To an interview.”

Interview?
I hoped it wasn’t an interrogation.

“Could we roll down these darkened windows?” I asked.

“Yes, but why?”

“So I can at least see something of Havana.”

“Of course,” he said, and the rear windows were lowered halfway.

As we drove slowly through the streets, Havana came alive to me. I saw the island’s fabled vintage American automobiles, kept running by ingenious Cuban mechanics; stall after stall of vegetables, fruits, and cigars; uniformed police directing traffic with a flourish; horns blowing in a cacophony of sounds; men, women, and children walking with purpose; street musicians performing for donations; and fascinating buildings, most in desperate need of repair but painted in gaudy island colors, augmented by the strings of laundry drying on the balconies. I was filled with a sense of what a wonderful island this used to be before it fell to Fidel Castro and his Communist leanings. But even though its present-day plight was evident, the spirit of its people was palpable. I wanted to return of my own volition and soak it in.

Seth, too, responded to the vivid scenes outside our windows. “The Cubans are lovely, warm, and gracious people,” he said. “They couldn’t have been nicer to me and the other physicians that last time I was here. Mind you, I’m not talking about the officials we spent most of our time with, our so-called ‘handlers.’” He glanced at Rodriguez. “No offense,” he said.

“None taken,” Rodriguez replied.

“I had a chance to mingle with some of the common folk on the island,” Seth continued. “Despite the lousy situation they’re in thanks to Mr. Castro, they’re filled with pride and optimism that it’ll change one day.”

Rodriguez cleared his throat.

“No sense in contradictin’ me,” Seth told him. “That’s what I believe, and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Rodriguez said, “but I would suggest perhaps that you refrain from expressing such thoughts at our next meeting.”

We pulled up in front of the building in the Plaza de la Revolución where we’d been taken the day before. The limousine doors were opened by soldiers, and we stepped out into the bright sunshine. Rodriguez led the way into the building, where we were met in the lobby by a half dozen people, including armed guards in different uniforms from those the soldiers wore, and the same somber representative from the interior ministry we’d met the day before. We were greeted in Spanish and led to a section of the building where security was especially tight; we had to pass through a gauntlet of armed men as we entered a spacious anteroom.

“Please wait,” the interior ministry official said as he disappeared through a door. A minute later he reappeared and motioned for us to enter.

The office was huge. Seated behind a massive desk was a man wearing a white suit, white shirt, and white tie with narrow blue stripes. He’d been looking down at papers on his desk through half-glasses. We came to a halt in front of the desk. He looked up, removed his glasses, stood and said,
“Buenos días.”

Rodriguez said, “Dr. Hazlitt and Mrs. Fletcher, may I present to you Señor Raúl Castro, president of the Council of the State of Cuba, and first secretary of the Communist Party.”

Seth and I were momentarily speechless. President Castro smiled and shook our hands.

“I have asked that I be allowed to meet you,” he said through an interpreter, “and to address a mistake that has been made. My brother would also be here, but he is busy with other matters.”

Or too ill to be here,
I thought. News of Fidel Castro’s failing health was widely reported, which had led to his brother Raúl taking over the reins of government.

“Please accept my apology for the inconvenience you have suffered,” the interpreter said after waiting for the president to finish his speech in Spanish. “Sometimes such mistakes are made even when the motivation is pure. I trust that when you return to your United States, you will not look back with too much resentment at what has occurred.” He sat down at his desk again. Our interview was over.

Seth and I were hurried out of the office and taken downstairs. Once we were back in the limo, Dr. Rodriguez told the driver, “The airport.”

We stopped in front of Terminal 2, and Rodriguez escorted us inside the cavernous building, where he was greeted by two men in suits. After conferring for a few minutes, Rodriguez and the men led the way to a restaurant with a table far removed from others.

“Time for your breakfast, Dr. Hazlitt,” Rodriguez said. “My apologies that you had to wait.”

“You folks sure do things different here in Cuba,” Seth told Rodriguez as he finished up a platter of eggs, bacon, and Cuban bread, which I’d grown to love. “You kidnap us, then you bring us to meet your leader and buy us a big breakfast.”