https://www.amazon.com/Who-Killed-Joe-Italiano-Lamanda/dp/1948338203/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_1?crid=2VGLX1RDZZD3E&keywords=who+killed+joe+italiano&qid=1551302913&s=gateway&sprefix=who+killed+joe%2Cdigital-text%2C148&sr=8-1-fkmrnull

http://encirclepub.com/product/who-killed-joe-italiano/

Chapter One

I usually avoid clichés as much as possible. For a while there, most of them had gone away when English underwent a dramatic transformation in the sixties and seventies. New words and phrases came to light, old standbys faded away.

Today, many of those old standbys have made a comeback, thanks in part to talking-heads on cable news. Most of them aren’t true journalists in the Edward R. Murrow sense of the word, so they resort to clichés to score their points.

The one that drives me batty the most is commonly used by reporters, news anchors, talk show hosts and sadly, by most politicians. You’ve heard the phrase a thousand times, so often that it probably doesn’t register anymore. It’s at the end of the day, and when this cliché is used to score a point, it probably means the person using it hasn’t got a clue about the particular point they’re trying to make. Sadly, almost every politician and news caster I see on the news today uses this phrase on a regular basis. Even the sports world in not immune for this particular cliché and I hear it all the time during a ballgame.

However, sometimes a cliché will actually fit a certain situation or set of circumstances.

A few minutes past three in the morning, I came out on the balcony of my fourth-floor hotel room to listen to the ocean at Luquillo Beach. After a particularly nasty case where I was forced to take a physical beating to save the life of a little girl, I jumped into several insurance fraud cases that took ninety days or more to complete.

My daughter Regan decided I needed a vacation and she took it upon herself to book ten days in sunny Puerto Rico, where the January temperatures reach the mid-eighties and even ninety. She reserved five days at a beach resort called the Ocean View, and the placed lived up to its name.

Four floors, forty rooms in a horseshoe shape and every room had a balcony that faced the ocean. Tonight was our last night at the beach. Regan had us booked for another five days at a resort on the other side of the island near Old San Juan.

So far, we had visited the rain forest, zip-lined through the trees, swam in the beach every day, took a helicopter ride and ate a lot of Puerto Rican food in genuine neighborhood restaurants.

From my balcony, I could see the strip of sidewalk across the street where the beach was located. There were street lamps every hundred feet, but while they illuminated the sidewalks, the sand and beach was invisible in the dark, moonless night.

I could hear the waves crashing, though. And the musical sound of a tiny frog native only to Puerto Rico, the Coqui Frog. It produces a two-syllable song that sounds like co-key and when hundreds of them are together, it’s loud and goes on all night.

I listened to them for a while and thought about the cigarette I craved, but couldn’t have. My daughter has grown a cigarette detector and if she even gets a hint of smoke on me anywhere, she goes ballistic, so I go without.

While I waited for the nicotine urge to pass, a man emerged from the shadows, crossed the street and stood near a street lamp. He was a tall man, maybe in his mid-thirties, dressed in a long-sleeve shirt dark in color, with matching slacks. I thought it odd that on a night where the temperature was around seventy-five degrees with at least eighty percent humidity that he wore long sleeves.

He stood quietly for a few minutes and then pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit one with a match. The distance from my balcony to the sidewalk was about three hundred feet and even though he stood under the street lamp, it was too far away and too dark to make out his face.

He smoked until the cigarette was spent, then he stepped on it with his right shoe. When he moved to extinguish the cigarette, light from the streetlamp reflected off his shoe and I could see they were leather loafers.

He stood there for a while longer, just minding his own business.

I should have returned to bed for I planned to be up at five to go running along the beach, which I had done every morning since we arrived. I started in front of our hotel and ran along the beach for thirty minutes until I reached the center of Luquillo, then turned around and ran back. After some pushups, situps and planks held for five minutes at a pop, I was ready for breakfast and met Oz and Regan on the balcony dining room.

I decided to quit watching him and return to bed when he moved suddenly to his left as another man approached from the hotel side of the street, crossed over and came to a stop.

They were separated by about a yard. In the dark, the second man appeared as tall, wore a white shirt designed for the heat and casual slacks.

Then they turned and walked down to the beach and vanished in the darkness.

After a few seconds, I saw a match ignite and a second cigarette being lit. They were almost nose-to-nose at this point.

The match extinguished and they faded into darkness.

And at that moment, an old cliché ran through my mind, that nothing good ever happens at three in the morning.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds, listened to the wave’s crash and Coqui frogs sing their song, and almost tasted the man’s cigarette. When I opened my eyes, all that was left to do was go to bed.

Chapter Two

I woke up again around five-fifteen and after a quick trip to the bathroom; I slipped on my shorts and tee shirt. There is a little, two-cup coffee maker in the room and I brewed two cups, and took one to the balcony.

Along with the glorious Puerto Rican sunrise, I was greeted by two ambulances, four police cars and a small crowd of onlookers held back by several uniformed officers.

The stretch of beach in front of the hotel was used mostly by surfers. The waves were too high and too rough for the casual swimmer and every morning someone came around to flag the water. Most days the flags were red and only the die-hard surfers dared venture out into the waves.

My first thought, as I sat in a chair and sipped coffee in the shade, was that a surfer had an accident and drowned. Mixed in with the on-lookers were several surfers that stood out because of their black body suits.

One of their own died for their cause. A drowning accident on a wave-swept beach happens all the time, even back home where the waves are relatively calm.

So when I left my room and went downstairs for my run, I dismissed it as a simple mishap, an accident common to surfers.

At least that’s what I wanted it to be.

Wanting doesn’t make it so.

I had to run on the sidewalk for the first hundred yards and then switched over to the sand. I ran close to the waves and their booming noise served as background music. After thirty minutes or so, I arrived at the center of Luquillo Beach. Barely six in the morning, the long stretch of white sand was deserted except for a few guys fishing off a rocky point and a flock of gulls searching for leftover scraps from yesterday.

I stopped for a few minutes to admire the new day and the ocean, then turned around and ran back to the hotel.

About thirty minutes later, I stopped short of the area where the ambulances had been, but were now gone. Most of the crowd had left, but several police officers, including one in plain clothes were still milling about.

The plain clothes had the look of detective about him. Most detectives I’ve met in my lifetime had a look about them, mostly in the eyes that reeked of curiosity. To be a good detective, a person needed curiosity above and beyond all else. I had that look myself and, to some extent, probably still do.

While I did pushups and planks in the sand, I debated the cause. Should I approach the detective or go about my business and meet Regan and Oz for breakfast.

The detective made the decision for me when he spoke loudly in Spanish and then entered a dark sedan and drove away.

*****

I met Regan and Oz on the balcony for breakfast at the allotted time of seven thirty.

“What’s going on across the street?” Regan asked as we took a table. “There’s police wandering around the beach.”

“I think a surfer might have drowned,” I said. “I saw ambulances earlier when I went for a run.”

“Oh no,” Regan said.

“It happens, honey,” I said. “It’s pretty rough waters out there. Most days it’s red flags for high waves and strong currents.”

“I know,” Regan said. “I’ve seen them.”

Oz looked at me as he sipped coffee.

“What?” I asked.

“You didn’t happen to go poking that big cop nose where it don’t belong?” he said. “Cause we be on vacation.”

Oz spoke in soft, truncated sentences and often used slang, but his Morgan Freeman like voice made it sound like Shakespeare.

“No, I didn’t, and I don’t have a big …” I said.

“We checking out right after we eat,” Oz said.

“I know that.”

“I driving to Old San Juan,” Oz said. “You make me car sick.”

“How do I make you …?” I said.

“I think what Oz is trying to say is that sometimes you drive like a cop and it makes him dizzy,” Regan said. “Me, too. Sometimes.”

“Fine. Oz drives,” I said.

“They packing up,” Oz said.

I looked across the street and the last of the uniformed police were driving away.

“No crime scene tape, no uniforms left behind to guard the area for forensics, it must have been what I thought, an accident,” I said.

Oz looked at me some more. He’s around seventy-two or three years-old with coffee-colored skin, graying hair and beard and soft brown eyes that always hint of a twinkle in them.

“Good to know,” he said. “If we all be packed, we leave right after breakfast.”

We were on the road by nine. Oz drove west on Route 3 that basically, a few twists and turns aside, took us straight to Old San Juan. Traffic was heavy with commuters going to work and tourist.

Our resort hotel was located a mile or so from Old San Juan and overlooked the beach. Fifteen stories, pristine white with two pools, a spa and a gym, the resort was much more modern that the neighborhood we just left.

Regan booked us into three rooms on the twelfth floor, each with a balcony. The ocean view from my room was spectacular. Oz wanted to take a nap before lunch and Regan and I agreed to meet at the larger of the two pools.

Fully dressed with heels, she lays claim to five-foot-three inches tall and appears a little bird of a thing. I suspect she’s closer to five-foot-one in bare feet, but it’s a point I don’t argue.

She has fine features, light brown hair that appears golden in sunlight and soft, intelligent brown eyes.

What’s remarkable to me is that in her bikini bathing suit, she has all the curves of a grown woman, which, at nineteen she qualified for. We met at the pool where she read a tour book of the island while I swam a few laps.

Before we left home, my old friend and new lady friend, Sheriff Jane Morgan took Regan to get her nails and hair done. The result was shinny red nails and blondish highlights in her shoulder-length hair.

“Old San Juan seems pretty cool, Dad,” Regan said when I emerged from the pool. “Lots of shops, an old fort and tons of places to eat.”

“Jewelry stores?” I asked as I took a Chaise lounge chair.

“Something for Jane?”

“Thinking about it.”

“Engagement ring?”

“Too soon for that, honey,” I said.

“Why? You’ve known each other since before I was born,” Regan said. “And you’re not getting any younger. Look at all the grey hairs on your chest and some on your head.”

“Grey hair is better than no hair I always say.”

“Earrings then,” Regan said. “A woman always appreciates earrings.”

“That’s about what I was thinking,” I said. “Maybe you can model a pair for me?”

“Let me look in the book,” Regan said.

She studied the book for a bit while I closed my eyes and tried hard not to think about the incident at the beach.

“Dad?” she said after a while.

I opened my eyes.

“Yes?”

“Have you noticed how tired Oz seems these days?”

“Oz is seventy-one or two now, honey,” I said. “It’s normal for people of that age to catnap during the day.”

“If something happened to him, I couldn’t deal with that.”

“Don’t confuse Oz’s need for a nap with something being wrong,” I said. “I have the feeling in a few years I’ll be doing the same.”

“I doubt that.”

“He should be awake and ready by now, where should we go for lunch?”

“El Morro,” Regan said.

*****

El Morro is a fort built in 1539 by the Spanish to protect Old San Juan from seaborne invaders. It’s a massive structure with six levels, old cannons and watch towers and even a dungeon for prisoners.

It was hot, close to eighty degrees and Regan wore shorts and a white tank top. Oz wore summer slacks with this god-awful shirt I picked up for him when I was in Hawaii. I settled for slacks and a Polo shirt.

From El Morro, we walked around downtown Old San Juan until we settled on a restaurant for a late lunch.

Regan dug out her tour book and scanned through it as we ate on a terrace that overlooked a large garden.

“There’s a park a few blocks from here I’d like to see,” she said. “And a bunch of Jewelry stores not far from there.”

Parque de las Palomas, the Park of the Pigeons lived up to its name. It’s a small, cement park overlooking the bay where, the moment you enter, a thousand pigeons pounce on you from their cubby holes in the wall in search of food. Regan purchased a bag of food from a vendor and a hundred or more pigeons climbed atop her arms, shoulders and head for a taste.

Oz and I used our cell phones to take pictures and I grabbed a nice shot of Oz with a stray feeder perched on his head.

A few blocks from the park we came to a long street with six or seven large jewelry stores. We hunted and pecked our way through them until we found a store that carried the perfect pair of earrings that set me back five hundred dollars.

“Somebody be happy when we get home,” Oz said.

Back to the hotel where Regan treated herself to a treatment at the spa while Oz and I longed poolside.

As we sipped ice-cold lemonade, I said, “Regan is concerned about your napping. She thinks something is wrong.”

“Something is,” Oz said. “It called old age and if you had the sense of a goat, you be napping, too.”

“Well, don’t nap now because that handsome woman across the pool is eying you with particular interest,” I said.

The woman in question was around sixty and looked very much like Eartha Kitt did when she was that age.

“She reminds me of Eartha Kitt,” I said.

“Which Eartha Kitt, the gorgeous singer of the forties or the one play Cat Woman on the old Batman show in the sixties?” Oz asked.

“One and the same,” I said. “She looks like she wants to talk to you.”

“I got no time for female persuasion,” Oz said.

“You have nothing but … I don’t even know what that means,” I said.

“Mean mind your own business,” Oz said.

The woman flagged a passing poolside bartender and said a few words to him. He gave her his pad and pen and she scribbled a note.

A moment later the bartender delivered the note to Oz.

“What’s it say?” I asked.

“Says to mind you own business and shut up,” Oz said.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re afraid to talk to the lady,” I said.

“At my age, I’m afraid to pee in the dark for fear I mistake the sink for the toilet.”

“At least you won’t miss,” I said. “What’s the note say?”

“Say am I free for dinner,” Oz said. “And I’m not. Regan want to …”

“Regan will be fine in the company of her old man,” I said. “Go over there and tell her yes.”

“I haven’t had dinner with a woman since my wife died,” Oz said.

“Twenty years is long enough, don’t you think?” I said.

“What we talk about?” Oz asked. “The weather?”

“Simple,” I said. “Ask her about herself and let her do all the talking. Just sit there, nod and look wise.”

“If she asks about me, I tell her what?”

“The truth,” I said. “She looks like the kind of woman that can handle the truth.”

Oz looked at me. “If you say you need me on that wall, I slap you.”

“Go, or I’ll go for you,” I said.

“Cause you just so suave with women,” Oz said.

“Go or I’ll … nobody uses the word suave,” I said.

Oz stood up. “Suave sound better than asshole,” he said. “Which you is,” he said and crossed the pool.

*****

“Where’s Oz?” Regan asked when we met in the lobby around seven.

“Oz is engaged for dinner with a lady he met at the pool,” I said.

My daughter appeared mildly shocked.

“A woman? Oz? What do you know about her?”

“She looks like Eartha Kitt,” I said.

“Who?”

“She was a …”

“You left him alone with a strange woman he just met?”

“Oz is a grown man,” I said. “I think he can handle dinner with a woman. Speaking of dinner, where do you want to go?”

“The kioskos at Luquillo,” Regan said. “We were ten minutes away and never went once.”

I handed Regan the keys to the rental. “You drive,” I said. “I don’t want to make you car sick and ruin your appetite.”

She snatched the keys from my hand. “Don’t be a wiseass, Dad. Nobody likes a wise ass.”

Regan drove the rental east on Route Three to Luquillo Beach where the kioskos is located. The kioskos is a long strip mall of restaurants, sixty in all, that is located just a few hundred feet from the beach.

We wandered the mall of restaurants until Regan decided we should try Peruvian. Along with the meal came atmosphere and Peruvian music.

“So about this woman?” Regan asked as we ate.

“What about her?”

“Dad!”

“There’s not much I can tell you,” I said. “She sent him a note at the pool asking him to dinner.”

“And he went?” Regan said.

“Oz has been alone since his wife died twenty years ago,” I said. “A female companion for dinner won’t kill him.”

“Well, who is Eartha Kitt?” Regan asked.

“She was a beautiful black woman singer and movie star in the forties and later was the Cat Woman on the Batman show in the sixties,” I said.

“Oz is having dinner with Cat Woman?” Regan said.

“Relax, honey,” I said. “At their age, both are spayed and neutered.”

“Funny. What should we have for dessert?”

*****

Around eleven that night, I was watching a western on television. It had been dubbed into Spanish with English subtitles. A soft knock on my door got me out of bed.

“Bekker,” Oz said almost breathless.

“Is something …?”

Oz brushed past me and closed the door.

“She wants me to go back to her room,” Oz said.

“Who, Eartha Kitt?”

“Yes, of course Eartha … her name be Louisa cause her mama liked the writer so much,” Oz said.

“So why are you here with me instead of there with her?”

“Cause she … I mean we … do you have any of those little blue pills?”

“Little blue … you mean Viagra?”

“Jeeze, man, you don’t got to shout about it,” Oz winced.

“I wasn’t … no, I don’t, Oz,” I said. “It’s not something I usually carry around.”

Oz sat on the bed. “It be so long since I been with a woman I …”

“Wait a second,” I said.

I went to the bathroom and dug through my travel bag for a bottle of L-Arginine and took it to Oz.

“Take five of these,” I said.

Oz looked at the bottle. “What’s this?”

“It’s an amino acid supplement I take before I go running,” I said.

“Amino acid? I don’t think she ain’t planning on going for no running,” Oz said.

“It increases blood flow so you can run longer with more oxygen,” I said. “Take five of these and it’s like taking one of those little blue pills.”

Oz read the bottle. “Yeah? I’ll take ten.”

“Take the whole bottle,” I said. “It’s a two-pack.”

Chapter Three

The hotel gym opened at five thirty in the morning and I was the first and only patron at that hour.

I didn’t mind. I put the wall-mounted television on and watched a fifty-year-old episode of Gilligan’s Island dubbed in Spanish and did thirty minutes on a stair master for starters. The gym had decent enough equipment and I did a few sets on each piece of equipment and ended with some stretching. By seven, I was on the way back to my room.

Two newspapers were waiting for me outside the room. I took both in with me and tossed them on the bed while I took a shower. I was getting dressed when I glanced at the newspapers.

One was in English, a copy of USA Today.

The second was in Spanish. The front page photo caught my eye. I sat on the bed and picked it up. The headline was bold above the photo. My Spanish was weak and I couldn’t read the headline or story, but I recognized the photograph.

It was the view from my balcony of the beach with police huddled around a body.

I took the newspaper with me to the lobby and went to the front desk.

“Can you tell me what this says?” I asked a woman behind the desk.

She glanced at the paper and frowned. She had a fairly thick Spanish accent, but her English was perfectly understandable.

“The headline?” she asked.

I nodded.

“It says, Who Killed Joe Italiano?”

“Who killed … who is Joe Italiano?” I asked.

“The news said a local businessman. I haven’t read the story.”

“Is there an English version of the paper?” I asked.

“No, but I can call the paper and have the story translated for you and sent to your room, if you’d like?”

“That would be good. I’ll pay whatever it costs.”

She smiled. “I’ll put it on your bill.”

I wandered into the breakfast dining room and took a table for four and ordered coffee. Regan joined me before the cup was empty.

“Where’s Oz,” she said as she took a seat.

“I’m sure he’ll be along any minute,” I said.

And he was. With Louisa on her right arm.

“Dad?” Regan whispered as they walked to the table.

“We have to let him go sometime, honey,” I said.

“This thing that look like last Wednesday’s meatloaf is John Bekker,” Oz said to Louisa when the arrived. “And this beautiful little bird be his daughter Reagan. This be Louisa Annemarie Calhoun.”

Louisa smiled at Regan and said, “You are right, she is a lovely young woman.”

Oz slid a chair out for Louisa and she gently sat.

“And he is exactly as you said,” Louisa said.

“I can just imagine how Oz described me,” I said.

With a sheepish grin, Louisa said, “Oz said you most resembled a worn out boxing glove.”

I looked at Oz.

Regan looked at Louisa.

“Well, he’s no prize, that’s for sure,” Regan said.

“So,” I said. “I think I’ll have the pancakes.”

Louisa was a charming woman who was also a widow, having lost her husband ten years earlier to cancer. Her two sons were grown with kids of their own and she liked to travel in her spare time, which there wasn’t much of. She was, of all things, a NASA mathematician. She, along with a team of engineers and mathematicians plotted such things as orbits and movements of planets, suns and spacecraft, fuel ratio to distances and things far and away above my head.

She honeymooned in Puerto Rico more than thirty years ago and started taking vacations here a few years back because they always wanted to return but never could find the time.

“Oz invited me to spend the day with you,” she said. “I have to fly home tomorrow for a meeting, so if it doesn’t put you out …”

“It doesn’t and we’d be delighted,” I said.

“Oz said that Regan is the tour guide,” Louisa said. “So young lady, I am at your disposal.”

*****

We took a boat ride to an island called Monkey Island and snorkeled in shallow waters. The island is home to hundreds of Rhesus monkeys, brought there by scientists in 1938 for the purpose of behavioral study. People are not allowed on the island, but if you stand still in the water, the monkeys will come out and watch you. Don’t look the males in the eye as they take it as a challenge and become visible upset and quite possibly swim out to you to issue a challenge.

From there we had lunch at a small restaurant in Cayo Santiago. Then it was off to Fajardo where we rented chairs and watched the sunset with the mountains of the rainforest behind us.

We returned to the hotel around eight-thirty, exhausted and hungry and grabbed a quick bite poolside thanks to room service.

Louisa had a ten am flight and we agreed to meet at seven-thirty for breakfast.

I entered my room and found a folder had been slipped under the door. Before I even opened it, Oz was behind me and ushered into the room and closed the door.

“Bekker, can I have that other bottle of L-whatever?” he whispered.

“Arginine and you’re going to kill yourself,” I said.

“Half then. That way I be only half dead come morning.”

I fetched the bottle and tossed it to Oz. “I want whatever is leftover back in the morning.”

“Sure,” Oz said, opened the door and rushed out.

Alone, I stripped down to my underwear, ran the AC on high, grabbed a Coke from the small fridge beside the television and sat on the bed to read the story inside the folder.

Who Killed Joe Italiano was written by a featured crime writer at the paper named Pablo Pagon.

Joe Italiano is/was a local businessman named Joseph DeSousa and he was a native of New York City. He married a Puerto Rican girl from The Bronx and they purchased a small home in Fajardo thirty years ago.

DeSousa, age listed as sixty, owned or had controlling interests in many businesses on the island. Among them were three beach resort hotels, including the one I was staying in, two real estate companies, two grocery stores, one private cab company and a coffee plantation.

I looked up for a moment to sip some Coke.

“Coffee plantation?” I said aloud.

He was well known for his acts of charity, including financing the restoration of a church and the building of a Little League baseball field. He was often spotted with his wife Maria at church on Sunday.

Besides his wife, DeSousa was survived by his two sons and one daughter and several grandchildren, all of whom lived in New York.

DeSousa also kept a residence in New York and he and Maria divided their time between the two.

Details of his death were unclear at the present time. Authorities stated that his body was found around five in the morning by several early morning surfers that often surfed the beach. His body had two stab wounds in the chest, but it was unclear if he was stabbed at the beach or elsewhere and moved to the beach and dumped. Motive is unknown.

Police are not granting interviews at this time and his family will be in seclusion until after the funeral services.

Police have requested that anyone with any information to call the state police hotline number immediately and ask for Lieutenant Escalante.

I set the file aside and took another sip of Coke.

“Aw, hell,” I said aloud.

Four

“I be back with the car as soon as she be on the plane,” Oz said when we met for breakfast.

“I told him I would take a cab, but he wouldn’t hear of it,” Louisa said.

“No problem,” I said. “We’ll just hang out at the pool for a bit.”

Regan had really warmed up to Louisa once she realized Oz wasn’t going to be kidnapped and held for ransom in a basement somewhere.

With a hug and kiss for Regan and a warm handshake for me, Louisa and Oz departed.

“Okay with you if I grab another treatment at the spa?” Regan asked when we returned to the lobby.

“Sure.”

In my room, I called the state police hotline number and asked for someone that spoke English. They all did and a woman asked the nature of my call.

“Lieutenant Escalante, please,” I said.

“In reference to?”

“Joe Italiano.”

“Do you have information?”

“I do.”

“I’ll relay it to him as soon as he gets out of a meeting.”

“I’d rather tell him myself,” I said. “Have him call me at this number. My name is John Bekker.”

I left the number for my cell phone.

*****

I had the Stairmaster in the gym set to level twelve for one hour. There is a little shelf designed to rest a book upon and that where I placed my cell phone.

It rang at minute fifty-seven.

The incoming number showed the state police. I grabbed the phone and stepped off the Stairmaster.

“This is John Bekker,” I said.

“Mr. Bekker, this is Lieutenant Escalante. You called and said you have some information for me.”

Escalante spoke without an accent.

“I do,” I said. “Before we talk, I want you to do something for me. I’d like you to call Police Captain Walter Grimes and verify that I am who I say I am. Can you do that?”

“I don’t have time for games, Mr. Bekker,” Escalante said. “If you …”

“If you don’t call Captain Grimes, chances are you won’t believe what I have to say to you,” I said.

There was a short pause followed by a sigh. “If you’re some nut job with a complex, I’ll have you locked up. What’s the number?”

I gave him the number and reset the Stairmaster for another thirty minutes and twenty minutes later, Escalante called back.

“I spoke with Captain Grimes,” Escalante said.

“And he said?”

“You sound breathless.”

“I’ve been on a Stairmaster for ninety minutes,” I said. “I’m still on it.”

“Stairmaster?”

“What did Walt say?”

“He said you’re the best cop he’s ever worked with, a prima donna and a pain in the ass,” Escalante said.

“He said prima donna?”

“And pain in the ass,” Escalante said. “Actually, I think he said major pain the ass. He also said if I had something that needed solving that the odds of solving it were better with you than without. So, what do you have for me?”

“Remember show and tell from grade school?” I said.

“What?”

“I’m on vacation with my daughter,” I said. “Can you meet me at the Ocean View Resort on Luquillo Beach at ten tonight?”

“If you’re jerking my …”

“I’m not and bring a few uniforms,” I said. “We’ll need them.”

“Why ten tonight?”

“My show and tell won’t work in daylight,” I said. “I’ll see you at ten.”

*****

I met Regan poolside where almost every chair and chaise lounge was occupied.

“It’s almost eleven, where is Oz?” Regan said when I took the vacant chair beside her.

“I suspect stuck in airport traffic,” I said. “What’s in the tour book for today?”

“We go home in three days, Dad,” Regan said. “So we only really have two full days left. I don’t think this is something Oz would want to do, but I’d like to try scuba diving. There is a course in Fajardo at the beach this afternoon. They take you out on a boat to a calm bay not far from Monkey Island.”

“Sounds fine to me,” I said.

Regan looked at me with her cat ate the canary expression. “Am I being selfish?”

“Because you want to learn scuba diving?”

“No, silly. Maybe. I meant with Oz,” Regan said. “I practically forced him to move in with us when you bought the house. He looked really happy spending the day with Louisa, I thought maybe …”

“Oz is as much a part of our family as Molly or Buddy or even your cousin Mark,” I said. “If he didn’t want to be with us he would have stayed at the beach. It did him some good to spend some time with Louisa. He hasn’t really talked to a woman since his wife died.”

Regan nodded.

“Here he comes now,” I said. “Ask him?”

“Ask what?” Oz said when he arrived.

“If you wouldn’t mind spending the afternoon on a boat with me watching Regan take scuba diving lesions,” I said.

“Only if I partake,” Oz said.

Regan sat up in her lounge. “Oz, you’re too …”

“Old,” Oz said. “You’re sometime not too bright father have a saying he used more than once. He said a man is only as old as the woman he feels. Today, little miss, old Oz feel like he eighteen.”

“Oh God,” Regan said. “The both of you qualify for AARP.”

“Don’t make us old,” Oz said. “Just wise enough to get discounts at the movies.”

*****

“Maybe not so wise,” Oz said as I drove back to the hotel after four hours of diving lessons.

Regan got the hang of it right away and after an hour of practice she was diving in ten feet of water. I had snorkeled many times in the past, but never with a tank. It took some adjusting, but I got the hang of it and kept pace with Regan and the instructors.

Oz was the surprise. I didn’t even know he could swim, but he could and well. He took to the lesions as quickly as Regan and stayed with her the entire time.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I need a nap after this,” Oz said.

Regan turned around and looked at him. “What’s wrong?” she said.

“I’m pooped, what you think?” Oz said.

“You look sick,” Regan said. “Like ash.”

“Ash?” Oz said. “You mean my skin?”

“Yes.”

“Girl, that’s how Oz tans,” Oz said with a chuckle.

*****

The red message light on my phone was blinking when I returned to my room after we had dinner in the hotel restaurant.

I retrieved the message and then called Sheriff Jane Morgan.

“Got my message I see,” Jane said.

“I did,” I said. “We’re at the new place I told you about a few days ago.”

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s good. Is something wrong on the home front?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “And it pains me to say this to a first class putz like you, but I miss you in a strange dog misses their owner kind of way.”

“Which of us is the dog?” I asked.

“I’m too blonde and buxom to be the dog,” Jane said.

“You should have taken the time off and came with us,” I said.

“Not with budgets due the county town council,” Jane said. “Meeting is tomorrow.”

“Maybe we should consider taking a little trip of our own when I get back?” I said.

“Maybe we should,” Jane said. “Anyplace in mind?”

“I’ll leave that up to you,” I said. “It wil be my treat.”

“I’m worth it, of course, but …”

“Think on it and tell me when I get home,” I said. “Right now I have to go to work.”

“Work? Bekker, what are you …?”

“Will you be up around midnight?”

“I’ll still be in the office.”

“I’ll call you then.”

After a quick shower and change of clothes, I was off to meet with Lieutenant Escalante.

Odd how satisfied I felt about that.

Chapter Five

Ten minutes before ten, I stood in front of the eight-foot-high gates of the Ocean View at Luquillo Beach Hotel and waited for Escalante.

He arrived in a dark sedan five minutes later, followed by two black and whites with Policia written on the sides.

Escalante was around six feet tall, wiry thin with black hair, dark eyes and a pencil-thin moustache.

“Bekker?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Frisk him,” Escalante said. “Give me his wallet.”

The two uniformed cops gave me a decent enough pat down, removed my wallet and gave it to Escalante. He opened it, held it up to the light of a street lamp and then tossed it back to me.

“So show me and tell me,” he said.

“I need to call the desk and have them let us in,” I said.

Escalante nodded.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number for the desk. A minute later, the electronic gate slid open.

“I’ll need your men to stay here,” I said. “And to take this.”

I gave one of them an unopened pack of cigarettes, a disposable lighter and a book of matches I picked up at a gas station.

“Do you have a radio?” I asked Escalante.

“Yes.”

“Bring it.”

Escalante and I went to the office.

“We need to see room 411,” I said.

“I recognize you,” the woman behind the desk said. “Mr. Bekker, right?”

“That’s right,” I said. “And this is police Lieutenant Escalante.”

She looked at him and I could see distress flash in her eyes.

“It has nothing to do with the hotel,” I said.

She nodded. “411 is vacant until tomorrow. I’ll let you in.”

A few minutes later, we stood on the balcony and looked down on the beach.

“See how the street lamps light up the sidewalk, but a few feet past it is completely dark,” I said.

Escalante nodded. “It’s designed that way for people to feel safe on the sidewalk at night,” he said.

“The news story said he was stabbed in the chest, but didn’t give details,” I said. “I say he was stabbed on the right side near the ribs.”

Escalante looked at me.

“That’s right, isn’t it,” I said.

“It is.”

“The ME put the time of death at around three-thirty in the morning?” I asked.

“He did.”

“Around three, I came out to the balcony for some fresh air,” I said.

“Did you see anyone on the street at the time?”

“No. Call your men and have the one with the cigarettes cross the street and stand under the street lamp directly in line with this balcony,” I said.

Escalante removed his radio from his belt and spoke to the officers in Spanish.

We watched one of them crossed the street.

“This man was about six feet tall, slim and wore a dark-colored, long sleeve shirt and leather shoes,” I said. “Joe Italiano, as he was called, came from the right side of the fence out of our view and then crossed the street and met the first man. Tell the other officer to do that and have him face him from our left.”

Escalante spoke in Spanish to the second officer and he crossed the street and stood in front of the officer with the cigarettes.

“See how the officer I gave the cigarettes to is a mirror image of the other one?” I said. “If he reached out with his left hand he would touch the other officer’s right.”

“Yes, I see that,” Escalante said.

“Tell them to hold their positions and walk onto the beach until we no longer can see them,” I said.

Escalante told them in Spanish and when they disappeared into darkness, he told them to stop.

“That’s how it went down at three in the morning,” I said. “First long sleeves, then Joe Italiano. They said a few words then went onto the beach.”

“Where you can’t see them from here,” Escalante said.

“Tell your man to light a cigarette using the lighter, holding the lighter in his right hand and cupping it in his left,” I said.

Escalante told him in Spanish on the radio.

We watched and there was just a tiny glow of light that quickly faded.

“That’s how a right handed person lights a cigarette,” I said. “Now tell him to do it again but in reverse.”

Escalante told them.

The light from the lighter was bright enough to illuminate the smoker’s face and the other officer opposite him.

“Now tell him to it again using the match,” I said. “Lighting the match with his left hand, cupping with the right.”

Escalante told him and we watched as the officer lit the match, cupped and held it to the cigarette.

“What did you see?” I asked.

“I saw the same thing,” Escalante said.

“No, you didn’t,” I said. “With a lighter you get instant flame that’s constant. With a match you get a spark and slow ignition. Tell him to use a match again.”

We watched as the match did a spark and slow burn.

“He used a match,” I said. “Twice. He smoked one cigarette when he was alone under the street lamp, and then another on the beach. He’s a left handed smoker who uses matches.”

Escalante looked at me.

“I’m not about to tell a fellow police detective how to do his job, but if it was me, I might do a search for two cigarette butts and a book of matches on the beach,” I said. “Maybe look for a butt on the sidewalk or street and a matching brand near the crime scene. DNA can be lifted from cigarette butts if they haven’t been destroyed. Maybe get a forensics crew out there tonight with million watt candle power searchlights and pick up every butt inside a thirty square foot perimeter of the crime scene, matches, too.”

“Is there anything else you wouldn’t want to tell me to do?” Escalante asked.

“Do you drink coffee, Lieutenant Escalante?” I asked.

*****

A few blocks from the hotel is a burger joint called Surf’s Up. We ate there a few nights ago after the trip to the rain forest. It was open until one. We took a table on the porch facing the ocean and ordered coffee.

“That’s an impressive observation about lighting the cigarette left-handed,” Escalante said.

“I smoked for a long time,” I said. “I know how a right-handed person lights a cigarette.”

“Maybe so, but only a really well-trained cop would notice,” Escalante said.

“Robbery ruled out?” I asked.

“As far as we can tell, nothing is missing from his body,” Escalante said. “Wedding ring, gold rolex watch, wallet with eleven hundred dollars all intact.”

“Have you talked to his family, friends, employees yet?” I asked.

“I have six detectives conducting interviews,” Escalante said. “Including his business appointments, computers and phone conversations. I’m handling the family, but so far all I’ve talked to is Mrs. DeSousa.”

“His finances?”

“Every shred will be put under a microscope.”

“Enemies?”

“No known, but it’s almost impossible to have his kind of money and not have any,” Escalante said.

“His charity work?”

Escalante took a sip of his coffee, and then set the cup down. “That, too, although I can’t see killing a man in cold blood because he built a hospital.”

“Maybe not, but maybe a competitor wanted the land where he built the little league baseball field,” I said. “You never know.”

Escalante sighed. “I quit, too. Now would be a good time to light up.”

“It would,” I agreed.

“How long were you on the job?”

“Sixteen years.”

“Private?”

“A few.”

“I’m going on twenty-two,” Escalante said as he picked up his cup. “Fourteen as a detective, four as Lieutenant.”

“How long have you been divorced?” I asked.

Escalante was about to take a sip, paused and looked at me. “Three years. How did you know?”

“You were rubbing the ring finger of your left hand,” I said. “Either you have arthritis in that one joint or you’re playing with the ring that used to be there but no longer is.”

“Captain Grimes was right about you,” Escalante said.

“Prima donna, good cop or pain in the ass?” I said.

“That the odds of solving a problem are better with you than without.”

“Shall we walk back and see if forensics found anything?” I asked.

“Sure.”

I left a tip and we walked along the sidewalk. We could see the powerful searchlights the forensics people were using on the beach some four blocks away.

“You’re wearing short-sleeves, as am I and the uniformed officers,” I said. “What would you say the temperature is right now?”

“Seventy-seven when I arrived,” Escalante said.

“About what it was when I came out on the balcony, but with higher humidity,” I said. “I know people get acclimatized, but would you wear long sleeves on a night like this?”

“I would not, but some here might. He could have come from an evening of night clubbing, or expected it to be cooler by the ocean,” Escalante said.

“Maybe.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“Did you ever meet DeSousa?”

“Several times,” Escalante said. “Once at a police fundraiser. He donated one hundred thousand to our equipment fund.”

“And?”

“And nothing. He shook my hand along with a hundred others.”

“Did he own firearms?” I asked.

There was a slight hesitation, and then Escalante said, “Yes. He had a permit and owns several.”

“But none with him?”

“No.”

“Odd. Three in the morning, a meeting at the beach in the dark, you own a gun and don’t have one with you for protection,” I said.

We reached the crime scene where six forensics officers were still combing the beach for evidence.

“I’m assuming the nickname Joe Italiano comes from the natives?” I said.

“Yes, but the funny thing is DeSousa is Portuguese,” Escalante said. “DeSousa sounds Italian and a few locals started calling him that thirty years ago and it stuck.”

“His wife is?”

“Puerto Rican, although born in The Bronx,” Escalante said. “So was DeSousa.”

“Lieutenant, we covered every square inch and picked up more than thirty butts, some loose change, a button and five used condoms,” a forensics officer said in English.

“Any of the butts match brands?” Escalante asked.

“Several.”

“Take them in for processing,” Escalante said.

“The button, too,” I said. “See if it can be matched to a particular brand of shirt.”

The forensics officer looked at Escalante and Escalante nodded.

“Okay,” the forensics officer said and returned to his crew.

“When we left for Puerto Rico it was fifty-three degrees,” I said. “Not cold enough for a coat, but I wore a long-sleeve shirt. Maybe the perp flew in from somewhere cold to meet DeSousa and didn’t have time to change his shirt. Cigarette lighters are off the no-fly list, but maybe he didn’t know that and picked up a book of matches at the airport. I might check flights and see who flew in and out on overnight flights and see if they had checked luggage and had hotel and rental car reservations.”

Escalante smiled at me. “Anything else you might or might not do?”

“What kind of knife was used?”

“The ME said it was a long knife with a serrated edge,” Escalante said.

“Sounds like a bread knife found in kitchens everywhere,” I said. “An odd choice of weapon, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Can’t bring it on a plane, but you can buy one anywhere,” I said.

Escalante nodded.

“Maybe he buried it on the beach or tossed it in some weeds on the way out,” I said. “A metal detector would be handy.”

“It would,” Escalante agreed.

“DeSousa’s car was found where?” I asked.

“Around the corner,” Escalante said. “A black Town Car.”

“It’s been gone over?”

“Still in the process. It’s pretty clean though.”

“I go home in two days,” I said.

“I’ll need you to come to the station and fill out a statement,” Escalante said. “So far, you’re my only witness.”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow sometime,” I said.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said.

*****

It was after one am when I returned to my hotel room. I wasn’t tired and knew sleep was off the table for a while.

I grabbed a Coke from the fridge and found some stationary and a pen in the desk. I sat, sipped and stared at a blank piece of paper.

Why three in the morning?

Legitimate business meetings take place during normal business hours.

Why park around the corner when parking is allowed in the street in front of the beach?

I took a sip of Coke and thought about that.

DeSousa parked around the corner so he could hide in the dark and watch the sidewalk for whoever he was meeting.

Maybe he thought the man wouldn’t show?

Why no bodyguards?

A man as wealthy as DeSousa running around at three in the morning alone and unarmed didn’t make sense.

I sipped some Coke and thought for a moment.

I grabbed my cell phone and dialed the hotline number. A woman with a thick Spanish accent answered the call.

“Lieutenant Escalante,” I said. “Tell him it’s John Bekker.”

“I’ll need to call him,” she said. “Can he call you back?”

“Yes.”

I took the Coke and phone out to the balcony. Ten minutes later, Escalante called.

“Autopsy of DeSousa?”

“The second stab wound pierced his heart,” Escalante said. “It’s what killed him.”

“Have the ME measure the distance from the entrance wound to the heart,” I said. “A standard bread knife has a blade eight inches long.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Toxicology?”

“In the works.”

“It has to have occurred to you that the stabber is a drug dealer,” I said. “That DeSousa was looking to score.”

“He could snap his fingers and a dozen flunkies would bring him whatever he wanted,” Escalante said.

“Unless he wanted absolutely no one to know about it,” I said.

“True. Well, we’ll have the report in a few days. Anything else?”

“Yeah, sleep.”

“Not an option for me right now,” Escalante said.

I hung up and returned to the desk.

I read my notes.

What jumped out at me was the dark side of the moon.

Chapter Six

“We go home tomorrow,” Regan said.

We were having breakfast poolside. The morning air was relatively cool with a hint of what was to come later in the day.

“So let’s take a vote on what we do today,” Regan suggested.

“I like to maybe check out those jewelry stores in Old San Juan,” Oz said.

I looked at him.

Regan all but burst into laughter.

“What?” Oz said. “I could use a new watch.”

“With Louisa’s name on it?” I said.

“It’s okay, Oz, we understand,” Regan said.

Oz glared at me. “Looking at something, fool?”

“As long as were going to Old San Juan, there are some historic churches I’d like to see,” Regan said. “Dad?”

“The bioluminescent bay after dark,” I said.

“Agreed,” Regan said. “Jewelry store is up first.”

“I need a small favor,” I said. “Between Old San Juan and bioluminescent bay, I have to stop off at the state police station for a few minutes.”

Regan and Oz looked at me.

“Just for a few minutes,” I said.

“Why?” Regan asked.

“I need to give a statement to a Lieutenant Escalante,” I said.

“Why?”

“I witnessed a crime, a murder.”

“Dad!” Regan snapped.

“And we off,” Oz said.

“Ten minutes, that’s all it takes,” I said.

“How did you … never mind, I don’t want to know,” Regan said. “Ten minutes.”

“That’s all it takes,” I said.

“I’m going to my room to change,” Regan said.

Once Regan was gone from the table, Oz took a quiet sip and coffee and then said, “You lie with such a straight face it sickening.”

“I witnessed a murder, what am I supposed to do?” I said.

“I ain’t talking bout that,” Oz said. “Course you gotta say what you witnessed. I’m talking bout telling her ten minutes when you damn well know it be hours.”

“Have you ever felt my daughter’s temper?” I asked.

“Be like that movie Wrath of Kahn,” Oz said.

“I figure it’s better to have her mad at me for just part of the day than all day,” I said.

“Your problem be you much smarter than you look,” Oz said.

“I always thought of it as an asset,” I said.

“If you leave off the e and the t,” Oz said. “You got it right.”

*****

I looked at men’s watches while Oz and Regan picked out a bracelet for Louisa.

“Dad, what do you think?” Regan asked.

I left the watch counter and walked to her. She extended her left wrist to show me the gold bracelet with diamond chips she and Oz picked out.

I looked at Oz. “Finally cracked open the piggybank,” I said.

“They’ll ship it from here,” Regan said. “As soon as Oz signs the card.”

“Well, sign the card, we have churches to see,” I said.

“Oz doesn’t know what to say,” Regan said.

“Oh for … say anything,” I said.

“How would you like a gift that say anything on it?” Oz said.

“Write this, Oz. All women like to hear this,” Regan said. “My dearest Louisa. Thinking of you. Sign it, fondly, Oz.”

“That be good,” Oz smiled. “That be real good.”

“It shows you care without being overly sloppy,” Regan said.

“Listen to Little Miss Hallmark Card here and sign the card,” I said.

“Is it okay I pay for it first?” Oz asked.

*****

Between visits to four-hundred-year-old churches, we squeezed in lunch at a restaurant that overlooked the bay and Fort el Morro.

Then we made a quick stop at Pigeon Park so Regan could feed the pigeons again followed by two more churches and a walk along blue cobblestone streets.

From there I drove to the state police station near Old San Juan. I called Escalante earlier and told him to expect me around three.

“We’ll wait for you here,” Regan said as I left the car.

I nodded and entered the stationhouse.

“Do you speak English?” I asked the sergeant at the desk.

“Yes,” he said.

“Could you tell Lieutenant Escalante that John Bekker is here to see him,” I said.

He nodded and picked up the phone.

Five minutes later, a uniformed officer came down a flight of stairs, walked to me and said in English. “Mr. Bekker, I’ll take you to the Lieutenant.”

Escalante’s office was tucked in back on the second floor. His name was stenciled in gold lettering on a frosted glass door.

The officer knocked and opened the door. “Lieutenant, Mr. Bekker,” he said in English.

I wasn’t expecting to see Maria DeSousa in the office with Escalante. She was seated in a chair facing Escalante’s desk and turned when I entered the office. She was a handsome woman around fifty-five, with coal black hair and dark eyes reddened from crying and puffy from lack of sleep.

She stood up and was around five foot four or so and maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. She wore a sleeveless black dress with a black fishnet shoulder wrap.

“You are Bekker, the man who last saw my husband alive?” she said without a trace of an accent.

“Yes,” I said.

“Mrs. DeSousa, this is John Bekker,” Escalante said. “He’s here to give a statement.”

“Lieutenant Escalante called me this morning,” Maria said. “He told me about you, what you said and did. He said you were a great police office and detective in the States. I would like you to help him find my husband’s murderer.”

I looked past her at Escalante and his face was expressionless.

“Mrs. DeSousa, I am truly sorry for your loss,” I said. “I understand what it is like to lose your spouse. However, I’m on vacation with my daughter and we go home tomorrow morning. I am sorry, but I won’t be around.”

“The Lieutenant said you are now a private detective,” Maria said. “I would like to hire you to assist him in finding the man who killed my husband.”

“I have clients waiting back home,” I said. “I am sorry.”

Maria’s eyes blazed with anger and she marched past me and stormed out of the office and slammed the door.

“She’s emotional right now,” Escalante said. “I’ll speak with her later.”

“I understand,” I said. “I’ll write that statement now.”

*****

Escalante saw me out and walked with me to my car. When we reached the front steps of the stationhouse, I could barely believe my eyes.

Regan and Maria Escalante were hugging in front of the car. Oz looked at me and shrugged.

“I see you met my daughter,” I said.

“And this nice gentleman Oz,” Maria said.

“Oz and I will go home tomorrow, but you have to stay and find out who murdered Maria’s husband,” Regan said. “I’ll explain to Jane.”

“You’ll explain to …” I said.

Regan looked at Maria. “Okay?”

Maria smiled and wiped away a tear. “Thank you,” she said.

Regan winked. “He’ll always do as I say out of guilt. It’s like having a super power.”

Oz grinned and looked away.

I looked at Escalante.

“I can clear it with the captain,” he said.

I sighed. “I’ll call Jane myself,” I said to Regan. “But you take the blame.”

“I’m your daughter and young and innocent and that makes me blameless,” Regan said.

“This girl gonna go far,” Oz said.

I looked at Maria Escalante. “I can stop by and meet with the Lieutenant after I take them to the airport,” I said. “Around ten-thirty.”

“I will be here,” Maria said.

*****

We were eating ice cream cones at the bay where the boat launches for the bioluminescence tour. The park adjacent to the bay was filled with food vendors, native arts and crafts and rides for kids.

The boat left at six-thirty, calculating sunset at seven.

“Don’t worry about Jane, Dad, I’ll explain it to her,” Regan said.

“Exactly how did you meet Mrs. DeSousa?” I asked.

“Well,” Regan said in between licks on her quickly melting cone. “She said that she was looking out the window and saw our car arrive. She saw you get out and then me and Oz. When she came out alone, she knew we were with you and she introduced herself.”

“And she convinced you to tell me to stay how?”

“She said her husband was a very important man to Puerto Rico,” Regan said. “He gave millions to charity and somebody murdered him. She said that you were the last person to see him alive and could be a great help to the police. She said that in addition to paying your fee she would make a large donation to any charity you choose. Hope Springs Eternal could use a nice donation, don’t you think?”

I looked at Oz. Vanilla ice cream was in his beard. “The kid own you, Bekker,” he said.

“Big talk from a man with ice cream in his beard,” I said.

“It’s time to line up for the boat,” Regan said.

The boat ride was a gentle trip through a narrow channel into a lagoon. By the time we entered the lagoon, the sun was down and darkness was settling in. An instructor onboard told us about the live algae in the water that caused it to light up when agitated. We each received a long stick that when placed into the dark water and stirred, agitated the algae and it glowed brightly. The moment you held the stick still, the algae quieted down and the bright glow vanished.

Quite a trick for just some algae.

*****

Our final dinner together was spent at the Kioskos in a Puerto Rican steak house. We were back at the hotel by ten-thirty.

I called Jane from my room.

“Hey Bekker, need a ride from the airport?” Jane said, cheerfully when she answered the phone.

“Regan and Oz might,” I said.

There was a short pause. Then, “Something happened. What?”

“Let me grab a Coke,” I said and snatched one from the fridge.

By the time the can was empty, Jane was up to speed. “For crying out loud, Bekker,” she said.

“It was an accident,” I said. “Nothing planned.”

“And you’re there to save the day,” she said.

“You’re a cop, Jane, you know it goes,” I said.

“I do know and I’m mad anyway,” Jane said. “And I must sound a lot like Janet to you right now. I’m sorry. I should know better.”

“How much vacation time do you have?”

“Enough to take off for six months and oh no you don’t,” Jane said. “I’m not taking vacation days to fly there and play Pink Panther learns Spanish with you.”

“What’s the temperature there right now?”

“Fifty-one and raining.”

“It’s seventy-seven and clear enough to see every star in the sky,” I said. “In fact, I might take a dip in the pool right now.”

I heard Jane inhale and then sigh.

“Are you smoking?” I asked.

“None of you damn business,” Jane said. “In fact, fuck you,” she said and hung up the phone.

Ten seconds later, the phone rang.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jane said.

“I got you a very nice present,” I said.

“Expensive?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m worth it.”

“I know.”

“That’s good you know. It cuts down on me having to remind you. I’ll see what I can do tomorrow. Now talk dirty to me and say goodnight.”

A while later, I called Regan’s room.

“I’m going for a swim,” I said. “Want to join the old man?”

“It’s creepy how you can survive on so little sleep,” Regan said.

“You can sleep on the plane,” I said. “Meet you in ten minutes.”