Killertrust (27 page)

They left the rental car
at the quay parking, and headed on foot toward the center of the medieval style
village. The modern housing boom had completely bypassed Vera Mardola. The
upper balconies of two and three story rock and stucco houses leaned well over
the narrow cobblestone streets built hundreds of years ago when the main
transportation involved horses or donkeys, or an occasional ox. The pathways
were barely wide enough to accommodate one modern-day vehicle, which resulted
in all of the streets being one way. The cobblestone path they’d chosen circled
its way uphill toward the center of town.

“I’m glad we didn’t try to
drive and find a parking place. This looks impossible,” Rhetta said as she
gazed around the Mediterranean style homes and buildings, most of which were
made of rock and shuttered tightly against the afternoon sunlight. “Do people
actually live here?” she added as she glanced at an inscription on the
cornerstone of a building. The only part she could make out was the date, 1497.
“Look here. This cornerstone was laid in 1497. Wow, now that’s what I call an
old building.”

“Just think, that was a mere
five years after Columbus discovered North America. We certainly don’t have
anything old like that in the Midwest,” Randolph said. “I think there are some
late sixteen hundred and early seventeen hundred buildings around the original
French settlement at Sainte Geneviève. Farther west, nothing is older than the
eighteen hundreds. The east coast has some old buildings, but none this old.”
He stopped and gazed up at the narrow two-story building.

“All of these houses have
shutters and most of them are closed up tight. I find that so strange.” Rhetta
said, as she joined Randolph in staring up at the windows.

He glanced around at the
neighboring houses. “I’m sure one reason is because they don’t have air
conditioning, and they want to keep the interiors cool. Another reason might be
that they don’t want people staring inside.”

The day, which had started
out mild, but a little chilly, had turned out to be rather warm. Or, at least
to Rhetta it felt warm. The thermometer outside the
fleca
, or bakery that they’d just passed, said 25. Now if
she was in Missouri, she’d be mighty chilly at 25, but the Celsius indicator
meant that according to her quick approximate calculations, the temperature was
around 75 Fahrenheit. The Mediterranean winter was certainly milder than the
one they left in Missouri. She knew that
fleca
meant bakery, not because of her skill in Catalán,
but because her nose detected the delicious aroma of fresh bread.

Overhead, the clear sky had
not a single cloud to mar the brilliant blue. The gentle ocean breeze teased
her nostrils, evoking memories of the Florida beaches she’d visited with her
mother when she was a child. The thoughts of her mother skittered away and were
replaced with recent memories of her father. She wouldn’t be here on this
strange little island had it not been for Frank Caldwell and a string of
bizarre events.

She threaded her arm through
Randolph’s and they continued the climb to the town square in silence.

When they reached the foot of
the steps to the building, she stared at the massive double wood doors to the
Banc
Real de
Santo Domingo
.
She riffled through the bag and fingered the envelope
with her proof and evidence. “I even brought the pictures of George Erickson
that Matt Clippard took. He was interested in the tattoo, thinking he could use
it to help identify the body. I also have a copy of his death certificate.”

Randolph arched his eyebrows.
“And how did you acquire that?”

Rhetta patted the envelope.
“It’s pretty handy having Matt for a friend.” She grinned.

They climbed the six steps,
and Randolph pulled open the ornate wood door. “I guess they don’t have the
equivalent of the Americans with Disabilities Act here. One certainly couldn’t
climb those steps or get that blasted heavy door open if one was handicapped.
It was all I could do to open it.”

Once inside, a young man in a
military style uniform greeted them.
“
Bona
tarda
.
Benvingut
al
Banc
Real de
Santo Domingo.”

Rhetta
smiled. “Do you speak English?”  I’m sorry, I don’t speak Catalán.”

The
blond security guard returned her smile and switched to an accented but clear
English greeting. “Of course. Welcome to the
Banc
Real de Santo Domingo
.
How may we assist you?”

She
sucked in a deep breath. “I need to speak to someone about Garibaldi.”

His
face paled. “Another?” Apparently catching himself misspeaking, he wrung his
hands and said quickly, “But of course, please, come with me.” He led them across
the carpeted floor to a mahogany desk where he spoke rapidly to a young lady
there.

She
answered, then punched a button on a phone. Rhetta couldn’t begin to understand
the rapid-fire speech.

The
guard turned, smiled, then backed away.

The
pretty blonde at the desk eyed them as she spoke into the receiver. All Rhetta
caught were the words,
American
,
and
Garibaldi
.

The
door to an office behind the young woman opened and a
short, dark man wearing thick round glasses that made
his eyes appear overlarge, stepped into the lobby.

Forgoing any greeting, he
said, “Follow me.”

They did, across the lobby to
another door, which the man opened and then motioned them through. They entered
a tiny room with a single table. Behind them, he closed the door, and Rhetta
heard lock tumblers engage.

She spun around. And was
greeted by the biggest thing in the room—a pistol pointed at her head.

“What kind of foolishness is
this,
Madame
?”
the man said, wiping his brow with one hand, while keeping the gun trained on
her with the other.

“I don’t know why you have a
gun pointed at my wife, sir, but I would request that you put the weapon down.”
Randolph’s tone was stern, but calm.

The banker swung the gun away
from Rhetta and parked it directly in front of Randolph’s face.

“I have instructed the
security guard to call the police, and they will be here shortly.”

The man spoke English very
well, Rhetta thought. Why on earth she would think about his ability to speak
English when said person was holding them at gunpoint, she just didn’t know.
Her brain fired crazy thoughts when she was under stress. Crazy stress
thoughts. That was it.

“I’m not sure what the
problem is, sir, but I was given instructions to come here and ask about
Garibaldi Tontine, and that is what we are doing.” She wiped her forehead. If
the bank had air conditioning, this little room did not. Her forehead began
dripping.

“The problem,
Madame
, is that a gentleman claimed the Garibaldi just a few
moments ago. Therefore, you must be imposters, and I will have you arrested.”
The banker withdrew a handkerchief and wiped his own brow.

Rhetta had spotted a single
chair so she sat. “What man? How could he have claimed the Garibaldi? I am the
daughter of the last of the Garibaldi, and I have all the evidence with me to
prove that.” She sat the bag on the table and reached to open it.

“Stop right there. Do not
open that bag. We will wait for the police and you can explain to me and them
at the same time.”

As though on cue, a knock
interrupted their conversation.

Again, Rhetta heard chatter
in rapid-fire Catalán. She caught one word,
policia
.

The constables had arrived.

The bespectacled banker
unlocked the door and with his weapon still trained on them, motioned for them
to step through to the lobby ahead of him.

Four local
policia
holding automatic weapons greeted them.

Instinctively, or whether she
had watched too many television shows, Rhetta put her hands up. Her purse slid
to the floor.

Randolph followed her example
and raised his hands. “Sir, we aren’t armed. There’s no need to hold us at
gunpoint. We haven’t done anything except ask about the Garibaldi Tontine
Trust.” Randolph’s voice sounded so calm to Rhetta.

“That’s right. I’m the
rightful owner of the trust. You have some explaining to do, sir.” Rhetta
stared at the banker. Her voice cracked and she didn’t sound a bit calm to
herself.

She was bordering on getting
very annoyed. In fact, she had sailed past annoyed and was tacking into full
blown mad. She thought her voice might give her away. She took a deep breath to
calm herself.

“Then, let us go to my office
and you can attempt to explain yourself.” The banker lowered his weapon, and
pointed to a large office behind the receptionist’s desk. The pretty blonde had
abandoned her post. Probably when the
policia
arrived.

Rhetta sat in one green
leather chair in front of the desk, while Randolph selected the one next to
her. “May I?” she said and pointed to her bag.

The banker sat behind the
desk, wiped his forehead again, and nodded. “You say you have proof?”

“Indeed I do, but first I
would like to know who came and claimed the trust?”

The banker shook his head
vigorously. “I don’t have to tell you that,
Madame
. It is up to you to show me your proof.”

Rhetta removed the large envelope
from her bag, and spread the contents on the desktop. Once by one she showed
the banker, whose name she learned was Cabriolet, everything in the envelope.
Did he say
Cabriolet? Like the car? Yikes. More crazy stress thoughts.

Mr. Cabriolet picked up the
morgue picture of George Erickson, and the death certificate.

He wiped his brow again,
removed his glasses, and cleaned them with the same handkerchief. He replaced
them on his nose.

“
Madame
, this cannot be.” Cabriolet tapped the death
certificate. “The gentleman told me he is George Erickson, and he proved to me
that he is the last survivor.”

Rhetta pointed to a copy of
Erickson’s death certificate. “George Erickson died before my father did. My
father gave me all this before he passed away. He didn’t have time to send you
the death certificate before he fell so ill himself.” She waved her hand across
the contents of the pouch Frank gave her. “I saw George Erickson get struck by
a truck and die. My father died a few weeks later. Here is everything.” She
slid it toward the banker. “So there’s no way the man who came here could have
been George Erickson. He’s an imposter.”

The banker scrutinized the
death certificates, then shook his head. “Impossible. Mr. Erickson was in here
not thirty minutes ago, and he was very much alive. He had his birth
certificate, his passport, all of the necessary identification for the trust.”

“Mr. Cabriolet, I believe you
have just been swindled. Do you possibly have any video of this Mr. Erickson?”
Randolph asked.

“But, of course!” He picked
up the phone and issued instructions into the receiver.

In a few minutes, a young
woman knocked and was ushered in. She handed the banker a thumb drive, which he
inserted immediately into his computer.

When it began playing, he
swiveled the screen towards Rhetta and Randolph.

“There. This is Mr. Erickson.
You see, he shows me his tattoo, and he has all the papers, too. Including the
death certificate for Mr. Caldwell, your father,
Madame
. We initiated the wire into his account.”

Rhetta made a sound, a cross
between a curse and a yelp. “Crap, Sweets. I know this guy!”

Rhetta flew to her feet
.
“Mr. Cabriolet, I know this man. He’s not George Erickson. I know him as Evan
Something-or-other, and he works in the building where I have my office. That
would be in Cape Girardeau, Missouri.” She grabbed Randolph’s arm and began
leading him to the door. “We have to stop him. The ferry doesn’t leave for
fifteen minutes. He’s still on the island. We have to get to the ferry. Come
on!”

Randolph began to follow her,
but turned back to the banker. “Sir, I suggest you stop that wire. You just got
robbed.” He left the banker picking up his dropped jaw.

Rhetta was already out the
front door. She stood on the top step and scanned the area in the square. Of
course there was no sign of Evan. Randolph pushed open the door and joined her,
handing over her purse with the paperwork.

“Let’s go right to the ferry.
I’m sure he’ll try to get back to Spain as fast as he can. He’s probably
hotfooting it down to the quay right now.” Rhetta took her bag from Randolph
and slung it over her head, letting the straps cross her chest. “Are the police
going after him?” she asked as she scurried down the steps.

“They were trying to decide what
to do when I left. I’m not so sure Mr. Cabriolet believes us.”

“I hope he at least stopped
the wire. Otherwise, that money is gone for good. And, to make it worse, to a
thief, and probably a murderer! Evan is not only an imposter but a murderer
too. I bet he’s the one who killed George.”

She studied the area around
the bank. She didn’t see any police giving chase. In fact, she didn’t see any
police at all.

“I don’t see any cops,
Sweets. It’s up to us to stop him. Let’s go.” She galloped toward the street.

Randolph snatched Rhetta’s
arm and stopped her from crossing just as a scooter roared by. “Slow down,
Rhetta. You nearly got run over.”

Rhetta shook off the warning
and kept running, turning back briefly to shout, “Hurry, Randolph, if he gets
on the ferry and we miss it, we’ll never catch him.”

He caught up to her and they
sprinted toward the quay. It was all downhill. Their regular routine of running
paid off. They weren’t even winded when they pulled up and stood at the edge of
the water. The ferry was chugging its way toward them. Four cars waited in line
to board.

“You walk between these two
cars and I’ll go this way.” Randolph pointed to the cars lined up. Their rental
car was parked in the lot adjacent to the dock. They began working their way
towards the lot.

Rhetta strolled alongside two
of the vehicles. One contained a businessman in a suit, talking on his cell
phone. He didn’t even glance at her as she passed by. The next car had two
occupants, young women. Rhetta barely glanced their way.

She and Randolph met at the
end of the small line of cars.

“I don’t see anyone in these
cars who looks out of place. Maybe he’s on foot, and will catch his ride when
he gets to the mainland,” Rhetta said, glancing around again to see who might
be on foot waiting for the ferry. There was no one.

“Let’s get on the boat. We
can always wait at the other quay for him.” Randolph said.

“Let’s do that. You get the
car. I’ll wait here and check out the people on foot who board. I know what he
looks like.” She handed Randolph the bag, but kept her purse. “Would you take
this to the car? I want to make sure the papers stay safe.”

Randolph took it from her and
trotted toward the car.

The ferry arrived with horns
blaring. Rhetta studied everyone who was waiting either in a car, or on foot.
An older lady carrying a shopping bag walked up and waved to the young man on
the ferry who was throwing the ropes to tie the boat. He smiled and waved back.
She was probably someone who came over every day and was going home from work.

She studied a lone man, sandy
haired, wearing a lightweight leather jacket. Definitely not Evan. After
scrutinizing everyone, she concluded that Evan wasn’t among the folks waiting
to cross. Perhaps he’d caught an earlier ferry? No, she had the schedule memorized.
There wasn’t a ferry leaving in the time span the banker said. Unless the
banker was wrong. Maybe Evan had been in there earlier and had made an earlier
ferry. No, she’d seen the time stamp on the video. This would be the first
ferry. She watched as the arriving cars unloaded and sped off. Then she studied
the departing cars as they loaded. Randolph drove their car on to the ferry,
and was the second last in line. She ambled toward the gangplank. Randolph was
still in the car.

Just as she stepped onto the
footbridge, she heard the roar of a motor start up. A blue speedboat with two
men aboard raced past. One was steering the little boat, the other, an older
man, stood grasping the handrail. She recognized him.

She shouted to Randolph and
pointed. “Evan’s in that boat!” Randolph didn’t see or hear her. He was handing
his boarding information to the boat crew.

She started up the walkway,
her eyes glued to the speedboat. It veered off. It wasn’t going to the
mainland. If she and Randolph stayed on the ferry, Evan would get away.

She spotted another small
powerboat idling at the wharf, preparing to launch. She made up her mind. She
stepped off the gangway and sprinted toward it, waving and shouting, “Wait,
please. Wait!”

He looked up, held his hand
to shield his eyes. He waved, a signal to Rhetta that he heard her.

She knew what she had to do.