Killertrust (28 page)

Rhetta shouted above the roar
of the motor. “I need to follow them.” She pointed to the departing speedboat
bouncing across the water. The boat owner, dark haired and wind tanned, had a
bare working knowledge of English, but nodded vigorously when Rhetta reached
into her purse, snatched a fistful of money from her wallet and waved it. She
pointed toward the fleeing speedboat. He threw her a life jacket, pointed at
the grip bar and shouted, “Hold there.” She secured the life jacket, jammed her
wallet back in her pocket, and gripped the bar.

They launched with a roar,
her head snapping backward as they accelerated. The little boat bounced and
dipped, spewing a large fan of water in their wake. She’d snagged the right
boat. It was plenty fast. The wind slapping her face made her eyes water, so
she scrunched them nearly closed against the wind. She quickly realized the
life jacket wasn’t keeping her very warm. The sun had begun to set, and the
brisk air turned downright cold on the water. To avoid getting tossed overboard
she clung to the grab bar with both hands. Seawater foamed across the bow and
arced behind them, like a giant rooster tail. She shuddered, thinking about how
cold the water would be. She gripped the bar and sucked in a breath. Damn, they
were going fast! He had understood to catch the boat, and that was exactly what
they were going to do.

She forced her eyes open, and
spotted their quarry ahead. She doubted if Evan knew he was being followed. His
boat didn’t seem to be going as fast as they were, but it was hard to tell for
sure. Night was descending quickly. She glued her eyes to the running lights on
the boat ahead. She had hoped she could follow discreetly. From the way her
driver was roaring forward, lights ablaze, hope for discretion was evaporating
quickly. She hadn’t explained why she wanted to follow the boat. He probably
wouldn’t have understood her, anyway. If she did catch up to the boat, and Evan
spotted her, he’d try to get away. She wasn’t sure what to do. She only knew
she had to follow him. She dared turn her head sideways, and spotted the ferry
chugging across the water. She hoped Randolph wasn’t frantic. She could call
him, but there was no way she was turning loose of the grip bar, at least until
the rocketing boat slowed down.

What would she do when they
caught up? Motion for Evan to pull over and stop? It wasn’t likely Evan would
do that. Surely he wasn’t armed, since handguns weren’t allowed in Spain. Were
they? At least he wouldn’t be shooting at her. Small comfort.

She hadn’t thought her plan
through. She really wanted merely to drop back and just follow.

Fat chance of that as her
boat sped up. Where did all that power come from? She began to feel her stomach
toss. Nerves and seasickness joined forces. She swallowed hard and closed her
eyes.

Ahead, the motorboat with
Evan seemed to be slowing down as it approached an island, or a peninsula.
Rhetta wasn’t sure which, only that the land jutted out, and she could tell
there was water on each side. For that matter, it could be a cove. There was no
more daylight so it was difficult to tell, exactly. There was a scattering of
lights surrounded by inky dark, which she took for water.

The motorboat veered to the
right and headed for the cove.

She and her pilot followed.
She ducked down on the pretense of examining her shoe. She didn’t want Evan to
turn around and recognize her. Perhaps in the dim light, he probably couldn’t
even see her very well. Still, she took no chances.

Up ahead, Evan’s boat pulled
alongside the wharf. The motor cut down to idle. He leapt from the boat to the
dock. Once on the wharf, he turned and waved the boat away. He trotted along
the dilapidated wood structure to where another boat, larger, more like a small
cruiser, sat moored. He jumped aboard and disappeared below deck.

How was Evan able to do all
that leaping and jumping? He could barely walk around their building. He’d told
her he had suffered a leg injury. Now he was miraculously cured. Must be the
Mediterranean air.

Rhetta’s launch idled up to
the wharf. She reached into her purse and handed several fifties to the boat
driver. She peeled off her vest and handed it over. He pointed, and over the
noise of the motor, shouted something to her about France, then smiled, tipped
his cap and helped her onto the wharf. He turned his speedboat around and
roared away.

Night had fully descended,
and with it, a late winter chill. The moon had risen, sending silver streaks
across the dark water. She stepped carefully along the wharf, hoping to sneak
up to the boat she had just watched Evan board. Maybe she could hear something.

She needed to tell Randolph
where she was. Of course, she didn’t know for sure exactly where she was, but
she’d try to call him. She groped in her purse for her phone. Her broken sandal
strap tangled in a loose plank and she went down hard on one knee.

“Ow,” she muttered, and
collected herself enough to stand. Her knee throbbed and when she examined her
pant leg, it was torn. “Great.” She limped away, head down, rummaging in her
purse.

“Madame,
vous n’avez pas le droit
.”
The uniformed man waggled his index
finger in front of Rhetta as he blocked her path. She didn’t understand him,
but was certain from his tone that she had done something wrong. Although she
had no idea what the man was saying, or in what language, she didn’t need an
interpreter to tell he wasn’t happy to see her.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I
don’t understand you, sir.” She decided to be very polite. This encounter had
not started out well.

He switched to heavily
accented English. “
Madame
, I said, you are not permitted to be here.
Have you your passport?” He held his hand out to receive it from her.

“I, uh, sure. Yes. Right
here.”
Oh
crap. I think this guy is border patrol, and my passport is in the bag that I
gave to Randolph
.
She tried smiling. “Is there a problem?”

He glowered at her. “You
cannot come here via the water,
Madame
. You must enter this part of
France by land. This is not a valid port of entry.”

France?
Port of entry? This isn’t sounding good.
Oh, no, that’s what the boat
driver was trying to tell me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was in France. Sir, may I
please tell you why I’m here? I was following a man who—”

He held up his hand as though
stopping traffic. “That would be an excellent idea. I will listen as I check
your passport.” He turned his hand over, palm up and waited.

Rhetta tossed her purse. No
passport. Of course, not. It was in the bag, in the car, on the ferry with
Randolph. Who was probably by now going berserk worrying about her.

“I can’t seem to locate my
passport. I think it’s with my husband on the ferry.” She gestured toward the
direction she’d just come.

“The ferry from Vera
Mardola?” the border guard asked.

“Yes, he’s with the car. I
gave him the bag with all our paperwork.”

“And you are here, not there,
because?”

Rhetta pointed toward the
cruiser. “As I said, I was following a man. He stole money from the
Banc
Real de
Santo Domingo
at
Vera Mardola
.
He’s an American, too, and he’s on that boat
.
” She didn’t add that he probably hadn’t shown any
passport to anyone either.

“And you are the police?”

“No, I’m the victim. He
forged papers and stole my money, and I believe he probably killed a man to
steal his identity in order to do this. Please, we have to stop him.”

Just then, the cruiser’s
motor started up. Two men tossed ropes from the wharf to the boat, then jumped
aboard.

“Please sir, don’t let that
boat leave. There’s a possible killer on board.”

The border guard shrugged. “I
fear you have a vivid imagination. That boat belongs to a well-known American
actor. I do not know why you are sneaking into France by boat, when land access
is very easy and simple. Any country in the European Union has easy border
crossings. So, I think you must be up to no good, as you say in America.
Therefore, I must place you under arrest. Come with me.” He reached for her
arm, and began to steer her away from the wharf.

The cruiser chugged out to
sea. Evan was getting away. She was getting arrested. This was definitely not
going well.

Oh,
crap.

Gripping her firmly by her
arm, the guard walked briskly, Rhetta stumbling along at his side, trying her
best to keep his pace. Her sandals had taken a beating after the accident. The
strap was long gone. She had to grip the bottom of the sandal with her toes, or
walk right out of her shoe. He foot cramped. She glanced over her shoulder at
the departing boat.

“Please, sir, my shoe is
broken, and my foot hurts. Can we walk a bit slower?” There was no more
urgency. Evan had escaped.

“We have arrived at the
office. Now you can sit.”

He led her through a metal
door into a small concrete building that she figured was probably fifteen by
twenty feet. It had two small offices, and a back door marked
toilette
. She guessed what that room was. She glanced at his
badge as he led her to the table. The name read, P. Legrand.

Legrand was a short, slim man
who wore his neatly creased uniform like a glove. A dark line above his lip
turned out to be a thin mustache. His black shoes reflected the overhead light.
He pointed her to a large metal desk, asked for her purse, told her to sit. She
handed the purse to him and sat. He placed it gingerly on the desk, then picked
up the phone, dialed a number, and spoke quickly. When he finished, he waggled
a thin index finger at her purse. “As customs officer I must search your bag.
Is there anything in there that is contraband or prohibited?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. I
don’t know what’s prohibited, so I can’t answer for sure. I just have the usual
stuff in there.”

He removed a pair of latex
gloves from his desk drawer, slipped them on then opened her bag. He searched
methodically, removing her wallet and her cell phone, and laying them alongside
the bag. The latex gloves were probably to protect him from cooties. He closed
the bag then sat across from her.

He folded his hands on the
table, and leaned toward her. “Now,
Madame
, I suggest you start at the
beginning and explain to me not only why you are here, but how you got here.
Please start with your name?”

“My name is Rhetta McCarter,
and yes, sir, I will be happy to tell you everything. But first, may I please
call my husband?” She motioned to her phone. “He must be worried sick about me.
He doesn’t know where I am. He’s probably back in Spain and has perhaps
contacted the authorities there. Please, I need to tell him I’m safe.” She
glanced up at the border officer. “I am safe, right?” She shivered, although it
wasn’t cold in here with the wall heater glowing. She always shivered when she
was scared. Sometimes she got physically ill and threw up. She prayed she
wouldn’t now, although her stomach wasn’t cooperating. Acid bubbled and she
gulped back the queasiness.

He handed her the iPhone.

She stared at it, willing
herself to remember the dialing code. She tapped the numbers, but all she heard
was a recorded message in a language she didn’t understand. She tried again.
Still, the call wouldn’t go through.

“I have a card in there with
dialing instructions. May I please see it?”

The officer handed her purse
to her.

She fished inside the purse
but couldn’t locate the card.

“Do you know how to dial to
an American cell phone?” she asked as she tore the contents of her purse apart.
He shook his head. He drummed the desktop with his fingers.

She finally found the card.
She held it in front of her. She couldn’t make out the numbers without her
glasses. Another foray through the purse produced her glasses. She squinted at
the card, and followed the instructions. This time, the call went through.

As soon as Randolph answered,
Rhetta blurted, “I’m safe. I’m in France, but I’m under arrest.”

“Oh God, Rhetta, what did you
do?”

“I followed Evan, and now
he’s gone, and I’m being held because I entered France illegally. I think I’m
in trouble. I’m going to tell this nice man all about it, but can you come and
get me?” She smiled at the customs agent. He didn’t smile back.

“Where are you?”

“Uh, just a minute, Sweets.
I’ll ask. I don’t know what part of France I’m in, except I know it’s not
Paris.”

 To Legrand, she said, “Can
you tell me where I am?”

“Oui,
Madame
, you are in Port Chartier, France.”

She repeated it for Randolph.

She heard paper crinkling. “I
just checked the map. Sit tight, it’s about a two hour drive. I’m on my way.”

She’d be sitting tight. What
else could she do? Her nerves tingled, and she couldn’t warm up. What she
wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee.

Maybe this nice customs agent
would oblige. After all, he surely didn’t meet many people in this lonely
outpost. Of course, that made her wonder what he had done to deserve such a
lowly posting. Or, was it a lofty post, maybe earned because he had so many years
of service? He wasn’t a young man, probably in his forties. Wait, she was in
her forties and she considered herself still fairly young. At least she was a
long way from over the hill. She felt her brain zig-zagging in all directions,
something else she did when she was stressed.

She desperately craved a
cigarette. She’d be damned if she’d ask for one. But if that customs officer
pulled out a smoke, she’d tackle him for it. She prayed he wouldn’t smoke. She
prayed he would, then offer her one. Dear God.

She knew she was in big
trouble, maybe about to get arrested and hauled off, never to be seen again.
No, that only happened in movies. Of course, things like this whole Tontine
Trust thing, the Evan thing, only happened in movies, too. Yet, here she was. And,
what about Evan, anyway? How on earth was he involved? There went her brain
again.

She said, “My husband is
coming and bringing my passport and all my paperwork. In the meantime, do you
think we could have some coffee while I tell you about this?”

Legrand stood, shook his
head, and with a sigh, headed to the nearby counter. He made them coffee.