Old Poison (21 page)

I nodded and sipped my beer. Across the
street the small park offered gardens configured around a domed,
circular structure that was built in the style of a neo-Roman
temple. My ever-observant companion followed my gaze and said,
“That is the Parque Morazan with the Temple of Music in the center.
It is like one in Paris. Very pretty park, no?”

“Yes, very pretty,” I answered, but I was
actually more interested in the man in the baseball cap who was
leaning against one of the Ionic-style columns. I could not see him
clearly. He was too far away and in the shadow of the temple, but
his hat and body shape were familiar enough to be disturbing.

Patricia stepped out of a side door and
joined us, giving Roberto a friendly salutation and me a polite one
in English. She and Roberto made small talk for a few moments while
she waited for me to ask to see the earrings.

When she opened the box I found myself
totally distracted from everything else by exquisite, original
pieces of art. As she displayed earrings carved in unique shapes
from many natural woods, she told me the Costa Rican names and
origins of each wood. She took great pains to explain how she came
by the raw materials and wanted me to know that she was careful not
to buy from those who poached from protected forest. I had planned
on buying a pair or two to break the ice with her, but found myself
so genuinely enchanted by her art that I had selected six pairs
before I got around to the real purpose of my visit.

It was Roberto who brought us back to the
subject. “I’m very sorry to hear about Mark, Patricia.”

She nodded but was unable to summon any
words.

He continued tenderly. “Patricia, I’m afraid
there’s more bad news. Evelyn Lilac was murdered in the United
States. This lady is here to learn something that might help find
Evelyn’s murderer. Can you talk with her?”

She considered me for a long time. “If
Evelyn was killed in the United States, why look for her murderer
here?”

I put my wallet and the earrings in my purse
as I answered. “Because I believe she was killed by someone who
didn’t want her to complete the environmental work she was doing
here. I am trying to learn as much as I can about her work and the
other deaths associated with her work.”

She turned to Roberto and spoke in very
rapid Spanish. I didn’t catch it all but got enough to know that
she was telling him this was too dangerous, that five people had
already died, and that he must stop working for me or I would get
him killed.

As she was speaking, I caught a slight
movement out of the corner of my eye. I leaned back against the
concrete bench so I might see more without turning my head. The man
in the baseball cap had left his post by the column and was leaning
against a tree that was just across the street. The iridescent blue
butterfly on his cap reflected the sunlight.

As he raised his camera, I stood between him
and the two young people, turned my derriere his direction and bent
over. That should give him a great shot of Aunt Tillie’s cotton
slip and knee-high roll-up hose.

I picked up the box of earrings and said,
“You know, I’ve thought of a few other people back home who would
love these.” Then in a low voice I instructed them. “In the park
behind me is a man in a baseball cap with a butterfly on it. Don’t
let him see you look, but try to get a peek at him as you look at
me. Tell me if you’ve ever seen him before.”

I had spoken low enough and fast enough that
Patricia had missed it and Roberto had to repeat it in Spanish. By
the time he had finished and they were able to steal a look in the
direction of the park, Roberto reported, “There is no one
there.”

Patricia took back her box of earrings and
glowered at me. “I don’t need to see him. I already see him twice.
I don’t know if he follows me and now sees you, or if he follows
you and now knows where I am. Either way we are all dead.” She said
this mechanically, woodenly, without the emotion she had shown when
she’d tried to warn Roberto. She was not only expecting death, but
with the loss of Mark, almost seemed to welcome it.

“Don’t count us out yet, Patricia. Maybe we
can help each other and get this guy before he gets us.”

She shook her head. “That is what Mark
thought, but this guy owns everybody, even the police.” She started
to turn and walk away, but I held her arm.

“Please, tell me, where did you see him
before?”

She looked at my hand on her arm and I let
go. She thought for a moment, then shrugged and said, “The first
time was in a restaurant. It was me, Mark, and a computer friend, a
German name Carl. Carl sell Mark a computer program. He did not
tell me what it was but he pay a lot of money for it. He joke that
he was going to be a big Internet publisher. I see that guy with
the cap sitting at a table near to us and think he is listening to
us. After that meeting, Mark took me home. I never see him alive
again.”

“The next time?”

“Yesterday. I came home to find someone
break up my house looking for something. While I was waiting for my
uncle to come and help me, I see that man. He sits a few houses
down the street in the shadows and just watch me. I think he was
the one in my house. That is why I stay here.”

“What about the computer guy, Carl? Has this
guy been looking around Carl’s too?”

She shrugged. “Two days after Mark
disappear, Carl disappear. A reporter at
Hoy
find out Carl
fly to Germany. He leave all his belongings, even his computer, and
tell no friends where he go.”

I was processing what she had told us when
she added, “Roberto, we get the autopsy report today.” She paused,
trying to control the tears that were welling up in her eyes. Her
voice broke as she continued. “Mark was tortured many times in many
horrible ways. He died of this torture. Get out of this. Go hide
and forget it.”

Again I took her arm to keep her from
fleeing into the club. “Patricia, you need to hide also. I can
help. I can send you to a friend in California who will keep you
safe.”

She wrenched away from me and turned toward
the door. Then she paused, turned back, and gave me a look I could
not interpret. Standing so that I was between her and Roberto’s
line of sight, she reached inside the earring box, lifted the
felt-lined bottom, and pulled out a CD in a paper envelope. She
leaned in close and slipped the disc in my purse. “Here is a
special pair of earrings as a present if you promise to leave
Roberto out of this.” With that she turned and went inside.

* * * * *

When she refused my help and turned to go
into the house, Patricia had the same look of fear and resignation
that Evelyn had the last time I saw her alive. It was unbearable to
think that it might happen again and that I was helpless to stop
it. How can you force someone to accept help? As Roberto drove me
home, I was terribly afraid for both these young people. Patricia
obviously didn’t trust the police, and considering the suspicious
circumstances relating to Mark’s murder, her suspicions might have
some substance.

As Roberto drove us back to Los Yoses, I was
quite sure we were now being followed. On the way to my apartment I
made my plans. “Roberto, Patricia is right. This is getting too
dangerous, and Tia Tillie is going home. I want you to drop me and
never come back here. If anyone should ask you about me, remember,
they may have been watching us, so tell them the absolute truth
about where you took me and when. You don’t know me, or anything
about why I stopped where I did. I was just another fare you picked
up at the airport. You took me to Patricia because I had heard she
made nice earrings and had asked you to, not because you
recommended her. I bought six pairs of earrings and you took me
home. That’s it. Get it?”

He was silent a moment and then said, “I
will pick you up for your plane in the morning. I will be your
bodyguard and see you get away safely.”

“Roberto, cabs here are plentiful. All I
have to do is step out the door of Maria’s house and flag one down.
I’ll get to the airport just fine. You and your family will have to
live here. Think about your son and what happened to Mark and stay
away from me. Is that clear?”

He took a while to answer, then shrugged.
“Yes.”

As soon as I got up to my apartment, I
grabbed a plate of leftover casserole, poured a scotch on ice, then
sat down and put the disc into my laptop. I opened it with no
problem, but it was written in a computer language that was Greek
to me. I turned on the voice system, activated the scrambler and
the encryption programs, plugged the modem into the phone, and
dialed up Sam’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Sam. The programs you gave me are on.
If I were to send you a copy of a disc written in a programming
language, would it come through OK?”

“Should, yes.”

“Stand by.” I copied the disc and zapped it
to him as an attachment. He sent a return message: “Received yours,
will examine and report.”

I left the laptop plugged in with the call
alert on and began my packing.

In about an hour Sam called back. “It’s
basically an Internet mailing program designed somewhat like a
virus, but not designed to do any harm. First, it’s addressed to a
large number of specific people, mostly news, media, scientific,
environmental, and political types. Then, after it’s sent to that
list, it will access the mailing list of each person and send its
message to everyone they have on their list. There is no message
yet, but there is a place to insert one. Here’s the tricky part. It
transmits as an email with no attachment showing. The minute you
click ‘read,’ the hidden programming quietly begins mailing copies.
Scary damn program. Where the hell did you get it?”

“Long story. I suspect it is something
Evelyn ordered through a friend, but the programmer didn’t deliver
until after she was dead. The middleman, a local reporter, was
tortured to death, and your friend in the Blue Morpho hat looks
like the chief suspect. Right now he’s nosing around the reporter’s
girlfriend, who is scared to death but won’t let me help her.”

“Has Woods seen you?”

“He got a glimpse of Aunt Tillie.” I looked
out the window to where the surveillance car had stopped two blocks
down the street. “So far he hasn’t followed up, and tomorrow Aunt
Tillie’s out of here.” It was only technically a lie. Someone had
followed us to the house, watched as I paid Roberto, then set up
surveillance a couple blocks away. I was just thankful he hadn’t
turned right around and followed Roberto’s taxi. There was no point
in telling Sam. He could do nothing but worry.

“No, Diana, don’t give him the chance. Get
out of there tonight.”

“Can’t, Sam, no plane. But I am all set for
tomorrow morning. After Tillie boards the plane I will need
everything up and running for Dolores Gomez. Got to get busy. More
later.” I hung up and unplugged before he could ask any
questions.

I loaded my Walther, set portable noise
alarms on both doors, and went to bed.

* * * * *

I slept lightly and was up early. I went
downstairs and apologized to my landlady, explaining that there was
an emergency and I had to return home but that she was, of course,
entitled to the entire month’s rent. She made faint protest, then
agreed that she would have the expense of advertising and might not
find a renter quickly.

No sooner was I back in my apartment than
the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Tia Tillie, are you all right?” His voice
was frantic.

“Yes, Roberto, I told you not to contact me
again. What’s wrong?”

“Patricia was strangled last night, right up
there in the upstairs room of the Shady Lady, even with the guards
downstairs. Police are all over the place this morning, but not
last night. I had to know if they . . . if you are all right.”

“What phone are you using?”

“A pay phone on the street.”

“Good man. I’m fine and I’m getting out of
here this afternoon so don’t worry about me, just distance yourself
from all of this. Promise me!”

“Yes, I will. Goodbye. Be careful, Tia
Tillie.”

“Goodbye, Roberto.”

“Patricia! Damn!” One more sad, frightened
face to haunt my conscience and make me wonder if I could have done
something differently, something to have protected her. Everywhere
I turned in this case someone was killed or endangered. I was
beginning to feel like Typhoid Mary.

I had already planned to get rid of Tia
Tillie, but now I would have to polish up the plan a bit. From my
second-story window, I could see two cars parked about two blocks
down the street. It looked like there might be a driver sitting in
one of them, but I couldn’t be sure. From my back balcony, I saw no
cars but did see Maria working in the garden. I was thankful for
all the high walls and barbed wire.

I unwrapped the cardboard box, discarded the
day-old
Gallo Pinto,
unloaded my pistol, then wrapped it and
my ammo in paper towels and packed them in the box. It might be
chancy without it today, but I couldn’t risk any type of drop off
that might be seen by my shadow, and I couldn’t have it on me for
today’s business.

Slapping a new label on the brown paper, I
addressed the package to Dolores Gomez, care of the Hotel Aurola
Holiday Inn in San Jose. Then I called Federal Express and asked
specifically for an afternoon pickup. Walking down the back stairs,
I joined Maria in the garden. “Maria, I wonder if I might ask you a
small favor?”

“Anything I can do.”

“I’ve called for a Federal Express pickup,
but they couldn’t get here until this afternoon. Could you please
give them this package?”

“Of course. Oh, it’s heavy, isn’t it?”