pamphlet—met a quick disappearance explained away as “just another disaffected soul who tested the waters to Miami.” The ocean around Cuba covered many such sins.
While Gutierrez had been abrupt, he’d given her this golden nugget, the help of Benilo. Why? It was uncharacteristic of the colonel. Was Alfonso being polite or politic in calling in Cuba’s best ME? Calling in a man of his reputation on a capitol case made sense—but still… What game was he playing? She hated that her suspicion of his motives colored everything. She hated that her relationship with her superior had never been good, had never lived up to her expectation. And she felt ambivalent about Benilo’s coming in on her case. On the one hand, Benilo was the best and that could only help; on the other hand, there were others he could have called, why specifically Benilo?
Peering through the pilothouse window, Qui stared at the silhouetted skyline, the lights from the spiraling hotels of old Havana, built before 1958, like twinkling stars against the violet-colored sky. The sight proved almost as compelling and magical now as it had when her father had taken her out into the gulf for a nighttime birthday celebration when she was a child. It took her breath away to see the soft contours from this vantage point. How she loved Havana, her home, and Cuba, her country. But even as these calming thoughts filtered in, she smelled anew the diesel fuel and rot of the floating debris within Havana Bay, reminding her why she also hated Cuba. Its corruption and pollution reminding her of the wretched poverty and endemic problems that would only yield to ingenuity, patience, intelligent planning, and most importantly large influxes of cash. She sighed in frustration.
Qui’s momentary reverie was broken by the blaring horn of a police harbor boat. “Ahhh…the escort Tino’s arranged,” she said to Sergio beside her. The police boat blared its horn again, and her captain motioned for the Sanabela to follow. Sergio leaned out and waved in acknowledgment.
On shore, she saw a thin, tall man, who for a moment she mistook for her father—a ridiculous thought she immediately dismissed. No way had her father rushed from Miramar to her side to ‘fix’ whatever problem his ‘little one’ faced—in spite of his habit of interference. Her mind instantly readjusted: must be the elder statesman of forensics, Dr. Arturo Benilo. Curious about Benilo, she looked forward to meeting her father’s old yet estranged friend. According to her father, Benilo— reputed to be manipulative, cautious, and practical—always kept his cards close to his chest.
She stepped from the pilothouse and made her way to the deck, thinking this long day was about to become even longer.
Dr. Arturo Benilo ME stood on the docks, bored, staring out at two approaching boats, one a police harbor boat, the other an old shrimp trawler. He’d been told that the crime scene was on that shrimper.
For some time, he’d curiously watched a single silhouetted figure moving about at the bow of the old tub being guided ashore. As the boat neared, he recognized the pose of a woman in trim dark pants and blouse. Her pose and movements looked startlingly familiar, reminding him of his long ago lover, Rafaela, a blonde blue-eyed beauty as fiery as the idealism that inspired the revolucion. She’d chosen his best friend, Tomaso Aguilera, marrying him instead of Arturo. Years later, Rafaela had died giving birth to Quiana. As he continued to watch the approaching crime scene, he realized the figure must be Rafaela’s daughter, Quiana Magdalena Aguilera, all grown up. Standing erect, she could not hide the grace that’d been her mother’s, and he wondered if she was as beautiful as Rafaela.
While not altogether surprised to learn from Hilito that the lead investigator was a woman, Dr. Benilo had been startled to know he was about to meet Tomaso Aguilera’s daughter. He’d previously heard of
While Gutierrez had been abrupt, he’d given her this golden nugget, the help of Benilo. Why? It was uncharacteristic of the colonel. Was Alfonso being polite or politic in calling in Cuba’s best ME? Calling in a man of his reputation on a capitol case made sense—but still… What game was he playing? She hated that her suspicion of his motives colored everything. She hated that her relationship with her superior had never been good, had never lived up to her expectation. And she felt ambivalent about Benilo’s coming in on her case. On the one hand, Benilo was the best and that could only help; on the other hand, there were others he could have called, why specifically Benilo?
Peering through the pilothouse window, Qui stared at the silhouetted skyline, the lights from the spiraling hotels of old Havana, built before 1958, like twinkling stars against the violet-colored sky. The sight proved almost as compelling and magical now as it had when her father had taken her out into the gulf for a nighttime birthday celebration when she was a child. It took her breath away to see the soft contours from this vantage point. How she loved Havana, her home, and Cuba, her country. But even as these calming thoughts filtered in, she smelled anew the diesel fuel and rot of the floating debris within Havana Bay, reminding her why she also hated Cuba. Its corruption and pollution reminding her of the wretched poverty and endemic problems that would only yield to ingenuity, patience, intelligent planning, and most importantly large influxes of cash. She sighed in frustration.
Qui’s momentary reverie was broken by the blaring horn of a police harbor boat. “Ahhh…the escort Tino’s arranged,” she said to Sergio beside her. The police boat blared its horn again, and her captain motioned for the Sanabela to follow. Sergio leaned out and waved in acknowledgment.
On shore, she saw a thin, tall man, who for a moment she mistook for her father—a ridiculous thought she immediately dismissed. No way had her father rushed from Miramar to her side to ‘fix’ whatever problem his ‘little one’ faced—in spite of his habit of interference. Her mind instantly readjusted: must be the elder statesman of forensics, Dr. Arturo Benilo. Curious about Benilo, she looked forward to meeting her father’s old yet estranged friend. According to her father, Benilo— reputed to be manipulative, cautious, and practical—always kept his cards close to his chest.
She stepped from the pilothouse and made her way to the deck, thinking this long day was about to become even longer.
Dr. Arturo Benilo ME stood on the docks, bored, staring out at two approaching boats, one a police harbor boat, the other an old shrimp trawler. He’d been told that the crime scene was on that shrimper.
For some time, he’d curiously watched a single silhouetted figure moving about at the bow of the old tub being guided ashore. As the boat neared, he recognized the pose of a woman in trim dark pants and blouse. Her pose and movements looked startlingly familiar, reminding him of his long ago lover, Rafaela, a blonde blue-eyed beauty as fiery as the idealism that inspired the revolucion. She’d chosen his best friend, Tomaso Aguilera, marrying him instead of Arturo. Years later, Rafaela had died giving birth to Quiana. As he continued to watch the approaching crime scene, he realized the figure must be Rafaela’s daughter, Quiana Magdalena Aguilera, all grown up. Standing erect, she could not hide the grace that’d been her mother’s, and he wondered if she was as beautiful as Rafaela.
While not altogether surprised to learn from Hilito that the lead investigator was a woman, Dr. Benilo had been startled to know he was about to meet Tomaso Aguilera’s daughter. He’d previously heard of
Similar Books
Delirium
Jeremy Reed
The Lovebird
Natalie Brown
SweetHeat
Jan Springer
Days of Rage
Brad Taylor
Until I Find You
John Irving
Songbook
Nick Hornby
The Book of Transformations
Mark Charan Newton
Camp
Elaine Wolf
The Hanging Garden
Patrick White