Island of Bones (24 page)

“Do you remember what your mother’s last name was?”

The boy frowned. “Del Bosque, like me.”

Louis stared at the boy. He hadn’t seen it the first time, but now he did: a faint but definite resemblance to the picture of Mary Rubio. It was there in the boy’s large dreamy eyes and his full lips. Louis could feel the back of his shirt growing damp with sweat, and the smell from the garbage was making him sick.

“What about your father? What’s his name?”

The boy was looking at Louis now as if he were crazy. “He’s a del Bosque, too. His name is Carlos.”

“Is he alive?”

Roberto started to nod, but the bang of the screen door again made him turn.

“That’s him,” Roberto said, pointing. “You want to talk to him, too?”

Carlos del Bosque reached them in three long steps. He was a big man, his arms straining the short sleeves of the white T-shirt. His dark eyes snapped beneath a tumble of black curls as he grabbed hold of Roberto’s T-shirt, and slung him toward the door.

“I told you not to talk to the customers. Get inside.”

“You don’t have to be so rough,” Louis said. “I was just being friendly.”

“We don’t need friendly. Go get on the boat
.”

Carlos del Bosque grabbed the trash can and easily lifted it up and over the edge of the bin. He shook the garbage loose, then turned back. When he saw Louis still standing there, he edged forward.

“I said go get on the boat.”

Louis threw up a hand. “Okay, okay. No problem.”

“And don’t come back. We don’t want your business.”

Louis walked away, running his arm across his brow. He slipped his sunglasses back on, and glanced back at Carlos del Bosque. The man hadn’t
moved, his eyes fixed on Louis.

Louis looked at the restaurant. He could see Roberto on the porch, his face pressed against the screen. Louis started to the
dock. As he approached Landeta, the sound of his footsteps on the dock made Landeta look up.

“You stink,” Landeta said. “Where the hell you been?”

“Helping the kid with some garbage. He told me his mother was named Mary and that she’s dead.”

“Mary Rubio?”

“He didn’t know. But he’s about ten years old, and Mary Rubio disappeared in 1973. That means he could be her kid. And, Mel, he looks a little like her.”

“What about Frank? Did you ask him if he had an
Uncle Frank or anything?”

“Didn’t get a chance. The father came over.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me not to come back.”

Landeta was quiet, looking back at the restaurant. “You’re right,” he said. “Something’s wrong here. I can’t see it, but I can feel it.”

“The name Mary is a real connection,” Louis said. “You think it’s enough to take to Horton?”

Landeta nodded. “We’ll go see him as soon as we get back. If Mary Rubio died on this island, she’s probably buried here somewhere. Maybe we can get a search warrant.”

He pulled out his cigarettes and lit another one, drawing hard on it as he looked back at the restaurant.

"
Hic solutio est
,” he said.

Louis and Landeta walked across the grass of Centennial Park. They could see Horton sitting on a bench near the river, a small brown dog jumping at his feet. Occasionally, the dog stopped jumping long enough to eat something out of Horton’s hand.

“I didn’t know he had a dog,” Louis said.

“I did,” Landeta said.

“Did he tell you?”

“No, I smelled it on him.”

“Bullshit.”

“Just like I knew you had a cat.”

“You saw my cat.”

“I smelled it long before I saw it.”

“Cats don’t smell. You must’ve smelled the litter.”

“Maybe you should change it more often.”

“Fuck you,” Louis said.

Horton was dressed in baggy yellow Bermuda shorts and a loose-fitting blue shirt. It was odd seeing him out of uniform, Louis thought. Uniforms always added a certain stiffness to a man, but Horton looked relaxed. His eyes, fixed on Louis and Landeta, were shadowed by the bill of a Buccaneers cap.

They stopped in front of him.

“Well, isn’t this the picture,” Horton said.

“We’ve come to a few conclusions,” Landeta said.

“About what?”

“Frank Woods and the dead girls.”

“The only dead girl we got is Shelly Umber,” Horton said. “You haven’t proven to me that any of the others are dead.”

“We haven’t proven they’re alive either,” Landeta said.

“Then where are the bodies?” Horton asked.

“On Away So Far Island,” Louis said.

Horton frowned. “You mean that place out in the sound with the old restaurant?”

“Yeah,” Landeta said.

The dog was straining against his leash, edging toward some bushes. Horton pulled him back a bit, eyeing them. “Okay, let me hear what you got.”

Louis went first. “Away So Far is owned by the del Bosque family and they don’t let anyone out there except for lunch.”

“I know that,” Horton interrupted. “They like their privacy. So do I.”

“The name del Bosque means ‘of the woods’ in Spanish,” Louis went on, “and it’s a logical jump that Frank Woods’s real name could be Francisco del Bosque. We found out that Sophie Woods and one of our missing girls, Angela Lopez, were both thought to have a Hispanic boyfriend.”

Horton was silent.

“We can’t find any history on Frank Woods before 1952
-- no school, no records, no childhood,” Landeta said. “We suspect his childhood was on the island.”

“Okay,” Horton said slowly.

“Frank went to Away So Far the day he jumped into the water,” Louis said.

“So? It’s a tourist joint,” Horton said.

“Exactly. Why would Frank Woods go out there?” Louis asked. “Especially since he was already a suspect by then. He was running. He was going home.”

Horton held up a hand. “So you’re saying
that over the last three decades, Frank Woods abducted girls and took them out to that island where his so-called family lives?”

Louis and Landeta were silent.

“Well?” Horton asked.

“We think the whole family might be involved somehow,” Landeta said.

“How?” Horton asked.

They were silent again. “We’re not sure. It could be some kind of cult thing,” Louis
said finally.

“Cult?” Horton laughed. “Look, that family out there might be a little strange, but no stranger than a lot of folks who’ve lived around here a long time. I’ve been out there and never saw anything weird. They just pay their taxes and run their shitty restaurant.”

“We think the women were abducted and taken to the island, raped, maybe tortured,” Landeta said.

Horton frowned. “What makes you think they were tortured?”

“Shelly Umber had bruises and ligature marks. She was restrained by the neck and ankles,” Landeta said. “And she was wearing a coral ring, the same kind of ring that was found in Frank Woods’s house, which probably belonged to his wife. The ring could be some kind of cult symbol.”

Horton looked at Landeta for a long time, then reached down and rubbed the dog’s head. “What else?”

“Frank told me himself there was something going on out there,” Louis said.

“He told you?” Horton asked, looking up.

“When we were on the island, he said, ‘
hic solutio est
.’ It’s Latin that means ‘the answer is here.’”

“Latin?” Horton asked.

“Yeah,” Landeta said. “Louis translated it.”

Horton looked at Louis. “You know Latin?”

“No, no,” Louis began.

“But Frank Woods did,” Landeta added quickly. “He taught himself.”

Horton shook his head slowly. “That it?”

“No, there’s the painting,” Landeta said.

“A painting? Like an oil painting?”

“The painting is on the wall in the restaurant. It’s called
‘The Rape of the Sabine Women’,” Louis said. “It’s a picture of Roman soldiers carrying off women. It’s part of the legend of Romulus and Remus.”

“Who?” Horton asked.

“Romulus and Remus, Roman brothers suckled by the she-wolf,” Louis said. “There’s a photo of them suckling on a wolf’s teat.”

“There’s a painting out on that island of someone sucking on a tit?” Horton asked.

Landeta held up a hand. “Wait, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

Horton was just staring at both of them.

“Frank Woods was into lycanthropy,” Landeta said, speaking more slowly. “Lycanthropy is a mental disease where a person thinks he is turning into a wolf.”

“A werewolf?” Horton asked.

“No, no,” Louis said. “A real wolf.”

“What the hell makes you think Frank thought he was a wolf?”

“The books in his office.” Louis dug for his notebook and flipped the pages. He read off the titles of the books he had taken from Frank’s house.

When he was done, he waited for Horton to say something. Horton was still staring at them both.

“That’s it,” Landeta said.

Horton looked from Louis to Landeta and back. Then he
got up slowly and walked a few paces away with the dog. He stood there for a moment, looking out at the river then turned back.

“What a crock of shit,” he said.

“Chief —-” Louis began.

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this from two grown men
, no, two experienced investigators.”

“Al,” Louis said. “C’mon. Let’s go back to the station. We’ll lay it out on paper. It’ll make more sense.”

“Writing it down isn’t going to make it do anything.”

“Angela Lopez even told someone she had a lunch date,” Louis said. “That’s the only time people can go out to that island.”

“That’s good, Kincaid. A lunch date in 1984.”

“There’s one more thing,” Louis said. “There’s a kid out there whose mother’s name was Mary. He said she died.”

Horton hesitated but then shook his head. “Common name, Kincaid. You get anything solid to connect it to Mary Rubio?”

“No, but
-— ”

“It’s not enough,” Horton said.

Landeta stepped forward. “Louis...”

“Chief, I know there’s something
going on out there,” Louis said. “I can feel it.”

“Then feel your way toward some solid evidence, Kincaid,” Horton said.

“Chief, let us just try for a warrant.”

“No!” Horton leaned into Louis. “I’m not going to a judge with some shit about Roman soldiers and werewolves.”

Louis fell silent. Horton was right. He was absolutely right. He looked over at Landeta, suddenly aware that he had been quiet for the last few minutes. He seemed to be staring off toward the river.

“G
et the hell out of here,” Horton said. “If you want to pursue this island angle, bring me back something I can use. Not paintings and wolf tits.”

Horton walked away, the little dog dragging him toward a flock of pigeons at a fountain.

Louis let out a breath. “He’s right.”

Landeta was still silent, his face
slack.

“Mel, we’ll get more evidence.”

“From where?” Landeta said. “All the evidence is on that fucking island. Behind that fucking fence.”

“We’ll dig deeper,” Louis said. “We’ll find someone who knows the family, find someone who knew Frank in 1952. We’ll find something that will get us a warrant to search that island.”

Landeta shook his head. It was getting late and the afternoon light was fading. Landeta took a few cautious steps away from Louis, turning his back. He seemed to be staring out at the river again, even though Louis knew he couldn’t see it clearly.

Lan
deta turned back. He hesitated then reached inside his black jacket. He pulled out a small leather holder and flipped it open.

Louis saw the glint of the gold badge in the fading light
. Landeta was just standing there, running a thumb over the embossing.

“Where’d Horton go?” Landeta asked.

Louis froze. He knew what Landeta was thinking.

“Mel, no,” he said.

“I said, where’s Horton?”

“Over there by the fountain.”

Louis watched as Landeta followed the sound of the water over to the fountain. He watched as Landeta touched Horton’s shoulder and said something. Horton looked down at Landeta’s hand, but he didn’t move.

The two men talked for several more minutes. Finally, Horton took the gold shield.

Horton walked away, the dog tugging him toward the parking lot. Landeta was just standing there. Louis knew he couldn’t see him so he went over to him.

“Why did you do that?” Louis asked.

“It was time.” Landeta was still looking off in the direction that Horton had gone. There was something different about Landeta suddenly. It was small but Louis could see it there in the slight drop of his shoulders, the laxity in his face. It was as if the damn gold badge had been the only thing holding him upright.

“Mel, look, I know
—- ” Louis began.

Landeta’s eyes came back to Louis. He smiled slightly. “Come on. I’ll buy you a beer.”