Suspicion of Deceit (17 page)

Castillo pulled absently on his mustache. "Did you talk to him?"

"I plan to. Come on, Felix. See what you can find out. I'll pay you myself."

He shook his head. "For this I don't charge."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Thomas Nolan held his Monday master class in the choral room at the School of the Arts. Back from a break, the students thudded up the risers to their seats, laughing and talking as they went. The accompanist, who couldn't have been over eighteen, shifted scores on the piano until he found the one he wanted and opened it on the music rack.

Nolan waited until the conversations had quieted. "We have a visitor with us for the remainder of the class—Gail Connor, the lawyer for the Miami Opera. I hope you aren't shy about singing in front of a lawyer."

Two dozen pairs of eyes looked at Gail where she sat at the far edge of the risers. She lifted a hand from her lap, and there were some smiles in response. She had planned to wait outside, but Nolan had spotted her and brought her in.

"Today, a duet from
Don Giovanni.
Like much of Mozart's music, this piece appears simple but isn't. To sing it well requires both lightness and power." He lifted his arm toward two students waiting by the piano. "Aaron and Kathy are our singers. Aaron, let me do Giovanni first, then you take over. Come here, Kathy. This is our Zerlina,"

The petite, dark-haired young woman pushed up the sleeves of her pullover, then stood with her hands clasped, waiting for instructions. The top of her head barely cleared Nolan's shoulders.

"For our guest, I'll set the scene. We are in Spain. Don Giovanni wanders into a country festival. A pretty young girl, Zerlina, is engaged to Masetto, a peasant lad. Giovanni proposes a party for everyone and tells Masetto and the others to go ahead. He will bring Zerlina. Masetto is reluctant, but Zerlina says there's nothing to worry about, Don Giovanni is a gentleman. Masetto leaves. The seduction begins."

Nolan walked slowly around the singer, who followed him with her eyes. "Giovanni wants to add this lovely young thing to his list of conquests. He is clever. He knows what to say to a girl like this. My dear Zerlina, a noble cavalier such as I cannot allow your sweet beauty to be stolen by that clumsy oaf. You weren't meant to be a peasant! Do you see that little villa there? It's mine, and there we will be married." He pointed at the piano. "Begin."

The accompanist played and Nolan's rich voice filled the room. "Là
ci dar em la mano, là mi dirai di sì
—" As he sang, one arm moved behind the girl, not quite touching, and he slowly opened his hand, waiting for her to take it. Gail could visualize Zerlina being drawn into a velvet cloak. The effect was breathtakingly sensual. The girl suddenly laughed and hid her face.

"What is this?" Nolan drew back. "Blushing? Good. This is a sweet, ignorant child. She has never seen a man like this, none as sophisticated and sexy as I. No snickering from the audience, please. Accompanist, begin a few bars before she comes in." He turned back to the girl. "Now, Zerlina. Will you go with me?"

Her clear soprano replied,
"Vorrei, e non vorrei, mi trema un poco il cor ..."

"Yes. Her little heart is trembling. Not quite so eager, though." He lifted her chin with an extended forefinger. "Think of the words. Come with me, my beloved. And what does Zerlina say to that? Tell me in English."

"I feel sorry for Masetto!"

"But it's not funny. That's not the response we want here. He's a clumsy peasant, but don't be unkind to him. Music, please." The piano came in, and Nolan sang,
"Vieni, mi bel diletto!"

"Mi fa pietà Masetto."
This time she sighed with worry.

"Yes, poor clod, what can he offer? Don Giovanni will change your life." Nolan lightly caressed her cheek.
"Io cangierò tua sorte."

The girl looked timidly up into his eyes.
"Presto non son più forte. . ..."

"Ah. She's weakening. She can't resist much longer. So I close in. This time when I ask her to come with me, she agrees.
Andiam!"
Nolan beckoned to the other student. "Aaron, come here. You do it. You are sexy, hot." The class laughed. "The word is seduction, Aaron. Think of a mouse and a cobra."

The young man was pudgy, with straight black hair hanging over his forehead. "In our interpretation, Zerlina secretly wants Giovanni. She plays hard to get, so later she can say he tricked her."

"Oh?" Nolan considered that. "Then what is the point of the story? If she is guilty and he is innocent, why does he go to hell at the end? No, I see him as a rapacious seducer, and Zerlina as his young victim." Nolan spread his arms wide. "But it wouldn't be art, would it, if there were only one meaning. I'm willing to be persuaded."

A student in the back said, "Mr. Nolan, we want to see you play Zerlina."

Over the laughter he said, "I think not." He sat on a tall chair, one sneaker on the floor, the other on the cross brace.

The young man's voice was strong and supple, but his movements were stiff. Nolan told him to have fun with it, relax. He left his chair several times to correct pronunciation or phrasing. As she watched, Gail could see the changes. From a static duo, the singers turned it into a scene. She found herself smiling and humming along. After they had finally run through it without stopping, the other students applauded.

"Bravi!"
said Thomas Nolan.

After a short lecture on vocal technique, the class was over and feet thundered down the risers. Some of the students stayed to speak to Nolan for a few minutes. Gail found Zerlina and Giovanni and complimented them both. Gradually the room cleared.

Gail said, "I enjoyed it. You're right, they're very talented."

Nolan closed the door and came back. He stopped directly in front of Gail and smiled slightly as he crossed his arms. "Let me guess. You're here to tell me I need a bodyguard." The animation he had shown in class was gone, pulled back inside as if a switch had been flipped.

"You must have been talking to Jeffrey Hopkins," she said.

"No. Rebecca Dixon called me at home. She's not happy with the guy you picked out—assuming I want a bodyguard, and I don't."

Gail tapped the flat of her hand on the back of the molded plastic chair she had just vacated. "Well. Did Rebecca give any reasons? I'd be interested to hear them."

"He's Cuban—not that it bothers me, you understand, but Rebecca Dixon thinks it's a disqualifier, given the political implications. Reason two—which does bother me. This Felix, whatever, is a former member of Castro's secret police. Is this the kind of person I want lurking around me? No, thanks. Were you aware of this?"

"Yes. I can't discuss it in detail, but you've got the wrong impression. It's true that Castillo worked for the Cuban government, but he quit and they threw him in prison. He came to the U.S. through Mariel, and he's been here almost twenty years."

What in hell, Gail wondered, was Rebecca doing? Had she related the entire story about Nicaragua? It was more than Gail could bear to think about, but she had to know. "Did she say anything else?"

"Basically that we can't be sure who he's working for." Nolan went to collect his notes and scores from the small table next to his chair.

"I don't know what she means. This has got to be a misunderstanding. I'll talk to her." Gail followed Nolan across the room. "I've met Castillo, and he's thoroughly trustworthy. My fiancé is a criminal defense attorney here in Miami, and he uses Castillo on many of his cases." She took a business card from her jacket pocket. "Here. Talk to him. If you don't like him, we'll find someone else."

"I don't need a bodyguard, Gail."

"How many death threats have you gotten?"

He flipped shut a spiral notebook and tossed it on the stack. "Anonymous assholes who scream in Spanish, then hang up. Sure, it gets on my nerves, but a bodyguard won't stop them. The other guys in the production said they'd look out for me. But thanks. I appreciate your concern."

He started to pick up the stack of music, but Gail dropped her hand on it. "There are a couple of other things we need to discuss. You lied to me about what you did in Cuba. You did more than sing for the folks at a rundown theater in Havana. There were two other performances, one at an amphitheater on Varadero Beach and another at a business conference at the Hotel Las Americas attended by at least one of the highest officials in the Cuban government. The local radio stations knew about it before I did. What if we had made a statement to the press denying it?"

Nolan's only response was to purse his thin lips. The blue eyes stared back at her as if she were a window.

"Just play straight with me, Tom. Nobody's going to fire you at this point."

"I told you," he said quietly, "this role is important. I wanted to do it in Miami."

"If I remember right," Gail said, "Lloyd Dixon helped you get here. Did he also suggest what your Cuban story should be? Between you and me, Tom."

He hesitated for a second, then nodded.

"In Cuba, were you paid for your performances?"

"No. We only got our hotel and food."

"I see. The government took care of it."

"Well, they didn't give me any money." He paced away a few steps, hands on his hips. "Who'd you get to check up on me? Felix Castillo?"

"Yes."

"He's wrong. I only did two performances. I didn't do the amphitheater concert."

"Your name was on the schedule."

"I don't care if it was or wasn't. I didn't perform there."

"But you were at the Hotel Las Americas."

Nolan stared up at the ceiling. "This is insane."

"Who was in the audience? Do you recall?"

"I don't know. There were about a thousand people, mostly foreigners. Cubans were there, too. There was a lot of security, so there were probably some VIPs. I didn't pay attention. I went there to sing. It's these Miami extremists who are making it into a big deal. You ought to hear what my friends in other parts of the country are saying about this. They can't believe it."

Gail said, "Have you been asked for an interview?"

"A reporter from the
Miami Herald
called, but I was on my way to class."

"Refer everything to Jeffrey Hopkins. He's handling all statements to the media. Don't go on TV and don't go on radio. There is a commentator on a Cuban station who wants a spokesman from the opera to appear. Don't do it. If someone does stick a microphone in your face, smile and look bewildered and say that you went to Cuba hoping to study the situation firsthand. You wanted to rise above political barriers, something like that. And you sympathize with the exiles and sincerely regret any unintentional offense that you may have given."

Nolan's lips curled into a little smile. "Should I get on my knees?"

"Why don't you try telling the exiles they're a bunch of reactionary bullies? Maybe that would work."

He arched his hand across his forehead and squeezed. "Okay. Point taken. Let me have Castillo's card. I'll call him from the office." Nolan read the card quickly, then slid it into his shirt pocket. "I never expected singing to be a life-threatening occupation."

As he picked up his music, Gail said, "Tom, wait."

He glanced at his watch. "I've got to go. I have a staff meeting."

"Just a quick question. When did you leave Miami? You were born here, but when did you leave?"

Frowning slightly, he gazed at the far wall. "I don't know. I was sixteen. I guess that's . . . 1979."

"Where did you go to high school?"

"Ransom-Everglades."

She laughed. "My God, so did I. I thought you looked familiar."

His eyes moved over her face. "I don't remember you."

"I graduated in 1981. You weren't in that class, were you?"

"No. It would've been 1980, but I'd already moved to Virginia."

"I should find my old yearbook and have you sign it," Gail said. "No one else I knew ever became famous."

He gave a small laugh and shook his head as he went out the door. "Please don't do that. I was a skinny recluse. Those weren't my best years. I would not like to be reminded."

Gail stood in the lobby of the music school with her portable phone and called Rebecca Dixon. The housekeeper answered. Mrs. Dixon was not in. She had a social engagement this evening and was not expected back until late. Gail left her number and a message to please call Ms. Connor, reference Tom Nolan.

She called for her own messages. Miriam gave her three, but they could wait until tomorrow. She said there was good news from Anthony. The jury in his manslaughter trial had come back with a not-guilty verdict. How about dinner to celebrate? Karen too, of course.

Gail hadn't had a chance to speak to Anthony since his grandfather's birthday party. Sunday brunch at her mother's house didn't count. She still wanted to find out what he'd been thinking of, going after Octavio Reyes, but had decided not to push him to talk about it. Anthony's defenses went up when pushed. She hit speed-dial for his office. He was on another call, but his secretary said he wanted to be interrupted if Ms. Connor called. When he picked up, Gail said, "Congratulations on the verdict. I never doubted victory for a minute."

"You wouldn't say that if you were a criminal lawyer. Listen, I just heard from Felix. He says you want him to investigate Octavio?" Anthony's tone was a mixture of incredulity and annoyance. "Gail, what are you doing? You don't ask Felix—you don't ask anybody—to conduct an investigation into a member of my family without speaking to me first. I didn't know you were going to do this. I hear about it from Felix—"

"Hold it!" Gail walked farther away from the people going in and out of the lobby. "Of course I was going to tell you, but I was there, and the subject just came up—"

"Just came
up?
You have a telephone. Why didn't you call me and say, Anthony, this is what I found out about Octavio, and I think you ought to ask Felix to look into it. You couldn't have done that?"

Gail pressed her fingertips to her forehead and held back an urge to yell at him. "Okay," she said softly. "Stop raving, Anthony."