The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(31)

Clearly there’s a little money here. Hers or Raul’s?

I make a point of looking around. “This is a very nice place.”

“Thank you,” she replies.

“Does your son live here too?”

She gives me a confused glance. “My son? You mean Raul? He’s my nephew.”

Oh. Interesting. It’s entirely possible the police never even talked to her.

“I haven’t seen him since they found Stacey. Have you? He must be devastated.”

“He’s away on work,” she replies, a little too automatically.

“I see. I’d like to talk to him.”

“Maybe you should call him?” She’s on full alert now. Something I said triggered it.

I have to lie. “There’s no answer.”

If I were a better cop, I’d have figured out a way to get his number through Stacey’s phone records or something like that. But I’m not.

I decide to try another approach. “Miss . . . ?”

“Carolina,” she replies.

“I didn’t know Raul. I knew Stacey. I’m the one who found her body. I think she was trying to tell me something right before she was killed. But I don’t know what. I’m afraid for Raul . . . and I’m afraid for myself. Two men tried to kill me last night.”

She puts her hand to her heart like a good Catholic, and her eyes go wide. I don’t think she was expecting such frank honesty.

“You’re not with the other people who came by asking about Raul.”

“What other people? The police?”

She vigorously shakes her head. “Those men and that woman, they were not police.”

Woman? “Who were they?”

“They said they were business friends of Raul. They wanted to know where he was.” She points to the hallway. “They pushed their way in and searched everywhere.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No, no. These people you don’t call police on.”

“When was this?”

“Two days ago.”

“And you haven’t heard from Raul in how long?”

“Five days.”

“You have any idea where he is or how to reach him? Have you tried calling him?”

She looks at me like I’m stupid. “I’ve tried all his numbers. Nothing. But sometimes he’s out of reach or doesn’t get signal at the yard.”

All his numbers? That’s a little suspicious. “Is there one he uses more than others?”

“Yes. But that phone . . .” She stops, realizing she said something she shouldn’t have.

“That phone? Is it here?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Carolina, the men who killed Stacey may have been the ones that came for me. We need to stop them before they get to Raul.” I try to say the last part convincingly, because I’m pretty sure he’s dead.

“Okay,” she replies. A minute later she returns with an older iPhone.

I press the button, and the screen asks for a thumbprint or a pass code. By the way she’s looking at me, I can tell she knows what it is.

“Please,” I say, holding it out to her.

She presses her third finger against the sensor, and the phone unlocks. Interesting. I bet she and Raul share some other secrets, like safe-deposit boxes and online accounts, but I don’t push.

I open up his recent-calls list and use my phone to take a snapshot of the numbers. None of them have names, which is what you’d expect from someone who wanted to keep their contacts secret.

I notice an app for Bitcoin and other virtual currencies and open it up. The screen prompts me for a password, so I hand it to Carolina.

She stares at it for a moment, puzzled, then unlocks it. It shows a balance of about two hundred and twenty thousand dollars in various untraceable currencies. Curious.

I’m not sure what else to look for, then I remember something she said about not being able to reach him at the yard. Winston’s boatyard was next to a cell tower. Why couldn’t she reach him there? Why would she? That place has been effectively closed for years.

“You said that you had trouble reaching him at the yard? Which one is that?”

She shrugs. “He never told me where. He said it was a secret.”

A secret boatyard? Is that where Winston and Raul were based when they retrieved equipment from Winston’s old boatyard?

“What did he do there?” I ask.

Her eyes narrow a bit. “Raul worked on projects for the navy. Secret things.”

Navy, my ass. Maybe the volunteer Bolivian navy.

“And you have no idea where this is?”

“No.” She’s trying to decide if she should take the phone back from me.

I cling to it, wondering if there are any other clues to be found. What about the Maps app?

I open it and look at the history of addresses.

Nothing.

Email?

I open the email app, and it asks me for a password. Carolina isn’t offering one up.

I check text messages, but they’ve been wiped.

Okay, this is basically a burner phone.

I’m about to hand the phone back to her when one last idea hits me. I open the photo album, hoping to find some obvious landmarks. Maybe a sign that says SECRET BOATYARD next to a Waffle House I recognize.