Chapter 36
The police station was little more than a yellow shack with one black pickup truck in the parking lot, with the word police written on the door. I'm sure they had other patrol cars that were out keeping the city safe.
Inside, the place wasn’t much to speak of. Beyond the front desk were a few other desks. On the far wall, a row of jail cells with iron bars. It looked like something out of the Old West. There were a few other sub-stations around town, but this was HQ.
English was the primary language in Corazón Bay, so there was no communication barrier. The island accent was pronounced, but understandable.
I stepped into the lobby and approached the front desk.
I would expect a police station to be buzzing with activity, but this place was library quiet.
“Excuse me,” I said to the clerk, who had her head buried in a magazine.
It took her a few moments to look at me. It's not like they were busy or anything. "Can I help you?”
"Hi, I'm a private investigator looking into the disappearance of Kate Moreau.”
The clerk stared at me with a blank expression.
"Is there a detective I can talk to?”
Even though we spoke the same language, I'm not sure it registered.
"Who?”
"Kate Moreau. The supermodel who went missing about a month ago.”
"You'll have to talk to a detective about that.”
"Yes, that would be great.”
"Let me see if he's available.” She picked up the phone and dialed an extension. It rang the desk across the room. The clerk could have easily shouted across the room to the detective, but I guess that was too much work.
After a few rings, the detective picked up the phone.
I watched the whole thing transpire in disbelief.
"There is a private investigator here to see you.”
The detective hesitated for a moment, looked across the room at me, then said, “Send her back.”
The clerk hung up the phone, looked at me, and waved me past the front desk.
"Thank you," I said as I walked across the office and took a seat across the desk from the detective.
"What can I do for you, ma'am?" He was in his mid-30s with dark hair, dark eyes, and an overly decorated uniform.
Once again, I told him I was a private investigator.
"Ah, yes. Kate Moreau,” he said in his thick island accent.
"Do you have any leads in the case?”
"How do we know there is a case to begin with?”
My brow wrinkled with confusion. "What do you mean?”
"People come to the island all the time. Then they leave. Perhaps Kate just left.”
"Nobody's heard from her since.”
The detective shrugged. "It's not unusual for a woman to meet a man and run off together. Maybe she is living happily ever after in another location.”
"She would have called someone. Family, friends, her agent.”
"Some people decide to leave their lives behind. Start over.”
"Have you investigated this case at all?" I didn't mean for it to sound as accusatory as it did.
The detective leaned back, tucked his chin, and curled his lip, offended. "As I said, there is nothing to investigate.”
"How did she get to the island?”
"I don't know how she got to the island. I don't know how she left. Can you prove that she was ever even here?”
"According to customs and her cell records, she was. How do you think she got here?”
He shrugged again. "By boat. By plane." Then he muttered, "I don't think she swam.”
I sneered at him. "No. I don't think she swam.”
“Her last text message was to her agent. Do you know what it said?”
“No. I don’t have access to her cell phone.”
This was going nowhere.
It was clear these guys weren’t the least bit interested in investigating Kate’s disappearance.
I thanked the detective for his time after scribbling my number on a piece of paper. I told him to call if there were any breaking developments.
I stepped outside, hopped on the scooter, and headed back to the marina.
I turned onto King Street, then drove down to Ocean Avenue and zipped along the beach, taking in the scenery.
Teal waves crashed against white sand beaches.
Tourists soaked up the sun and frolicked in the warm water.
It was just as hot here as it was in Puerto Maya. Maybe even a little hotter.
A storm brewed on the horizon. Dark clouds rumbled. The sunshine wouldn’t last for long.
The wind blew through my hair, and the electric motor hummed. This thing was pretty zippy.
But not as zippy as the sportbikes that came up behind me.
The riders flanked me on either side, both wearing helmets with black-out visors. One of them had a small aluminum baseball bat.
I didn't like the looks of this.
I throttled up, but the E-bike was no match for the crotch rockets.
Alongside me, the rider to my left cocked the bat and swung it hard toward my face.
I jammed the front brakes as he swung, the bat whiffing in front of my face as I slowed.
The bike stopped on a dime.
The car behind me didn't.
Tires squealed as he plowed toward me.
I twisted the throttle and spun a 180 into oncoming traffic, almost getting flattened by an oncoming truck. Its bumper was right on my ass as I throttled up. Thankfully, this little scooter went from zero to fast enough in a heartbeat.
By that time, I put a little distance between myself and the sportbike bandits, but that wouldn’t last long.
When traffic cleared, they spun around and pegged the throttle. The engines roared, and exhausts howled.
I crouched low, trying to make my silhouette small and aerodynamic. With the throttle pinned, I weaved in and out of cars, dodging oncoming traffic as I veered across the centerline.
I did not have this on my Bingo card today.