"But how?"
"We got an anonymous phone call saying she was being put aboard a Chalk Airline flight from Bimini. We met the plane. She had a purse with I.D. and three thousand in cash. She was transferred to Miami General. I'll take you there."
"That's all you got? Someone put a beat up woman on board an airplane then called the Miami Police Department? Why would Chalk Airlines haul a passenger in that kind of shape?"
"Wake up, Leicester. You know they will haul anyone or anything for the price of a ticket. Times have changed since the old man died. The 'Wise Guys' own it now. They're putting money into it. Given time it will be a first rate operation, but for now it's business as usual."
"I still don't understand…"
"Look, I'm not going to do all your work for you. I found your girl. What else you want? Christ, you could at least say thank you."
"Thank you. Now let's get to the hospital."
As we drove through the dark streets of Miami, I asked Steve about the Cuban situation.
"It's a powder keg. With the Soviet Union gone, Castro's already suffering economy is in dire straits. It can't survive. We've got factions throughout the Miami area already in training, planning well-orchestrated moves at the first sign of civil uprising in Cuba."
"Our government has a lot of bleeding hearts. If they open up the embargo, Castro wins."
"That, my friend, will never happen."
"Well, you know my position."
We pulled up and parked in front of the emergency room door. Steve flashed his gold shield, waving away the uniformed guard starting toward us.
Rene had been moved from the emergency room to ICU. When we finally found the attending physician, he informed us that, though she'd been raped and severely beaten, there didn't appear to be any life threatening injuries. What concerned him was the amount of drugs in her system. The drug scans were not back from the lab, but from his experience she'd been given powerful sedatives and hallucinogens. They were playing havoc with her ability to breathe and to think. He was worried.
"Can we talk to her?"
"No. She's not coherent. Why don't you come back tomorrow? There are several things I want to try in order to counteract the effects of the drugs. I'll know much better how to deal with this as soon as the report gets back from the lab."
"Take us to where we can see her. We want to be sure it's our missing girl."
We followed the young doctor to the brightly-lit ICU. IV lines, breathing tubes, monitors, and God knows what else were attached to every part of her small body. Even with the swollen face and the bruises there was no doubt that we were looking at Rene Renoir. Her nose appeared to have been broken and there were fresh stitches along the hairline. She looked so vulnerable and so innocent.
With nothing else to do at the hospital, I asked Steve to take me to Chalk Airlines. Maybe the pilots could tell us something that would help in finding out what happened to Rene. Surely someone had to assist her on board the plane in Bimini.
"They are closed. VFR, daylight only operations. Remember?"
The clock above the nurse's station read nine-thirty.
"Come on, we'll stop by Forge's. I'll buy you a bottle of good wine and feed you some fresh seafood."
There was no argument from me. It had been awhile since I'd eaten. Forge's is one of my favorite places for gourmet dining in the Miami area. It's their wine cellar that intrigues me, a two hundred and fifty thousand-bottle cellar dating back to the turn of the century and the New York mobster who opened the place. The legendary bronze door to the wine vault and the life-size, partially nude female statue at the entrance makes the visit worthwhile. It's a popular place and three-hour waits are not uncommon, even with reservations. Steve was given a table immediately to the chagrin of some long waiting diners.
The meal was superb, as was the wine. A plate of Stilton cheese and a bottle of 'sixty-three Dow Oporto was overkill, but worth it.
Glossman needed to be told about Rene, but it could wait until morning. Maybe her condition would be improved. The attending physician was worried about her, and this was a man used to dealing with drug addicts and over dosed patients.
Steve arranged a room for me at the Fountainebleau Hilton, out on Miami Beach. They worked a deal with the police department and let them have 'comp' rooms whenever they needed them.
He gave me a telephone number where I could reach him in the morning. A good night's rest was in order.
After a quick shower, I called room service for a double cognac. Opening the sliding glass doors, I stepped out on the balcony. A cool wind was blowing and the fresh air filled my lungs. Returning inside, I rummaged through my ditty bag retrieved from my airplane before departing Gulfport. I keep one on board packed with a few essentials for contingencies such as this. Opening a small wooden box, I took out one of my Miami made El Creditos cigars, picked up a pack of matches from the table and lit it. The cover of the matchbox read, "Fly Eastern." They'd been out of business for years.
A full moon was rising out of the Atlantic, hidden at times between giant battlements of cumulonimbus clouds boiling out over the Bahamas. Jupiter sparkled like the Hope Diamond in the southeast. A sea breeze wafted gently ashore, bringing a salty, wonderful smell to the night air. Down below, people walked along the boardwalk. Out on the Gulf Stream, almost out of sight on the horizon, the ever-present parade of freighters sailed both north and south. Just off to my right, a steady stream of passenger liners glided slowly out of the Miami ship channel. They appeared to be floating hotels.
It was a beautiful night. The cognac acted like a sleeping pill. I fought it for a while, but the alcohol won. Leaving the Charlemagne cigar to die an honorable death in the ashtray, I went inside to bed. By the time my head hit the pillow, I was fast asleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
The phone rang and kept on ringing, sounding like a worn out Chrysler automobile on a cold day. Picking up the black receiver, I growled, "What is it?"
"Rise and shine, ole son. I've got some bad news for you. The girl died about half an hour ago. They just called me from the hospital. I'll pick you up in an hour."
Scratching the stubble on my chin, and trying to wake up, I asked, "What do you mean, she died? She was banged around a little. How could she be dead?"
"Now you have a reason to talk with the doctor. Meet me out front, we'll get some breakfast, then go find out what happened."
The clock on the nightstand glowed five-thirty a.m. Rubbing my eyes and temples, I sat on the side of the bed, thankful for not calling Lynn or Glossman last night.
Taking a quick shower, I shaved, dressed, and was standing in front of the hotel when Steve arrived.
We pulled up at the hospital just after seven a.m. The doctor we'd met last night awaited us in his office. He looked the worse for wear.
"You up all night, Doc?" Steve asked.
"It's been a long one, but then they all are. Miss Renoir started to go sour about three a.m. She arrested and we couldn't get her back. I did everything chemically possible. We tried for over an hour. I'm sorry."
"Can you explain what killed her, in layman's terms?"
He nodded, sighed deeply, and clasped both hands as if starting to pray. "I think she had heart failure due to all the physical abuse and the drug infusions she'd been getting. It's not complicated. The human body is resilient, but it has its limitations. She just suffered more than her heart could stand."
"We want an autopsy. Can you arrange it?"
"Sure.”You'll need a release from a family member. We'll also need a positive I.D., if you can get it."