“You’re tough, I’ll give you that.”
“Nah, but I am pissed.” She was silent for a moment. “Maybe outraged is a better word. I want this Jean-whoever-he-is and the people with him put behind bars, permanently.”
“Then let’s get you into some new clothes and go to work.”
Hunter dressed in jeans, a black tee shirt with a red nylon windbreaker jacket over it to hide her pistol, and running shoes. Her hair was pulled back tight in a short ponytail, keeping it out of her face. She slid into the car’s passenger seat as Andre said, “How about another trip to Miami and a visit to that business listed on the bill of lading we found?”
“Put the spurs to it,” she said. Andre winked and chirped the tires leaving the parking lot.
Hunter asked, “Where is it located?”
“One of the buildings near Bayfront Park, by the Intercontinental.”
“That’s some high dollar real estate.”
“Yes indeed.”
Hunter looked at her black tee shirt and jeans. “I’m glad I dressed for the occasion.”
Andre said, “That badge on your belt is dressed up enough.”
“Think so?”
“Guaranteed.”
~*~
Caribe International was on the fifth floor, and the large windows overlooked Biscayne Bay, Dodge Island and the Port of Miami. Hunter looked at the furnishings and decorations which all appeared to be of Caribbean origin, including a
great deal of primitive art. In a large glass case, gold and jewel encrusted treasures with authentication certificates for each piece saying they were from the treasure ship Atocha. The treasures were arranged around a human skull. Hunter said to Andre, “Business must be good, well, except for that one in the middle there.”
Andre raised his eyebrows, “No kidding.”
The receptionist looked at their identification, asked what this was in reference to, then made a call on her desk phone. She rose and said, “Mr. Dessaline will see you, please follow me.”
The hallway was short, and led to an open office door. She motioned them inside and closed the door behind them. The walls were festooned with framed photographs of Dessaline with other men and women, and of various ships. A few showed tropical jungle with pale roads cutting through the green. The man standing to meet them was tall, distinguished looking, and in his sixties, Hunter guessed. He wore a lightweight gray suit and lavender shirt that complimented his skin. His eyes were golden, with the tiniest bit of brown in there, and Hunter thought they were beautiful.
He said, “I am Marc Dessaline.” They shook hands and Dessaline motioned them to a plush sofa as he took the chair. “How may I help you?”
Andre handed him the copy of the partial bill of lading. “This was in a freighter that ran ashore in Fort Lauderdale. It carried Haitians. Undocumented Haitians.”
He looked at the paper and said; “I saw the incident on the news. There were some deaths, I believe. Terrible business.” He returned the paper to Andre, “I’m not sure how this concerns me. The bill is over four years old.”
Hunter said, “We’re hoping that there may be information on the missing part of the bill. Even what was shipped to you from Haiti might help. Do you remember?”
“I don’t, but give me a moment,” he called his receptionist and said, “Rosalie, would you come in here?” She was there in seconds. Dessaline motioned for Andre to give her the paper and he said, “Look this up and let me know, please.” She nodded and left.
While they waited, Hunter said, “Do you know a ship’s captain named Jean?”
“That is the last name?”
“His first name.”
Dessaline thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Is he someone important?”
“He was the captain of the Haitian freighter. He’s wanted for murder.”
“As well he should be.” Rosalie returned and handed Dessaline a printout, then she left. He handed it to Andre. “I thought that might be what it was. I imported a number of handmade collectibles and primitive art during that period.” He pointed to several shelves holding crudely made, brightly colored figures, “Like these. The ones on the top shelf are over one hundred years old. Quite valuable.”