Silent Night: A Spenser Holiday Novel (8 page)

C
ARMEN HAD GIVEN ME
her cell phone number. I called her.

“I have some questions for you,” I said.

“I can’t talk now,” she said. Her voice was low and muffled. “Can you come out to Weston?”

“Yes,” I said. “When?”

“How about six tomorrow morning? I’m staying at Martita’s house. Our friend will be in Boston overnight and won’t be back until late morning.”

“Make sure you give the sentries a heads-up that I’m coming and that I’m friendly. Last time I visited, I almost got shot.”

“I heard about that,” Carmen said. “I think that guy is still looking for his rifle.”

I WAS ON THE ROAD
to Weston at five-thirty the next morning. The sky was reddening past the tree line and by the time I got to the gates of the Alvarez compound the sun was up. The air was cold, the temperature in the twenties, and the snow was still white and unspoiled on the ground. I turned in to the driveway. The two granite lion heads on posts on either side had been decorated with Christmas wreaths of pine and cedar embellished with clumps of acorns and tied with big red velvet ribbons. I drove past the main house to the small cottage where Hawk and I had found Martita and her baby. I parked and went to the door. Before I could knock, Slide opened it. “Carmen said to bring you to the barn. She forgot to tell you she has an early tennis lesson.” He was wearing his navy peacoat, but this time with a wool cap that came down over his ears.

He followed me to the car and got in the backseat. We drove slowly down a narrow lane to the big barn and parked alongside it. Slide led me through a small door to an office, which led into a huge open space. In the middle was a tennis court, where a man and a woman were playing. As we walked closer I could see that one of them was Carmen, in a pink sweatshirt over navy Under Armour tights, and she was playing a tall, thick-set man in dark gray sweats and a white T-shirt.

Slide and I sat in the bleachers and watched. Carmen served. She tossed the ball up with authority. Her racquet arm swung back, up, and over in a fluid arc. The ball landed on her opponent’s back line before he had a chance to move. The man yelled, “Carmen, for crissake, this is a lesson, not the Open. Give me a break!”

“You’ll never get better if I don’t push you, Sam,” Carmen said. Her dark hair was pulled back into a single braid and tied with a pink ribbon.

She looked over at us. “Hey, guys. I’ll be through in ten.”

“Looking good,” I said.

It was Sam’s turn to serve, and he wasn’t bad. Carmen swatted it back easily, and the ball landed at his feet where he couldn’t return it. “Move your feet,” she yelled at him. “Keep moving your feet.”

After ten minutes Sam looked as though he might need a defibrillator. Carmen walked smartly off the court, draped a towel around her neck, shook hands with the hapless Sam, and joined us.

“Take no prisoners,” I said.

“These rich guys don’t feel they get their money’s worth unless I make them suffer a little,” she said and grinned. “How’s my boy,” she said to Slide, putting a hand on his cheek, and he beamed at her.

“You play real good,” he said.

“For an old lady of twenty-nine, not bad. You play, Spenser?”

“Tennis is not part of my skill set,” I said.

She laughed. “I wouldn’t make you suffer. I like you. Slide, Spenser and I have some grown-up stuff to talk about. Would you go help Martita with the laundry and feed the baby? I’ll see you later.” Slide nodded, eyes wide, and took off.

“There’s coffee. Want some?” Carmen said. I nodded and followed her to a small bar area. I poured myself a mug while she took a bottle of water from a fridge beneath the bar.

“A couple of things occurred to me after our last conversation,” I said.

She smiled. “Of course. But couldn’t you have asked me over the phone?”

“I like to see faces when I ask questions. What you say and how you say it are equally important to me.” I could hear Susan’s voice in my head. “Juan Alvarez is suspicious that I’m nosing around in his business. It occurred to me that he may be using you to find out how much I know, and to share what I know with you so that you can report it all back to him.”

“You don’t trust me,” she said.

“In my business, that’s what keeps you alive.”

“So ask your questions.”

“You told me you learned Juan is a drug dealer. Tell me how you found out.”

She took a breath. “We were in bed. He liked to smoke this hash he brings back from Mexico. Strong stuff. Believe me, Spenser, I’ve been clean since rehab, but Juan says he needs it to relax.” She looked at me, and I nodded. “He was feeling good, let me tell you. Then his cell phone rings and he takes the call. I can see his expression change as soon as he looks at the incoming number. He waves me away, so I go into the bathroom and close the door. But I can still hear him. He was talking to someone about a shipment coming through Juárez to El Paso. The distribution would take place immediately, and the money would be in his hands by the following week.”

“It could be flowers,” I said.

Carmen laughed, but it wasn’t happy. “Yes, it could be flowers. Or shoes. Or tires.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“One moment I was listening and the next he was inside the bathroom holding me by the arms and asking me why I was eavesdropping on his call. It happened in an instant. I told him the door was closed and that I couldn’t hear a thing, but I don’t think he believed me. He was very rough with me when we went back to bed. Once he fell asleep, I left.” She took a sip from her water bottle. “Thank God he hasn’t come near me since. Not in that way. I moved in with Martita two days ago. He is pleasant enough when others are around, but he’s got his eye on me. He has me watched now whenever I leave the farm.”

“How many guys does he have here? I’m assuming they’re all armed.”

“At least five. Will, the one who stopped you, and four others. One of them is Martita’s brother. Marco. He’s weak. I use him for bits of information.”

“Do you have any reason to believe Juan is about to move away from here?”

She looked puzzled. “Move where? He travels a lot as it is. But we haven’t said much to each other these last few days. I don’t really know what he’s thinking or doing.”

“Let’s say he were to disappear. Would he take you with him?”

“Before last week, I would have said yes. I thought he loved me and would take me wherever he goes. But I don’t think that’s true anymore. I saw his anger that night. I think he is more likely to have me killed than take me with him. He knows I know something. I’m a loose end. If he were to disappear, it would be because he is afraid. And he’s afraid of what I know and what I might say.”

“So why hasn’t he killed you already?”

“Because it’s not that simple with Juan. He won’t look like the bad guy. So he won’t do the job himself. The killing must be arranged. He’ll stage some kind of accident, with witnesses, to get himself off the hook. This way he can deny it, even to himself.”

“In order to put Juan in jail, the authorities will need evidence that can be used in court. Would you be willing to testify against him at a trial?”

“Yes,” Carmen said. “I would gladly say what I know. Others would as well.”

“Really? These other people aren’t afraid?”

“The guards and employees here, they fear Juan, but they aren’t loyal. The guards are friendly and kind when Juan isn’t around. But they would tell what they knew if it meant they could get away from Juan—or avoid prison.”

“Do you have any idea where Juan keeps his business records?”

“I assume at his office in Boston? He does have a safe room here. It’s underneath the stable, but the entrance is through a tunnel from the house. I’ve never been in there, but I know it exists.”

“If something happened to Juan, what would you do?”

“I would survive,” she said.

“You have any money saved?”

“Enough to last me awhile. I can always teach tennis at fancy resorts or tennis camps.”

“Being independent is good. And what about Slide?” I said.

“Wherever I go, Slide goes.”

“From now on, I want you to start checking in with me every couple of hours. I want to know you’re okay,” I said. “Any obvious opportunities for Juan to stage an accident in front of witnesses?”

“Juan is hosting another big charity Christmas party next week. It’s a tennis-themed event, so I run it. I always get a few top players and other celebrities to come. It raises money for both the USTA and the USWTA, and Juan gets to show off to his rich friends. There’ll be so many high-profile people here that day, I know I’ll be safe.”

“How do you figure you’ll be safe? Just because it’s a big crowd? Sounds dangerous.”

“Too many people in a small space. Too many children. Too much publicity. If Juan wanted to stage something, I believe he’d choose a situation where he had more control.”

“Anything else? Any other events between now and the end of the year?”

Carmen shook her head. “Not that I know of. Juan was planning to have a small dinner party on Christmas Eve, with just a few couples. That was before I moved out of the house. I assume the dinner has been canceled, or at least that I am no longer invited. Juan hasn’t mentioned it since I left.”

Carmen stopped and looked at me. “Spenser, I’ve answered all your questions. You’ve provided me with no information, nor have I asked you for any. I hope that you believe that I act on my own and not for Juan Alvarez, and that what I tell you is true.” She waited to see if I’d reassure her. When I didn’t, she went to her duffel bag.

“Would you do me a favor?” she said, handing me some hundred-dollar bills. “I want to give Slide a Christmas present. I don’t own a car and don’t want to ask Juan or his men to take me in to Boston to shop. I want Slide to have an electric-blue Razor. All the kids have them. You know, those motorized scooters.”

“Consider it done,” I said. “One last thing.” I took out a small pad and pen and handed them to Carmen. “I need a map of the property. Just give me the general location of each building. And I need a map of the house. What’s in each room, where the doors and windows are.”

She talked while she drew the maps.

“Some setup, right?” she said. “The stable, this tennis facility . . .”

“I know ten guys out of work who’d be happy spending the night in one of the horse stalls if they’re as grand as I think they are,” I said. “Not me. Horses scare me.”

Carmen smiled. “A big handsome guy like you?”

She handed me back the notepad and pen.

“Hard to admit, but true.”

We walked toward my car. “You’ll make sure Slide gets my present? Even if something were to happen to me?” She looked at me, her hand held up to shield her eyes from the bright morning sun.

“I will. And I’ll do my best to see that you give it to him yourself.”

“Good. Take this, too.” She handed me a piece of paper. “All my bank stuff. My accounts, my contact there. I want Slide to have it. I spoke to my dad and the bank when all this started with Juan, but there has been no time to make a new will. I know a written codicil is legal, and I have sent one to my dad and my lawyer. I know it is probably overly dramatic, but I want Slide to have something for his education, his future, if I were to meet with an accident . . . you understand.” She stood very still.

“I do.”

“Thanks, Spenser.” She stood on the balls of her feet and gave me a kiss on my cheek.

“
Adiós,
Carmen.” I got in my car and drove away.

I
CALLED JUAN ALVAREZ
and made an appointment to see him at his office, which was on Exchange Place on State Street. The building was a tall glass column with a black marble entrance. Inside the heavily gilt-painted lobby were the biggest potted palms I had ever seen outside the set of
Aida
. Over in one corner was a huge fir tree decorated with blue and silver balls for Christmas, which clashed with the brushed-gold elevator door.

I got off at the twenty-fourth floor. The elevator doors opened directly into a spare modern reception area. A young woman with strawberry-blond hair, brown eyes, and matching freckles sat behind a black granite workstation.

“I’m here to see Mr. Alvarez,” I said.

“You must be Mr. Spenser?”

“I am,” I said, flashing her what I hoped was a roguish grin.

She was not moved. “You’re a bit late for your appointment. Mr. Alvarez doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

So young. So jaded.

She got up and led me down a hallway and through a tall double door. Juan Alvarez got up from his half-crescent desk. “Spenser. Come in, come in.” He waved me in. “Alice, what can we get for Spenser? Coffee, tea, or something stronger?”

He was wearing an expensive charcoal-gray bespoke suit with a faint chalk stripe and a floral Turnbull & Asser tie. His desk was burnished oak. On top of the desk were several neat piles of papers and three clocks showing different time zones.

“No, thanks,” I said.

“Let me give you the nickel tour. I can’t get enough of this view.” He led me around the large room, which had a panoramic view of Boston Harbor and, on a particularly clear day, probably a good chunk of Newfoundland. The paintings on the walls reeked of expensive original. Picasso, Bacon, a Turner. Obviously not a discerning collector, but maybe it didn’t matter when you had lots of money.

He waved me to one of the chairs opposite his desk, and we sat down. “Before you tell me why you are here, please allow me to apologize for my outburst the other day. I regret I came on a little strong. I have always been a very private man, and I find any intrusions into my affairs upsetting.” He smiled.

I smiled. Amigos again. Just like that.

“Apology accepted, Juan,” I said. “My innate curiosity isn’t always understood or appreciated. Some people have told me I can be annoying.”

He chuckled, but he didn’t disagree.

I looked around. “This is a swell office,” I said. “What type of business gets you the picture-postcard view?”

“I run an import/export business. Art, textiles, some clothing, small leather goods.” He smiled some more, and I smiled back. After a moment, he said, “And to what do I owe the honor of your visit today?”

“I’ve been thinking of relocating my office, and I was wondering if any of those houses over by Jackie’s Street Business are for sale. I’d even consider renting, if it got my foot in the door.”

Alvarez smiled again. His teeth were white and even.
Maybe I’ll ask for the name of his dentist, too.

“An interesting concept,” he said. “How many employees do you currently have?”

“One,” I said, “including me. But I aspire to growth. And I have plenty of files.”

Alvarez leaned back in his chair, put his arms on the armrests, and studied me.

“Your abiding interest in those properties intrigues and perplexes me, Spenser.”

“And annoys?” I said.

“Amuses. Those buildings are simply investment properties, nothing more.”

“I’m just a real estate junkie,” I said. “I hate to miss a great investment opportunity.”

“And an astute investor such as yourself would certainly check the public records, so you would know that I have recently transferred ownership of all of my Boston holdings. You would therefore know that I am no longer the legal owner of those buildings.”

“Damn,” I said. “Why unload such swell investments all of a sudden?”

“Not all of a sudden. It was the result of months of planning by my financial advisers. I hate to disappoint you, Spenser, but it was merely some long-overdue estate planning.”

“I’m intrigued, Juan,” I said. “Why the estate planning? Just contract a terminal disease? Plan to go skydiving? Recent unsettling visit from Marley’s ghost, perhaps?”

Alvarez smiled. “Nothing like that. I am healthy and secure. But I do believe in looking ahead.” He spread his arms and shrugged. “One never knows what the future might bring. It is best to be prepared.”

“So if I’m stuck on that neighborhood, Jackie’s place is the only one available?”

“Good luck with that, Spenser. Jackie should have sold that building long ago, but he is far too stubborn.”

“Aren’t you the number-one fan of Street Business? Don’t you provide most of its support?”

Something dark clouded his face. Then it was gone.

“I am not a fan of Street Business. But I believe in supporting my family. That means I support Jackie. Funding Street Business is the manifestation of that support. But it is a financial black hole and an ill-conceived fantasy of a naive and foolish mind.”

“So you wouldn’t be saddened if it disappeared tomorrow?”

“I have done all I can to sustain Street Business. Jackie and my family know this. If it fails—when it fails—it will be through no fault of mine.”

“Well,” I said. “So much for my expansion plans. Thank you for your time, Juan.”

Alvarez stood and followed me to the door. “A pleasure to see you, Spenser. I am reminded that I have yet to invite you and Dr. Silverman to my home in Weston. I will arrange that soon.”

“I look forward to it,” I said.

The receptionist was at her desk when I left Juan’s office. She smiled. Perhaps I was getting to her.

“Leaving already?” she said. She looked disappointed.

“‘Promises to keep,’” I said. “‘And miles to go before I sleep.’”