“Far overdue, if you ask me.”
We approached a hostess station and Valdez asked for a table for three. It was midafternoon, past lunchtime, but the place remained reasonably busy. The two guys behind us continued to stand close, keeping their weapons concealed within their shirttails. Making a move would endanger not only us but everyone around us, so I decided to sit tight. Looking back, I’ve always been amazed at my patience that day, especially considering my lack of experience and the threat level.
We were shown to a table on the second floor. Valdez instructed his two men to wait below and keep an eye on the exits. The restaurant’s interior cast a measured Spanish feel with colorful tiles in bright yellows and blues, a faux garden of a place where ferns and potted palms accentuated the sense of being outdoors. The main dining room resembled an enclosed two-story patio-courtyard, complete with a working fountain at the center. A skylight high overhead added light and ambience. Our table was near the railing on the second floor overlooking the fountain.
“I must say,” Valdez noted, “I’ve never eaten here. But I have visited the Columbia in Tampa. Their version of Cuban cuisine is reasonably good.”
“What do you want?” Coleen asked.
“Such hostility,” he said. “You should be grateful. Outside is about to be crowded with police. A downed FBI agent is going to attract attention.”
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“I certainly hope so. That’s what Oliver wanted. It seems he and Veddern are not the best of friends.”
“Is Oliver always so reckless?” I asked.
“More desperate at the moment. He has a lot to keep contained. He thought it could be done in Stuart, but you both managed to get away. Was the confrontation at the dock your people trying to stop you?”
“More my people not keeping their end of a bargain.”
He chuckled. “That I can appreciate, amigo.”
Obviously, Stephanie Nelle had not seen Valdez.
“Murder is a serious crime,” Coleen stated.
“I agree. Which is why Oliver wanted me to deal with things. I would have handled it differently, but at the moment I have to please Oliver. We have a mutual problem.” He pointed at us. “You two. I’m hoping we can come to an understanding and end all this.”
A server approached and left menus, promising to be right back.
“I was electronically listening to your conversation in the plaza,” Valdez said. “You’ve both read the files and you, Lieutenant Malone, have my coin, so let’s have a meal and I’ll answer all questions for Senora Perry that Veddern avoided. The ones about your father. I don’t suffer from the same lack of knowledge that Veddern possessed. I was there in 1968. Then you will give me my coin and we can be done.”
The server returned.
“If you don’t mind,” Valdez said. “I’ll order for the table.”
He perused the menu and selected several different entrées, which the server assured were all excellent choices. Coleen and I just sat, our gazes meeting occasionally as we both assessed the situation from differing perspectives. She seemed intrigued by what she might learn. I was more concerned with getting out of here in one piece—with the files and the coin.
Valdez pointed to the green backpack, which Coleen cradled in her lap. “Those photographs are all I have left.”
“How’d you get your hands on that stuff?”
“Jansen was always sloppy. He trusted me far more than he ever should have. He and I were quite friendly back then.”
“Which you took full advantage of,” I asked.
“It’s my nature. I can’t help it. Jansen should have known that.” He pointed again at the backpack. “Of course, I don’t like being cheated.”
“You’ve gone a long way to make sure a bargain is a bargain,” I said. “You must really need money.”
“I am in short supply at the moment. I was thrilled to learn, when I called Reverend Foster, that he still had his coin.”
“How did Castro like the one you gave him?”
“He was quite pleased.”
“Lucky for you the FBI had one available.”
“That was one of those fortuitous things. Jansen was my handler and mentioned how they’d surreptitiously found two of the rarest coins in the world during one of their infamous break-ins. Since they were obtained illegally, Oliver opted to keep them. Returning them to the Treasury would have only raised questions. When I was asked to perform my services for Bishop’s Pawn, I named my price. One of the coins.”
“I don’t give a damn about any of that,” Coleen blurted out. “Just give him the coin. We have the files. And let him tell me about my father.”
“You and your father both said the coin was mine now,” I reminded her.
“Give him the damn coin.”
“You can’t be that naive?” I asked.
She seemed puzzled.
Then it hit her.
Oliver and Valdez had teamed in Palm Beach to kill us both out on the water. Sure, Valdez wanted his coin, but Oliver wanted the files. No matter what Valdez had just said, his job was to retrieve both.
“I’ll give him the files,” she made clear.
That I did not want to hear.
“When you called me,” Valdez said to Coleen, “I was direct. I mentioned the words Bishop’s Pawn and I told you a little about the FBI. I even advised you to stay away from them. Which, as it has turned out, was good advice. We made a deal. I honored my part.” He faced me. “I told you when we first met, Lieutenant Malone, that I may be the only person in this world you can actually trust. I meant that.”
“Yet I double-crossed you anyway.”
The server returned with water and bread for the table. I decided, what the hell, and enjoyed a few bites. I figured it was going to take a few minutes for the food to come, so why not learn what I could. The time would also give me a chance to decide how to handle Coleen’s shifting allegiances. I sat straight and strong in my chair, and tried to project an image of all business and gumption.
“I’ve had few opportunities to ever discuss this,” Valdez said. “I’m sure Senora Perry is anxious to know the truth.”
“I am.”
I wasn’t, given what her father wanted, so I asked, “Tell us about James Earl Ray.”
“Quite a personality. He so wanted to be important.”
“He got his wish.”
Valdez nodded. “That he did. He thought himself such a big man. Through the years, I’ve read several of the books Ray published while in prison. Quite the writer. I must say, though, the picture they paint is nothing like the man I knew. He wanted the world to think he was an innocent patsy, used by others.” He shook his head. “Ray was a sadistic racist, through and through. He hated blacks, especially ones who thought themselves important. He really hated King. He also had little regard for women. He wanted to be a pornographer. I gave him money to buy a lot of expensive cameras. When he was in Mexico he took many racy pictures of women. They were terrible. Disgusting. Overt. Obvious. Nothing about them sexy or provocative. That was Ray. Overt and obvious. It was easy to get him to do what I wanted.”
“Why was it necessary to kill King?” Coleen asked.
He shrugged. “I have no idea. Jansen passed the order on to me to have Ray do it. I assumed that came straight from Oliver and Hoover. No low-level field agent would have ever made that call. I simply did what they wanted.”
“You were the mysterious Raoul,” I said. “The one Ray ultimately blamed everything on?”
“It was the name I used with him.”
“So why didn’t Ray rat you out when he was arrested?”
“He did, once he realized they’d lied to him about everything. But by then no one cared. He was just a murderer trying to get out of prison, saying whatever he could in order to make that happen. Blaming whoever he could.”