Baja Florida by Bob Morris Page A

up.
    â€œBaugtanaxata,” Boggy said.
    Mr. Bethel studied both of us some more. He looked at our papers again.
    â€œWhat is the nature of your business in the Bahamas?”
    I said, “We’re looking for someone.”
    Mr. Bethel absorbed the information. It seemed to sour his stomach.
    â€œThat’s your business? Looking for someone?”
    â€œOn this trip it is,” I said.
    â€œAnd this someone you’re looking for, you think they’re here on Walker’s?”
    â€œNo, but I’m thinking maybe they passed through here. Thought you might help me.”
    â€œHelp you how?”
    â€œFind out if the person we are looking for cleared customs here.” I nodded at the computer. “Might be in your records somewhere.”
    â€œWhat’s this person’s name?”
    â€œJennifer Ryser. R-y-s-e-r. She’d be in her early twenties. Would have arrived within the last month or so on a boat called the Chasin’ Molly . Nice boat, a fifty-four-footer.”
    If it registered with Mr. Bethel, he didn’t show it.
    â€œThe immigration registry is a restricted government document and not open to public inspection,” he said.
    â€œYes, sir. I know and respect that,” I said. “I was just hoping you might see fit to make an exception in this case.”
    â€œAnd why would I do that?”
    â€œThis girl we’re looking for, her father is dying. It’s urgent that we find her and take her to him.”
    â€œYou need to go through Nassau,” he said.
    â€œTried that,” I said.
    Mr. Bethel studied my face for a long moment. Then he went back to examining our papers. He stamped our passports and handed them to us.
    He looked at his watch.
    He said, “About this time each day I step outside, walk down to where the docks used to be, and have a smoke.”
    He opened a desk drawer, pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights.
    He said, “Sometimes I have a couple of smokes. Depends. But I’m never gone more than half an hour.”
    He stood up from the desk.
    I reached for my wallet. I plucked out a hundred-dollar bill and slipped it under one of the ink pads.
    Mr. Bethel looked at it. Just the slightest hint of regret in his eyes.
    â€œYou can put that back in your wallet,” he said.
    I gave him a look: You sure?
    He said, “I didn’t know that’s why he was looking for that young woman.”
    â€œHe?”
    â€œMan came through here day before yesterday,” Mr. Bethel said. He glanced at the hundred again. “Wasn’t quite so generous.”
    â€œThis man, he was looking for the same person?”
    Mr. Bethel nodded.
    â€œOnly, he didn’t know the name of the boat she was on.”
    â€œYou remember his name?”
    â€œDon’t recall.”
    â€œHis name somewhere in your records?”
    Mr. Bethel shook his head.
    â€œNo, he cleared customs at the airport in Marsh Harbour. Came up here by boat.”
    â€œWhat did he look like?”
    â€œBig, tough-looking. Said he was some kind of cop.”
    â€œHe say he was a cop? Or did he say he was a detective?”
    â€œWhat’s the difference? He looked like what ever he said he was.”
    Mr. Bethel shook loose a cigarette, stuck it in his mouth, and headed for the door. He turned around just before he reached it.
    â€œThat computer, the government sent it up here almost seven years ago now. I haven’t ever turned it on, not once,” he said. “Like doing things the old way.”
    He glanced at the black ledger book. Then he stepped out the door.

14
    It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. Only a few entries had been made in the ledger book since Jen Ryser’s arrival.
    I went down the list of names of those aboard the Chasin’ Molly . Charlie looked over my shoulder. Boggy wasn’t interested. He left the office to wander around outside.
    â€œAccording to this they arrived