Capítulo 2: 2. A Dungeon of Deceit
March, 2010
They were following him. Tamahere had noticed them nearly the second he'd arrived in the Tahitian capital, Papeete. Either they thought he was a complete wastrel who wouldn't notice the obvious tail, or they just didn't care that he knew they were there. Either way, it complicated things. Though perhaps it was a bonus; it prevented him from rushing into disaster unwittingly. He knew he had to approach the situation carefully.
He'd come to Papeete for the library. Huahine didn't offer much. So, he checked into a cheap pension and proceeded to plan his next moves. The advantages of disappearing from society for as long as he had meant no one, including them, knew what he was capable of. He decided to play the drunkard. If they thought he was a raging alcoholic, then some of his movements would likely be dismissed. He had been soused and stoned when last they'd seen him, ten years ago, so it was unlikely to raise their eyebrows now.
Despite his anxiety to move forward, he'd been careful. Drunken persona established over the course of a few days, he'd noticed they stopped keeping as close an eye on him. So, he added in some staggered meanderings past the library, then finally started going in. Once inside, he would pretend to fall asleep after one too many drinks. The library staff left him alone, and after nearly two weeks, so did his tail. Apparently watching a lush snore was not high on their list of priorities.
Thus, he was able to research the story of Jean Dupont, the name given to the man (now prisoner) who claimed to be Richard Rodgers-the man Tamahere knew as Hopo. He read every account he could, then went back on microfiche to the time ten years ago when Rodgers had been declared dead, lost at sea. Of course Tamahere had been a part of the whole thing at the time, but most of it was a blank.
He'd been ill, then overwhelmed after being rescued. He didn't admit, even now, that the guilt he carried had played a large role in his illness back then. He'd drank and gotten high to forget. It was a strategy that worked well, at the time. In retrospect though, it was stupid. He simply didn't remember much of those first few years once he was safe, back in the arms of civilization.
He wanted to go back in time: find and shake the stupid boy he'd been. Shake him free of the idiocy that had allowed him to sink to such deep depths of despair. He'd let them down, or at least had let Hopo down, that was clear. But at the time, the guilt of abandoning the two of them behind had threatened his sanity. Leaving, without knowing for sure. Well, now he thought he did know. And it was a hell of a mess, of that there was no doubt.
Given the immediate attention he garnered on his arrival to Tahiti, he knew a direct approach would be disastrous: death likely for both him and for Hopo. Tamahere knew they had to be exquisitely nervous. Deep seated insecurities stirred up by the discovery of the emaciated man in the dilapidated boat.
If the public had bought the Richard Rodgers found in a boat after ten years story, they would have had a lot of explaining to do. A public relations nightmare. Probably the end of their careers, perhaps even a criminal trial. Now that he, Tamahere, had resurfaced as well, he was sure their hackles were raised high. He could not afford for them to figure out what he was up to.
He decided leaving Papeete was the best course of action, though he wished he could have sent a message through to Hopo somehow. Something that let him know there was a person alive who believed him, a person wanting to do the right thing after a string of wrong decisions. Yet it was impossible; it almost certainly would have been intercepted, and led to a quick death for both of them.
How easy it would be for them to eliminate the threat now, when no one else suspected the true story. Both he and Hopo were expendable. He was pretty sure they would kill Hopo anyway, after all the publicity of the trial disappeared. Tamahere realized he had to leave Papeete; get off their radar. After a long night of weighing his options, he purchased a ferry ticket to Mo'orea the next day. In cash. Might as well leave as little of a trail behind as possible.
No one seemed to care; no one appeared to follow him. He felt fairly sure his tail had been called off after his library act, but to make sure he waited three more long, empty days on Mo'orea to be certain. After nothing untoward, he made his move.
The law office was unassuming and informal, as befit an office not on the main island. There was a secretary in the front room who took his name; he told her his assumed name, Areiti, just in case. She told him that her boss would be with him shortly. Indeed, no more than five minutes passed before Afaitu Tutomo came and escorted him personally into his office.
Afaitu was young, no more than late twenties to early thirties. In reality Tamahere's own age, though Afaitu looked the part whereas he, well, he knew he didn't look good. Clearly Afaitu had never carried the burden of guilt that had nearly crushed Tamahere into the ground.
"How may I help you, Monsieur Areiti?"
Tamahere…Areiti now….started babbling about some far-fetched story involving two neighbors, pigs and a long simmering feud, trying to read the body language of the other man. Afaitu was a distant cousin; they shared a great uncle-the greatest man Tamahere had ever known, God rest his soul. However, it was hard to know if he could trust this young lawyer. They'd never spoken to each other until this meeting, and he would have left him out of it altogether if he could have.
The truth was that he was desperate for help. Thus, the convoluted pig story. Purposeful misdirection had seemed the best option: get to know the man a bit before springing his soul-wrenching, anal-clenching story on him.
Afaitu quickly lost interest in the jumbled tale that was long on blame, but short on a rapid solution. Tamahere had chosen it carefully, watching to see if the man across from him would simply dismiss him, or if he'd pay attention despite his lack of interest. When Tamahere was assured of the latter, he gave an internal smile and relaxed a bit. Afaitu would do nicely.
Once his story ran out of steam, Afaitu made some noises about trying his best to help him. Their time was running short; Tamahere had to make a stab and hope he hit his mark, and not himself. Metaphorical blood would be shed, one way or the other.
He waited for the lawyer to shift, act as though he were about to escort him out of the office, before he dropped his mask of affronted neighbor and donned his usual face: serious, introspective. Not a man easily dismissed, especially if one looked into the depths of his eyes and saw the pain he carried.
"You are the great nephew of a man I held in great reverence for all my life," he declared, voice low and sonorous. Tamahere could do gravitas when he needed it.
Afaitu was silenced. He stared at him, clearly not sure how to respond to the change in subject. The change in his subject. Obviously, this was more than just a stupid neighborhood dispute.
"Your great uncle was also my great uncle by marriage. He and Hina took me under their wing, taught me what they knew, and gave me a place when I wasn't sure what I wanted to do or who I wanted to be. They made a man of me. I repaid them by accepting a great lie and perpetrating an immense injustice against two innocent people."
Afaitu maintained his silent staring. For a lawyer, he wasn't very loquacious.
"I am Tamahere, and I have a great favor to ask of you. Together, we will reveal this injustice to the world. And in the process, hopefully bring at least one person back from the dead."
Three weeks had passed. Three weeks in this hellhole. A drop in the bucket compared to what his sentence had pronounced, though being sentenced to life in prison certainly does not guarantee that said prisoner will live a long life. He was quite certain there were several powerful people hoping for quite the opposite, in his case.
Nothing overt had occurred so far, though he did not know how long that fact would remain true. Since he had stopped claiming his own name, the direct threats had ceased. He was sure, once the publicity died away, that his life expectancy would be measured in hours, not the years of the sentence they had handed down to him.
He was a desperate man, looking for any friend. He had to have someone believe him, else all would be lost. Yet he was surrounded by men who could not be trusted. Guards and prisoners alike. Nuutania prison was built for some 61 prisoners. It currently held over 250. It was widely believed to be the most decrepit and overcrowded prison in all of France, which of course included French Polynesia. Nothing he had seen so far had changed his mind.
His musings were cut short by one of the guards speaking rapid French. He had learned a lot more of the language since his incarceration. "Dupont, your lawyer is here. Get moving."
His lawyer? What a joke that was. His lawyer was employed by the government. And the government had wanted him put away. Forever.
He thought about ignoring the order, but a possible beating-and the attention it called to him-weren't worth the effort. So he went. It turned out to be the best decision he'd made in months.
He did not recognize the young man waiting for him. However, he had the sense to keep his mouth shut. The only meetings that were truly private in this hell on earth were meetings with your lawyer. Thinking this might be an opportunity, he held his tongue until the guard left.
The young man pretending to be his lawyer was a Polynesian. He wore a light khaki suit, common here in the tropics for professional wear. Seated at the lone table, there was a secure looking briefcase at his side. His eyes were curious, assessing him. But there was no inherent judgment. Interesting.
"Mr. Rodgers?"
That gave him a start. Not a single person had called him that since they had officially decreed he could not be who he actually was. Rick sat slowly in the opposite chair, wondering if this was a new opportunity or the beginning of a catastrophe. Either seemed equally likely.
"You have the advantage. I don't know who you are."
"My name is Afaitu Tutomo. I was hired to be your lawyer by someone who knows who you really are, and wants more than anything to help you. Before we go further, I need you to sign these papers accepting me as your representative," he said, sliding the papers out of the briefcase and onto the table between them. He took a ballpoint pen out of his jacket and extended it in his hand expectantly.
Rick let him hold his arm out for a few seconds, deliberately crossing him arms across his chest in defiance of the other man's outstretched limb. "Why should I sign these? I don't even know who it is that hired you."
Afaitu let his arm drop, placing the pen precisely halfway between them. It rested in no man's land, waiting for the sword to fall to one side or the other.
"This is true. However, he told me to give you a message. I have memorized it, as you understand I do not know to what he refers. He told me to tell you the following: "We stacked some forty goddam chicken cages together, several times, Hopo. Now sign the damn papers."
Rick had closed his eyes as he heard the words; emotions flooded him, overwhelmed him. This was the answer to his prayers. The lifeline he had prayed for each and every night of the nightmare. A few tears slipped down his cheeks; neither man mentioned them.
"Tamahere?" Rick asked hoarsely, knowing it was the only man possible.
Afaitu nodded.
"Where has he been? Why didn't he help me earlier, during the trial? No one came forward to help me, and he chooses now to reappear?" Rick was angry; so much time wasted. He was heartsick. Every day without freedom, one more day that disaster could strike.
"He did not know about your rescue, your trial, or your conviction until a week or so ago."
"Didn't know? I thought it was all over the papers."
"It was, but he has lived apart from society for many years."
"Lived apart…?" Rick started laughing, almost hysterical. "Lived apart? Neither you nor he has any idea what 'living apart' from society really entails. Lived. Apart. My God, that's a good one."
"Mr. Rodgers, I'm afraid you have me quite lost. I know very little of your relationship with Tamahere, or the circumstances that led him to my door. He told me what he wished, of course. That included what he has been doing, in general, since his own rescue."
"And just what would that be?" Rick asked, somewhat sarcastically. He needed the help, any help. That was certain. However, he couldn't ignore his anger at the fact that this particular assistance had come so late to his door. Or jail cell, as it were. What good could anyone do for him now?
"He changed his name and moved to Huahine Iti not long after their rescue. He could not live with the guilt of having abandoned you, especially with the way they were received upon their rescue. He has been essentially a hermit, unthought of for many years. As I mentioned, he only recently learned of your rescue and subsequent trial, and has been trying to think of a way to help you. He decided to contact me, knowing direct correspondence would mean a swift death for both of you."
Rick sighed. He alone knew that the man who deserved his anger was not Tamahere. And it seemed that the man he'd once been proud to call a friend really was trying to help him. "He was right to be careful. I do not expect to be allowed to serve out my sentence."
"Then, Mr. Rodgers, we must be quick, yet smart. The only papers that can be brought in and out of this prison unseen by authorities are those of your lawyer. I will serve as the go between for you both."
Afaitu regarded the other man carefully, as Rodgers sat considering his words. He was tall; thin, but quite muscular. Bearded, though it was now neatly trimmed compared to the wild bush that pictures had captured when he'd first been rescued. Several jagged scars were visible on his left arm where the shirt sleeves failed to cover the strong biceps. He was no longer emaciated, but there was very little trace of fat on his rope-like muscles. He was an imposing physical presence, but it was the eyes that truly revealed the man behind the stony mask he'd schooled over his face. His eyes were wary, though hyper-intelligent. One could see grief intermixed with desperation. Afaitu knew he was being measured by this man, assessed for his worthiness.
When Tamahere had told him of the story from ten years ago, Afaitu had found it to be simply incredible; it was difficult for him to accept it as the truth. He'd been curious to know more, and Tamahere was very convincing. Afaitu had looked forward to this meeting, knowing he was to tell a man who'd been convicted of lying about his identity that there were people who knew the truth, people who wanted to help him.
However, the man in front of him looked to carry a burden far greater than what Afaitu had been told of so far. He'd expected excitement, perhaps joy at being believed. He'd seen nothing of that. No, he'd only found despondency in place of the expected jubilation. A hint of grief in the place of joy. Something else was at play: a mystery that would have to be solved, with haste, if Tamahere were correct about the motivations behind this entire sordid affair.
"Pardon the curiosity, but what am I to you?" Rick's arms were still crossed. He had yet to place his trust in anyone, though he longed to do so.
Afaitu gave him a piercing glance.
"You are right to be suspicious, Mr. Rodgers. You have had little reason to believe in our system of justice so far. But, as you trusted my great uncle with your life, you can trust me as well. Anapa's wisdom extended from his crew that he took under his wing as well as to his family, especially a young, arrogant boy who thought that becoming a lawyer would allow him to right all the wrongs of society."
"You're Anapa's great nephew?"
"Yes, to my great honor, I am. And while I was much younger when all these events took place, I know how my uncle would want me to act. I strive to live up to his example on a daily basis."
Rick was silent for a minute, relieved to find this man was the great nephew of his revered mentor. Suddenly the tense Afaitu had used when talking about Anapa registered with him. "You said you act how he would want you to act? Is he….?"
"Dead? To my eternal sorrow, yes."
Rick hung his head. He'd been counting all this time on being able to put Anapa's incredible knowledge to work for him. No one knew the waters of French Polynesia like the old man. It was a real blow to his hopes and plans, carefully crafted in the long, black, bleak nights of his incarceration. But it explained why no one had found them. He'd long wondered what, or who, had kept Anapa from tracking them down.
"When?" he managed, still reeling from the news.
"Not long after you'd been declared lost at sea. There were complications, and he was far from Papeete. Hina died within a few months of his passing. I believe she could not face living without him. She died of a broken heart."
Rick nodded, eyes becoming hard. He'd overcome so much, this would simply be one more obstacle in a long, long line of them. The news of Anapa's death would complicate his plans, but even more to the point was just how Anapa had died. In Rick's view, this was nothing short of murder. How many more crimes could he lay at their feet? Yet, this man, this lawyer—a relative, no less—acted as though Anapa's death was no more than simple natural causes. Perhaps he didn't understand the true circumstances. It was time for them to start paying the price of their crimes. For Anapa, certainly, but most of all for her.
Losing control, he snapped, "Do you have any idea what this means? You sit so calmly, you must not know."
Afaitu, to his credit, remained in control even as Rick raged.
"Mr. Rodgers, I am a lawyer. I must maintain an air of tranquility, even in the face of calamity. I have grieved the loss of Anapa for these ten years. For me, time has softened the sharp edges, but I understand it is all fresh to you. We were reassured it was an accident; is this not true?"
"Not to me. Manslaughter, at the least."
"That is a very serious allegation. You know who you would accuse of this crime?"
"I am very well acquainted, yes."
"Well, while I would like nothing more than to seek justice for Anapa if what you say is true, we must first concentrate on getting you out of jail. My uncle would counsel caution in the face of a storm, no?"
Rick nodded, then relaxed, fully convinced. Somehow the old man's hand still played a part in his life. It was incredible. He offered Anapa's spirit a quick word of thanks, then leaned forward and signed the papers placing him in the hands of this young lawyer.
"So, Mr. Rodgers, I must confess to being confused. Why did you change your plea to guilty? I was a teenager when you disappeared, but I remember well how the news covered your supposed death. There was worldwide attention; the bestselling author who'd died. Surely you could have somehow proven who you were and avoided jail altogether."
"Please, call me Rick. I would give anything to be out of this place, for reasons more important than my own life. You are aware of some of the other passengers on that ship?"
"Yes. Their rescue made them famous. That fame translated directly into the positions they have achieved today. Well, for all but Tamahere of course."
"Then you know how powerful they are. And how dangerous it would be to be recognized as the living, breathing, very much alive best-selling author Richard Castle. Or Richard Rodgers, since I went by my real name while I lived here in French Polynesia those years ago."
"Your real name is Richard Rodgers?"
"My birth name, yes. My pen name is Richard Edgar Castle. I never had it legally changed, though I thought about it. I was grateful I hadn't, for when I came to French Polynesia in late 1998, I was looking for anonymity. No one knew who Richard Rodgers was, so I escaped without too much attention."
"Then that is why everyone here refers to you as Rodgers? Or, at least the man who supposedly died ten years ago is known as Richard Rodgers."
"Yes. Anapa and Hina knew who I really was, but no one else."
"I see," Afaitu mused. "I was confused, as the world knew you as Rick Castle. But here in the South Pacific the papers referred to you as Rodgers."
"It wasn't a deep secret, but I'd guess since so many people here knew me as Rodgers, it stuck. I'm sure in other parts of the world I'm still called Rick Castle."
"And now you've reappeared from the dead. Your sudden claim to your true name, after all these years assumed lost at sea, must have caused them a great deal of anxiety."
"You have no idea. I was threatened, after the article ran. After I'd remembered who I was. They acted quickly, told me in no uncertain terms that I could not be who I claimed. And if I persisted in insisting I was Richard Rodgers, the consequences would be swift—and permanent."
"Yes, I can appreciate that your true identity would cause them embarrassment. But to subject yourself to jail? Surely there was another way."
Rick's gaze was razor sharp, pinning the young lawyer to his seat as one pins a dead insect to a board. Clearly there was more; Afaitu hoped the man would trust him to tell him everything. He couldn't help the man if he didn't trust him.
His decision made, Rodgers spoke. "There's more at stake than just my life."
Afaitu watched as Rick closed his eyes and clenched his fists, seeming distraught and in danger of losing control of the stony mask that hid his underlying turmoil. When several quiet minutes had passed without any further explanation, Afaitu decided to press.
"You know, there are ways to explain your existence that they would not find threatening. I do not know the truth of what happened that day; you are likely the only one who does. However, I can think of several scenarios that would allow the real Richard Rodgers, or Castle, to have a celebrated return. They might even view your existence as a positive. It would certainly bring great attention to Tahiti once again, which would only serve to help them."
Rodgers finally opened his eyes again, this time not bothering to hide his desolation or desperation.
"They probably would welcome me with open arms, given the right story. It would be possible. But I'm not afraid of their reception of Richard Rodgers. They aren't really afraid of me, per se, though their actions seem to argue against that. It is who else they left behind that they truly fear. They don't know if I know everything or not, and they decided the safest course was to stick me in a hole where no one would ever hear my story. But I know everything. They should fear me, and more importantly they should fear her. And they do. They are terrified that she might still be alive. I imagine they have not slept well any night since I was discovered."
Afaitu leaned forward; his balance was threatened, perched on the edge of his chair now. He paid no attention to the danger. His entirety was focused on the man in front of him. Tamahere had really had no idea how involved this all had been, though he had hinted there might be more when he told Afaitu the story.
The noisy din of the prison had faded into the background now. Only the harsh breathing of Rodgers was audible to his ears, as the other man continued to struggle to maintain his composure. Afaitu would later realize he was the first person entrusted to hear the story, and would marvel at the faith imparted to him. In that moment though, all he wanted, all he needed, was to hear the answer to a seemingly simple question. A question whose answer would irrevocably change his life.
"Who should they fear?"
Rodgers closed his eyes again and Afaitu feared he'd lost him. The other man visibly swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. Before Afaitu found the courage to ask his question again, Rodgers opened his eyes and fixed his steely gaze back onto the lawyer.
"Katherine Houghton Beckett."
I've added some pictures of the real Nuutania prison to my tumblr account. It does not look like a Hilton. Or even a Motel 6.
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