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bye.”
    “Bye.”
    He watched her leave and she waved before entering the bed and breakfast. He turned back toward the city, the moon bright in a cloudless sky.

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10

    Police Chief Hector Rojas stood on the pier and looked over the white yacht with the black and gold trim. It was a large vessel meant for parties that would last for days. Many of the wealthy that came to Viña would lease or buy them, stock them with food, liquor, drugs and women, and not be back to shore until they ran out of everything. In his twenty-one years with the police force, he had seen many famous American and British politicians throw such parties as well as movie stars and singers and business moguls. The ultra-successful, no matter from what walk of life, seemed to behave like animals when nobody was watching.
    They would usually be so drunk or high on drugs that things would go wrong. The ship would hit a coral and they would need rescue, or it would catch fire, or they would run out of gas. One time a movie star, who was known for the amount of girls he had slept with, even rammed another yacht because he had released the captain and wanted to steer himself.
    But Hector had never seen anything like this.
    He walked back up the ramp and examined the deck while his officers interviewed the witnesses back on the beach. There were empty liquor bottles, half-burned marijuana joints, a few items of clothing and garbage, but nothing more. He went below deck and back to the room and leaned against the door and looked at the carnage.
    At first he thought that perhaps someone had taken a chainsaw to somebody in here, but then he saw the blood and entrails and bits of bone that were on the window pane and leading out over the deck and into the ocean. He knew someone was dragged through the window and overboard.
    The window measured nine inches by twelve inches.
    He shook his head and walked back to the deck and leaned against the rail, looking out over the water. He had left police work in Santiago for this very reason. He was sick of the murders and the rapes and the bank robberies and the shootouts. He was only six years from retirement and he wanted somewhere comfortable and clean to finish out his time. There was nowhere more comfortable or clean in all of Chile, maybe all of South America, than Viña.
    “Jefe,” one of his officers said, waving for him to come down.
    Hector walked back and stood in front of Inspector Sosa and a woman. Her eyes were bloodshot and she had a jacket thrown over her shoulders. Her make-up had smeared over her face from tears and sweat and she was shaking.
    “This is Pamela Kolo . . . Kolosk—”
    “Kolkowski,” she said impatiently, wiping at new tears that ran down her cheeks.
    “Kolkowski,” Sosa said, nodding, “she says her daughter is missing.”
    “When did you see her last?” Hector asked.
    “She went below deck to sleep in my boss’ cabin. She was just . . . she was just a baby.”
    Pamela put her face in her hands and broke down, bending at the waist as if about to pass out. Sosa put his arm on her and whispered something. Hector turned and walked away.
    Sosa led her to a bench on the pier and then ran to catch up with Hector.
    “Jefe, wait.”
    “What is it?”
    “You know what this is.”
    “This is a murder, Pablo. And I expect you to work the case and solve it.”
    “Que chingados! How many people have to die here before we do something about it?”
    “Watch your mouth, Pablo.” The chief stepped close to him, no more than a few inches from his face.
    “I meant no disrespect. But people are dying and we’re not telling them this water is dangerous.”
    “Do you know for sure it is dangerous? Have you ever seen this great monster? No? Then keep your mouth shut until we find out what the hell is going on.”
    Hector got into his car and looked to see Sosa still standing there, his hands on his hips, watching him start his car and pull away. He was a damnable fool, but he was a good