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Accusational Thievery

Sunday February 1, 10:30AM
I was still in my underwear when Yves approached the house and, seeing as we had only met yesterday for the first time, I was surprised to see him. "Where were you yesterday at 1 pm?", he asked. Having gotten used to strangely phrased discussions here (Yves' first language is French and my Spanish is that of a small child's), I interpreted this as simply an opening line. "Uh, here cleaning the guesthouse", I replied, "How are Alan and Jan?"

Alan and Jan were a lovely couple from Toronto I had met two days earlier at a local restaurant. Having enjoyed our first conversation, and perhaps feeling a little homesick, I went looking for them yesterday at Yves' hotel on the Costanerra (Coast Highway). It was their last day of vacation and, after a long, pleasant talk that spanned building a home here in Costa Rica to delivering Hungarian food, I left their room with a bag of leftover groceries and a plan to meet up at my place after lunch. "They were robbed', Yves replied, "and so was the Posada".

"Robbed! Where are they now?" I asked. "I don't know", Yves replied then, irritably, "Why did you come to see me yesterday? You say you came for friends but you never came before and you also tell me you want to see my place in case you have guests for me some day." "Yes. Right", I say, "Would you like to sit down for a minute?" Yves hurries toward his motorcycle, "No, I have no time". Then he is gone.

Disturbed by the news and worried for Alan and Jan, I decided to try and find them. I had yet to connect the dots when I left the house, something Alan did without hesitation as I walked in to the police station. Their rental car was parked out front.

"Did the police bring you here?" asked Alan. He and Jan occupied the only two chairs so I sat on the tile floor between them. "No, I came to find you, why?" A precariously thin veil of restraint kept the two hundred and sixty pound H-vac installer in his small chair. "We know you did it." he said.

It has been a long time since I've felt my ears burn. Alan went on to tell me that their credit cards, driver's licences and cash were taken just after I left as they departed their room for the beach. He theorized that no Tico (a local term for Costa Rican) would think to take the ID and the cards and leave everything else. Also, short of the goatee, I could pass for his picture.

Jan picked it up from there. There were witnesses, now on their way here, who had seen someone in a blue shirt and short hair climbing the balcony. Plus they already knew where the cards had been used; gas stations and major purchases to the north. She felt really sorry for the person who did this because they were going to have a real bad vacation. "If I am wrong I will be the first to apologize to you but I think you did it", Alan finally said firmly.

I remained on the floor between them. For the life of me I couldn't remember what shirt I had on yesterday. Apparently it was blue.

Saturday January 31, 11:30PM
After leaving Alex and Jan's room I came home to tidy-up the guesthouse and wait for their arrival. I was looking forward to hiking them into my secret waterfall, which would be a nice way to spend the afternoon before picking up friends who were coming for dinner.

Of course Alex and Jan never arrived and sometime after four pm I gave up waiting and set out for the fishmonger in Pinuelas. I bought four good-sized white snapper from the fishmonger's wife and continued on north to my friends in Hermosa. Unfortunately they too were unable to make it and as I headed back towards home I contemplated bringing the fish up to my pal Stijn in Playa Matapalo. Stijn had sent an invitation for a big party that night but it was two-thirds the way to Quepos, required an overnight stay and I had plans to spear fish the next day.

I arrived home about 5:30 and, as fresh fish is simply too good for the freezer, invited my neighbours to a dinner of coconut steamed snapper. It was still early when they left but already I could hear the thumping bass drift over from a big fiesta in nearby Ventanas. It sounded like a good opportunity for some fun people watching so I headed over to another friend's and together we set out for the fiesta.

Sunday February 1, 11:00AM
The Ojochal police station is a small, square building divided equally into kitchen, bedroom, waiting room and office with the latter two each having their own front door. On one side marked 'Publico' were the newly arrived witnesses and a local officer. On the other 'Oficial' side sat Alan, Jan, an officer I didn't recognize and myself. The entire facility including its tiny out-house sized holding cell was brand new and operated by two local policia who patrolled the area tandem on their single-issue dirt bike.

I sat with Alan and Jan as the new officer slowly copied out information from their passports. Yves and one of the local policia, a stout man with silver and gold fillings who could have been a pirate in another life, appeared from the kitchen. They both seemed surprised to see me. I gathered the earlier visit from Yves was to see if I was still around.

"When were you in Quepos?" the pirate policia asked en Espanol. I responded in kind, "Yo no Quepos ayer. "Is that where the card was used?", I asked Alan. My god, I thought to myself, what if I had gone to see Stijn? Alan nods. Just then an American woman I saw at Yves' hotel yesterday, obviously one of the witnesses, walks up to the doorway to look at me. Suddenly everyone is staring. The stout officer asks me to join him in the back room.

The other local policia, lean and soft-spoken, joins us and asks me to remove my shirt. Apparently in both robberies the thief had come up through the forest and climbed the balcony. Figuring this will go a lot quicker if I just go along with them I take off my camisa and reveal the scratch down my back that I received last Thursday when a large wave decided to give me its autograph with the tip of my spear gun. "Con mi arbeleta", I explain. He then asks to see my hands and proceeds to prod the pads of my palms. There are no marks or bruises. "Where were you at five pm yesterday?" The short cop has rings on each of his fingers something I gather serves purpose other than fashion. With great earnest and sincerity I launch into a pathetic, grammatically corrupt explanation of my day and the officers call in Yves to translate.

Once again I recount my day. About mid-way through Yves seems to loosen up a little, perhaps having decided I am no longer such a likely suspect as the card had been used in Quepos at five pm and the drive back would have me home no sooner than six-thirty, well after I had invited my neighbours to dinner. Nevertheless I offer to introduce them to each of the people I was with to verify my whereabouts and times but they decline. The soft-spoken cop looks at me. "I saw you at Ventanas last night", he says. "Si, yo vine la fiesta." This seems to satisfy him and they thank me for coming.

On my way out I offer Alan and Jan my sympathies and encourage them to let me know if there is anything I can do to help. "Again I am the first to apologize right now if I am wrong but everything just points to you", says Alan. I accept his apology and take my leave.

Sunday February 1, 12:30PM
I resent the wrongful accusation. It's no longer my problem of course but the chances of the police ever catching the thief are practically nil and I dislike the idea of these people returning home, (my home!) fixed on the idea that I was the one who ripped them off.

With that in mind I write down my name and email address and return to Yves' hotel where Alan and Jan are preparing to leave. With them are Yves and the American woman whose mouth hangs open at the sight of me. Jan immediately excuses herself as I get out of the car so, handing my address to Alan, I ask him to please let me know what happens. After that there is nothing else to say but Yves thanks me for coming and we agree that there is time for us to get properly acquainted in the future.

Monday February 2, 12:30PM
Twenty-four hours later and no one has come to haul me away. The good news is should that still happen I already have several promises from friends to toss granola bars through the window and one offer to bust me out with a machete should the need arise.

Meantime I can't help but wonder if those nice folks will ever let go of the idea that I did it. Maybe letting them know how to get a hold of me wasn't such a good idea...

Posted by pike at February 2, 2004 04:58 PM