Hurricane Bay

by Heather Graham

  Dane had thought that he would have to drive all the way into the city of Miami and meet Hector Hernandez in the downtown area, but Hector had suggested that they meet at the seafood restaurant at the southern end of Florida City. Being with the Metro force meant that Hector handled anything to the Miami-Dade county lines, and that meant the Trail into the Everglades out to Collier County to the west, and Monroe County at the line just before the Keys. Where they met was still Hector’s territory, although his assignments were more often in the city of Miami proper and the surrounding communities.

  There were enough murders there alone to keep plenty of men busy, Hector had told him once. Not that he felt his beloved county was so bad. Put that many people together and bad things happened. That was the way of life, unfortunately. Miami-Dade had a tendency to have its bad news well publicized. But Hector didn’t believe that a place could be bad. Now, as to people, well, they could be pure evil. And it was true that South Florida had endless miles of coastline, miles and miles of Everglades and the capacity to include almost any illicit operation known to man. It was incredibly easy to get rid of a body.

  Yet the bodies usually surfaced. Eventually.

  Hector was already there when Dane arrived, munching down on a big plate of calamari, drinking iced tea.

  He grinned when he saw Dane, rose, shook his hand, still chewing.

  “Good to see you. Since you asked me to lunch, I thought I’d order everything on the menu. Got surf and turf coming after this. Filet and lobster. Maine lobster. Love this place we call home, you know, but our overgrown crawfish don’t come anywhere near close to the taste of the Maine guys. You’re going to get one hell of a lunch bill. Detectives are underpaid, you know. I hope your new business in the Keys is going well.”

  He was a big man, resembling the old Frito Bandito.

  “It’s going all right,” Dane said. “People are into the high-tech stuff these days. Store owners want camera setups, surveillance, tapes, all the kinds of stuff they’ve seen catch thieves on the television shows.”

  “Nothing too big, yet, huh?”

  “You know life down there. A bit easier.”

  Hector made a face. “It would be easier up here if it weren’t for all the fancy attorneys. We nabbed a guy who killed his wife and kids a couple of years ago, and they got him off. You know what his defense was? He hadn’t meant to kill them. He’d been threatening her because he was convinced she was cheating on him. And the gun just went off. Three times. All three shots somehow accidental. You listen to what I’m saying, and you know it’s crazy. But he got the right attorney, and the jury bought it. Can you believe it?”

  Hector sat down again when Dane did. “Then there was the old guy who beat the old lady to death in the nursing home. He got off, too. The defense? His medication was wrong. And the old lady wanted to die. It was a mercy killing. Oh, yeah, he beat her mercifully. What really bothers me, though, is what a bad rap the city gets. And you know what? One of those survey companies just did a study on crime in the city. Seems that a lot of crazies like to come down here to do their dirty work. They’re born and get crazy somewhere in the north, then come south to be homicidal. Not that we don’t have our share of domestics,” he said with a shake of his head. “Or greed. Stupid greed. I’ve got a case right now where some asshole shot an old man just to steal his car. That was a sorry one. The wife is inside, the husband goes out for the newspaper, sees the fellow trying to take his car and decides to stop him. The perp shoots the guy, gets blood on his clothes, goes inside the guy’s house to steal a new outfit, and the wife is watching television all the time.”

  “Did you nab him?”

  “Not yet, but we will. He left his bloody clothes on the victim’s floor and went out without the wife ever knowing. The perp was no brain surgeon. He left fingerprints everywhere and has a rap sheet longer than the Bill of Rights. But you see what I mean? He shouldn’t have been on the streets at all. He should have been locked up. There are too many loopholes in the law. And the prisons are so overcrowded that the parole boards are pushed into letting criminals go when they shouldn’t. But you know how all that goes. And you didn’t come here to ask me about any of the no-brainers.”

  Dane started to speak, but Hector lifted a hand. “Order first. Have the squid. They know their calamari here. Lightly dusted with breading, tender as a baby’s bottom.”

  Dane ordered the yellowtail, instead, guaranteed fresh by their waitress. He opted for iced tea, as well, and when the waitress had gone, he plowed right in. “I’m interested in one of your open cases.”

  “The tie-strangling?” Hector said, wiping his mouth and reaching for his tea.

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “One in Dade, one in Broward. They’re what we’ve got going right now with the biggest media attention and the least to go on. Both girls were strippers. If you were friends with one of them, your name has never come up in the investigation. What’s your interest?”

  “A friend of mine, a girl named Sheila Warren, hasn’t been seen around in about a week,” Dane said. He was going to stick with honesty while talking to Hector. The truth—just not the whole truth.

  “Sheila…” Hector mused over the name for a moment. “Yeah, I know your friend Sheila. I’ve gone out on charters with your buddy Jorge Marti a few times when he had her aboard, cooking, running around, fishing…just being charming. Beautiful woman. Okay, before I keep going, is she a friend or more than a friend?”

  “We were hot and heavy way back in the old days,” Dane told him. “But we’ve both changed a lot. She’d gotten used to living a bit on the wild side, and she’s been known to take off with new friends, so the local police aren’t very concerned.”

  “But you are.”

  “Yeah.”

  Hector was quiet for a moment, mulling Dane’s words as he chewed. Then he said, “I’m not sure where you’re making the connection. Both girls strangled by the Necktie Strangler were strippers. And customers have gotten more than lap dances at both clubs by paying extra to have private ‘shows.’ Your friend wasn’t a working girl, was she?”

  “No. But she was definitely walking the wild side.”

  “So what makes you think the strangler might have gotten hold of her?”

  “If I’m remembering correctly, both girls were missing persons before their bodies were discovered.”

  “True. Look, we haven’t had much to go on. The bodies were badly decomposed. We haven’t found so much as a fiber to give to forensics. We’ve questioned the families, the friends and the other employees at the clubs. We’ve tracked down customers through interviewing the proprietors about their regulars and through credit card receipts. Have we found all the customers? Hell, no. A lot of guys won’t use a charge card at a strip club—their wives might want to know what they were doing there. We’ve had plain clothes guys sit around both clubs, watching for weirdos. And do you know what we’ve gotten?”

  “What?”

  “A hell of a lot of weirdos. But not a single lead has panned out.”

  Their waitress came to the table, delivering their food and refilling their glasses.

  “I hope you’re making the big bucks down there,” Hector said, looking at his plate with relish. “Look at that baby! A two-pounder. I was so hungry, I almost ordered the five-pound guy. But then I thought about the old arteries.”

  Dane looked at Hector’s plate. “I can see you’re really concerned,” he said dryly.

  Hector shook his head. “It’s all right. I start out the day with oatmeal.” He waved a hand for the waitress. “I think I’m going to need a little more of that melted butter,” he told her.

  Dane took a bite of his fish. It was fresh, and broiled to perfection. “I hear there are details about the murders that are being held back from the media.”

  Hector had been smiling in delight at the succulent taste of his lobster. Now, he scowled. “Where’d you hear that? Oh, yeah, I forgot—you’re rela
ted to Jesse Crane.”

  “Second cousins or something like that,” Dane agreed.

  “He tell you that?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because it’s not supposed to get out.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me?”

  “No,” Hector said, but he pulled a pen from his breast pocket and started writing on the paper place mat beneath his plate. “But I will give you this. The names of both clubs—I’m pretty sure that both of these girls were targeted when they were working—and a few of the names of the girls we interviewed at each. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get something we haven’t been able to come up with. Sometimes these girls can spot a cop a mile away, and they’re not always so willing to talk to the cops, even when their own lives might be in danger. And if you get anything, anything at all, you come to me with it, you hear?”

  “If I get anything from a lead you’ve given me, you know damn well I’ll come right to you.”

  Hector nodded.

  Dane asked him about his family then. Hector told him about his teenaged boys with pride, while still managing to consume his entire meal and ask for dessert, and then coffee.

  Dane had coffee, too. When it was served, he asked the waitress if they were in the smoking section, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  “Thought you gave that up,” Hector said with a frown.

  “Yeah, I did. I picked it up again just before I left St. Augustine.”

  Hector shook his head. “And you’re giving me a hard time about the food I eat?”

  “You’ve got a point,” Dane said.

  Hector downed his coffee, glanced at his watch and said, “I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for the lunch. Good luck.”

  “You don’t mind me in your territory, asking a few questions?”

  “Hell no.” Hector was standing, but he hesitated. “First body was found just about six months ago, second body was found just about three months ago. These guys…the profilers say they work in cycles. That could mean we’re due for another body. They say that kind of killer doesn’t stop. He keeps going. If anything…Never mind. You took classes in criminology.”

  “Yeah, but, if anything…what?”

  “You know. The killings will just get worse. This guy probably started out squashing lizards as a kid. Maybe he went on to drown kittens, or take a BB gun and use it on puppies. It’s likely he progressed to battery or rape, and then…well, now we have our bodies in the canals. That’s the psyche of such a man. So believe me, I don’t mind you asking questions at all. I don’t feel the least possessive about finding a monster like this one. Just don’t hold out on me, huh?”

  Dane looked at Hector, an honestly good man, and was tempted to tell him all he really knew.

  He couldn’t.

  Hector was too decent a guy. A by-the-book cop.

  And Dane needed time. His palms felt itchy. He was determined now, but every once in a while, he felt a cold sweat break out as he wondered what the killer might do next.

  “Hector, the minute I’ve got anything that might help you catch this guy—if and when I ever do—you know that I’ll be in your office with the speed of light.”

  Hector nodded. “Thanks for the fish. And good luck. Who the hell knows? This guy could have moved on. They may be pulling strippers out of a bayou in Louisiana next. I wish I could say that we always get our man. Take care of yourself, Dane. Sorry about the situation in St. Augustine. I’m real sorry. Heard the fancy-pants lawyers got him off, too.”

  Dane folded the place mat Hector had written on. He thanked the waitress, paid the bill and decided he might as well start that night with the club in Miami.

  He left the restaurant, mentally berating himself as he did so.

  He had concentrated on psychology, human behavior and criminology during his years at VMI. While Joe had dived headfirst into his love of flying, Dane had been studying with the men from the FBI offices at Quantico. His expertise in the service had been in enemy psychology, the study of religious and behavioral influences on the movements and actions of different peoples. He had worked in both diplomatic negotiations and in “observation tactics,” out-of-uniform exercises among the populace in various zones of action in order to determine the mood and reactionary tendencies of the people.

  But he’d been back a hell of a long time now. And though he’d opened his investigations agency in St. Augustine with energy and determination, even that seemed a long time ago. For all that he had learned in the classroom, he had discovered some basics—it was easy for people to become fanatical, and it wasn’t always possible to discover just why people became brutally homicidal. Years of study, training and research came down to one dogma—there were simply some bad-ass people out there. Some wore their penchant for cruelty in a manner that was almost as easy to read as an open book. Some were well dressed, charming and could talk such a damned good line that in the very midst of destroying other lives, they could come off looking like victims themselves.

  He realized that he’d come home to Key Largo knowing that he’d had to get the hell out of the St. Augustine area. And that he’d also come with the fatalistic belief that none of it had meant a fucking thing. He’d opened an agency again not because he’d been interested in the cases he might acquire but because he’d needed an income if he didn’t want to go through his savings and his inheritance like toilet paper while literally leading the life of a lounge lizard, as Kelsey had accused him.

  He could set a camera, a wire, any manner of surveillance, easily. He could keep an eye on hours of tape in the event of robbery or an employee pilfering from the till, of drug deals taking place in a parking lot. Easy. Like breathing. Waking up, showering, dressing.

  No thought involved.

  Maybe he had turned into a lounge lizard. Because his first thought, after the whack in the face of the photograph the other day, had been to lie low. To act normally, to watch, to wait.

  Hell.

  Maybe the old days were kicking back in. And maybe it was just an instinct for survival. He was suddenly as determined as all hell that he was going to crack what was going on.

  Yeah, well, he had to be. He’d been bitter because he felt the system had failed him. So he’d walked away. It hadn’t been the system. He had failed himself.

  And then he had failed Sheila.

  He owed it to her to find the truth.

  Not to mention what the alternative could mean to him. Hell, this was Florida. He could get the death penalty.

  He drove mechanically, traveling US1 southward as he had throughout his entire life. He gave the problem at hand the majority of his concentration until he pulled onto the private road to Hurricane Bay.

  Then he groaned.

  He had company.

  Several cars were drawn up by the walkway. He recognized Cindy’s minivan and Nate’s full-size Wagoneer, with the name Sea Shanty and the mile marker of the establishment written in script along the side.

  As he pulled up the gravel driveway in front of the house, Cindy came running around from the dockside of the property to meet him.

  She was smiling as if it was Christmas.

  “Dane, surprise! We’ve brought the barbecue to you.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Dane was definitely not delighted to be having a barbecue, Kelsey thought, seeing the tension in his features as he walked with Cindy around to the dock side of the house.

  Cindy was smiling. She didn’t seem to notice that Dane was less than pleased. “And look who made it down here,” she was saying excitedly. “Larry Miller.”

  “Larry, hey, how are you?” Dane said. Larry had left the patio chair where he’d been sitting to walk over and shake Dane’s hand. He was wearing a T-shirt, cutoffs and sandals, apparel similar to Nate’s, but he still had a haircut that looked pure office. Nate was blond and shaggy, and looked like the native he was.

  Some things didn’t change.

  Dane had been somewhere off the island, she
thought. He was wearing chinos, dock shoes and a short-sleeved tailored shirt. Blue. A good color for him. It emphasized the dark quality of his eyes and the bronzed texture of his features. He was far from formally dressed, but in the heat and breezes and casual lifestyle here, ankle-length pants and a nonknit shirt were akin to being dressed up.

  “I’m good, thanks, Larry. Nice to see you. What are you doing down here?”

  Larry shrugged, grinning a little sheepishly. “Well, Kelsey was down here, and she was upset because Sheila didn’t show. Then you were at the duplex, Cindy was there…and Nate. I admit it, I felt like a kid left out of a party. So I drove on down.”

  “Nice to see you here. It’s been a while.”

  “Actually I’ve been down a few times here and there. But they’ve been business dinners, quick trips to a restaurant and back, and with a client. Every time I drove down, I’d think, man, I’m an hour away, and I love this place, and I never get here. So here I am.”

  “So we had to have a barbecue,” Cindy said.

  “Like old times,” Nate put in. “Except, of course, that we meant to surprise you. Instead the tables were turned—we were the ones surprised when you weren’t here. But I made these guys hang in for a while. I had faith that you’d show up eventually.”

  “But we meant to surprise you with no trouble to you at all, of course. You name it, we brought it,” Cindy said with pleasure. “Hog dogs, hamburgers, steaks, chicken and fish. We brought the charcoal, corn on the cob—wrapped and ready for the grill, mind you—baking potatoes, salad, chips, beer and wine. Oh, and paper plates, napkins, paper cups, plastic utensils.”

  “Great,” Dane said. The word was right, but Kelsey thought his inflection was off. He had the look of a man running down a street with a destination in mind, only to find a brick wall in his path.

  At least he wasn’t going to throw them off the property.

  He’d had plans, she realized. But he was going to forgo those plans, rather than share them or make explanations.