With the last marker behind me, I plotted a course to my assigned patrol area and pushed down the throttle. Skimming over the flat seas, I glanced down at the base of the steering wheel. Martinez’s email had arrived with directions to access the GPS logs and as he said, there was a bar code attached to the helm. It was the same size and type that was used on retail packaging.
Knowing the same label was affixed to Susan’s boat, I steered toward North Key Largo, pulling back on the throttle as I approached the markers for the skinny channel through Card Bank. Once through the shallow area, I moved toward the coast and set the speed at eleven hundred RPMs. I was eager to get back to the dock and pull the ID numbers from Susan’s boat. I pushed the RPMs up to fourteen hundred, the limit of what I thought Martinez would allow for a “thorough patrol,” and the boat picked up speed, cruising effortlessly through the calm waters.
The slice of a fin breaking through the surface of the water caught my eye. Under normal circumstances, the Power-Pole would have already been deployed and I would be assembling my rod. Today was the exception, and I set the location in my memory and continued patrolling the mangrove-lined shore. Little Card Sound, the small bay between the Card Sound Bridge and the bank I had just passed through, was a quiet backwater. Today was no exception, and keeping to the eight-foot-deep water that lay about fifty yards from shore, I covered the perimeter of the bay without incident and headed out through the same pass in Card Bank that I had entered an hour earlier. It was a little on the short side for a patrol, but Martinez would know from my report that the bay was deserted.
The sun was on its way down as I cruised north. My next stop would be the Park Service dock and Susan’s boat, but I didn’t want to be that obvious if Martinez was watching me in real time on his computer, so I stayed toward the center of the bay. The chances of his watching were slim though, as I saw it was close to four. After his media victory yesterday, he would still be celebrating and either be finishing up his last hole or already be in the clubhouse.
As if I had just changed my mind, I cut the wheel to port and pushed the throttle forward. Twenty minutes later I entered the channel for the headquarters building. Slowly, I idled past Bayfront Park, not failing to notice the several boaters heading out for whatever activities the night offered avoided making eye contact with me. Leaving them on my port side, I took the small canal to the right and entered the Park Service docks.
It was close to five now and I hoped both Martinez and Susan had left for the day. Carefully I docked the center-console, using just the bow and stern lines to tie it off in the still water. With my phone in hand, I walked the ten feet to the finger pier leading to Susan’s patrol boat, took a quick look around, and hopped on deck. I dropped to my knees, and with my phone already set to camera, I shot several pictures. After checking them quickly, I looked around and, seeing no one, got back aboard my boat. Several minutes later I was in the channel leading out to the bay.
I sat in front of my computer, wishing I was back on my island with a beer. Neither Martinez or Susan was around, so I figured it would be faster to use my office here. My phone lay in front of me and I typed the numbers in the bar code from the picture into the box on the computer screen. It appeared to accept the numbers and an hourglass started spinning, telling me it was working. Several seconds later the screen populated. Not surprisingly, there was much less data than my own log and it didn’t take long to see Susan’s daily routine.
I pulled out NOAA chart number 11463 from the rack in the hallway and returned to my desk. The chart showed the southern section of Biscayne Bay. Plotting the coordinates, I saw her pattern. Most of her trips were to the campgrounds on Elliott and Sands Keys. There was one aberration. The day after I had found the body, there was a track from the headquarters dock to the lagoon. That was interesting. She was spying on me, either on her own or under orders from Martinez. In either case, it wasn’t good, and I needed to find out the truth. To be thorough, I plotted the other data points from the computer screen and after finishing I was pretty sure they were all routine calls. Most were in areas of shallow water where boaters constantly grounded. It seemed that the only time Susan did her job was when there was a call and no one else was around to respond. Now that I had it, I had to decide what to do with the information.
I thought about Justine and the paint sample. Aside from the fact that I wanted to see her, there was pending evidence to review. I looked at my phone and saw it was seven. She would be at work. After sleeping until noon, my body was on a night schedule, and looking at the keys to the truck sitting on the desk next to me, I decided on a trip to town.
I caught a strange tone in Justine’s voice when I called on my way to the lab. It didn’t take me long to realize that once again I had put business above our personal relationship. I should have called her earlier, thanking her for last night. Scolding myself, I drove toward her office trying to figure out how to make it up to her.
21
“So, let me get this straight. You think Susan McLeash is doing illegal searches and spying on you?” Justine asked.
I was actually not sure what to think. “How else do you explain the GPS logs?” I asked, pushing the chart toward her.
We sat in a booth at a quiet Thai restaurant on South Dixie Highway. The staff sat across from us at a large round table eating their meal. It was close to nine o’clock, and on a weeknight, the only action once the clock struck double digits would be on South Beach.
“I can’t figure out what Susan is doing. I ran her GPS logs and then found her aboard the Big Bang doing what I can only guess was an illegal search.”
“If it were me, I’d be worried about who wants to blow the boat, and not your co-workers. Just sayin’.”
I knew she was right. She had been around the politics and corruption of Miami-Dade for several years. My whining about Susan was getting zero traction. We sat in silence for a very long uncomfortable minute. Before my credit card even hit the table, the waiter scooped it up and ran the charge. We found ourselves ushered out and I couldn’t help but hear the door lock behind us.
Standing in the parking lot, I looked at Justine and caught her eye. “Sorry, I tend to get carried away when I’m on a case.” It wasn’t much of an apology, especially since we’d already been through this. I hadn’t listened to that voice in my head before. I only hoped it wasn’t too late now.
“Hey, passion is good. How about we try and clear your head. I’ve got tomorrow off. It’d be cool to paddle around your place. The water there is beautiful.”
I knew something was seriously wrong with me when I hesitated. Hoping she hadn’t noticed, I agreed. “There’s a kayak out on the island. I’ve had it out a few times. I’ll try and keep up.”
“You are on, my friend. Can we swing by my place?”
“You bet.” My mind officially clocked out for the night. I drove Justine back to the crime lab, then followed her home. Being your typical male, I tried to wrestle the twelve-foot-six stand-up paddleboard by myself and cringed when it hit the ground. Justine stepped beside me, grabbed the handle, inverted the board, and easily lifted it onto the roof rack. With the board strapped to the rack and the paddle in the truck bed, I started the truck while she tossed her bag in the back and got in.
With the tip of her board visible in the windshield, I realized I had something new to be nervous about. Justine had already shown she was a better diver and boater than I was. Now I had to worry about her kicking my butt paddling. “How fast do you go on that thing?” My statement earlier about hoping to keep up was more of a prayer. She was an avid racer and one of the reasons she preferred the night shift was to practice. After hearing about her training regimen and how she had placed in some races, I was scared.
“Depends on the water and waves. If I’m pushing, I can hit six miles per hour. Maybe a little over if I can catch some waves.”
I might be a California boy, but catching waves was not something I’d ever accomplished. I
had learned enough about boats in the weeks I had been there to see that her board was lighter and longer than the old kayak I had been using. It would be faster.
“We can just tour around. No worries,” she said, again seeming to read my mind.
“Sounds good,” I said, not really thinking it.
Hauling her board around the back of the headquarters building, I was tempted to smile for the security cameras, thinking at the same time I had better be proactive and get a story ready. Surely, Martinez would spend the morning reviewing security footage—right after he checked my GPS log.
We stashed the board on the boat beside the center console and headed toward Adams Key. After a successful docking maneuver we were half way up the walkway to the house, trying to make as little noise as possible. That mission failed, and I heard Zero bark before I saw him come bounding down the path. In any event, the security light picked up his near-round shape barreling toward us. He skidded to a stop and I saw a light come on at Becky and Ray’s house. The screen door opened and a figure emerged.
“What the hell’d you do to Susie?” Ray asked.
I could see the outline of a smile on his face. “What do you mean?”
“Old McLeash was out here just a little bit ago looking for you. Girl had a bug up her butt bigger than usual.” He spat. “And that’s pretty goddamned big if you ask me.”
I should have known she’d have some kind of alarm on her GPS tracking number. It was something I always wondered about with people: if they spent as much time working at work as they did being paranoid and watching their backs, they would probably be two promotions ahead. “Sorry about that. She didn’t say what she wanted?”
“That’s a tight-lipped broad on a good day. She just tied up, banged on your door, then stormed over to our house. Becky about bounced her ass back to the mainland until I got ahold of her. That Susan’s one you don’t want as an enemy. A good ol’ yes, ma’am, no, ma’am, is what works for her type.”
I had to agree with him and knew I had made a mistake. Turning back to the house to figure out damage control, I patted Zero on the head, said good night to Ray, and led Justine down the path. Zero followed us to the door and waited until Justine squatted down to pet him before he heeded Ray’s screaming for him to come home.
Once inside, I opened two beers and handed Justine one. We sat next to each other on the couch in silence.
“Okay, she’s a strange bird. Maybe you’re not being paranoid,” Justine admitted.
I nodded and hid behind the beer bottle, taking another sip instead of responding. I had already decided on the ride out to be very careful about making my relationship with Justine about work. “Want to go have a look at that old kayak I’ll be chasing you in tomorrow?”
“Hmm,” she said, sliding closer and taking the bottle from my hand.
When she leaned forward and kissed me, the work problem seemed to disappear.
I was surprised when I opened my eyes. Justine was beside me snoring quietly. Smiling, I looked toward the window and saw the first hint of daylight in the morning sky. It looked like a beautiful day. I rolled out of bed, trying not to wake her up. I thought I had succeeded when the roar of an outboard broke the silence. She woke with a start and our eyes met.
“Yeah, it’s coming this way,” I said, pulling on my shorts and T-shirt. “Hang for a minute and I’ll see what’s going on.” Zero was released at the same time as I opened the door. Instead of running for me, he made a beeline for the dock, skidded to a stop, and started howling. I followed, hoping he had scared whoever it was away, but when I saw the tower and light bar on the boat being tied off to a cleat, I knew the dog would not deter the woman who stepped onto the dock.
She stood with her hands on her hips staring at me. Zero moved around her legs, sniffing at her. He stepped back and barked.
“Come here, boy, she won’t bite,” I said to Zero, thinking exactly the opposite, then turned to Susan. “Morning.”
“Morning yourself. Aside from that board in your boat, what else have you been up to that you shouldn’t be?”
I gave her the stupid-innocent look that guys have been giving women since the dawn of time. “Just doing my job.”
“If your job involves tracking my movements, then I need to know about it.”
Zero started pawing the ground like he wanted a piece of her. I used my leg to push him back, hoping Becky or Ray would help me out. I wondered why this tracking thing only went one way but thought that at least for now, I should leave it alone. “Don’t you think we should be working the case instead of each other?” I tried to call her out nicely.
“We’ll see what the boss has to say about this.” She turned her back and stepped onto her boat.
The engine was still idling and a minute later, after slipping the dock lines, she turned to me. “Better watch yourself,” she said, pushing the throttle down.
I felt Justine next to me. Ignoring her, I stared after the boat until it was just a small dot on the horizon.
“She’s a pleasant one,” Justine said.
I turned to look at her and forced a smile. “Yeah.” There was not much to do except agree. Once she reported to Martinez, I was sure to get a call. The best thing I could do was to hit my scheduled route.
“If you need to work, I can go for a paddle and hang out. I don’t want to get you in any trouble.”
“No worries,” I said, knowing I was probably in as much trouble as I could get in. “Let’s do that paddle.”
I hauled the kayak to the dock while she grabbed the paddleboard. We slid the boat into the water and I climbed down to the center-console to get in. There was an awkward moment when I tried to board, but I made it on—without the paddle. Slowly I started to drift away. Embarrassed for the second time in as many minutes, I used my hands to hold myself in place. “Haven’t quite got this down yet.”
Justine hopped into the center-console, slid her board into the water, and in less than a minute was by my side, handing over the paddle. Together we headed off to the small cut across Caesar Creek. Before we were even across the channel, she was two boat lengths ahead. I put my back into it, content to stay close and watch her from behind.
Once we were across, the mangroves blocked the wind and I gained on her. Together we slid past the area where Abbey had been found. Justine entered Jones Lagoon and I followed, wondering what she was up to. The first thing I noticed was the smell. Looking at the mangrove roots, I could tell it was the bottom of the tide. Nearly two feet of wet root was exposed.
As quickly as she had entered, Justine turned and exited the lagoon. “Smells nice in there!” she said, picking up the pace and leaving me behind.
“Hey, can we check out the spot where you caught the lobster? I’ve never been in there with the tide this low.”
“Sure,” she said.
I watched her lean over, adding additional power to her stroke. Suddenly the board shot away and I lost her around a bend. I found myself at the entrance to the small lagoon, and knowing I would just get frustrated trying to keep up with Justine, I paddled easily into the estuary. Little fish jumped around me as I approached the far shore, where I had found the body.
Inspecting the mangrove roots as I paddled, I looked for anything I might not have seen earlier. A long white streak caught my eye. I imagined matching what looked like paint on the mangrove root to the gel coat on Susan’s boat. My moment of glory ended when it turned out to be bird poop. I shook my head and was continuing my circuit of the lagoon when I heard an outboard motor approaching.
That in itself wasn’t unusual, and I let it move into background noise before it suddenly dropped to an idle. A minute later, I could feel the wake push through the mangroves and rock the kayak. The boat must have been right on the other side of the mangroves. I moved closer, stashing the paddle when I hit the dense vegetation. Using my hands, I pulled the kayak in as far as it would go until I could just see the boat on the other side.
It wa
s Susan’s boat. She was talking into her phone and I heard my name.
22
“You know you have nothing on her, right?” Justine growled. “There could be a dozen reasons she was out there.”
I was feeling bad enough cutting our paddle short and had been in such a rush to return that I had almost beaten her back to Adams Key. Her board had caught on the concrete dock, which cut a small gouge in the bottom when I tried to help her. Feeling like I was failing at just about everything, we stood toe to toe staring at the scar. I felt the need to apologize, but the words were not coming out of my mouth. “And spying is on the top of the list.” I was trying to control my anger without much success.
“Get real.” She stalked toward the house.
“I’ll fix it,” I called after her, running my hand over the small gouge. I hoped with the few lessons in fiberglass repair I had gotten from Ray that I could actually pull it off—or I could buy him a twelve-pack and it would look as good as new.
“That’s not the point. You’re obsessed with Susan,” she yelled back. The door slammed and she was gone.
I couldn’t easily deny her claim. Instead, I did what men do when accused of something they’re guilty of: I turned away and started working. Carefully I hosed off her board and took it to the house, where I placed it gently against the wall. I noticed how quiet it was and turned to Becky and Ray’s house. Zero would have broken the tension perfectly. Their boat was gone and I guessed they had gone to the mainland.
Returning to the dock, I started to pull the kayak out of the water. It was still low tide and the water level was about five feet below the surface of the dock, making the task difficult. Struggling, I pulled up the line that was tied to the bow and lifted it. With the tide this low, the kayak hit the bottom of the concrete dock structure and stuck. Releasing the tension on the line, I dropped the kayak back in the water.
Backwater Bay (Kurt Hunter Mysteries Book 1) Page 14
