Backwater Cove

by Steven Becker

  The group was paddling hard, but getting nowhere, and the tug of the outgoing tide through Lewis Cut was just about to grab ahold of them. I slowed to figure out a plan, but decided the only thing we could do was to round them up like sheepdogs and tow them to safety. Justine had slowed and was matching my course and speed about eighty feet off my starboard side. It was too far to yell across the water, but anything closer would risk a collision. “Save yourself first” was rule number one in the rescue books. You couldn’t help anyone if you were in trouble yourself. I held the VHF microphone up for her to see.

  “We need to get them over to the leeward side of Sand Key,” I spoke into the mic. I was using channel sixteen, the general hailing and distress channel that was monitored by the Coast Guard, FWC, and ICE. I also knew Martinez would hear us.

  “I count eight kayaks. We can split them,” Justine responded.

  I needed to confirm that this was the whole group. “Headquarters, do you copy?”

  “Here, Agent Hunter,” Martinez’s voice squeaked back.

  “Can you verify that there are eight kayaks in the group.”

  He dropped out of the conversation and I continued to outline my plan with Justine. It sounded easier than it was, especially with Susan as an unknown. The wind would surely be a problem, having a greater effect on the larger center-consoles than on the kayaks. We agreed and I started idling upwind toward the group.

  “Hunter!” Susan hailed over the VHF.

  It wasn’t hard to tell from the tone of her voice that she was out of control. I’d seen her make bad decisions in other situations, usually using subterfuge or excessive force to try and gain an advantage. Neither of her typical tactics was going to work here. “Roger, we are moving in to rescue,” I responded.

  “What the hell are you going to do?” she screamed.

  One of my former rescue instructors had told a story of how he’d had to knock one of his victims out in order to save them. I wondered if I could do this with Susan. It would certainly be easier to handle the group without her. “Coming around upwind. We’ll meet in the cut and let the wind move us toward you.”

  “Then what?”

  I had to calm her down and giving her a task was the best way. “Do you have a tow rope?” The hundred-foot line should have been standard equipment.

  “That thing in the bag?”

  “Yes. Pass it between your group, so you are rafted together.”

  “Okay, I’ll try,” she said.

  Justine and I had completed our upwind run and were allowing the boats to drift back toward the kayaks. Fortunately, the cut was deep and we didn’t have to worry about grounding. We kept our boats a safe distance apart as we let the wind bring us toward the group. I could see them clearly now. Susan was fumbling with the tow rope. At least she was busy. When we were within earshot, I called out and told them our plan.

  Trailing our dock lines behind us, Justine took one side and I took the other. Within a few minutes, we each had a string of four kayaks behind our boats. Instinctively, I counted and wondered why Martinez hadn’t gotten back to me with confirmation that this was the entire group. It didn’t matter right now as we towed the kayaks to the cover of a small mangrove-lined cove that was protected from the wind. The water quickly turned from green to brown, and I moved as close to the shore as I could before dropping the Power-Pole to anchor the boat. Looking across, I saw Justine do the same. I had been so busy with the “rescue” that I hadn’t noticed the weather had passed. The entire incident could have been avoided if Susan had done her homework and kept her head. I had to decide whether to allow them to continue or pull the plug. After looking over at Susan, I chose the latter.

  One at a time, we both pulled in the kayaks and loaded the passengers into the center consoles. I had three already in my boat when I looked at the last kayak behind me. It was Susan, and I had an impulse to release her, but I saw her tear streaked makeup and hauled her aboard. There was nothing to do but feel sorry for her.

  “Now what? This is quite the mess. We have to get the kayaks back too, you know,” she said.

  It had been a mistake to fight back that impulse. “People first,” I responded calmly. “Was your group eight?” I still had not gotten confirmation we had everyone.

  “Yes, including me.”

  “Okay. We’ll load them half and half.”

  “Right, I’ll take one group on my boat and you and your girlfriend can take the other,” Susan said.

  She liked to be in charge, and I figured at least now that everyone was safe, it would be okay to let her have her way and save a little face. We were about to split the groups when my phone rang. I glanced at the display and saw it was Grace. “Hold on, I need to take this,” I said turning away.

  “Your message was pretty vague,” Grace started.

  “Sorry about that, we had an emergency out here. I wanted to give you a heads-up before I left.”

  “Well, I did what you asked and told the prosecutor not to proceed based on some information that you have. I’ve kind of stuck my neck out here without knowing why.”

  “I owe you an explanation, but I’ve got a group of paddlers I have to get back to headquarters.”

  “We can only hold him another few hours before we either have to formally charge him or release him. Someone paid for a top-notch lawyer,” she paused. “Name’s Rosen. If he gets wind of this, the boy’s gonna be on the streets.”

  “Rosen is a big-time booster. He owns a handful of yachts over at the Miami Beach Marina,” I turned back to find Susan and Justine yelling at each other. “I gotta go. I’ll call as soon as I get back to headquarters. Just hang onto him for now. If I’m right, the real killer will get wind of it and might do something stupid.”

  She agreed, though I knew she was powerless to do anything except relay the message. For now, I had a catfight to break up. Before I could figure out what Susan was up to, we all turned when we heard a boat coming toward us. It was up on plane, running with the waves, and I could see the bow pointed in our direction. Once past the point of Boca Chita Key, the forest green fabric on the T-top came into view. Ray dropped to an idle while well offshore so as not to swamp the kayaks with his wake, and idled toward us.

  “Got’em all?” he called out.

  “Yeah, all good.”

  “Cool. I saw a boat out at Stiltsville tied off to one of those houses. I thought they pulled the plug on rentals after the murder?”

  “Me, too.” Martinez had been behind that move. It was something I should probably check on. “Hey, can you help take these guys back, so Justine and I can run out there and have a look?”

  “No problem. Gotta pick up some ice anyway,” he winked at me, telling me the snapper bite was still on.

  That was the last thing on my mind now. I organized the group, sending three with Susan and the rest with Ray. Each boat had four kayaks attached to a towrope from its transom. Justine looked on with me as they pulled away.

  “That woman’s nothing but trouble.”

  It had taken a while for her to come around, but she had seen the light. “Mind if we run to Stiltsville?”

  “That’d be cool. I’ve never been out there.”

  I waited a few more minutes, watching until I could just see the T-tops of the two park service boats on the horizon before pointing the bow north and idling away from the mangroves. Minutes later, we were past the Boca Chita Lighthouse heading toward the open bay waters. I decided to stay on the inside to allow the shoals on our starboard side to absorb the remnants of the storm. With the seas down, I pushed the throttle and the hull planed up on top of the water.

  The black top of the Cape Florida lighthouse marking the southern tip of Key Biscayne came into view just before I saw the first roof of Stiltsville. To the west, I found the markers for the Biscayne Channel and circled around, staying in deep water until I was lined up between the pilings with the #20 and #21 placards. Cutting back to an idle, I saw the boat that Ray mentio
ned tied up to one of the structures.

  It looked familiar and as I approached, I saw the name, which I remembered from the docks of the Miami Beach Marina. I pulled back on the throttle and let my boat drift. I was looking at one of Rosen’s boats and the chances that this was an innocent visit diminished.

  For once, I was certain that I was within my jurisdiction. Stiltsville was in my territory and this was suspicious activity. I had no reason or desire to call Martinez for permission. Backup might have been a good idea. I looked over at Justine. She had been around the tail end of several cases where things had gone sideways and I trusted her entirely—in fact, she had saved my life in one.

  “That’s one of the boats from the marina that belongs to that booster. This can’t be good.”

  “Gee, here’s a thought. Take cover behind one of those other buildings and call for backup.”

  It was a good idea and probably the right one. There was no indication anything untoward was happening, at least right now. It seemed it was already standard procedure for Alex to take recruits and his girls out here. “Okay, we’ll duck behind that one.” I motored over to one of the structures across the channel. The long low building offered both concealment and protection. I thought for a second about who to call. There was no sign of poaching, which would have been a call to the FWC. I was also starting to remove Pete Robinson, their local agent in charge, from my list. He rarely answered his phone. ICE had no jurisdiction in a local case, leaving me with my friends at Miami-Dade.

  I pulled my phone from the watertight compartment below the helm and hit Grace Herrera’s number. She answered right away.

  “His lawyer got him out. I left you messages.”

  I took the phone from my ear and glanced at the screen. There were two voicemails and a text, all from her. “Okay, I was underway and had to stash the phone. I’ve got one of Rosen’s boats out here in Stiltsville. Want to join the party?”

  22

  I wasn’t sure what was going on in the house, but I knew one thing. My custody hearing was in a little over two hours—I had a problem. If I were to leave now, I could just make it to downtown Miami, where the case was scheduled to be heard. A suit would have been preferable to my shorts and T-shirt. At least if I had my khaki park service uniform, I would look like I came from work. A shower would also probably help my case. Neither was going to happen.

  “How long until Miami-Dade gets here?” I asked Justine, who was listening to the police scanner through an app on her phone.

  “Probably about twenty minutes. They have two boats coming out of Government Cut now.”

  I did the math in my head and it still worked. There were plenty of places to dock on the Miami River that would be walking—or running—distance to the courthouse on Flagler Street. “I need to take off as soon as they show. I have that custody hearing.”

  “How’s that going to work out for you?” she asked, looking me up and down.

  I ran my hands down the front of my shirt, in an attempt to smooth out the humidity induced wrinkles and shrugged. “It’s all I got,” I said, feeling a nervous flutter in my stomach. Custody battles are a bad deal, mostly on the children, but they take their toll on the parents as well. I had wanted to avoid court and figured, despite how much it hurt inside everyday when you think of your kids, that it was the best thing for our family. Despite everything that had happened, we were still that: three people forever tied together.

  I checked my watch again and looked back to the west where I expected the cavalry to be coming from at any second. Several boats were making their way out to the reef, but there was no sign of Miami-Dade’s finest. A sound came from the building and I turned my attention to the reason I was here.

  A door slammed, and then there was the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. My last, best-case scenario for getting to court had now turned into the worst-case. There was every reason to believe that something bad was going on in that house. Since it was in my territory, I was in charge.

  “You have a plan B?” Justine asked.

  Scenarios had been running through my mind about how to deal with the present situation. I was conflicted between my duties as an officer and as a father. Being a parent was the easy choice and I had already decided to turn over the scene to Grace—until the gunshot.

  “No,” I admitted. Whoever was in the house was probably not aware that we were interested in them. Ray had already been out here in his park service boat and we were docked at the same structure across the channel from where the murder had taken place. The buildings were totally exposed. Whoever was inside could see for miles in every direction. There would be no stealth approach. An overwhelming show of force was probably the best option. It was going to take a concerted effort to take the house, and again, I thought about relinquishing control to Grace.

  There was still no sign of backup and I leaned against the seat deep in thought.

  “Call your lawyer,” Justine said.

  “Good idea.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and searched my recent calls for his number. Hoping that I wouldn’t need to know him long enough, I hadn’t bothered to enter his name into my contacts. Finding the only 305 area code without a name next to it, I pressed the connect button and waited, trying to figure out what to say.

  “Hunter? Where are you. We were supposed to meet an hour before the hearing. Things are moving fast here.”

  It had to be this one time that the wheels of justice were turning quickly. “I’m involved in a hostage standoff out at Stiltsville.”

  “Don’t they have SWAT for that?”

  There was no way to explain the nuances of the situation now. “I’ll be there as soon as backup shows.”

  “Hurry. If we miss the hearing, this is going to look bad. You do have my retainer…?”

  Of course that was his concern. “Yes. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’m on the way.”

  “I’ll try to stall,” he said.

  Fortunately, the ticking clock in my head, counting my attorney’s billable hours paused when I heard the sound of a boat approach. I’m sure Daniel J. Viscount was still billing, but at least I was distracted. I turned to the mainland, shielding my eyes against the sun. Its position in the sky reminded me again about the time.

  “Whoever is in that house is going to know that we’re on to them when police boats start circling,” Justine said.

  She was more focused than I was. I looked back at the house. “You’re right. We need to look at this as a hostage situation.” I knew from experience that using a cell phone on a boat running at full speed was futile so I picked up the microphone and hailed the approaching police boat on the VHF. My eyes shot to the roof of the house across the channel, remembering Martinez’s base station in his office. There was no antenna and I could only hope that whoever was in there didn’t have a handheld.

  We agreed on a rendezvous behind the furthest building. At over a quarter-mile away, and obstructed by several other structures, I doubted whoever was inside could see us. Justine had heard the conversation and released the lines. A few minutes later, with a constant eye on the other building to see if we had been noticed, we pulled up behind the A-Frame house. Two other structures blocked a direct line of sight from the Hicks House where Rosen’s boat was tied up.

  “Whaddaya got, Ranger Rick?” Grace’s partner started, as the police boat pulled up to the dock.

  She threw him a look. “Hostage situation?”

  I told her about the door slamming, the shouting, the gunshot, and that there had been no activity since.

  “These old houses can play tricks on you,” Dick Tracy said.

  I ignored the comment. “How do you want to handle this?” I looked directly at Grace. I didn’t want her partner’s opinion.

  “You want us to take it over?”

  “They’re your assets and I have to run.”

  “You have to what?” Dick snarled.

  “Personal matter. This should be simple for you guys.�
��

  Grace talked to her partner for a minute. “Okay. If there was a gunshot, I’m calling in a SWAT team. We’ll stand by until then.

  “Thanks. This is important.”

  “You want to hang out, Doey? Could have some cleanup for you when this is over.”

  She dressed him down with her eyes. I knew she hated the nickname. Her last name was Doeszinski, but many had shortened it to Doey, or J. Doe. “We’ll be back.”

  She sounded like the Terminator and he looked away. Grace was on the phone with her people, organizing whatever it was that the SWAT team needed. It was the best I could do under the circumstances, and I nodded to Justine to release the lines. Once we were free, I reversed the engine, barely missing a piling behind us, and jammed the throttle forward. The boat lunged, again just missing the Miami-Dade police boat. I breathed out after seeing that Dick Tracy hadn’t noticed.

  Pulling forward, I cut the wheel to starboard in order to make the wide turn into the channel when I heard another gunshot. This time, a woman’s scream cut clearly through the humid air. I wasn’t going anywhere. Justine must have seen the concern on my face.

  “Call your lawyer and see if I can go.”

  Appearing in court on my behalf wasn’t anything I would ever ask anyone. “You’d do that?”

  “With SWAT coming out, I’ll be on the sidelines here. If I’m needed, like he said, it’ll be for cleanup and I don’t have my equipment here.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “That was a direct order. Call him.”