by Matt Lincoln
“They’d understand,” Sedin protested. “I’m even working with MediWaste to develop a drug education program.”
“What?” Holm stilled. “Who are you working with?”
“Devin Cole himself.” Sedin licked his chapped lips. “He had issues in high school and college. Last year, when he found out about my record, we started talking about youth drug prevention.”
I looked at Holm and then back at Sedin. “Cole didn’t tell us about it.”
“Would you?” Sedin shrugged. “That would’ve exposed us both before we were ready. This stuff has to be released on your own terms, so it doesn’t look like you’re hiding it.”
“I don’t know,” I stated. “Maybe someone else found out, demanded a few favors to keep quiet.”
Sedin shook his head. His dark, shaggy hair tumbled like a wave.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he insisted. “I drive the waste to the landfill myself. It’s all there when I drop it off.”
“Where’s that?” Holm asked in a cordial tone.
“Huntington Landfill southeast of Tampa, with no stops between our facility and theirs.”
Holm put his elbows on the table. “Can you verify you were the driver and that nobody else came in contact with the waste you transported?”
“Absolutely.” He ticked off the ways on his fingers. “I sign out vehicle keys. The truck has GPS that our office tracks. I sign in at the landfill. They unload the barrels, and I sign off on the release.”
That sounded like a tight process.
“Our people will check on that,” I informed him. “Tell me again how waste gets from clinics to your facility to the back of the transport truck.”
“We have weekly pickups at locations between Tampa and Orlando three days a week. The other two days a week, we fly to points throughout the Caribbean.” He met my eyes. “Including Belize City.”
“That sounds like a lot of extra work for you and expense for them,” Holm observed.
“It’s cheaper than setting up their own sealed landfills and then licensing their own people to service small populations,” Sedin answered. “We own a plane that meets federal requirements for the transport of radioactive materials.”
“Tell us about that process.” I began to think the missing link had to do with the flights. “Who flies, who rides, who loads and unloads? All of that.”
Sedin cocked his head a little. His dark eyes widened in his otherwise pale face. He tried to stand, but the cuff chain only allowed him to stoop. He shook his head and sat.
“What was that about?” I barked.
“Sorry, sorry.” He licked his lips again. “I’m used to moving around when I’m thinking. So, I have two different pilots. Devon Cole recommended Frank Wilson. The other is someone I’ve known since high school. Boring as hell, but Kevin is one of the nicest guys you ever wanna meet.”
“One more question,” I told him. “Who has access to your boat?”
“What boat?”
I cut a look to Holm.
“The offshore boat registered to your company,” I said. “It was found in Belize yesterday.”
He shook his head. “The company never bought a boat.”
Holm looked through the information on his tablet and then pulled up the registration sheet. He pointed at Sedin’s signature.
“This shows you as the purchasing agent for Sedin Disposal,” he said as he held it for Sedin to see. “What I don’t get is why you’d take a boat this size from Tampa to Belize just to use it to dump some waste. Why not rent something cheap?”
Sedin’s brow furrowed. Holm allowed him to scroll up and down the purchase agreement.
“I don’t get it,” he said at length. “That’s not my signature. It’s close, but it’s not mine. I don’t know who bought that boat or with whose money, but it wasn’t me.”
Holm glanced at me, and I nodded.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Sedin.” Holm turned his tablet off and stood. “That’s all we have for today.”
Sedin turned his palms up. “Not that I had much choice.”
I stood and turned my chair the way it was supposed to face and regarded Sedin for a minute. He was right about one thing. Selling Ritalin a few times during college was small stakes. The guy had turned his life around and created a future for himself. He took a hell of a risk by speaking to us without an attorney. Nothing he did since we met him spoke to me of guilt, but we had to follow the evidence.
“Hey, have you ever used green barrels?” I asked him.
“For radiation disposal?” He shook his head. “No. Some bright green ones were delivered to us by accident a few months ago, but I sent them back to the company.”
“Okay, that’s all I needed to know.” I started toward the hall.
“Does that mean something?” Sedin frowned. “I mean, that’s all I know about green barrels.”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”
I met the others in the observation room. Diane watched as a guard freed Sedin from the table, cuffed him, and then led him away.
“I want more on Cole and Kelley,” I told her. “Someone needs to vet both pilots. One of them is in on the operation. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m leaning toward Devon Cole’s pilot.”
“I agree,” Diane said. “Go ahead and look into MediWaste, but don’t stop looking at Sedin or his employees.”
“Nobody’s off the board.” I turned toward Holm and Tessa. “I’m going to get the keys to my new department car. Meet me at my desk in a few minutes. There’s someone we need to go see.”
27
“Are you sure Mrs. Lemon wants visitors?” Tessa asked us on the way down to the parking garage. “She just got home from the hospital and is planning her husband’s funeral.”
“She left a message inviting us to stop by,” Holm answered. “Sometimes, it helps to hear from the investigating team. We can’t tell her much, but at least we can let her know she’s not forgotten.”
I clicked the key fob for my new department car. As of that week, I wasn’t the mechanics’ favorite agent. Flooding the silver Charger had got me on their shit list. Well, it moved me up a few spots. Okay, to the top.
“They didn’t seem to like you,” Tessa said as we approached the brand-new, navy-blue Dodge Charger. “How many cars have you totaled?”
Holm laughed. “Only one, but they’ve had to patch his cars up more than a few times.”
“And why do they give me the car, Robbie?” I gloated.
“Shut up.”
Technically, the cars were assigned to both partners, but teams generally fell into patterns. I drove. Holm didn’t.
“Why?” Tessa wanted to know. “You do have a license, don’t you?”
“I can drive just fine. It’s stupid, and I don’t talk about it.”
I snorted. The truth was that Holm did drive fine.
“He got to take the car home one night,” I teased. “It was never the same after that.”
He glowered at me and held out his hand. “Just for that, I get to drive this one first, and not another word, Marston.”
I stage whispered to Tessa, “You know he’s angry when he calls me by the last name.”
Holm stalked over to the car and jerked the driver’s door open. A pail of blue glitter tipped out and spilled all over his pants.
“What the—”
Holm’s yell was cut off by a bunch of men laughing behind us. I spun and found the MBLIS mechanics laughing at the glitter cloud. Tessa put her hand over her mouth but couldn’t hide her laughter.
“Seriously?” Holm griped. He held his hands out toward me. “Seriously!?”
“I had nothing to do with it.” I grinned. “In fact, partner, you saved me by calling dibs.”
Holm threw the keys at my chest. As he stalked past, he winked so only Tessa and I could see. He was always up for a little drama, and it was good to see him getting back to his usual self. For a second, I wondered
if he’d heard something about his sister.
The mechanics’ laughter lit up again as Holm went to the passenger side. He looked up in confusion as he swung the door open.
“Shit!” he yelped.
I went around and looked, and hell if he wasn’t glitter-bombed again.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he yelled in a plaintive tone. “Marston drowned it, not me!”
“Eh, you were there,” our chief mechanic hollered back. “Have fun, fellas.”
“Good thing I didn’t call shotgun,” Tessa mused. “I think I’ll sit in the back, but you guys can check it out first.”
After a thorough inspection for more glittery mischief, we declared the car fit for law enforcement professionals and their guests. Holm got as much glitter off as he could before we headed out for Bridget Lemon’s house, but there was only so much he could do. When we parked in front of her house, he slouched in the seat.
“I can’t drag glitter into that poor woman’s house,” he told me. “I’ll stay out here.”
“At least go to the door and pay your respects,” Tessa suggested. “It’ll mean a lot to her.”
The choice was lifted from us when Bridget Lemon walked out and waved at us. She came over to the car as we got out. One look at Holm’s shimmering pants cracked her up.
“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “I suppose that wasn’t your idea?”
“No, ma’am.” He smiled for her. “Someone’s idea of a joke.”
“Well, come on inside.” She pointed at Holm. “Especially you. I have a lint roller you can use.” She turned to Tessa. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Tessa stepped forward and shook her hand. “Tessa Bleu. I’m covering this investigation for the National EcoStar.”
“Oh!” Bridget put her hand to her chest. “Dare enjoyed that magazine. Are you an underwater photographer?”
Tessa glanced at me and bit her lip. “I’ve done some reef work, yes.”
Bridget led us into the house that Dare built. It was a large, two-story home, bright and open. Mementos from their career together were arranged in tasteful displays throughout the living and dining rooms. The simplest, yet most moving piece was a pair of diving masks. Someone had wound their elastic bands together with a yellow ribbon, and they now hung together over the archway to the kitchen.
Bridget noticed me looking at the masks.
“Those were from our wedding.” Her wistful smile touched red-rimmed eyes. “We had the church wedding for our families, but the real celebration was during the honeymoon with our diving family. We rented a superyacht in the Bahamas. A friend performed the ceremony, and when we kissed, everyone dove in.” She sniffed but continued to smile. “My mother never forgave me for ruining that damned dress.”
“That’s beautiful, Mrs. Lemon,” Tessa said. “I love how you placed it over the entrance to your kitchen. A lot of people say the kitchen—”
“Is the heart of the home.” Bridget beamed. “Please, call me Bridget. I keep telling all these people it’s okay to use my proper name.”
“May I take a photo of the masks over the kitchen?” Tessa somehow made her gentle voice softer. “It’ll help readers see your husband as more than an internet celebrity.”
“Yes, please do.” Bridget took a shaky breath. “I hope it helps your audience see that real people are hurt by crimes like this.”
Tessa took several photos from different angles, including a few with Bridget leaning against one side of the arch. Holm and I lingered in the hallway as they went through a few poses and finished up.
“I’ll speak with my editor about doing a proper interview at a better time,” Tessa said as she packed her camera into its bag.
Bridget happened to look over at Holm and giggled again.
“I promised to bring you a lint roller, didn’t I?” She stepped disappeared through the kitchen for a moment and then returned with one of those lint rollers with the sticky layers. “We can talk in here while you work on that.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Holm wasn’t one for blushing, but he certainly had a bit of color in his cheeks. I didn’t envy his embarrassment as he attacked the glitter. As he went to work, Bridget turned to me.
“How is the investigation going?” Her hazel eyes took on a flinty edge. “I heard you just got back to Miami today.”
“We are pursuing some strong leads, but nothing is settled yet.” I gestured toward Tessa. “She got some good photos of where you dove in the Great Blue Hole.”
Bridget’s eyes widened. “You didn’t dive to the bottom, did you?”
“We took a small submersible,” Tessa assured her. “As soon as they let me, I’ll show you the photos from where he dug around in the silt.”
“Did you folks figure out where that stuff came from?”
I nodded. “Yes, and where it was supposed to go.”
“Good. I have faith that you’ll find the person responsible and bring them to justice.”
“We’ll do our best.”
That was the only promise a person in my line of work could make, and it seemed to be enough for Bridget Lemon. We offered our condolences and made our way back out to the new Charger.
“I left my car at the office,” Holm told me. He grinned. “You’re not the only one with new wheels.”
“Yeah?” I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were looking. What’d you get?”
“You’ll see later. Jerry in the garage is finishing something custom.” He turned to Tessa. “You want shotgun?”
“Sure, after a glitter check.” She winked and opened the door to check out the seat. “Congratulations on your new car. You seem excited about it.”
“Oh yeah,” Holm said with a grin.
The Lemons’ house was only a few minutes away from our office, and we dropped Holm off out front.
“See you at Mike’s later,” I told him. He gave me a mock salute and ran inside. I shook my head. “So, Tessa, what would you like to do until we all meet up at Mike’s? We’re meeting at eight.”
“Are there any good places along the beach?”
I thought for a minute and then smiled. “Do you like Greek food?”
“I like it a lot, actually.” She stretched. “As long as we can get a good walk in after. I’ve felt cooped up all day.”
“Then I have just the thing.”
Half an hour later, we parked across from a cheery restaurant right off the Miami Beach Boardwalk. The wait for patio seating was forty-five minutes, and we put in our names.
“Time for that beach walk we didn’t get to finish?” I held out my hand, and she took it.
“I will take that offer,” she said. Her eyes twinkled in the golden pre-dusk light. “A nice dinner after that will be perfect.”
The white sand beach on the other side of the boardwalk was a favorite among tourists for a reason. That day’s mild surf and sparse crowd made for a quiet walk. The lifeguards were wrapping up their day, and parents were dragging kids from their sandcastles and moats. Seagulls circled and pecked at sandwiches and snacks left by beachgoers and squawked as we passed them. Eventually, we drifted to the tidal line and let the water ebb and flow over our feet.
“My dad used to take me to the beach,” Tessa told me. “We did all the usual things, but it was special because he wasn’t home often enough to make it a regular thing.”
“I hear that.” I kicked at a formless sand hill that the tide was pulling apart. “I ran from my house a lot when I was a kid. Lots of anger issues and all that. The beach was my favorite place.” I shook my head. “If I couldn’t take a bus, I hitchhiked. The ocean’s always called my name, I guess.”
“I believe it. You seem born to the water.”
I put my arm around her waist and pulled her close. A gentle breeze played at her dark brunette hair, which took on an umber glow from the sun’s last rays of the day. A few strands wisped into her face, and I brushed them behind her ear. The softness of her skin was a
balm under my roughened fingertips. I leaned in, but she looked out to the water.
“That boater’s acting weird.” She pointed to a speedboat that sped up, slowed down, and then sped up again, all the while coming closer to shore. “Think they’ve been drinking?”
As the boat ran parallel to the beach, the passenger turned sideways and lifted something long and dark.
“Run!” I pushed Tessa behind me and drew my gun from my shoulder holster. “Get to the restaurant. I’ll meet you there.”
Puffs of sand ran a line through the water and to my left. I fired until the boat swung around for another pass, keeping their full attention on me. That gave Tessa enough time to hit the tree line by then. The boat got closer, and the passenger got above the person running the throttle. I aimed for them, but at that distance, even my skills as a marksman were iffy. They raised their weapon, and I dropped to my knees. The spray of bullets stitched a line through the water, missing again but much closer. I rolled to the right and barely missed getting plugged as gunfire tore up the beach.
“Ethan, get up here before they hit you!” Tessa screamed from the boardwalk. Her voice was almost drowned out by other people screaming and shouting. “Hurry!”
Whoever captained the boat wasn’t as skilled at making sharp right turns as they were at opening up the throttle. I took advantage of the slowed movements as the boat turned to track me and sprinted for the boardwalk. Sirens echoed off the hotel and condo buildings, and that was apparently the signal for our attackers to take off, roaring off into the night. I holstered my gun before police swarmed the boardwalk as tourists pointed at me.
“Don’t move,” I told Tessa quietly. “They don’t know that I’m a good guy yet.” I held my arms out as guns were drawn on me and raised my voice. “I’m a law enforcement officer.”
“On your knees, both of you,” a young officer yelled. “Put your hands behind your heads.”
“Oh, stow it, kid,” a familiar, gruff voice ordered. “I know that guy. He’s a Fed. Right, Marston?”
For a moment, I didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. Detective JJ Rucker was not my biggest fan. At least he didn’t throw me under the bus.
