Backwater Bay

by Steven Becker

  Growing up in California, it was bred into me to avoid anything with bread crumbs and grease. Becky had shown me early on the error of my ways. With her light touch, the fish was excellent. “You’re on. I’ll take Zero and come by in a while.”

  “Thanks, Kurt,” she said, making a beeline for the house. The screen door slammed and a minute later the crying stopped.

  I looked down at Zero. “Come on, boy.” On the walk up the path to my house I tried to explain to him how babies are tough on dogs, but once Jamie was a few years older, he’d have a friend. Our family dog had gone through the same thing after Allie was born. “It’ll get better in a year or so.” I’m not sure how he took it, but it made me sad thinking about Allie as a baby and how much I missed her now.

  Once inside, I tossed my clothes in the washer and headed for the shower. Standing under the spray of the hot water, I thought about what I needed to do next. Having Susan McLeash “helping” was troubling and I figured she should be my first call. I shut the water off, got out, and started to dry myself off. There was a faint smell of Justine on the towel, and my attention got sidetracked.

  Shaved and dressed, I went to the breakfast bar in the kitchen and checked my email. Several messages loaded and I scanned them for anything from Susan. It was a good thing I had no expectations, as there was nothing from my new “helper.” I was also surprised there was nothing from Martinez. He was one of those desk jockeys who documented everything and email was a perfect mechanism for this. With all the CCs and BCCs, it was easy to make it look like you were on top of things.

  Zero was snoring on the floor and I walked by without waking him. Becky would know where to find him. Leaving the house unlocked, I went to the dock, thinking there was nothing to be accomplished sitting out there on the island. There was no sign of life from her house as I pulled the boat away and eased the bow into the channel.

  Just as I was about to start across the bay, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Martinez’s name flashed across the screen. Dropping to neutral, I watched the drift of the boat for a second before cutting the engine and answering.

  “Susan’s vehicle has been idle for almost two hours. Her phone is turned off.”

  It sounded like she was in trouble. “Where?”

  “The marina off Alton.”

  “I thought she was just going to do some computer work and research,” I said, wondering if she had gone out on her own or if Martinez had authorized her to take over the case.

  “She can be a little hard to control sometimes,” he said.

  My success earlier today must have restored his confidence in me. I knew Susan covered his back when he left early to play golf or came in late after a night out. Maybe there was more to it. He sounded like he was actually worried. “I’m on my way in,” I said, and disconnected.

  Starting the engine, I pushed the throttle to the stop. The boat seemed as eager as I was. The bow jumped out of the water, followed quickly by the stern. Seconds later, I was running at close to thirty knots. It was the hardest I had pushed the boat and the fastest I had gone. It was exhilarating, and I couldn’t help but feel empowered. For the first time since I had started there, I felt I had the upper hand on Martinez. All I could hope was that Susan was not in trouble or screwing with my case.

  Martinez was in the lobby looking like he was heading to a photo op with his dress uniform on. Along with his counterpart at ICE, he’d be on the news tonight standing behind a table stacked high with drugs and weapons. It bothered me a little that neither Johnny or I would be there. His presence precluded the usual small talk with Mariposa. She handed me the keys to the Park Service truck and I was out the door.

  I had slipped into the doldrums between lunch and rush-hour traffic. The ride to Miami was slow but uneventful. I pulled into the parking lot for the marina and checked my phone. It was after four already, and I realized I had not called Justine yet. Texting her to see if she had a minute, I cruised the parking lot until I found the Park Service car.

  The doors were locked and nothing seemed out of place. Back at the truck, I texted Martinez to let him know I had located the car and saw a missed call from Justine. Susan could have been in danger, so I decided to return the call while I walked to the docks.

  Justine listened intently as I recounted the morning’s adventure. The takedown of the shrimper was a nonstarter for her. It was a little disappointing when she almost yawned over the phone. I knew it was forensics that rocked her boat and was about to ask if she’d had any luck with the evidence when I stepped onto the edge of the dock, looked over to where the Big Bang had been berthed, and breathed a sigh of relief that the boat was still there.

  “I gotta go,” I said, starting toward the boat. “I’ll get that paint sample for you.”

  “Cool. Did you get my message about the zinc plate you brought in?”

  I had been wondering why she hadn’t said anything. “I didn’t. Must have gotten lost when I was out of service this morning.” I looked down at my phone and scrolled through the messages. There was a text from her this morning that I must have missed when they all came in together. “I just saw it. That thing is made of C-4?”

  “Yes, sir, had to call the bomb squad in and everything. They said it was inert until there was a detonator attached in case you’re wondering.”

  “Really? Are you okay?”

  “It was a bit of a scare, but what are those guys up to?”

  That was a good question, and the insurance angle was starting to make sense. I thought for a second. “Susan was supposed to be looking into an insurance thing.” I explained to her how I had followed Herb that morning. I thanked her and promised to bring the paint sample by as soon as possible. Now I had to find Susan.

  There was no activity on deck, and with my hand on my sidearm, I approached the ship. Standing alongside, I could hear voices, one of which I was sure was Susan’s. Moving forward, I slammed my foot into the bollard that housed the electrical, phone, and cable hookups. My boat shoes absorbed the brunt of it, but looking at the two thick yellow cords coming from the bottom of the box and running over the rail of the ship, I got an idea.

  Going into the salon, even with my sidearm, was risky. I had no idea how many people were in there, what their mood was, or if they were armed. It was much safer to have them come out on deck. The first cable stuck when I pulled. Leaning over to see what the problem was, I noticed the twist-lock receptacle. Immediately I could hear the air-conditioner cut off when the plug was pulled. I twisted and removed the other line which I guessed handled the rest of the shore power.

  The boat shifted slightly. There was still no one visible, but something was going on. Still not sure who was aboard, I stepped backward, trying to find some cover . The salon door opened, and I shrunk back.

  Susan McLeash emerged by herself onto the back deck. She took a quick look around and stepped up to the dock. I turned my back to the pedestal and the boat, hoping she was focused on leaving and would not see me. Slowly I risked a look behind me and froze when I heard my phone ring in my pocket. I reached into my pocket and disconnected the call hoping no one had heard it. I slid the toggle to vibrate. The phone went quiet and I looked back to the dock. Susan hadn’t noticed anything. She had already turned the corner and was heading to the marina.

  She was the only one who had exited and I still wanted to know who was aboard. Though I was concerned with what Susan was up to, she was one of the good guys. I had a feeling she had heard about my exploits with ICE this morning and was after her own fifteen minutes of fame. Little did she know that Martinez would take it from her.

  I decided to watch the boat instead of following her. As long as Martinez was on my side, at least for now, I thought I could at least use him to track her, but looking at my watch, and seeing it was almost five o’clock, I had my doubts he would even be around. There was usually a mandatory stop at a bar at the end of a news conference. Deciding I had nothing to lose, I dialed his number and wasn’t
disappointed when it went to voicemail.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the white Park Service car pull out of the parking lot. It was too late to see what Susan was up to, so I picked a spot in the shade with a clear view of the Big Bang and called Justine.

  “Sorry about that,” I started to explain.

  “No worries. I figured it was work. Want dinner?”

  I realized I had forgotten to stop by Becky’s and had never had lunch. “Yup. Let me grab that paint sample and I’ll be over.” I went back to the truck and grabbed the evidence bag from the seat, then started back to the Big Bang.

  “Ahoy there,” I called out, feeling like an idiot again. There had to be a better way to hail a boat. A long minute went by and I hailed again. Still no answer. If there was someone aboard, they were playing possum. If there wasn’t, Susan had been doing an illegal search. That might explain why her car had been there so long and her phone wasn’t turned on. I filed that away to confront her with later. I took a look around, then got to my knees to collect the sample. Unable to reach below the waterline, I had to lie on my stomach to scrape the paint into the bag. When I got up the dockmaster was staring at me.

  “You folks are awfully busy around here today.”

  I didn’t know if he really had something on me or if he was just doing his job and watching the boats. “Just getting a paint sample.”

  “I guess you don’t need a warrant for that, but the woman agent was on here by herself.”

  I knew what he was implying and wondered how much trouble Susan had gotten me into now. I brushed myself off and tried to reassure him that everything was just part of a routine investigation. He nodded, and I walked faster than I probably should have to the truck.

  20

  I had heard about how momentum affected a case and when things started rolling on their own, motive, opportunity, and means seemed to work themselves out. I hadn’t uncovered any of the three pillars of this crime yet, but I could sense something was about to break.

  Stopping at the potted palm by the bar, I looked over surprised to see neither Gordy or Brenda. I still hadn’t heard from Susan and tried her number again. The call went straight to voicemail. I was starting to worry. Not about her; she could take care of herself. It was more about what she was doing with the case. There were enough wild cards already.

  I thought about Martinez, then realized that involving him could complicate things. I already knew the line in his head separating what was good for the service and what was good for him personally was blurry.

  I had been standing there staring at the Big Bang and thinking about Susan and the case long enough for the shade I had been hiding in to have moved. The sun was already below the buildings across the intracoastal, making me realize I was getting little done sitting there thinking. Glancing over my shoulder at the Big Bang sitting in her slip, I turned toward the parking lot. I was walking slowly, procrastinating instead of deciding what my next step should be.

  I texted Justine that I was on my way with the paint sample and headed for the truck. It didn’t take long until I was at a dead stop. I stared at the traffic. A stream of brake lights was in front of me as far as I could see. It had been a half hour already and I had just made it over the causeway. Finally, I started to pick up speed after passing the exit off the 836 for Marlins Park and guessed there was a game tonight. I expected the natives would have known this and wondered how long it would take me to adjust to big-city life. Justine called, wondering where I was, and redirected me to an Italian place near her office with the explanation that she would be getting “hangry” sooner than I could get there.

  I found the restaurant, parked, and walked inside. It appeared to be a family-owned place rather than a chain, which made me happy. I saw her, already seated at a table, and wove my way through the sea of red and white checked tablecloths half-full with diners. Chianti bottles holding lit candles provided most of the lighting. By the time I sat down I was starving.

  “I already ordered,” Justine said, munching on a breadstick.

  We’d just hit level three on the relationship scale. “Cool.”

  “You look wiped,” she said. “Have a beer, you’re staying at my place tonight.”

  I smiled. Definitely level three. We chatted about everything except work, and when the food started arriving, she told me about her paddle that morning as an apology for ordering so much. I was through my second beer and third course when we finally got around to work.

  “I can’t believe I almost blew you up,” I said.

  “That was touch and go for a while. I was wondering if that’s how you got rid of your girlfriends.” She laughed, breaking the tension. “Someone wanted to blow up that boat,” she said.

  “And I think Abbey was killed when she figured out that the zincs she was replacing were explosives.”

  “There’s your motive. Who would have benefited most from the boat being blown up?” she asked.

  I took a sip of my third beer, thankful that I was staying with her tonight. “There’s the insurance angle with Herb and Holly.” I told her about Herb’s visit to the insurance agency that morning. “And Brenda’s upcoming divorce.” I paused. “Gordy fits in here somewhere too. He’s too sleazy to be clean.”

  “That narrows the field,” she said, finishing off her pasta. “What about Gabe, the owner?”

  “Yeah, but that’s his baby.” Suddenly I felt exhausted. I didn’t know if I was being overwhelmed by the case, my adventure with ICE, not sleeping for the last few days, or the third beer. Probably a combination of all the above, I thought, and yawned again.

  “Come on. I’m taking you home.”

  I had just enough energy left to pay the check and drive the Park Service truck to the crime lab. I figured that was better than leaving it at the restaurant. Justine drove me to her place.

  “Take the bed,” she ordered after unlocking the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  I was past the point of being a gentleman and demanding the couch. In minutes I was asleep.

  My phone woke me and it took a minute for me to figure out where I was. Justine was beside me, under the covers. I lay on top of the comforter just as I had fallen asleep. I leaned on an elbow and looked at the screen, wincing when I saw Martinez’s name. Fighting off the magnetic pull of the Decline button on my finger, I hit Accept, slid out of bed, walked to the living room, and put the phone to my ear.

  “It’s almost noon. What are you doing in Miami? According to the schedule I have here, submitted by you by the way, the Card Sound Bridge should be closer than Government Cut.” Of course, he knew where I was.

  I had dug my own hole by sleeping in. A picture flashed through my mind of him at his desk watching the dual computer screens all morning cursing at the icon of the truck sitting in the parking lot. I was actually surprised he had waited this long to call. In that second, I knew how to figure out what Susan was up to, but first I needed to placate Martinez. “I’ll head down now.”

  “I’ll be expecting a written report when you’re done, for this and every other patrol for the next month.”

  The subconscious is a powerful tool. In my anger, it took over and I listened to the words coming out of my mouth as if somebody else was speaking them. “I could add the GPS log from the boat to the report, but I don’t know how to access the data.”

  “Now, that’s the first good idea you’ve had this week. I’ll email you the instructions.”

  Before I could answer, the call disconnected. I cursed about the extra paperwork, vowing to keep the reports as boring as possible. Including the logs would limit my ability to fish and freelance. That was certainly a downside. The upside was once I had the instructions I could see what Susan had been up to. I would bet both her car and boat were also tagged.

  Not wanting to wake Justine, I slid out the door and called a cab from the street. While I waited, I remembered Holly’s saying something about Herb taking Ubers everywhere. I had never had t
he need and wasn’t familiar with the service. The cab had still not arrived and I pressed the icon for the app store and downloaded the Uber app. In seconds, I was registered, and with no cab in sight, I hit the Get a Ride button. The screen changed and said the driver, Irene, would be arriving in three minutes and driving an Acura. The fare listed was less than ten dollars—way cheaper than a cab. Irene arrived before the cab and I settled in for the ride to the crime lab wondering whether the Uber app could be used to trace Herb’s movements.

  When Irene dropped me off, I thanked her, left a tip on the app, and walked to the truck. Forty minutes later I parked behind the headquarters building and looked around the lot for the car I had seen Susan driving. It sat next to another truck identical to the one I was driving. I thought about touching the hood to see if I could tell from the temperature how long the car had been sitting, but walking toward it I saw the heat shimmering off it. In the South Florida sun, the exercise was pointless.

  As much as I wanted a face-off with her, I was not inclined to do it here and let Martinez referee. I already knew what the outcome of that match would be. My moment in the sun with him had ended when the press conference was over. Bypassing the main entrance and the windows of Martinez and Susan’s offices, I walked around the back of the building and stepped onto the dock. Susan’s boat sat next to mine, carefully tied. It was almost one o’clock and a beautiful day with a light breeze from the southeast. There was no need for the spiderweb of lines tying off her boat. My guess was that she took these precautions so as not to have to check the boat too often.

  With both dock lines loose, I stepped down to my center-console, glanced over at the building to see if I had been seen, and started the engine. Quickly, I hauled the lines aboard and backed out of the slip. When the boat was almost clear of the dock, I eased the throttle forward until it clicked into the neutral position, allowing the boat’s momentum to bring it back the remaining half a dozen feet. Once the bow was clear, I idled away from the Park Service docks. The shared inlet with Bayfront Park’s ramp kept me focused until I cleared the line of incoming boats and headed toward the bay.