Four
I wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or not when the call went to voicemail. Grace was a talker, not a texter, so I left a vague message about what I had found and that the boat could potentially be a crime scene. After checking the water one more time to make sure Captain Ahab and his crew were gone I relaxed slightly, knowing that at least I had made an attempt to contact her.
The question now was what to do about the boat. Under normal circumstances there was little chance of anything happening to it at this location. I had left my park service boat here several times. But now I was concerned about the celebrity of its owner as well as his occupation.
“Thanks for handling Captain Nemo there,” Justine said. For a few moments we both watched the helicopter hover overhead.
“Apparently this guy was a famous treasure hunter,” I explained. “Nemo told me the boat’s owner’s a guy named Gill Gross. Ever hear of him?”
She shook her head. “What do you want to do about the boat, then? It probably needs to be processed quickly.”
It was slightly comforting to know I wasn’t the only one who had changed their priorities. And weather was always a consideration in South Florida. We were past the rainy season, but one stray squall would erase any evidence on the deck. “I was going to ask you. The last thing I want to do is work this weekend, but if this is really a crime scene we have to do something.”
“I can help,” Allie said.
Justine didn’t object. I wasn’t keen on making this a family operation, but with the two of them ganging up on me, I guessed that’s what we were going to do.
My next decision was what to do with the boat. It clearly couldn’t remain here. Miami-Dade had a boatyard they used for their own craft as well as impounded vessels, but I would lose access to it there. At least temporarily, I thought Adams Key might be the answer. The small island I lived on had two small park service houses; one was mine and Ray and his family occupied other. The long concrete dock, that also serviced the small day-use area, could easily handle our two boats plus Gross’s. With a little luck, I could get it down there unobserved by both Miami-Dade and the media. Adams Key was fairly remote. The news helicopter was gone and I thought if I could get the boat out of here now, they would likely not find it. I also knew the workings of the local police department well enough to know that they wouldn’t relent without a fight. If this were an unknown victim they would have no problem letting the case go, but this was going to be a media circus and whoever solved it would get the accolades. Fortunately Martinez was a media hog as well—I knew he’d want this one for the park service. Removing the boat from their jurisdiction would work to that end as well.
“How about we run it down to Adams Key?” I explained my thinking.
“You two take her down. I’ll run by the lab and get my kit. We can meet at the headquarters marina,” Justine said.
“Really, Dad? That would be so cool.” Allie tossed in her vote.
“Okay.” I knew somehow that this was going to come back to haunt me, but if moving the boat to someplace less public held off the media for a few days it would be worth it. I hopped down on the deck, careful where I stepped, and went into the wheelhouse. Allie followed with a huge smile on her face, which quickly turned into a grimace when she smelt the lingering odor of the dead man from the cabin just forward of us.
I closed the hatch. “Once we’re underway, it’ll pass.”
I started the engines and checked the gauges while Allie released the lines. There were two fuel tanks aboard and both appeared to be half full. I was sure the converted sportfisher had large tanks, but I didn’t know their size and gas gauges on boats were notoriously inaccurate. Figuring it would be enough, I pressed down the throttles and steered the boat clear of the dock before turning to port. Once the bow was pointing toward the center span of the causeway, I took time to familiarize myself with the controls. Though only a dozen feet longer than my twenty-two foot center console, this boat was considerably wider and rode higher.
It was getting to be late in the afternoon now, and most boaters were heading back in from a day on the water. I asked Allie to keep out of sight when I saw several people raise their phones to take pictures of the unique looking vessel as we passed. I knew full well that once the death of Gross got out, these pictures would be all over the internet and I didn’t want her to be in them.
Once past Cape Florida, the southern end of Key Biscayne, I decided to take the inside route. Even though the famed string of islands known as the Florida Keys officially began at Key Largo, the miles-long chain of barrier islands starting at Boca Chita Key were geologically the beginning of the ecosystem. The mangrove-covered islands and reefs that started in the park were indistinguishable from the Keys.
The ride became uncomfortable after passing Cape Florida. We were in unprotected water there and the boat was tossed around like a cork with the waves on our beam. Once we hit the shallows around Stiltsville the water flattened out, but the reprieve was short-lived and we hit another stretch of open water before gaining the lee of the barrier islands.
Once through the Featherbank Channel, I turned toward the mainland and pointed the bow at the first marker leading to Bayfront Park. The large public boat park and our facilities, including the headquarters building, shared the same channel; after passing the ramp I cut the wheel to starboard and entered our small marina.
Johnny Wells’s Interceptor was tied up in its usual place, as was the Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission’s soft-sided boat used by Pete Robinson. Next were Susan McLeash’s and my twin center consoles. Pulling up to the end of one of the finger piers we tied off the boat and sat back to wait for Justine.
Martinez’s security cameras would surely have captured us by now and I tried to think of the best way to present this to him. I was big on asking for forgiveness instead of permission and thought sending him an after-the-fact, late Saturday email might accomplish that. I sat down with my phone, looking up every few seconds hoping to see Justine, and started pecking out a message. I kept the details vague and reread it several times as I knew he liked to parse words. It was as good as it was going to get and after a quick prayer that he wouldn’t get it until Monday morning, I pressed Send.
Just as my phone chimed and the message went into the ether, Justine appeared by the back corner of the building. I stepped up to the dock to help her with the two large cases she had. From the determined look on her face I could tell she was taking this seriously. There would be no fun until she said so.
We loaded the equipment and pulled away from the dock. Catching the same looks from the incoming boaters as we had in Miami, I idled out of the channel. As soon as we passed the Resume Normal Speed placard, I pressed down lightly on the throttles. I didn’t want to push the old boat too hard. I’d had trouble getting her up on plane earlier, so instead of forcing it we plowed toward Adams Key.
Any unfamiliar boat pulling up to the long concrete dock that serviced the small day-use area and the two houses on Adams Key was vetted by Zero. The pit bull mix that reminded me of Petey from the Little Rascals came bowling down the dock, barking as his toenails skidded on the concrete, stopping only a foot or so from my face. Aboard were his two favorite people. Cutting the ferocious dog act short, he plopped onto the dock and waited for the attention he knew was coming.
Allie was first off and she went directly to him. I watched as she squatted down next to him and started rubbing his ears. His tiny nub of a tail was working overtime as she spoke softly to him.
Ray must have seen the unfamiliar boat as well, and I watched as he came down the steps from his stilt house. He crossed the manicured lawn, one of the only leftovers from the notorious Cocolobo Club that had previously occupied our island. Opened in the thirties, the club had catered to four Presidents, the last being John F. Kennedy before shutting down in the sixties. Then hurricane Andrew’s 140-mile-an-hour winds had erased whatever was left when the eye passed directly over the is
land in 1992. Now there were only our two park service-issue stilt houses and a couple of shade structures with grills in the day-use area.
“What’ch’all got going on there?” Ray asked.
“Kind of a long story, but I need to keep this here until Monday.”
“Long story, huh,” he said, stepping down to the deck of his boat. He opened the cooler in front of the console and returned with three beers. “Sorry, honey,” he said to Allie. “Becky might have some Cokes up at the house.”
“I’m fine, thanks. Dad’s going to let me help process the boat.”
That was more information than I wanted him to know.
“What y’all got going on, then?” He handed beers to Justine and me.
I figured he’d find out soon enough and I knew I could trust him. Ray was the one guy on Martinez’s payroll that had the leeway to do what he wanted, when he wanted to. Between the sun, heat, wind, and saltwater environment, Mother Nature did her best to reclaim the out islands. Ray knew how to tame her.
“Caught the boat drifting while we were racing. Dead guy aboard. Name’s Gill Gross. Ever hear of him?”
“Treasure Hunter guy?” He looked at the boat differently now. “Shoot, he’s all over the cable shows. Got any equipment aboard I can take a look at?” Ray asked, stepping closer to the boat.
If he was a barometer for how Gross’s death was going to be received, I was in trouble. I didn’t know if Gross had been a likable or charitable guy, but say the word treasure and it brings out something interesting in people—and it’s often not good.
“Why don’t you let Justine have at it first? When she’s done you can take a look.”
He drained his beer and crushed the can. “Got out and snagged some snapper today if you want to barbecue later.”
In all the excitement I hadn’t thought about food. Since we had been married, Justine and I spent almost every night together, but we were forced by logistics to keep two residences. The house here was definitely better provisioned than when I’d lived alone, but we had planned on eating out to celebrate the race tonight.
“Lemme check with the boss,” I said, tilting my head toward Justine.
“See you’re learning.” He laughed. “All right then, let me know.”
Zero and I watched him walk upstairs. I looked down at Allie and the dog and I smiled, watching them playing together.
“Get some help?” Justine called out, breaking the spell.
Zero followed as we both went over to the edge of the dock. Justine held a black object about half the size of a bowling ball in her hand.
“I think he found something.”
“Cannonball?” Allie asked.
“I don’t know. It’s pretty irregular.”
I hopped down to the deck and, avoiding the two cases’ worth of gear scattered across the stained surface, moved to where Justine was standing. She handed me the object. My first impression was how light it was. The second, when I spun it in my hands, was how much the material looked like what I had seen scattered on the deck.
“You see this stuff here?” I asked, walking toward the stern.
“Freeze. I haven’t gotten there yet. I’m still in the cabin.”
I had already crossed this section of deck earlier, but I was not going to disobey. “Look at this stuff.” I pointed this time. “The outer covering looks like that stuff. I think he found more than cannonballs.”
“Can we open it up?” Allie asked.
I wasn’t sure what the answer to that was and looked at Justine for help. In my view it was worthless as evidence until we found out what was inside.
“We’re going to need to get the state involved. If there is something valuable with historic significance, they’re going to want to know.”
That was my worst-case scenario. As an employee of the federal government, I knew exactly how bureaucrats could muck things up and stall an investigation.
Five
The mood was restrained as we sat around Ray’s customized park service grill that evening. A hundred feet away, the Reale seemed to have cast a strange spell over the island. The scene of a man’s death also held the potential for riches; it was both morbid and exciting at the same time.
The charcoal and wood mixture that Ray preferred crackled beneath the stainless steel grate he had fabricated for the standard fire ring common to most national parks. Two rods welded to the base on either side made the detachable grill easier to handle than the original cast-iron piece. Becky turned the corn, still in its husk, that sat next to the snapper Ray had caught earlier.
The object that was sitting on the counter in my kitchen had affected us all. As much as I tried to rise above it, I was still under the spell of the potential treasure.
“When can we look at it?” Becky finally asked.
“Y’all know it ain’t nothing ’til we see what it is,” Ray added.
“Yeah, Dad,” Allie called over from where she was playing with their three-year-old son Jamie.
I looked at Justine, who seemed to be deep in thought. She looked tired, but that was probably the result of the race earlier. Working the swing shift for the forensics lab, she was used to a late morning nap after training. That schedule had been interrupted today.
She shrugged, leaving it up to me. I wanted to know what was inside the sphere as well, and the thought of having it disappear into some state inspector’s grasp bothered me. For as long as man had been going to sea, ships had been lost and attempts had been made to salvage them. I understood the need to protect our history, but the sea was a cruel caretaker and not a museum.
“Can we see what is inside without damaging it?” Three sets of eyes focused on her.
“I’ve seen them do it on TV. It’s not rocket science, but you have to be patient.”
Allie handed her phone to me and I felt like I had fallen into a trap. Playing on the screen was a YouTube video of someone with a similar object, about to break it open. “Whatever is inside, we can’t keep it.” I wanted to establish some ground rules first.
“No problem. Just curious is all,” Ray said.
I could see something else in his eyes. It wasn’t greed; more like a calculated look. Although we had it pretty good, living out here rent-free in our park service homes, he was younger than I was and I suspected Becky might be pregnant again. If not, I knew they were at least planning on more children. Once Jamie reached school age, this would probably mean relocating to the mainland so he could attend school. Living out here meant anywhere from a twenty to a forty-five-minute boat ride into headquarters and then whatever commute from there. Some days the weather didn’t permit our small bay boats to get out at all. Moving would mean he would have to pay rent, and knowing Martinez, there would be no salary increase to compensate. I knew Ray profited from a string of lobster and stone crab traps that he strategically located just outside of the park boundary in areas he knew to be in the migratory path of the crustaceans. That and his fishing supplemented his income, but I wondered if it was enough.
The video finished and I handed the phone to Justine.
Justine looked up when it was over. “I don’t have the stuff to do that here. It needs to soak in muriatic acid and then sit in an electrolysis tank. That takes time.”
I could see the downcast looks. We were all curious. “From the pieces on the deck, it looks like someone took a hammer and chisel to something similar.”
“I suppose that could remove the outer covering, but I don’t want to touch whatever is inside. That should be done by a pro.”
None of us had any idea how to proceed, but finally our curiosity won and we negotiated a strategy. Each of us had our own reasons for wanting to see what was inside: Allie was curious, Justine was fascinated by the archeological and scientific implications of the find, and—hoping it wasn’t greed—I was still trying to figure out Ray’s motivation. I, of course, was only looking for clues, or at least that was my story.
Once we agreed on how
to proceed, we ate quickly and gathered around the bar in my kitchen, staring at the object that lay on a baking sheet by the sink. Justine put on gloves, picked it up, and held it to the light to see if there were any points of weakness. Allie picked up my phone and started to video the procedure. I reached over and grabbed it from her. Filming this would be bad for everyone and using my phone would be worse; the Cloud would place the video on Martinez’s desktop.
“Let’s keep this between ourselves,” I said.
Justine set the object on the tray again and with a small pick that looked like it had come from a dentist’s office started removing tiny fragments. As she found weaknesses in the coating of silt and marine growth that had hardened into a concrete-like shell, bigger chunks slowly started to come off. After several passes, the chunks on the tray started to resemble what lay on the deck of the boat and we all gathered closer.
One by one pieces fell from the object. Suddenly she stopped and put it down on the tray. Removing a magnifying glass from her case, she picked up a piece and held it to the light. From where we sat we couldn’t see what she was looking at, and collectively we held our breath.
“I think there’s silver or something,” she said. She showed each of us, one at a time, what she had found. A small glint of metal had appeared inside the dark crusty casing. “That’s it for me. This is going to a pro.”
I guessed that everyone else was feeling the same mix of excitement and disappointment as I was.
“That was the deal,” I said, restating what we had all agreed on.
While Justine placed the find in an evidence bag, Ray and family said their good-byes. As they left I tried to make eye contact with him, but each time I did his gaze shifted away.
An hour later, I stared at the ceiling in my bedroom. Justine was snoring softly, sound asleep beside me.
Backwater Tide Page 3
