Backwater Tide

by Steven Becker

  “Wait here,” I told him as I exited the truck.

  He gave me another look, like he wanted another pill, but I needed him conscious for now.

  “Where are we?”

  “Homestead, behind the park service headquarters building.”

  “What the hell are we doing here?”

  “I have to report to my boss. Justify all the expenses that you’re running up.”

  “Shoot, the feds don’t care.”

  If he only knew my boss. With only a few years to go until retirement, Martinez was doing anything he could to get a promotion and increase his pension. That included one of the favorite games of the bureaucrat—spend your entire budget to the penny, but don’t exceed it. That insured that next year’s allocation would remain the same and he wouldn’t be accused of running an inefficient department. If private businesses were run like this, the bankruptcy courts would be standing room only.

  “Just wait here. I’ll come get you in a few minutes.” I locked the truck, hoping that in his current condition that might keep him there. Mariposa greeted me with her usual warm smile and gave me a heads-up on the mood upstairs. I thanked her and headed to Martinez’s office.

  As usual, he feigned being on an important call and waved me to the open seat, which was carefully situated in order to obscure the screens of the three monitors on his desk. The other seat was usually reserved for Susan McLeash, and I was surprised to find it empty.

  “Well?”

  I almost replied with a well what, but held my tongue, thinking he would continue on his own.

  “Have you gotten anywhere with finding Gross’s killer or are we just watching the body count add up?”

  I wasn’t sure where this was going. “Miami-Dade has the last one. It’s in their jurisdiction.”

  “I heard from their chief earlier. It seems they’re trying to take Gross’s murder off your plate as well. I don’t have to tell you that solving this case would be huge for the park—especially if what he was working on was inside our waters.”

  So he wasn’t telling me to back off after all. There it was. Everyone wanted a piece of this case for different reasons. Martinez wasn’t in it for the riches, just for the exposure and his budget. We had added an artificial reef made from the rubble of the collapsed FIU bridge a few months ago. The eighteen mooring balls that Ray and I had secured to the site were constantly full. Adding a legitimate wreck, like a treasure ship, would be a huge boon for the park.

  “I need some help penetrating the Florida Division of Historic Resources.” Asking him for help hurt and I knew from his expression that he knew it. He folded his hands under his chin. At least I had his attention. “Jim DeWitt, the state archeologist, has to have known what he was working on. There are permits for everything.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  I was not going to debate my feelings about government intervention with him, or reveal the GPS numbers I had. “With DeWitt on the run, we should be able to access those records.” I wasn’t sure that we could, but we were a federal agency and DeWitt worked for the state. There had to be some power in that.

  “If I were the special agent on this case, I would find DeWitt before causing trouble in Tallahassee,” Martinez advised.

  I had half-expected him to backtrack and cover for DeWitt. It wasn’t my “A” plan, but he’d fallen into my trap. “Can we track his SUV?”

  “Just like that? You think I can hack into the state system?”

  I knew he could, but he would need to come to it on his own. “What is Susan up to?” I asked.

  “Just took some vacation time. I was thinking about assigning her to help you. This is a high profile case and I’m not happy with where this investigation is going.”

  If there was a way to get to him it was through involving my nemesis. But, if I could manage her, I would have his full support. “My CI is downstairs. I’m thinking she could work with him. He knows where these guys all hang out.” A little reconnaissance wouldn’t hurt and if there were bars involved, Susan would be all in.

  “Good idea. I’ll have her contact you.”

  I didn’t want to ask where she was. I’d passed her empty office on my way to his, and looking out his window I could see her boat tied up, ready for a hurricane. The lines from my own boat, which hadn’t been out since last week, were still looped over hers, telling me that hers hadn’t been out in a while. “So, about DeWitt?”

  “Give me a little time. I know some people with the state who might be able to help. Just make sure this isn’t a wild goose chase.”

  I sensed I’d been dismissed and quickly exited his office. Before I was out the door, he had already started pecking on his keyboard, making a show of responding to some urgent email demanding his immediate attention.

  On my way out, I stopped by Mariposa’s desk. She was packing up her things to go home and I realized how late it was. Hopefully Martinez would follow through on DeWitt before he left. “Have you seen Susan?”

  “Funny, you asking for her,” she said in her sing-song accent and laughed.

  “I have the perfect job for her,” I said and winked.

  “She left about an hour ago. Looked like she was upset, but that’s a usual state of affairs for her.”

  That was our mercurial Susan McLeash. “Well, you have a good night and say hello to your husband.”

  “And the same to you. How’s that girl of yours?”

  “All good. Hopefully she’ll be down this weekend.” I thought about Allie visiting in a few days and hoped the case was wrapped up by then. Leaving the building, I turned toward the back lot and started for the truck. I was only halfway across the parking lot when I saw the passenger seat was empty. I closed the fifty feet to the truck in a half-dozen hurried strides. Basing my plan on Slipstream and Susan McLeash hadn’t been the brightest idea, but it was the only one I had—and now both of them were missing.

  Slipstream couldn’t have gone far with only one good leg and no vehicle. I started searching along the mangrove-lined bank of the canal behind the building. There was no sign of him there and I continued on the walkway that ran alongside the water. The farther I moved away from the truck, the faster I went. Passing the view of the Miami skyline across the bay, I continued to a small point by the visitor’s center with its meeting rooms, small museum, and gift shop. I glanced up, but saw no sign of him. But then around the corner, standing on a thin strip that was more mud than sand, I found him gazing out at the water.

  “You know how many wrecks are out there that haven’t been found? Tons of gold and silver sitting there for the few willing to take the risks and find it.”

  I let him go on, sensing there was something he was trying to say.

  “It’s the people like Gross, and even the backers like Morehead, that make it happen. Did you know that Mel Fisher spent seven million dollars and fifteen years trying to hold onto whatever part of the Atocha he could? It took him longer to fight the state than to find the wreck.”

  I didn’t know where his melancholy was coming from, but thought Susan McLeash might be perfect to pick up his spirits. “You want to go after the state, I have a way.”

  “You got that damned right. I won’t be getting any of my cut after that damned lawyer was found in Gross’s garage. Between Gross’s greedy daughter and the state, there’ll be nothing left. I’m all about revenge.”

  “You said DeWitt hung around some bars that you know? I have a nice woman who works with me that would love to take you out drinking.”

  The cigar straightened in his mouth. “Now that’s a worthwhile assignment.”

  Now I just had to find Susan and convince her that hanging around with someone who resembled a vagrant would help her career. “Maybe we ought to head back to your place and see what we can do to clean you up.”

  “Another one of those pills’ll fix me.”

  I ignored the request and started back to the truck. He took two steps and started fe
igning pain that was so bad he couldn’t walk. “I’ll get the truck,” I said, walking away without waiting for a response. Once I was out of earshot, I pulled my phone out, found Susan’s contact info, and pressed connect. I worked on my story while it rang and was about to give up when she picked up.

  “Martinez told me we would be working together,” she said.

  “Got plans for the evening?” I asked. From the background noise, I could tell she wasn’t home.

  “Always open to a better offer,” she said.

  I explained the importance of finding DeWitt and that I had a CI who knew where he hung out.

  “A CI, huh?”

  I sensed she was going to turn me down. It was time to sweeten the pot. “He’s supposed to be hanging around with these treasure hunters and their backers.”

  I wasn’t sure which of the two groups I mentioned were more important, but suspected it was the backers that got her attention.

  “When and where?”

  Seventeen

  On the way back to Slipstream’s apartment I grilled him about where DeWitt hung out. He had already told me the bar at the Miami Beach Marina was one spot, but I was hoping for somewhere I wasn’t known. We arrived at his building and went upstairs. He’d given me the names of several other places that I checked out on my phone while he changed clothes. I had Susan on standby, so if Martinez didn’t do his part, which I suspected from the late hour that he wouldn’t, I would have to make the call.

  I had to admit I was surprised when Slipstream came out of his bedroom. “Not bad,” I said, looking him over. The floral print Hawaiian shirt was at least clean and his shorts were a decent match. He had shaved and his hair was combed back. With a fresh cigar dangling from his mouth he looked less like a worn-out deckhand and actually pretty respectable. A cane to go along with his walking boot would have completed the outfit nicely, but I was pretty happy with what we had. I tossed him a pill for his efforts, which he happily gobbled down. Susan was enough to put a sloth on edge; hopefully the pill would keep him in check.

  It was getting close to six and with still no word from Martinez, I decided to write him off for the night. It was surprising enough to have found him still working until five. Past that hour was out of the question. I chose the nicest looking place from the list that Slipstream had given me and texted Susan the name and address. She responded with a smiley face emoji.

  “Okay,” I said, handing him two twenties. “This is it. You better make it last.”

  “I ain’t getting you no receipt from a bar.”

  I nodded, figuring that as long as Susan was involved Martinez would reimburse me either way. “And watch your language. Let her do the talking.”

  “So, is she hot or what? You didn’t fix me up with a dog, did you?”

  “I think you’ll get along just fine.” It was time to head out. With the bathroom finally vacant, I used it to change my shirt to a button-down that I had in the truck. The Park Service pants were plain khaki and without the uniform shirt, I would blend in. There was no way I was leaving these two together without a chaperone, especially when alcohol was involved. We left the apartment and headed down to the truck. On the way downstairs, I noticed the parking lot had emptied out from its near-capacity state earlier.

  “Damn, we’re going upscale,” he said when he saw where we were going.

  “Only the best for you, my friend.” I had chosen the place to get Susan interested. And if Maria was really involved with DeWitt, she wasn’t the type to slum it. It was a big place on the mainland side of the Intracoastal Waterway up toward Miami Beach; a little more old school and blue blood than the trendier South Beach. Surrounded by several marinas, the restaurant had a sign that boasted of both an indoor and an outdoor bar, as well as outside seating.

  Parking was scarce, forcing me to leave the truck with a valet. It cost me an extra twenty to have him park it somewhere I could gain access to it myself and keep the key. I was burning through non-reimbursable twenties at an alarming rate, but with my gun belt in the glove compartment and the possibility of needing the truck for a quick exit, it justified the cost.

  We stayed to the side of several groups of people waiting for a table. Slipstream kept peering inside, but I wanted them to enter together. A few minutes later I saw Susan walking toward us. She wore a sundress that was a little too tight in what I thought were all the wrong places, and the usual application of makeup that was heavy enough to weigh down her head. From the crooked smile and squint in her eyes, I could tell she had not been home when I called. Watching her approach, I judged that she was in the perfect state of mind for Slipstream.

  “And who’s this?” she asked.

  The words were not slurred; a good sign. “Slipstream, this is Susan.” I introduced the couple. She reached out for his hand, which I took as another good sign. “Why don’t you two go in and check the place out? I’ll hang back.” Because both Maria and DeWitt knew me, I would have to be careful if they were here.

  I watched Slipstream and Susan enter the restaurant, surprised when he opened the door for her. They giggled about something and I relaxed slightly; at least for now things were under control, but I knew with the two of them and alcohol in the mix—never mind the pill I had given Slipstream—this could go sideways at any time. For now, they appeared to be on equal footing.

  Moving to the side of the crowd, I pulled out my phone and checked to see if Martinez had called. There were no missed calls, text messages, or emails. I was surprised there were no texts from Allie, who usually sent an emoji every time her mood changed. The stupid characters had advanced my age, making me carry reading glasses to be able to see the different faces and know if she was happy or sad. Checking again, I was about to call her when I remembered I had given her the number for my new personal phone.

  I had left it in the truck, half-expecting that Martinez might have some kind of technology sniffer incorporated into his surveillance. Glancing back at the entrance to the restaurant several times along the way, I walked back to the truck and retrieved the phone. The notification screen was full of smiley faces and I typed a quick message that I loved her, but was working and would call her later. Seconds after I sent the message the phone dinged with another smiley face.

  With the screen littered with emojis, I almost didn’t see the missed call on the bottom. I recognized the number immediately. Hoping I hadn’t blown my window of opportunity, I hit the number.

  “Thought I lost you there, Hunter.”

  “Mac, thanks for calling back. Got another phone, it’s complicated.”

  “You’re telling me. Any luck with your investigation?”

  I gave him the thirty-second update.

  “Those GPS numbers might be worth watching. If that anchor was cut, someone has them. They’re not going to wait for this to blow over. One storm can cover up a season’s work. Some things need to be done fast and hard.”

  That kind of went back to Slipstream’s rant about the state and archeologists being involved. It seemed the licensing process was so long that some of the wrecks could be destroyed or disappear before a permit was issued. I totally got preserving history, but retrieving them from the clutches of the ocean did not allow for the same timeline as reclaiming an ancient city from the jungle or fossils from the ground.

  “Any interest in coming up here?” If there was one person I could trust with the numbers, it was Mac.

  “Been thinking about it. Maybe I can grab Tru and make the run tomorrow.”

  The thought of Trufante and Slipstream together sent a shiver up my spine. Watching one was damned near a full-time job. “We can use my Park Service boat if you want to drive up,” I told him.

  He paused for a minute. “Might be the best way to check them out. My boat’ll stand out up there.”

  We made plans to meet at the headquarters building at seven in the morning, giving me a solid hour’s safety margin before Martinez showed up. My work phone vibrated, and I juggled th
e two phones for a second, thanking him and checking the message on the other phone at the same time. The text was from Susan: a picture of DeWitt sitting next to Maria.

  A second later it dinged again. “This guy’s getting creepy.” I guessed the honeymoon was over. Now that we had located DeWitt and Maria I wondered what to do. I was sure Miami-Dade would want both for questioning and I couldn’t ignore the BOLO. Hoping it would gain me a few points, I called Grace and gave her our location.

  I texted Susan that help was on the way and to have another drink and hang in there. If they had seen Slipstream, they hadn’t bolted. The last thing I needed was for DeWitt to get suspicious, but in case he did I moved closer to the entrance.

  Fifteen minutes later, an unmarked police car pulled up in front. It skidded to a stop, and before it even stopped rolling Traynor had popped out of the driver’s seat and flashed his badge at the valet attendant. Clearly not wanting a confrontation, the valet raised his hands and backed away. A second later, Grace opened the passenger door, called something to Traynor, and came toward me.

  “What’s the situation?”

  I would have preferred more of a “how do you want to handle it” attitude, but this was their territory. I showed her the picture of the happy couple, and told her that Slipstream and Susan were inside.

  “Do we have enough on this guy to make an arrest?”

  “I got nothing, besides seeing him lurking around Gross’s garage.”

  She looked at the picture again. “They look pretty comfortable to me.”

  I was just about to speak when Traynor pushed between us.

  “We gonna make an arrest, or what?”

  I looked over at Grace, hoping she was going to break the bad news to him. Before either of us could offer an explanation there was a disturbance just inside the doorway. Slipstream was the first outside, followed by DeWitt. They looked like they were about to start throwing punches.

  Pushing past Grace and Traynor, I went to separate the two men, but Susan stumbled through the door with her gun extended. A movement behind me caught my attention and glancing back I saw that Traynor had his gun drawn as well. Several of the patrons waiting for tables started to scream and pushed their way past us in an attempt to escape.