I dropped the RPMs and let the engine settle before raising the tilt of the engine slightly until the boat started to porpoise, then dropped it down slightly until it leveled out. Once I found the correct trim, I steered through the channel at the Featherbed Bank and headed for the open water to the north of Boca Chita Key. The lighthouse there was ornamental and had no functioning light of its own, but the security lights scattered around the campground gave the same information.
Once we were clear of Boca Chita there were no more barrier islands to slow down the surge of the open Atlantic waters and I had to readjust the trim and drop speed again. This time I caught it before taking on any water. On the way out I’d been worried about finding the site at night, but the barge was lit by security lights now. They weren’t from the barge itself, but from another, larger barge with a crane tied up next to it. A large ship was also stationed nearby. I could tell right away from its position that it was anchored and assumed from its size that it was a Coast Guard Cutter.
Without saying a word, I aborted our mission and spun the wheel to reverse course. Justine and Allie had come to the same conclusion, and we all glanced back, wondering if we had been seen. It was my park, but a nighttime confrontation with the Coasties was not good for anyone—you were assumed guilty until you proved your innocence. Without a light bar on the park service boat, we would not be recognized until they were within gunshot range. A radio call might buy us some time, but we would be under observation, something that wouldn’t serve my purpose of being here.
Once we were in the lee of Boca Chita Key, I slowed.
“No way we can go crawl around that wreckage tonight. The large ship was likely a Coast Guard Cutter and there’s no telling who else is lurking out there.”
“I saw some white lights nearby,” Allie said.
Her young eyes had done well. “There’s probably going to be quite a crowd tomorrow; those are probably folks staking out their spots.” Martinez might have been right in assigning me a sector to patrol. I hadn’t thought this was going to be a big deal, but from the boats already out it looked like I was wrong. “I guess we head back home and get an early start tomorrow.”
They agreed and I pushed down the throttle for the ride back to Adams Key. Staying to the inside and under the protection of the barrier islands, the seas were flat and we reached the dock twenty minutes later. With Justine at the bow and Allie at the stern, we docked and froze, waiting for the inevitable.
We had tried to be quiet, but Zero’s radar must have alerted him that Allie and Justine were with me. For a brief second I thought we had gotten away with it, but then I heard the screen door slam and after a slight delay—when he descended the stairs from the stilt house—all fifty pounds of him came bowling toward us.
Allie and Justine fell for his act and gave him the attention he felt he deserved.
“Hunter, is that you?” Ray called down from the deck.
“Yeah, sorry about that. We tried to get in without waking him.”
“Got the women with you. He knows. Can’t sleep anyhow, bunch of fools come by trying to camp here earlier, thinking they could see that pile of concrete get dumped. What the hell is with these people?”
It took several attempts for him to get Zero’s attention, but finally, knowing where his food bowl was, the big dog strolled back upstairs. The door slammed again and we had a quiet laugh. I checked that the boat was secure and followed Allie and Justine up to the house.
It had been awkward at first with both of them staying here. On the second weekend with me sleeping on the couch, Allie had asked me when I was going to marry her. I didn’t want to tell her that I hadn’t even told her I loved her yet, but her question had given me permission to cohabitate. After deciding on a six a.m. start, we said good night and went to bed.
I lay awake for what felt like hours, until Justine finally turned on the light and asked me what was wrong. After explaining my theory that this might have been a targeted killing, she rolled out of bed and grabbed my laptop.
“Should be pretty easy to see who the victims were,” she said as she started typing something into the Google search bar.
I waited, feeling guilty that I was causing both of us to lose sleep. “Sorry about this. I can sleep on the couch.”
“No worries. Your problems are my problems.”
I liked the sound of that and reached for her. She brushed off my advances and focused on the screen.
“Here you go. Guess we’ll have to do a search for each one. I don’t recognize any of the names.” She swung the screen so I could see it.
“Wait, I recognize that name.”
It looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. She gave me the I’m waiting look and I shrugged. After Justine entered the name into Google again, I moved closer and we looked at the results together. There were Facebook and LinkedIn profiles that we clicked through, but still nothing. “Maybe I’m just tired. Let’s look at the other names.”
One at a time we performed the same search on each of the victims. They all seemed like ordinary people to me.
“Why would someone go through all that trouble?” Justine asked.
“Money, power, greed, you know the deal. But none of the victims appears related to anything that has to do with the bridge.” My eyes were heavy and I caught Justine nodding off. The laptop was by my side now and I looked over at Justine. She had fallen asleep sitting up. I stowed the computer under the bed and eased her into a more comfortable position before turning off the light and calling it a night, hoping sleep would finally take me.
It apparently did, because a knock on the door woke both of us. The first rays of light were streaming through the blinds as I reached for my phone. It was already six. and we were supposed to be on the water. I called out to Allie that we would be ready in a few minutes and woke Justine.
The day couldn’t have been any better if Martinez had requisitioned it. Somehow his media Karma was holding up and the swell that we had felt last night was gone. By the time we were ready to go the seas were flat and the sun was already out. I expected the usual round of afternoon thunderstorms, but the ceremony would be finished before the small puffy clouds had time to turn into the mean anvil-shaped thunderheads that kept you vigilant about the weather this time of year.
We quickly packed a cooler with some food and drinks and headed out the door. Ray and Becky were loading their boat for a picnic as well. We were delayed slightly when Zero, now stuck on Ray’s boat, had a fit of jealousy when Allie went to say hi to Jamie.
“Y’all gonna go catch the show too? Don’t think it’ll be as good as when they scuttle a boat to make a wreck site, but it’s still pretty cool,” Becky said.
“Gotta work an area, but I’m hoping we can see it,” I told her.
“This weather, there ought to be a whole lot of yahoos out there,” Ray said. “We’re going to head to the beach at Boca Chita after if you want to join us.”
I thanked him for the invitation and started the engine. Ray left the dock ahead of us and I waited to see if he was going to take the inside or outside route before releasing the lines. His boat had just disappeared through Caesar Creek when I turned the other way. Ray liked to run fast and had taken the open water route. I chose the inside, both to have two sets of eyes on the water and to satisfy Martinez if he happened to be watching.
We were far from the first boats on the water. An overhead shot from one of the news helicopters circling overhead would have shown three lines of boats all heading to the site: Bayfront and Blackpoint Parks from the south and Government Cut from the north.
The park service boat was nondescript. With just the forest green T-top and logo on the sides, most boaters probably thought we were just another group heading out. It was going to be a party-like atmosphere and I was thankful that the early hour had probably kept the alcohol consumption down—at least for now. Later, with all the packed boats, with equally packed coolers, there were bound to be some issu
es.
A traffic jam had formed at the cut through the Featherbed Banks and I slowed to advise several impatient boaters where the shallows were. We stuck around there longer than I would have liked, directing the traffic to go single-file through the channel. Finally, rush hour ended and I jumped in behind a large cruiser playing loud rap music.
Martinez wanted me on the inside of the site and I took up a station about a hundred yards from the barge. Allie took the binoculars from the console and scanned the horizon. It was almost nine and the show was about to start.
“Hey, there’s your boss.” Allie pointed to the Coast Guard Cutter we had seen last night.
I reached for the binoculars and focused on the deck. There he was in his finest dress uniform. Susan McLeash was at his side, and I wondered what she had done to get out of her patrol. It didn’t matter, really; she and the rest of the crowd were probably safer with her surrounded by the Coast Guard.
A loud boom sounded and the crane that had stationed itself next to the barge reached down and scooped up the first piece of debris. Cheers went up from the crowd, but we were quiet as we watched the evidence drop to the sea floor.
16
Twenty minutes later it was over. The tugs that had been stationed off to the side were reunited with the barges and started to tow them back to port. Spectators stayed for a few minutes, then started to drift away. The helicopters made one more pass before heading back to Miami. A few minutes later, the Coast Guard vessel pulled anchor and moved off. We were alone except for a lone red buoy marking the site.
I idled close to the site of the new reef. Later this week, eighteen white mooring balls would be added to allow recreational divers access to the site without having to anchor. We reached the buoy and peered over the side. The flat seas and clear water showed little of the collapsed bridge—just some dark patches on the otherwise sandy bottom.
“We have a small window here before it’s swarmed with divers and fishermen.” I had heard that newly placed reefs were prime attractions for both recreational and commercial dive boats. The history of the reef, as well as the convenience of the mooring buoys, would make it hard to pass up. Most of the other artificial reefs in the park were wrecks in various states of decay, like the one we had dove on last weekend. The bridge, although not as interesting a dive, held a morbid fascination about it. It would be a busy site.
“What do you mean?” Allie asked.
I started to backtrack. Diving the bridge wreckage now would give us our last opportunity to see if there was any evidence. Finding anything would be a slim chance, but sometimes you had to take what you were given. By the weekend, the site would be dotted with mooring buoys. Even before that, the beginnings of a slime coat would form, one that would eventually hide the concrete entirely. Colonies of coral and other life would then begin to establish themselves.
My only issue with diving it so soon was that I wasn’t sure if the concrete chunks were likely to shift as they settled into their final resting place, making the dive dangerous. I thought myself barely qualified to dive the site this soon after being dumped; there was no way I was going to endanger Allie.
“We should plan on diving it next weekend,” I decided. It would be marked, but everyone else would be searching for lobster. I doubted after only a week that the site would hold many of the highly sought after crustaceans. It was also sportsman’s season and with only two days, hunters tended to go to spots they knew and leave exploration of new areas for later in the season.
“That sounds great, Dad,” Allie said, turning back to her phone.
She sat on the padded cooler top in front of the console, posting pictures she’d taken of the reef being sunk on Facebook and Instagram. Justine came close to me.
“Next weekend will be too late,” she whispered.
“I know, but it’s too dangerous for Allie.”
As we pulled away from the site, a part of my brain started a countdown. Every minute the rubble was in the water the chances of finding any other evidence grew slimmer. “You’re part of the Miami-Dade dive team, right?” I asked Justine. Between the background noise from the idling engine and her position in front of the console and windshield, I didn’t think Allie could hear us as long as we spoke quietly.
“Roger that, Kimo sabe. I’ll send a group text and see if anyone is interested.”
I would have to figure out how to get myself invited later, but even if I was excluded at least I would have eyes down there. “You can use the park service boat. I’ll run you out.”
“That might help,” she said.
That would also keep me close. “Ready?” I yelled over the console to Allie. I waited until she’d stashed her phone to press down on the throttle. We were quickly up on plane speeding back to Adams Key.
Despite the ticking clock in my head and the nagging feeling that there was something I was missing, the beauty of the park quickly captivated me. The subtle pastels of the crystal clear water spread in front of me. The colors held clues to the bottom features but were so beautiful on their own that thousands of artists had tried to replicate them—most falling short. White ibis and pelicans crowded the mangrove-lined shores and mullet jumped in the small coves.
Elliot Key was on our port side and Adams Key, our destination, lay dead ahead. I slowed slightly, realizing that once we reached the key, I had no plan. Martinez would expect a report from me, but I figured the media coverage would keep him occupied for the rest of the day. A larger fish left the water in chase of some invisible prey to our right and Allie called out to see if we had seen it.
Fishing had a way of solving my problems. Maybe it was the absolute focus of the hunt or just being immersed in nature that made my brain work differently. Either way, the single-minded pursuit was the secret sauce. Whenever I called it quits and put away the rod and reel, my mind had usually worked through my problems. That’s when things usually came together for me.
“We’ve got some time. Want to chase a few fish?” I got a unanimous thumbs-up. “Okay, we’ll stop by the dock and grab some poles. Jones Lagoon should be pretty good on this tide.” It had taken me some time to become one with the ebb and flow of the tides and currents here, but I rarely needed to check the tide tables anymore.
An hour later I dropped the Power-Pole that secured the boat in the shallow lagoon. Without a marked channel leading through the maze of mangroves, it was almost always quiet in here. We started casting swim baits under the branches and I smiled when Allie hooked up first. Even her disappointment when the fish broke off in the tangled roots resulted in a determined smile.
Pretty soon we were all landing small snapper. It was fun, especially watching Allie—she was still new enough at this that any tug on the other end of the line was exciting. She hadn’t yet been ruined by that one good day when you loaded the boat with keepers. Justine held her own, and I spent more time unhooking and tossing fish back than fishing. It was all good, but gave me little time to think about the case.
We stayed with it until the tide bottomed out and the bite slowed. After stowing the rods, I went to raise the Power-Pole and head back when the sound of my phone ringing broke the silence. I should have known my reprieve from Martinez would be short-lived. The ceremony was over and the bridge debris was underwater. His appearance had already been shown live and was now on tape ready for the evening news. I’m sure he already knew which bar his most influential friends would be drinking at later so he could join them and make sure they saw him prominently featured in the coverage. Until then it was business as usual.
“Hunter, I’m guessing you’re patrolling in there,” he started.
Of course he knew where I was from the tracker on the boat and my phone. “Somebody’s got to do it.”
“Now that the reef is in place, you need to submit a schedule and stop this wild goose chase. This investigation or whatever you’re doing is over.”
I paused for a second before answering. There was no way I was going to g
ive in and drop the case, especially after finding the bored hole and blasting cap. I started feeling guilty that I had taken the last hour to fish. “I’ll be back at headquarters in an hour.”
That bought me a little time to figure out what I was going to do. Going to see him was on my route to take Justine and Allie back anyway. Justine had to work later and especially after Jane had seen Burkett last night, I wanted to get Allie back as promised. “Let’s head back. It’s getting to be about that time.”
I idled out of the lagoon and entered the deep-water channel that dead-ended there. One of the many remnants of attempts to develop the out islands, there were many of these partially marked channels that ended abruptly. Minutes later, Zero greeted us as we docked. Allie and Justine went up to the house to clean up and grab their things while I put away the fishing gear.
It sometimes felt like I had two lives: one with Allie and Justine when we were like a close-knit family, the other as a loner. The closer we all became the less I liked the latter.
Ray must have seen us come in and came down the steps from his house. “Fishing any good?” he asked.
“Fair. Bunch of small stuff. Nothing for the pan.”
“Martinez wants to get the mooring balls set before the weekend. If you don’t have much on your plate, I could use a hand.”
These kind of duties usually fell to Ray. When you wanted to get something done here, he was the man. “I’m going in to see him now. I’ll ask.” If he went for it, the assignment would allow me access to the new reef and also get Martinez off my back for a few days. Both worked with my agenda.
The second the screen door to my house closed, Zero went on full alert. He glanced over at me and ran up the path, where he waited at the bottom of the stairs for Allie and Justine. They stopped to pet him and he followed them to the dock, clearly upset when we untied the lines and pulled away.
Backwater Pass Page 10
