Backwater Flats

by Steven Becker

  Fortunately, the restaurant had been closed at the time of the incident and there were no witnesses aside from the staff. I could only hope, for the kayaker’s sake as well as mine, that none had taken video. I glanced down at my phone, thinking that just in case, I should alert Martinez to monitor the social media platforms.

  I was far from being a celebrity, but I’d been on several high-profile cases since landing here. Grace had her share as well. Standing together we were all too recognizable. I thought about canceling lunch, splitting up, and running.

  Grace took a different approach. Plastering a photogenic smile on her face, she walked right into the bullets. Running was still on my mind, but one of the reporters noticed me and started walking my way. Taking the coward’s approach, I followed Grace, using her body as a shield to deflect the onslaught of questions they were preparing to throw my way.

  “Agent Hunter. There is a video of you saving the man under the bridge. Did you know it’s going viral?”

  I was done. One of the staff must have posted a video. As the cameraman moved around Grace, I glanced down at myself. The use of towels in South Florida is overrated. A few minutes in the sun is all that it takes to dry off. I’d put my shirt back on earlier, and quickly tucked it in and checked the buttons. A quick sweep of my hair and I left Grace’s cover and took on the media.

  “The Special Agent in Charge will give a statement later today,” I told the scrum. Martinez lived for the podium. He would be happy to take credit for the rescue.

  “Is this related to the murder of Officer Hayward?”

  “Later today.” I did my best Bill Belichick impression.

  “Captain Herrera, do you have anything for us?” Another reporter called out.

  She smiled again. “This investigation is under the National Park Service. We were just here to assist.”

  “Agent Hunter. The 911 call from the bartender said you were late getting in the water. Did you know this was going to happen, and did your delayed reaction endanger Officer Scott?”

  I knew she was baiting me, and like a hungry marlin after a tuna, I took it. “This is an ongoing investigation.” I stopped and tried to hold back, but she was in my personal space now, thrusting the phone toward my mouth.

  “You’re always looking for an angle, aren’t you? What makes you think I did anything but be in the right place at the right time?” I stepped back. She followed.

  “I’m just doing my job, Agent Hunter. Mine is reporting the news, not causing it.”

  I knew they’d edit her response. There was nothing I could do to take the words back. “Just following leads.”

  She pressed forward. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Not at this time.” Moving quickly now, I sought the protection of the restaurant. The reporter finally backed down and, as I felt the chill of the air conditioning hit me, I looked back and saw her deep in conversation with her producer, probably trying to figure out how to manipulate what I had said for maximum effect. Grace was right behind me and we followed the hostess to a table overlooking the bridge.

  “Relax, Kurt, it’s just us.”

  “Yeah, and the half-million people that watch that broadcast. I’m not very good at this.”

  “Focus on the positive. You saved a man.”

  “Investigation endangers a man’s life is what I’m seeing for headlines.” I couldn’t get the reporter’s question out of my head.

  “Maybe you ought to call your boss and fill him in. I know how much he likes his face time.”

  “You’re right.” The waitress had approached, and I pointed to the burger I wanted on the menu, then stepped outside. I didn’t mind if Grace heard the conversation, but I was leery of the other tables overhearing me. I passed the bartender on the way out, and gave him the evil eye for posting the video. He continued with whatever he was doing, oblivious of the curse I had put on him and his ancestors.

  Standing by the railing, in the same place I had watched Scott being dumped into the water, I called Martinez.

  “A phone call from Agent Hunter. This must be important.” The sarcasm in his voice bit me.

  “There’s been some action and the media’s involved now. I offered you up for a press conference this afternoon and didn’t want you to get blindsided.” He was silent, probably frantically scribbling notes as I recounted the morning’s adventures.

  “Never a dull moment with you, is there?”

  “I might come off as sounding a little harsh on the video.”

  “Really.“ The sarcasm was back in his voice.

  “They baited me.”

  “No worries, Hunter. I’ll schedule it for four o’clock. Please give me an update before then.”

  No “attaboys” from the boss for saving a life. He was in total podium mode. I took a minute before heading back inside the restaurant and opened my DVR app, where I scheduled it to record the news. I couldn’t wait to see how Martinez twisted this around to make it look like he had saved Scott.

  The call had taken longer than I thought and when I sat back down, before I could start recounting the events of the last few days to Grace, our food arrived. I tried to slow down and chew, but found myself famished and inhaled the burger. Grace picked at her salad, waiting patiently. Pushing the empty plate aside, I started with the discovery of Hayward’s body. I gave her the unabridged version. Grace was an ally, one of the few I had with Miami-Dade. Even if she was not involved with the case, I wanted to be sure she knew everything.

  “What’s your next step?” she asked. The interview phase was over.

  I knew it was a casual question. I’d had a plan until Scott got tossed into the water. Now, things had changed. “Can we put a BOLO out for the fishermen?”

  “For sure. What about Robinson?”

  “I think some good old-fashioned detective work is in order.”

  She knew exactly what I was talking about. “Don’t get caught, Kurt. Tailing another officer’ll get you in a world of hurt if he finds out.”

  “We find the fishermen, it’s a slam-dunk to hold them for attempted murder. I saw the whole thing.”

  “Any other witnesses?”

  “We can check with the bartender. He saw enough to video the rescue.”

  “YouTube and Facebook are not making things easier on us, are they?”

  I shook my head, wondering if Allie had seen the video yet. I’d call her as soon as Grace and I were finished. She’d get butt-hurt if she saw it without hearing from me. If a friend of hers saw it first, it would be even worse.

  “Here.” Grace slid her notepad across the table. “Give me whatever information you’ve got on them, and I’ll send it out.”

  I wrote down a description of the men, their boat, and the marina where they docked. The server came by and removed our plates, dropping the check on a small clipboard before she left.

  “I got this, ”I said.

  “Yes, you do. There’s a fine line being seen around you, Hunter. It’s all good if you find the perp, but if you don’t there’ll be hell to pay with the other detectives.”

  “Don’t I know it. Thanks, Grace.” I dropped my credit card on the table and sat back, trying to figure out how to deal with Robinson. The attempted murder dropped Scott down a few notches on my suspect list, leaving Robinson in first place. The only problem was, after handing Scott over to the fishermen, it still didn’t seem like Robinson had the stomach to murder someone in cold blood.

  25

  Grace and I left the restaurant, said goodbye, and walked to our separate vehicles. The food filled the void left by the waning adrenaline and I was feeling a little better as I pulled out of the lot. With Scott’s attempted murder occurring in Miami-Dade’s jurisdiction, however they chose to prosecute, it would be their arrest. I only hoped Grace would get the credit for what looked to be a slam-dunk. I did hope to get an interview with the suspects once they were in custody, but until then, there was nothing I could do on this end.

  Robinso
n had headed south from the bridge, probably back to the marina to ditch the boat. With nothing further to be gained by staying in Miami, I started back to headquarters hoping Martinez’s surveillance network might prove useful in locating him.

  Fridays saw an influx of tourists heading to the Keys for the weekend, and today was no different. With RVs and trucks towing boats, the usually light, midday traffic was stop and go. The never-ending construction on the southbound lanes of the turnpike didn’t help either, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been over the last year. Nearing completion, or at least no longer interrupting the flow of traffic, huge sound barriers were being erected to protect the neighborhoods adjacent to the highway from traffic noise. I used the time to leave a message for Allie, telling her to check out the news and asking about the weekend plan for her and her friend. She should have been in class, and even if she wasn’t, she was smart enough not to answer the call. As I headed south, I worried about her driving down with her friend. She was pretty careful by herself, but in Miami traffic even the smallest distraction could prove deadly.

  An hour later, I reached headquarters. It was about one o’clock, and with three hours until Martinez’s press conference, I was anxious for news if the fishermen had been apprehended, I glanced at my phone. My screen showed no new notifications, but I still held out hope. Arrests being made would make Martinez’s job considerably easier. It had already been a long day and I fought the urge to walk on by the park headquarters, hop on my boat, and head out on the bay. Martinez’s surveillance forced my decision. Generally knowing my location with a three-foot accuracy, he texted that he was in his office.

  Mariposa’s smile helped. She gave some encouraging words about the rescue and I headed upstairs, where I expected the accolades would be considerably less. Susan’s door was closed. I wasn’t sure if she had been suspended again, or if Martinez had told her to leave early and disappear for the weekend until things quieted down. A savvy reporter would put the call about last night’s gunshot together with Scott’s rescue and the BOLO for the fishermen, and throw a hardball at Martinez. Susan being at work wouldn’t help that cause.

  Martinez barely looked up when I entered. Deep into his study of a handwritten speech, he glanced occasionally at the surveillance screens, then back to the paper. At first, I thought he didn’t see me, but just before I was about to speak, he waved me to a chair.

  “Interesting. Just give me a few minutes.”

  I tried to stop fidgeting while I waited, wondering what he wanted from me. I doubted it was to rehearse his speech.

  It turned out he had found a real clue—not an FBI clue—something actionable. He turned the legal pad upside down, and hit a few keys. The screens changed, and I recognized the parking lot outside. Craning my neck to see, he broke down and invited me behind his desk for a better view.

  Getting a serious “don’t touch me” vibe, I got up and stepped behind his chair, trying not to invade his personal space. Leaning slightly over his shoulder for a better look, I almost set my hand on the back of his chair, but sensing him tense, I backed away. “When was this?”

  “Afternoon of the murder.” Simultaneously, he worked the keyboard and mouse trying to get the frame he wanted. “There.” He stopped the playback and zoomed in on a figure in the parking lot.

  Pressing the pause button, he advanced the image one frame at a time. A figure moved in and out of the camera’s field of view with its back to the camera. It was only in a handful of frames and probably appeared as a blur in real time. It only took a glance to recognize Robinson.

  “That’s the camera mounted on the roof looking west?”

  Martinez looked at me like I had broken his top-secret code. “Yes.” He paused. “Camera locations are chosen as a deterrent, as well as for actual surveillance,” he said, with a smug look.

  I knew he was trying to justify his existence, but let it pass. The date and time were visible on the top right of the screen. Sunday at 15:43. “Timing works. I wondered how he reached the scene so quickly, especially on a weekend afternoon.”

  “I can’t get a shot with his truck, either. Interesting.”

  “It’s very circumstantial, but yes, it is a pretty big coincidence. Can you back up the video a few minutes before and let it play?”

  “Sure.” With a half-dozen keystrokes, the scene reversed.

  “Any controls on the camera itself?” I had noticed it pan back and forth to cover the entire parking lot. “What if he was driving his personal vehicle?”

  He looked across at me like I was an idiot. Government employees rarely used their own cars or trucks—especially the supervisors, whose work vehicles were generally newer. The camera passed by a park service truck and then another.

  “Wait.” I wished I hadn’t said it the second the word was out of my mouth. Martinez didn’t seem to notice, though. Monday through Friday, both trucks were generally there, but this was Sunday. I had a split-second to decide if I should tell him. He stared at me, waiting for me to elaborate.

  “Nothing.” I tried to rationalize my deceit. There was no way to tell what lengths he would go to protect Susan.

  He continued to play the footage right through the time of the murder. A few minutes after Robinson appeared, Hayward could be seen walking to his truck. The camera moved away for the next few minutes. When it returned, Hayward’s body was prone on the ground with a small pool of blood spreading from his stomach. The camera moved away again. When it returned, the blood pool was much larger. The time lapse showed the aggressiveness of the assault.

  I asked Martinez to return to the frames of Hayward walking across the lot. Checking the timestamp as he scrolled though in slow motion, I waited until it made the second pass, showing his dead body. Three minutes had elapsed. Rounding things off, I figured the killer had a two-minute window to execute the murder.

  “That takes things to a totally different level of premeditation,” Martinez said, checking my math. “This wasn’t a spur of the moment decision.”

  And that kind of reasoning is what got you promoted to Special Agent in Charge, I thought. I watched him to see if he could follow the yellow-brick road.

  “The killer knew about the cameras,” Kurt said.

  I didn’t bother to tell him that someone else could have passed on the locations. Especially as it appeared Susan McLeash had been there as well. Now, I had to find out if she was actually an accomplice, or an unwitting dupe; there was little chance she had been working on a Sunday. Robinson had abducted Scott, making him at least an accessory to the foiled murder attempt. I was wondering if he had any actual blood on his hands from Hayward’s murder when my phone rang. Ignoring Martinez’s questioning look, I glanced down at the display and saw it was Allie.

  “Excuse me.” I rose and left the office without giving Martinez a chance to comment. Hitting Accept I walked down the hallway, further away from his prying ears. Though there was always the chance of a listening device wired to his desk, I took the call.

  “Hey,”

  “Hey, Dad. Lana and I are going to head down there now.”

  Any father knows their daughters can confuse them in one sentence. “I thought your car was in the shop and your mom was going to drive you down?”

  “Lana has a car. She’s gonna drive. We’ll be leaving here in about ten minutes. Just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  I racked my brain trying to recall any information on Lana; bits and pieces of conversations filtered through my head, but I couldn’t come up with anything solid. Allie living with her mom took me out of the day-to-day loop of her life. I had agreed to the arrangement, knowing it was better for the kids of split families to have a permanent residence. Juggling their lives one week to the next, moving between their parental unit’s domiciles, disrupted their stability. Someone had to rise above and give in. In our case, at least initially, I hadn’t had much of a choice. After the cartel firebombed our house back in California, Jane had wasted no time in dragging me
in front of a judge. At the time I had to agree with my ex and her lawyer. I had no defense and waived my right to an attorney. Thinking I had accepted the consequences of my actions like a man, it had taken me a year to realize I had made a mistake, and then five figures given to my attorney, Daniel J. Viscount to correct it. I was hurt, but Allie was the one who was damaged. In her eyes, I had abandoned her. A lot of water had passed under the bridge since then, and Jane and I now had what I thought was an equitable custody arrangement. I had to credit Justine for her help in that.

  “What kind of car? How long has she had her license? Has she ever driven in Miami traffic?” The questions kept coming.

  “Dad.”

  It was becoming apparent I had little say in the matter. There are several milestones when raising a child. At first walking is scary, then school, but nothing is like driving. Their ability to suddenly be miles away from you in a matter of minutes without any control or oversight is daunting. Allie was a good kid, but I had no idea about Lana. Falling back on my last leg, I asked the one question that I tried to avoid: “Is it okay with your mom?”

  “Yes. Lana’s been taking me to school lately.”

  “Be careful.” Defeated, I looked down at the floor, thinking maybe I should intervene in the repair of her car. If it only had a carburetor I could handle it, but the electronics were better left to a pro.

  “See ya soon.” She disconnected.

  I hadn’t really wanted to talk to her mom, but I would have exchanged the stress of the encounter for the knowledge that Allie was at least safe. I knew I had to get over it. College was on the horizon and I knew things were only going to get worse. Allie was interested, and had the grades for, the University of Florida. Gainesville, though centrally located, was still a seven-hour drive from the park.