I got that. “Sure. Maybe I can just plant a seed of doubt.”
“There you go, sow away,” she said.
“Call you later?” I asked on my way out the door.
“You bet,” she said, turning back to her work.
Her last words and the way she said them ran through my head on the drive to the medical examiner’s office. It probably wasn’t anything I should have been analyzing, but I had that “maybe-new-girlfriend, new-relationship” feeling that wouldn’t let my brain drop it. I was in unfamiliar territory but was brought back to reality every few seconds by the nagging voice of Siri from my phone. After exiting the 836 at Northwest Twelfth Avenue, I worked my way around Jackson Memorial Hospital and found the Miami-Dade coroner’s office. I had been there before but had never driven, making it a new experience.
I caught my second break when I found Sid at his desk instead of in the autopsy room. “Hey, Sid,” I said, knocking on the doorjamb.
He peered at me over his glasses like I had done something wrong. “I hear you’re looking into the Jane Doe from last night.”
I wondered what Justine had told him. “I’m just trying to establish her identity now.” I pulled my phone out and showed him the picture of her dive certification.
He pulled his glasses up on his balding head, swung a lighted magnifying glass over his desk, and studied the picture. “Bone structure’s right. Could be her.”
I explained about the gear and the tank. “If I could take a strand of her hair, Justine says she can try and match them.”
“Done,” he said, handing me a sealed evidence bag. “Make sure she’s the one that opens it.” He turned back to whatever he had been working on, essentially dismissing me.
This was going faster than I wanted it to. “I’m curious—”
He looked over his glasses again and cut me off. “She said this was your second case.”
I expected that was bad. “It is. But there are some things bugging me.”
He pushed his papers aside. “It’s a slow night. Let’s see what you got.”
I took a deep breath, trying to control myself from blurting out everything. “Okay, I’m just going back to what you said.” He gave me a look that said continue. “There was little bruising around the stomach area. You thought that was due to the time in the water and the internal organs being ripped out. I get that, and it brings me to the lung thing. There was something you noted about her lungs being overexpanded.”
“That was curious, but she was definitely run over by a boat.”
“I agree, but what would have made her lungs blow up, and could she have died from that before she was hit by the propeller?”
“We’re assuming she was scuba diving when the accident occurred. That was unknown when we did the initial autopsy. Now that you found the gear it really doesn’t change much. The cut straps on the BC still match the propeller theory. What I’m thinking is it was simultaneous. Kind of the opposite of drowning. If you were just swimming and were struck by a propeller, you would be alive, and your initial reaction, if you were disabled, would be to inhale a lungful of water. With scuba gear, it’s the opposite. But it wouldn’t expand the lungs, just keep water out.”
That made sense. The obvious injury was the propeller and he was likely correct about the cause of death. But there was something still bugging me. I suspected neither of us knew enough about scuba to be certain about the lung expansion. That led me to the person who did.
“Once we establish the identity, I have to close the file.” He paused. “Unless you can prove something else was the cause of death.”
With the evidence bag in hand, I left his office thinking that the clock was ticking now, and although I was in control of the evidence that could confirm the victim’s identity, I couldn’t slow down the process. I sat in the Park Service truck with the windows open. It was past midnight now, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I knew I was starting to freelance with the investigation and needed some time to think. Even though I didn’t like him, I did have a boss to report to.
Before heading home, I needed to call Justine. There was no answer, so I left a voicemail saying I had to work early in the morning and would catch up with her tomorrow. I still had the hair sample, and with a somewhat clear conscience, I returned to the headquarters building. The drive that had taken over an hour earlier was less than half that now, and I pulled up behind the Park Service building and left the truck. Taking the keys with me, I headed toward the boat and hopped aboard, thinking I’d be back in the morning. Somehow I needed to square this investigation with Martinez before he figured out what I was doing.
The boat ride back was uneventful, and I surprised myself with another smooth docking maneuver. It was so stealthy that even Zero didn’t hear me. I had thought that once my head hit the pillow, I would be asleep, but that was not the case. I tossed and turned for an hour before I decided to get up. This thing with Martinez was eating at me, and suspecting his reaction was not going to be in my favor, I wanted to see where I really stood.
I found the employee manual in the bottom of a neglected box deep in a closet. As with most things that involved paperwork, it was the first time the spine had been opened. Taking it to the living room, I sat on the couch and studied the table of contents. There were several sections that might contain what I was looking for and I flipped to the first one.
A loud crack of thunder followed closely by a brilliant stroke of lightning woke me. The lightning illuminated the room and was followed by another crash of thunder that shook the house. I had been warned, but I was still getting used to these daily storms. The weather out west was different. Cold fronts pushed through from mid-October through late March, bringing wind, rain, and snow. Once they stopped, the skies stayed clear until the next fall. In fact, there were weeks when you couldn’t see a cloud and it often didn’t rain from May to October. The temperature was different as well. Often reaching a hundred degrees, the afternoons and evenings could be uncomfortable, but each night it cooled down into the sixties.
Florida weather had been explained to me as seven months of summer and five months of hell. And this was the hell part. The thermometer hadn’t dipped below eighty degrees since I had been there and though it rarely reached ninety, the humidity was suffocating. Thunderstorms, which had been only a once-or-twice-a-year occurrence back home, were a daily event during the hell months.
Wide awake now I picked up the open book that lay on my stomach and went to the kitchen. The clock said it was five after five. It would be daylight soon and I would have to deal with the world. After brewing a pot of coffee, I took a cup back to the couch, and this time sitting upright, I started reading the manual. I was into my second cup when, despite the caffeine, my vision started blurring from the government legalese. The first hint of daylight snuck through the sliding glass door, and fighting to keep my eyes open, I found what I was looking for.
Director’s order number 9: Park officers may conduct investigations (wherever that investigation may lead) of offenses against the United States committed in the national park system in the absence of investigation thereof by any other Federal law enforcement agency having investigative jurisdiction over the offense committed or with the concurrence of such other agency.
By my reading, it was clear from that passage that I could pursue the investigation. Miami-Dade, for all their assistance and support, was not a federal agency and had not shown any interest in the investigation. The part that said “wherever it may lead” stated, at least to me, that I didn’t have to stay in the confines of the park to work the case. I copied the section and page in a note on my phone and headed for the shower, feeling like I actually had a chance.
That feeling didn’t last long. Standing in front of Martinez, two hours later, my confidence had waned and he hadn’t even spoken yet. To make it worse, my phone had vibrated, showing a call from Justine, just after I had walked into his office. I would have liked to talk to her first.
>
“What the hell, Hunter?” he started.
This was not going at all the way I had planned.
“You find a body, then you go off the reservation and start an investigation?”
I knew he didn’t want an answer, so I just let the train roll.
“Yes, I got your first complaint. Some guy asking what kind of authority you had to be pushing him around.”
It had to be Gordy. I doubted Herb would remember or was even sober enough to call. It didn’t matter. I had to make a stand sooner or later.
“I was trying to identify the victim,” I started.
“Miami-Dade has the body. It’s their job,” he said.
I had to call him on this now or I would be looking for another job. “Actually, it is within our mandate to conduct investigations, wherever they may lead.” It sounded pretty good to me.
His face turned from brown to red, which was a stretch. “Don’t quote that shit to me. I’m your boss. We have rules and budgets.”
I knew that he knew that he was standing on shaky ground. From my experience, as soon as a government employee says the word “budget” as a reason for anything, you can assume they are out of arguments. The question was how to play him. I figured him for the ego-driven bureaucrat. Now was the time to test my theory, not barrage him with regulations he probably already knew.
“Solving this could look good for us. A little publicity could get us an increase in our budget. As the special agent in charge, you’ll probably get a promotion or commendation too.” That was all I had. Giving him half the credit for no work. He sat straighter in his chair and I knew I had him.
“Short leash, Hunter, and no more complaints. You’ve apparently done your homework and know the limits of your authority—don’t push it.”
I wanted out before he changed his mind. “Yes, sir,” I said, forcing myself not to salute him. It wasn’t the best deal, and I knew he’d be the one in front of the cameras if we found any answers. I didn’t care. I had a case to solve.
“Just one thing, surfer boy. That schedule you gave me. That’s still your job too.”
11
I left Martinez’s office relieved. That is, until I ran into Susan McLeash. It was as if she was stalking me and I guessed it wasn’t a coincidence when she cornered me before I could get down the stairs.
“Hear you got a case going.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Just working on the identity of the floater we found the other day.” I had a feeling she too was angling for a piece of the credit if we scored some media attention. I was well aware that she had felt scorned the last time when she was left out.
“Thinking it’s a homicide?”
That was a question that led me to believe she wasn’t sure what I had. “Just trying to notify the next of kin,” I said, trying to get down the first step. Run, run fast, run fast and don’t look back was at the forefront of my agenda. As a woman, she wasn’t unattractive. I figured her for early forties, just the age where vain women start to get desperate. Her platinum-streaked hair was a little too perfect and her uniform blouse a little too tight. Her contrived appearance told me she was trouble, and someone happy to take credit for my work.
Mariposa must have noticed and called my name as if she were going to scold me for something. In the pecking order of the headquarters staff, the Jamaican woman had some kind of maternal power, and Susan backed away enough for me to slide downstairs. On the way out, Mariposa tried again to corral me into a dinner invitation. I carefully dodged her request as best I could until she finally gave me that look and I promised to ask Justine.
Procrastination, at least when it came to social engagements, was in my DNA, and I put the dinner from my mind. I had gained some traction with Martinez, but the reprieve from him would likely be short-lived. This brought me back to my top priority, now that the victim had a name: establishing the cause of death as a homicide. To do that I needed a quick education on scuba equipment. T. J. down in Key Largo would surely help. Through Justine, I had met him on my first case here.
Despite the early hour, the heat and humidity were building quickly. Sitting in the truck with the air conditioner running, I dialed Justine.
“He actually gave it to you?” she asked after I told her about Sid giving me the hair sample.
“You sound surprised.”
“He’s just not the trusting type. Maybe he likes you.”
I didn’t really know where to go with that, so I let it drop. “Anyway, I have the hair sample and a short leash from Martinez. There’s some dive stuff I need help with too. Do you think you could hook me up with T. J.?”
There was a pause on the line and I wondered what I had done wrong now.
“There’s also this propeller thing. Maybe he could help me with that too.”
“You’re talking homicide again?”
I had her attention. “Yeah, but I have to prove it to Sid before we confirm the identity. As long as she’s a Jane Doe and he has some space, he’s going to hold on to the body.” My phone vibrated and I glanced down at it. The 305 area code told me it was from Miami; the caller ID was blank. “Hey, I gotta call you back.”
I swapped calls. “Hello, this is Agent Hunter.”
“You left your card with me last night.”
I didn’t have to ask the name. I had only handed out two cards and one was to a man. “Holly?”
“Yes. Can you come over?”
“What about Herb? I don’t think he’s going to be happy to see me.”
“He’s gone. Playing golf, or so he says. Probably be out for a while.”
There was something about the way she said gone that spooked me. “Can we do this over the phone?”
“I would feel more comfortable in person.”
It wasn’t like I had a plan. “I can swing by in a half hour.” I pulled out of the Park Service lot and redialed Justine.
“I have to go see Abbey’s aunt. She says she has some information.”
“That’ll work if you want to bring the hair sample by afterward. I have a swing shift today from noon to eight.”
The only problem with that was the identity of the body would be confirmed sooner than I wanted. I had to move fast. On my way up to the Gables, I wondered what information Holly could have that was so important she had to deliver it in person. By the time I realized that I couldn’t think of anything, I was sitting in her driveway. Things looked worse in the daylight, and as I walked up the path I noticed the exterior of the house and landscape had been as poorly done as the interior. In my opinion, the dollars they had put into the house would never be recouped. The sunlight was not being kind to the property, and when I opened the door, I thought the same about the owner.
Holly stood in the doorway. She gave me a smile that almost cracked her makeup. In a bright sundress that had seen better years, she stood trying to look alluring with her hand on her hip. Her other hand held a cup of coffee. Looking at her I had a quick image of Susan McLeash a few years from now. She invited me in, and I caught a whiff of the cup and almost choked. Straight vodka at ten thirty a.m. A little early for me, but it might have been late for her. She had made an attempt to look good, but it was hard to hide the dark circles under her eyes; it looked like she had been up all night.
“Would you like to sit down? Coffee?”
Wondering if the coffee was going to be the same as hers, I declined. “I’m good,” I said, following her into the living room. She swayed slightly before she finally found the couch and sat closer to me than I thought necessary. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“It’s Herb.”
I’d had a feeling that was coming but didn’t know how it was going to play out. I gave her a sympathetic nod.
“Well, you saw him. Man’s a mess.”
I couldn’t argue that point, but it appeared to be a case of the pot calling the kettle black. I stayed silent, hoping she would open up.
“I know. Look at me. I’v
e been up all night. He left just after you did. Took one of those Uber things.”
“Is that unusual? He seemed under the influence.”
“Neither—under the influence or unusual—but he’s not real bright. I get the receipts sent to my email.”
I was guessing that she knew where he had gone. “And . . .”
She deftly changed the subject. “I thought that might have been a bad first impression we gave you last night.”
It wasn’t the line of questioning I wanted to follow, but if she was talking, I was ready to listen. I’d found when dealing with scared people that saying nothing would get the other person talking—they hated dead air.
“The house, Abbey’s apartment. Everything’s a wreck. It’s not like we abused her or anything. Things are hard now.”
From the date of birth on Abbey’s certification card, I knew she was twenty-five. Abuse was not an issue. She could have left whenever she wanted. Holly sidled closer to me. I was getting freaked out and slid just far enough away to avoid a confrontation and keep her talking. I must have put her off.
“This is all so hard.” She took a deep drink from her mug.
I thought so too and wondered if I was here to provide comfort or solve a crime. “Mind if I have another look out back?” I asked.
“Not at all. I’ll be right here,” she said, hoisting the mug to her lips.
Holly was not going to be any more use, at least today. I left her in the living room and went down the small hallway, through the laundry, and outside. I tried not to judge the shoddy landscaping as I walked down the path to the small apartment. The door was ajar, and not trusting Holly that Herb was not there, I pulled out my gun and slowly pushed the door open with my shoe. The main room with the kitchen and living area was clear and I eased into the hallway. A quick glance confirmed the bathroom was empty. I found myself staring at the closed bedroom door.
I tapped it lightly with the tip of the barrel and, when there was no answer, walked in. Feeling a little stupid and hoping there were no video cameras, I started my investigation. Someone had made a half-hearted attempt to clean up the place since I had seen it last night. The furniture had been set back in place. Drawers were stuffed to overflowing and random things were still left on the floor; it looked like whoever had done it was trying to ease their guilt. There was no telling how the contents had been shuffled around, and forensic evidence would be worthless.
Backwater Bay (Kurt Hunter Mysteries Book 1) Page 7