Backwater Cove

by Steven Becker

  “My case or yours?”

  Our jurisdictions were clear, but the lines were sometimes blurry. Anything that happened within the park’s boundaries was mine; what happened outside of them was hers. The problem was that the bad guys didn’t always stay within the lines. We had worked well together before. Unlike our superiors, neither of us were out for accolades or commendations. I’m not into all the spiritual stuff, but there is a verse from the Tao that I remembered about being humble and praise will find you:

  When the Master governs, the people are hardly aware that he exists.

  Next best is a leader who is loved.

  Next, one who is feared.

  The worst is one who is despised.

  That last was clearly Martinez.

  “I found a girl in the park last night. She says she had a friend with her, who is now missing.”

  “Now?”

  “It’s complicated. Can you help me file a report? I guess there’s new orders from the Ivory Tower that you guys can’t help me without a case number.”

  “I got that memo, too. I can meet you in an hour.”

  She gave me the name of a coffee shop. I thanked her and wondered why I had that tingling feeling you get when a pretty girl says yes to a date. On my way to our rendezvous, I wondered why we weren’t meeting at her office. I guessed there was a pretty good chance I’d become a persona non grata with Miami-Dade.

  I parked and, with butterflies in my stomach, approached the coffee shop. I relaxed when I saw her sitting alone near the corner. She greeted me like an old friend. There was no awkwardness or glances around to see if anyone was looking.

  “I like to work here,” she said as if reading my mind.

  “Cool, can I get you anything?”

  “Sure.”

  She gave me her drink order, which I had to repeat back three times. Finally she told me to tell the barista it was for her and they would know. I don’t know why, but I expected the typical LEO drink—black coffee—and wondered if this wasn’t one of the reasons why she worked from here. While the barista made her drink and poured my black coffee, I thought about how to present this.

  “So, you saw a body and when you returned, it wasn’t there?”

  I had decided to tell her the unvarnished truth. “Yeah. I couldn’t get in there with the park service boat. It was less than a half hour between when I saw what I believed to be the body and when I returned.”

  She was quiet for a few minutes while she wrote down the sequence of events. “The boat names that you were given?”

  “Temptress and Spindrift.”

  She wrote those down as well. “Any kind of description on the boat you actually saw would help. I’m thinking that the girls are your deal. I can help you track down the boats.”

  I shut my eyes and tried to picture the boat I’d seen in my mind. I couldn’t remember anything but a vague outline highlighted by the moon. Then I remembered the navigation lights. I had learned a few things about boats in my time here and one of them was how to recognize a particular boat by the configuration of its lights. Sailboats were easy—a white anchor light was set on top of the mast. Smaller outboards generally had a lower anchor light and a common green and red beacon mounted to the bow. Generally, the height of the vessel could be determined by the white light and its beam, or width, by the distance between its red and green lights.

  From what I recalled, the boat had separate port and starboard lights. The anchor light had been the height of a flybridge. I drew Grace a picture and together we filled in the gaps. It looked like a trawler, a motorboat used mainly by live-aboards and partiers.

  With the report finished, we had an awkward moment where neither of us knew what to say next. It ended quickly when my phone vibrated on the table. I looked down and saw that it was Martinez.

  6

  The time on my phone’s display showed it was after nine. I knew his hours and realized I had forgotten to send him an email. I should have at least called him before I met with Grace. Pointing at the phone, I made a face and stepped to the side.

  “What the hell, Hunter,” he started, obviously knowing I was in Miami and not on the bay.

  I pictured him sitting in front of his dual monitors watching a little blinking light that told him my whereabouts. “Had to file a report with Miami-Dade. There was some action last night.”

  “You file your reports with me before you go running to your girlfriend’s up there.”

  Aside from the girlfriend comment, he was probably right. I would regret not sending him that email. I could only hope that finding Misty and her missing friend late at night might give me some quarter. “I’ll be down to explain.” I had learned long ago that bad news was better delivered in person. And in Martinez’s world, this was bad news.

  “I’ll be here,” he said and disconnected.

  Where else would he be at this time of day? Later, it might be a good question. Usually after a late lunch, he disappeared. I turned back to Grace. “I gotta go. Can you keep me posted on any progress?”

  “You bet, and good luck with your boss. He’s a piece of work.”

  I was already standing and she remained seated when I thanked her and said goodbye. The table provided a comfortable barrier between us. With Grace working on the two boats and Justine’s promise to look at the rest of the evidence once I got a case number, which I texted to her, my next course of action was to appease Martinez and get Misty off my island.

  I almost wished I was stuck in the rush-hour traffic heading northbound on the Turnpike toward Miami. The continuing construction in the southbound lanes slowed me a little yet most of the ride was at the speed limit—as if the traffic gods were rushing me toward my meeting with Martinez. Despite solving the last two cases and giving him his coveted podium several times in the last few months, he still had me on a short leash. The budget was his war cry. I couldn’t have cared less, I’m not a numbers guy.

  On my way into the office I saw Mariposa sitting at the reception deck. The matronly Jamaican was my only real ally here so I went over to say hello. We chatted for a minute and she extended another invitation to dinner and that special rum her husband was only allowed to drink with guests. I guessed that either Justine and I had passed the audition, or the Appleton 21 was good enough that her husband didn’t care who he drank with. She gave me a warm smile when I promised to ask Justine, and then a warning that Martinez had already asked twice if I had arrived. I walked upstairs, past Susan’s closed office and through the open door of Martinez’s lair.

  He was on the phone, as he always seemed to be when I arrived. Raising a finger, he pointed toward the chair across from his desk and continued with his urgent business. While I waited, I tried to get a look at his dual surveillance monitors, but he had carefully positioned the visitor’s chair so I could only see the sides. Finally, he hung up.

  “Damned bureaucrats,” he complained. “Now they want revised budgets in case our funding gets cut.”

  I would have liked to point out that with Susan assigned to do tours—I was on my own. Our budget had been halved at my expense. “They’ll figure it out. It’s all posturing.”

  “I hope so. Can’t afford to be furloughed.”

  I’d had enough of the pleasantries. “I found a girl on Adams Key last night. She was a mess, and said she had a friend who was missing.” I quickly explained my search and the need to file a report with Miami-Dade. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Filing the report was the right action. Just get me in the loop earlier. Email works.”

  I’d have to remember that tip. “We’ve got two boat names from the girl that detective Herrera is working on and the crime lab has some evidence I collected.” He didn’t ask where Misty was, and I didn’t tell him.

  “If either of the boats picked up the missing girl, it’s likely out of the park. Maybe you should do a patrol around the northern end where it was headed and make sure.”

  That made sense. I migh
t get lucky and find it, and he might get lucky if it was gone and the case got passed to Miami-Dade. Leaving on peaceful terms was the best I could expect and I took it. “I’ll email you with whatever I find.”

  He nodded, picked up the phone as if he had some more urgent business and dismissed me. I took what I thought was a win and headed downstairs, waving to Mariposa as I left. On the way to my slip, I passed Susan’s boat, tied up as usual for a hurricane. I stepped aboard my twenty-two-foot center console, started the engine and went to remove the lines. Slowly I backed out of the slip. After clearing the piling, I headed out of the channel.

  The marina by Bayfront Park was to the right and I decided to make a quick pass. Misty had said the Spindrift had last docked up in Boca, a little over two hours away, but boats moved. There was always the chance that it or the Temptress was there. It was a small marina by Miami standards, and it only took a few minutes to cruise through it. There were no boats with those names and I turned to head out of the channel toward open water when I saw Chico at the ramp pulling his flat boat onto his trailer.

  “Water’s starting to heat up. You might get that bone bite toward the end of the week,” he called to me.

  I waved a thanks and continued out of the channel. Chico was one of the guides who had helped me learn to fish the waters here. Many of the other guides stayed to themselves, but I had made friends with some, more for their eyes than advice. Men like Chico were on the water every day. With the limited resources of the park service, they were a valuable tool.

  Misty’s whereabouts hadn’t come up in my conversation with Martinez. It wasn’t a failure to disclose on my part, I put the onus on him to ask. Before heading out to patrol the northern end of the park, I decided to take a quick run by Adams Key, hoping I could pry Misty away from Becky’s protective grasp and give Grace a turn at her. I figured she would respond better to a female than to me.

  The wind was still blowing from the northeast and had a cold bite to it. It also caused me to slow down and halve the speed I usually cruised at. The park service bay boat had a low freeboard and shallow draft. It was great for patrolling the park, but delivered a wet ride in choppy water. Forty-five minutes later, I was tied up at the long concrete dock running parallel to Adams Key. Ray’s boat was there, a rare occurrence during the day. There were also two pleasure boats tied up near the end by the day-use area.

  It was also strange that there was no sign of Zero. I tied off the lines and hopped onto the dock wondering what was going on. I didn’t have long to wait. The screen door slammed and Ray emerged. Zero was at his heels, running toward me.

  “Hey. You got a plan for that girl?” Ray asked.

  Zero parked himself between us and I reached down and petted him. “I’d like to get her to the detective at Miami-Dade.”

  “Anything to get her out of here.”

  “What’s up?” I knew Becky was often lonely, having only a three-year-old and Zero to keep her company while Ray was off keeping the out islands running.

  “Caught her with Becky’s phone and now she’s threatening this, that, and the other thing. Damned girl’s trouble.”

  “Did she take anything?”

  “Just the phone, but she needs to be gone before anything else happens.”

  I nodded and followed him toward the house. As we neared the door, I could hear the two women arguing. Becky came out of the house with Jamie slung over her shoulder like a bag of flour. She slammed the door behind her.

  “You got to take her, Kurt. Girl’s a handful of trouble.”

  “No problem. I was wanting to get her to Miami-Dade to talk to a detective there anyway.” I wasn’t sure what was going on here, but if Becky and Ray were done with her it would make things easier for me. I lived out here, too, and that made it three to one that she had to go. I wasn’t sure where Zero stood, and Jamie was too young to vote. “Let’s go talk to her.”

  “I’ll wait out here,” Becky said, moving closer to Ray.

  He placed an arm around her. I shrugged and turned toward the door. Opening it, I saw Misty with the phone in one hand and a knife in the other. “Can we sit down and talk?”

  “I’ve got nothing to talk about,” she sobbed, and made a threatening move with the knife. It wasn’t my first rodeo with a crazed knife-wielding person and I could tell from the way she gripped it with the blade facing down that she didn’t know how to use it.

  I lunged forward and grabbed the hand that held the knife. I wasn’t sure if it was just more drama or a serious attempt, but I knew she needed more help than she could get here. When she tried to pull away, I twisted her wrist, applying as little pressure as possible until she released the knife. It dropped to the floor and she backed to the counter. We stood, staring at each other. “There’s a woman with Miami-Dade I’d like you to talk to,” I said, hoping that would at least get her to the mainland.

  “Anything to get me out of here.”

  I guess my idea of paradise was not hers. There wasn’t much need for hostesses out here. “Okay. Let’s take a ride.”

  I was positive the knife act was drama. She had probably had enough of family life and wanted out, but just in case, I let her lead the way to the dock. She passed Becky, Ray, and Jamie with her head down and without a word of thanks. Even Zero stayed where he was. I heard Becky mutter a thank you to me under her breath and then they disappeared inside their house.

  “Where are you taking me?” Misty asked, after we had boarded the park service boat. That was actually a good question. I had assumed Grace would want to talk to her, but I hadn’t called her. Picking up my phone, I tried to figure out how to explain my situation without alarming Misty. I took the easy way out and texted her, asking that she meet us at the dock on Dodge Island. It was going to be a long, wet ride, but I didn’t want Misty anywhere near headquarters or Martinez.

  I released the lines and pulled away from the dock without answering. She had nowhere to go except overboard—which was probably how she got here in the first place.

  7

  Misty seemed to be comfortable on the boat. Her body swayed with the motion of the seas without her guiding it, something it took a while to learn. I guessed she had been on boats for a while, whether as a kid or a hostess—I didn’t know. With one eye on her and another on the water ahead, I gripped the wheel tightly, having to steer each wave to avoid getting soaked. Looking over at her, I couldn’t help but get the feeling she had more boating experience than I did.

  The tide was running against the northwest wind, stacking up white-capped waves that barreled toward us. We were running right into it, making it hard to navigate. It was too rough to get the small boat up on plane and I had to concentrate as each wave cresting under the boat threw us off course. Throughout the hour-long beating Misty stayed in the same position, leaning against the seat rest with one hand loosely gripping the stainless-steel support for the T-top. Her face was stuck in a grimace that I guessed was not as much from the ride as her situation.

  We ran past the decaying houses out at Stiltsville and finally reached the southern tip of Key Biscayne, which helped to block the weather, and the seas flattened to a light chop. I increased speed and was able to get the boat up on plane as we crossed under the Rickenbacker Causeway. Dodge Island was just ahead and I had a moment of doubt about what to do with Misty if Grace had not arrived yet. As was my habit, my gun belt was in the watertight glove box under the helm. I kept it there to keep it out of my way and protect it from the elements. I wondered if there was a way to retrieve it without causing Misty any further anxiety.

  She still seemed oblivious as I pulled up to the large tires that protected the commercial dock. Even at high tide, the oversized cleats lining the concrete pier were almost out of reach. Now, at low tide, I had to take the lines and climb onto the pavement to tie off the boat. Not knowing how long I was going to be here, I secured the bow and stern as well as setting a forward and aft spring line just in case the wind turned. When I was
done, I scanned the concrete expanse in front of me for Grace.

  Except for the Miami Pilots’ Station at the eastern tip, the man-made island was a working dock. Shipping containers were stacked in neat rows and even the cruise ship port on the other side was just a parking lot. From where we were I couldn’t see past the first stack of containers. I pulled out my phone and watched Misty as I waited for Grace to answer. She was facing away from me, looking out toward South Beach. Something was familiar about her position. With her body against the seat, she rested both elbows on it and looked like she was reading a book. Except it wasn’t a book—she was texting someone with Becky’s phone.

  I had last seen it on the counter and tried to remember if she had made a move toward it. I did recall her sliding her back against the counter but had thought nothing of it. The whole knife business must have been a ploy to distract me while she grabbed it. She must have slid it into the back pocket of Becky’s jeans, which hung loosely on her slight frame. I was unsure what to do about it, besides recover the phone for Becky. Misty wasn’t under arrest, or even a suspect. After taking another look at the parking lot, I jumped down to the deck of the boat.

  I must have startled her, because she tried to hide the phone. I extended my hand for it. A sly look came over her face and I saw her glance at the parking lot. A vehicle was approaching and I followed her gaze. The look turned to a smile and I heard a splash. I didn’t have to turn back to know that she had tossed the phone over. Becky and Ray were right. The sooner this girl was gone, the better.

  “Detective Herrera should be here any minute. Why don’t we go up on the dock?” I waited for her to climb up before following. She was shorter than me and had to hoist herself up. Using the tire for a foothold, she gained the concrete dock and as soon as both feet were on the ground, she took off at a run. I jumped onto the pavement and was about to go after her when I saw a white van stop and the door open. Misty ran to the passenger door, jumped in and disappeared. Tires screeched as the driver spun the van and headed through a narrow gap between two stacks of containers.