I dropped the transmission into neutral and looked around the scene, wondering if there was anything I could do. SWAT would be here shortly, and now that Grace and her partner had heard the gunshot for themselves, I’m sure they had called in air support as well. Martinez was not an issue. This was a fifty-fifty situation and, even if it went right, Miami-Dade would dominate the news coverage. The decision was mine and unless I was saving a life out here, my daughter came first.
I turned into the channel and pushed down the throttle.
“What are you doing?” Justine yelled over the roar of the engine.
“Going to court,” I said with finality.
Once clear of the last marker, I turned to port and lined the bow up with the rise in the Rickenbacker Causeway. Beyond the bridge, I could see the skyline of downtown Miami and glanced down at the chart plotter to plan my approach to the Miami River. I felt Justine’s hand on my back and felt good about my decision, even as three Miami-Dade police boats sped past.
I had to slow for their wakes and chanced a look back at Stiltsville. It was still quiet and I turned back to Miami, thinking about the hearing and rehearsing what I was going to say for the thousandth time. I had always thought my ex had overreacted, if there was such a thing when your house got firebombed, but the circumstances were unusual. There were tens of thousands of law enforcement officials in this country arresting people every day. The percentage of those targeted by the criminals they brought down was infinitesimal. In our case, it was the cartel flexing its muscles and making a statement, not something really directed at me or my family.
“Hey,” Justine yelled.
I noticed the boat coming right at us and cut the wheel to port, barely missing the bridge piling. Gritting my teeth, I tried to focus. Returning to the channel, I lined up the marker indicating the mouth of the river and pressed down on the throttle. A quick glance at my watch told me I had just enough time to make the hearing. I was about to ask Justine to text my attorney when the static from the VHF stopped me. A voice I knew came through the speaker and hailed me.
“Hunter, we need you out here,” Grace called out.
“Roger, can you give me details?”
“I’ll call your cell.”
I had to stop to take the call, but gathered from her need to speak privately that I had been wrong and whoever was out in that house was monitoring the VHF and knew SWAT was on their way. Seconds later, I saw the screen light up, showing Grace’s name, and I answered before it rang.
“Things have gotten complicated,” she started.
I could tell she was out of breath. “Go on,” I said, placing the call on speaker so Justine could here.
“There’re two of them, at least in the house. They must have seen the police boats heading out and they came outside. It looks like a high school age kid holding a gun to a girl’s head.”
“I can be back out in a few hours,” I said, checking my watch again. There was no chance the hearing would go past five.
“Here’s the thing. The guy holding the gun—he’s asking for you.”
23
“Why is he asking for you,” Justine asked.
“Good question.” I had nothing else to say, and a decision to make. “I interviewed him and I guess we connected.” My second guess was that he thought I was somehow an inferior opponent compared to Miami-Dade, but I wasn’t saying that out loud.
“And I thought it was just the hot chicks who connected with you. What are we going to do?”
We sat there in the middle of the bay, floating with the tide, as I tried to decide. I was pulled in both directions, and wondered if I should just let the tide make the decision for me. As I looked down at the water, I saw it was slack—no help there either. It finally came down to the hearing. It would be expensive and maybe count against me to have to reschedule, but I’m sure Daniel J. Viscount would be willing and able to make it happen for another five-figure check. I had raised Allie to be sensible and analytical. She was almost fifteen now and hopefully would understand why I missed the hearing.
“I could still go. Just drop me off,” Justine broke the ice.
“Are you sure?”
“Just do it. Like I said before, I’ll just be waiting around the crime scene until after whatever is going to happen happens.”
My phone vibrated again and I looked at the screen. It was my attorney, and I looked at Justine, who reached over and pushed my hand forward on the throttle. I got the message, and we were quickly up on plane and heading straight for Dodge Island. I had docked on the backside of the cruise ship port many times, but today, I cut the wheel to port, steered around the western tip of the island, and entered the river.
We passed a small island with high-rise condos guarding the entrance and cruised past them. I didn’t slow until I saw the first bridge ahead. Needing both land and water information, I had my eyes on the chartplotter; Justine’s were on the map on her phone. Between us, we decided on the Riverwalk as a drop-off point.
Several commercial ships caused a small traffic jam in the narrow passage under the Brickell Avenue Bridge. I waited impatiently for them to pass. Once through, I pushed the boat forward and saw the railing for the Riverwalk just under the next bridge. Fighting the wakes from the two commercial vessels that had just passed, I tried to ease up to the seawall, but underestimated the current of the river and heard the crack of fiberglass against concrete, which was unfortunately not a new sound for me. The collision threw Justine, who was waiting in the bow off balance, and I thought for a second that I would be fishing her out of the river. Her agility overcame the collision. She easily grabbed the railing and hoisted herself over. Turning back, she gave me a thumbs-up before taking off down South Miami Avenue. The courthouse was about six blocks away on Flagler. I yelled after her something I thought I would never say to a woman again. She didn’t look back, and I assumed it was lost in the humid air.
I had no time for a soliloquy as another wake tossed the bow of the boat within inches of the seawall. Justine was out of sight now. I backed away, spun the wheel, and headed toward open water. I glimpsed at my watch after passing under the bridge again. It was almost five. Hopefully, she would make it in time. For now, there was nothing else I could do and turned my attention to the channel markers.
Ignoring the idle speed warnings, I slammed down the throttle after passing under the last bridge and cruised back toward Stiltsville. Five o’clock signaled the return of the charter fishing fleet which resulted in a steady stream of large boats and their wakes to deal with. With no light bar and only the stenciled letters on the bow which were probably invisible to the captains perched several stories up on their flybridges, I was just another boat. One by one, the huge sportfishers cruised past me. Colorful flags with pictures of the fish they had caught flew from their outriggers and happy anglers clinked beer bottles in the spacious cockpits, all oblivious to my law enforcement standing. The small park service boat was tossed back and forth in their wakes. Refusing to succumb to the rough water, I plowed ahead. Every third or fourth wave, the propeller cavitated as the boat left the water and I braced myself for impact, waiting for the bone-jarring crash when the hull landed. Each collision threw seawater over the entire deck, including me.
Once I was drenched, it was cathartic and allowed me to focus on what I could control. I had to trust Justine and my attorney; there was nothing I could do on that front. What I could do was save a young woman’s life and that path lay ahead.
Key Biscayne flew by on my port side as I headed toward the tiny structures on the horizon. The island acted like a funnel for the boat traffic coming into Miami. The pounding continued as I crossed the wakes left by fishermen and pleasure boaters making their way back from the offshore reefs and the Gulfstream.
Finally, I reached the channel and saw a cluster of Miami-Dade boats tied to a dock by one of the houses. I headed toward them and with the assistance of one of the deputies, tied off to one of their boats. I had to step up onto the
gunwales of the center console and take another step to reach the higher Contender, which was at dock height. When I crossed to the dock, I saw a command center had been set up.
“Hunter,” Grace called. “Over here.” She waved me over.
“You the guy he’s calling for?”
“I guess.” The man had a worn-down look and appeared sullen under the weight of his captain’s bars.
“Looks like a young kid. He’s got at least a pistol which he was holding to the girl’s head when he asked for you.”
“I have no idea why he wants me.”
“Doesn’t matter. He wants you; he’s got you. I’ve got a hostage negotiator here,” he said, looking over at the structure adjacent to the house the couple was holed up in. “The officer here will run you over.”
I felt like a pawn. There were at least twenty people, many in uniform, out here. They each seemed to know what they were doing, like this was all well rehearsed—which it probably was. A younger man in a uniform motioned me to one of their small craft, which I couldn’t help but notice was bigger than mine. I put my boat envy on the back-burner and tried to focus on what lay ahead.
I had seen the look on the boy’s face the other night. Jealousy tinged with rage was the emotion that came to mind. Though I didn’t like him, I could sympathize, and did, which was probably why he had asked for me. The kid, though lucky that his sister had hooked him up with a good job, had worked for what he had. He was set to go to college in the fall on his own merits, not because he could play a sport that would enrich the school. When you looked at it that way, I could see his point. Why he had killed the club manager was something else, but he clearly had the character traits I had witnessed the other night. He was capable of it.
He had picked up Misty after her distress call. Maybe the murder at the club was an attempt to protect her. Misty was far from an innocent bystander. I had seen her in action. He was obviously infatuated with her—but would he kill for her?
If my theory was correct. He was guilty of assault and manslaughter, both a far cry from the well-oiled electric chair up in Stark. Maybe that would be an angle to diffuse this. With that in mind, I approached the small group set up across from the Hick’s house. They were deep in conversation and I stood there for several seconds before one of them turned.
“You Hunter?”
“Yeah, what can I do to help?
The woman who appeared to be in charge approached. She stood with her hands on her hips as if she were evaluating me. Dressed in business clothes covered by a windbreaker with Miami-Dade SWAT on the back in bold letters, mirrored aviator sunglasses, and her hair covered by a ball cap it was hard to get a read on her, which was probably her goal. “Tell him you’re here. That’ll buy us some time.” She handed me a megaphone.
I raised it to my mouth and before I could speak she shuttled me out the door. Now I felt less like a pawn and more like a target. I lifted the bullhorn again. “This is Special Agent Hunter.” I looked at the woman for approval, but only got a tight-lipped nod. We waited.
“Dude, you gotta get me oughta here. This is all a mistake.”
“Keep him talking,” the woman whispered to me.
“I hear you, but first we need the gun.” I raised my eyebrows and she nodded.
“No way. I want a fast boat that’ll get me to the Bahamas—and some cash.”
This was clearly not well thought out. He had probably grabbed Misty on a whim and taken her out here, thinking he had been found out when Dequan was released. Now he had gone too far and didn’t know what to do. She likely thought she was being abducted.
“Send out the girl.” I chose not to use her name.
“No way.”
“This is going to end one way or another. You’re a smart kid, you’ve watched enough crime stuff on TV to know how this is going to go down.”
The negotiator gave me a scalding look. “You were supposed to buy us some time, not call him out.”
It was quiet for a long minute.
“We need to take action. He has no idea what he wants and is likely going to do something stupid,” the SWAT leader said. “I’ve seen enough of these to know this is going to end badly. There’s no negotiating with someone that doesn’t know what they want.”
“What if I can get in there and disarm him?”
“Yeah right. There’s no cover,” one of the men said.
I looked around the structure. There would be no way to sneak up on him. That was until I remembered the floor hatch inside the house where the girl had been killed.
Installed for smuggling, the hatches were used to bring liquor and women into the houses and who knows what out. With the history of this neighborhood, I had to assume that each house had one. Crawfish Eddie’s, The Calvert Club, and The Quarterdeck Club were three of the more famous places. In its prime, the neighborhood had twenty-one houses, all built to facilitate gambling and drinking during the end of prohibition. With the use of the hatches, sneaking things in or out of the exposed houses could be done in the dark of night.
“There’re floor hatches inside,” I said and outlined my plan.
The woman looked around at the three men with her.
“It’s too quiet. We need to act,” she said.
The three men nodded. It was all we had.
24
“I guess you have some idea about how we are going to get under the house without being seen?” the SWAT leader asked.
He had been called over to strategize, and was immediately my friend. I could tell he didn’t like the negotiator. SWAT wanted action and my idea would provide that. “I’m thinking we create a diversion and I can swim up under there.”
“You a good enough swimmer?”
I shrugged. “I’ll get it done.”
“You’ll get it done with one of my men right with you.”
“As long as he stays under the house. Hopefully we’ll take him by surprise. If I appear through the floor, he knows me and might pause long enough for me to talk my way in.”
“Your funeral. We can start circling the wagons here and bring in the perimeter. That’ll get his attention and give you enough cover to get in the water. After that there’s not much we can do. Sorry excuse for a target. Ideally, I’d set up a sniper on all approaches, but there’s nowhere to stage them.”
“If it makes you feel any better, he doesn’t want to kill her.”
“People do stupid things when they’re under pressure.”
He was right and I didn’t see any other way. With SWAT, there was always gear involved and I was quickly provided a short wet suit, a mask, snorkel, fins, and a waterproof radio. My pistol was replaced by one of theirs that could withstand the water. I took a quick look at my phone to see if Justine had tried to reach me before moving to the far edge of the dock where I put on my fins and slipped into the water. My new partner, probably not too enthused about backing up a rookie, slid in next to me. We gave each other the thumbs-up sign and started swimming around the platform.
I could hear the activity on the dock above before we submerged. Orders were being given and the boats fired up their engines and started moving. Just before I dropped my head underwater, I thought I heard the thump thump thump of a helicopter. It was some relief that Miami-Dade was pulling out all the stops, but I knew this was going to end with me.
It was hard not to notice the beauty surrounding me as we swam around the pilings. The SWAT diver was in charge of navigation, so I followed him as we made our way around the house. Extended in his left hand was an underwater compass, which he checked at least twice a minute, easily changing our course by compensating with his kicks. It took me a few minutes to become comfortable with the gear. My snorkeling experience was limited, but I was a solid swimmer.
Below me, as if close enough to touch, were coral structures stacked on one another with small tropical fish swimming around them. I guessed at the brain corral for its resemblance to its namesake. The rest, I didn’t know, but
they were spectacular in shape and color. As my eyes adjusted to the diffused light, I could see larger fish in the slots of sandy bottom between the coral formations. I had to restrain myself from shooting to the surface when a large green eel appeared.
Around us I could hear the sound of the boats’ engines. In my expedited dive briefing, I had been warned that the sounds coming from the surface and boats would be disorienting, but the captains knew where we were and I shouldn’t worry about it. Despite the warning, the sound of propellers churning through the water was unnerving. It sounded like chain saws flying around me. Trying to slow my breath, I failed to put them from my mind. The only thing I did know was that once we were past the channel, the water was too shallow for them to follow.
We reached the deeper water and I had my first experience with current. Following the SWAT diver’s lead, I adjusted my body position and kicked harder with my left foot. Seconds later we were across and I saw the same coral formations. The diver turned back to me and made a hand motion, which I assumed meant we were approaching the house. After another minute we were in its shadow and I could see the first pilings ahead.
Once we were underneath, the diver raised his head out of the water and started studying the structure above. It was a lattice work of beams, girders, and joists with what looked like a tongue and groove flooring system above. I noticed it was quiet now and wondered what was going on around us. The only thing we could do was keep to the plan and we swam between alternate sets of pilings looking up at the floor. I was starting to doubt myself when I saw a wooden ladder, or rather 2X4s nailed to a pile near the far side of the structure.
I motioned to the SWAT diver and together we swam toward them. Their condition was questionable, but above them was a hatch. We moved closer and I grabbed the bottom board. Slowly, I pulled my weight onto it to see if it would support me. It creaked but held and, one at a time, I removed my fins and handed them to the diver. Thankful for the booties, the SWAT commander had given me, I climbed up the rungs, carefully checking each one before I put my weight on them. One was loose and I almost lost my balance, but knowing it was just water below me gave me the freedom to push the limits of the old wood.
Backwater Cove Page 14