by Paul Carr
The man on the boat said, “Hey, somebody is out there.”
In the dimness, the man with the suitcase appeared to turn. It was Alan Sheffield. “Get us out of here,” he said, panic in his voice.
As Dalton neared the shore, the boat shoved off and Sheffield fired a shot. Dalton heard the bullet hit a cluster of palmetto a few feet away and dropped to the ground. Another shot followed, zinging over his head. He fired back, but the boat was already pulling away. Getting to his feet, he splashed the Maglite on the escaping craft and noted the number on the transom. The waterway was a mile-long canal, and the trawler probably had a top speed of no more than thirty mph. He ran back to his car, passing the two deputies on the way, both now on their feet and making their way toward the cruiser.
In the car he steered around the sheriff’s vehicle and floored the accelerator. His tires flung sand and then screeched as they sought traction on the blacktop. The engine roared, pushing the speedometer to sixty, and then he had to brake toward the end of the road. He got out and retrieved the shotgun from the trunk. The approaching boat’s motor rumbled in the distance.
He chambered a shell, ran through the side yard of a residence toward a lighted dock, and waited around the corner of a boathouse. As the boat neared, it slowed for a crook in the canal that led to the sea. Dalton aimed at the broadside of the craft near the waterline and fired. The discharge boomed in his ears, and buckshot tore a hole the size of a soccer ball in the fiberglass hull.
Chapter 17
The ruptured boat took on water and listed to its starboard side, its motor struggling to maintain speed. It headed toward the far side of the canal and crashed into the seawall. The silhouettes of four figures climbed off the boat to shore and ran. Sheffield dragged a suitcase behind him. They headed along the seawall around the point toward some lighted docks.
Dalton got in his car and sped around to the other side of the canal. A couple of minutes had passed as he approached the dead end. Slowing the car, he scanned the area for any signs of the runners and thought he saw movement behind one of the homes. He stopped, exited the car, and ran toward the home’s dock. As he approached, he spotted a boat pulling out from the lighted dock next door. It cruised away into darkness as he neared.
Lights flooded the yard and the home owner ran out the back door yelling, “Hey, that’s my boat! Hey, stop! Stop!”
Dalton hurried over to him and flashed his badge. “I’m with the sheriff’s office. Is there a boat I can use to go after them?”
The man stared, as if in shock.
“I need a boat,” Dalton said.
“Yeah, okay. Munford has one next door. Maybe he’ll let you use it.”
“You know your boat registration number?”
He told him the number and name painted on its side and ran next door. Dalton phoned the watch commander and gave him the information.
“Okay, I’ll alert the Coast Guard.”
They hung up as the man ran back with a key. “Let’s go after them. It’s that runabout over there. It’s fast, and can probably catch up to them.”
“You can’t go. Those guys are armed.”
Without a word, the guy relinquished the key. Dalton ran to the boat and untied the lines. He keyed the ignition, backed out, and cut an arc toward the sea. Powered by two big outboards, it lifted onto a plane within seconds after he opened the throttle. The fleeing boat had headed east, which meant it would have to turn inland beyond Little Torch Key. There were lots of places along that stretch to obscure a boat and have someone pick them up in a vehicle.
A few minutes passed. Dalton hadn’t spotted them, and he wondered if they had already found a secluded cove where they could hide. He kept going for another few minutes, idling along the shore of Little Torch and scanning the docks. Thirty minutes later he crossed the channel and headed back along the coast of Big Pine Key. After an hour of searching, he gave up and returned to the dock.
The man who had lost his boat stood waiting. “Any luck?”
Dalton shook his head. “They must be hiding in one of the coves. The Coast Guard is looking for them, though. Your boat will turn up.”
“I sure hope so.” He didn’t sound very confident.
Another man hurried down from next door. “The boat run okay?” he asked.
“Yeah it did fine, but they just had too much head-start. Thanks for letting me use it.”
Dalton handed him the key and went back to where the disabled craft lay half sunken in the water. Rocks along the seawall had kept it from going under. He stretched on gloves, grabbed his Maglite, and climbed over the bow rail. After slogging through several inches of water in the salon, he found nothing of interest and went back to his car.
There were plenty of places to hide, and Sheffield would need to find a safe haven. Dalton thought about the girlfriend, Richele, and tried to remember her last name. He had it at the office, but that was more than twenty miles away. A call to Crook, who was probably playing at his club gig, yielded no answer. Then, as Dalton turned onto A1A, Crook called back.
“Hey, did you call me?”
Dalton brought him up on Sheffield and Ana Kovich fleeing in the boat. “They could be anywhere in the Gulf by now. Lots of islands to hole up there, but I was thinking he might reach out to his girlfriend for help. You remember her last name?”
“Yeah, I think it was Curtis. Richele Curtis. If you need me, I can cut out of here. The others can carry it the rest of the night.”
“Let me see if I can get in touch with her. I’ll call back if I need you.”
They hung up and Dalton searched for the woman’s phone number. When it popped up, he called, and she answered right away.
“This is Detective Michael Dalton. Have you been in contact with Alan Sheffield?” When she didn’t reply, he said, “This is important. I need an answer.”
“I haven’t seen him since yesterday. Why are you asking?”
“He’s the person who killed Riley Gunn, and now he’s trying to escape. If you know where he is or where he’s going, you need to tell me.”
She hesitated a moment, then said, “I didn’t know he killed Riley, and I don’t know where he is.”
When she didn’t add anything else, he said, “You were his alibi for the killing. I have you on video swearing to it. If you don’t come clean about that, I can only assume that you knew and maybe even helped with the murder.”
“No, no. I didn’t know anything about it. I was wasted when we got to the condo and passed out after another couple of drinks. He could’ve left, and I wouldn’t have known it.”
“So you lied about the alibi?”
“He told me he didn’t do it. I took his word for it.”
“That won’t matter in court. I’ll make sure you serve time if you don’t help me find him. What do you know about Ana Kovich?”
“I know she and Alan are pretty thick. He said she’s just a friend, but she calls him a lot.”
“She might be more than a friend. He picked her up a couple of hours ago, and she’s on the run with him.”
She remained silent for a few moments and then sighed. “We were at his place last night and he got a phone call. After that he acted really strange and asked me a bunch of questions about a guy I dated a few months ago.”
“Who was that?”
“A man named Otto Edwards. He’s a guard at the detention center. I met him when I got arrested last year on a bogus drug charge.”
“What did he want to know?”
“He wanted to know where Otto lives and what it was like at the jail. I thought he was just jealous, but then he clammed up and took me home. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Sheffield assaulted Edwards and used his uniform and credentials to get inside the detention center. He killed a man in one of the cells.”
She gasped, and then made sobbing sounds. “Is Otto okay?”
“Yes, he’s going to be fine. Has Sheffield called you?”
“No,
he hasn’t.”
“Has he ever mentioned owning any other property in Florida, maybe a rental house or a vacation home?”
She paused for few seconds, as if thinking, and then said, “I don’t think so, but he did tell me about a place his grandfather owned that got taken by the bank when he died.”
“Where was it?”
“Way out on Big Pine Key, on a secluded cove. He drove me out there once. It was an old house that was falling in, but he said it was pretty nice when he was young. He said he planned to buy it and fix it up.”
“I need you to show me where it is.”
“You mean now?”
“Yes, right now. He might’ve gone there. He was in a boat.”
“I don’t know if I can find it. I only went there with him once.”
“We have to find it.”
She agreed to meet him at a café on Big Pine Key in thirty minutes. It was only a few minutes away for him. He phoned the watch commander as he drove and brought him up on the boat chase. After that he called Lola Ann.
“I have a scoop for you,” he said.
“What do you want?” They hadn’t spoken since he declined her invitation to her place the week before. With her looks, she probably didn’t get rejected very often, and apparently didn’t care for it.
“Hey, is that any way to greet somebody trying to help you out?”
She sighed. “Okay, tell me what you need.”
He went over the Sheffield situation. “He’s on the run somewhere in the Keys. I’ll send you his photo if you’ll put it on the air right away.”
“So he’s the murderer you’ve been looking for?”
“Pretty sure he is.”
“You’ll owe me for this,” Lola Ann said.
“You get to break the story. Your producers will like that.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” She hung up.
He turned into the café lot, parked, and sent the photo.
Everything had happened since the lieutenant had left for the day, so Dalton phoned his cell and gave him an update.
“What are you doing now?” Springer asked.
“I’m waiting at a place on A1A for Richele Curtis, Sheffield’s girlfriend. She’s going to take me out to a waterfront house that Sheffield’s grandfather had owned on Big Pine. From what I hear, it’s abandoned, and he could be holing up there.”
“I’ll call in backup for you.”
“Thanks. I need a couple of cruisers to block the road out of the place, in case he has a vehicle. Also, can I get marine patrol over there in case he tries to escape in the stolen boat?”
“I can have cruisers there in twenty minutes, but it’ll take an hour or more to get a boat up there.”
“Okay, I have an idea. My uncle has a marina on Little Torch. I’ll call and ask him to get a boat ready, if you can have a couple of deputies who know the waters to pick it up there.”
Springer agreed and Dalton gave him the location of the marina. “Tell them to call me when they’re in the water, and I’ll give them the coordinates.” They hung up, and he turned his ringer off and set it to vibrate. He called his uncle Eric about the boat.
“Sure, I have one they can use,” Eric said. “How soon?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll top off the tanks.”
They hung up, and he went inside and had a cup of coffee and a sandwich while he waited. Richele showed up as he paid for the meal, and he went out to meet her.
“Leave your car here and ride with me,” Dalton said. As she got out, two sheriff’s cruisers pulled in. He went over and told them the situation.
They took a road traveling northwest, the cruisers in tow, passing several residential areas. The houses thinned out as they neared the upper end of the key and she told him to slow down. “There’s a dirt driveway here somewhere that leads out to the place. It was daytime when he brought me out here, and everything looks different now.” The road came to a dead end, and she told him to turn around. He did as instructed and the cruisers followed. They rode back the way they had come until she said, “Stop here. I think this is it.”
Weeds had grown over the entrance. “How far to the house from here?” he asked.
“I think it’s about a hundred yards.”
He pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. “Okay, I want you to wait here with the deputies.” He took her to one of the cruisers, put her in the back seat, and told the driver to wait there in case Sheffield came out that way. He asked the deputies in the other cruiser to go with him down the driveway. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he answered. It was the deputies on marine patrol.
“Head toward the northern tip of Big Pine,” he said into the phone. “I’ll send the coordinates to this number if our guy is holed up there.” When he hung up, he said to the two there with him, “I think there are four of them. One is a woman. We want to take all of them alive if possible.”
They drew their service weapons, and Dalton stretched a vinyl glove over the Maglite lens to diffuse the beam. He held it low to the ground as they plodded through the weeds. It would be unfortunate if they encountered a snake, because they wouldn’t see it until it was too late. After a few minutes of walking, they came to a clearing. There were weeds and palmetto clusters, but fewer trees. The moonlight illuminated an old structure, facing them. Its rear would be parallel to the water. A dim light shone through a front window. Maybe a lantern.
Dalton doused his light, and they eased on toward the house. They rounded it on one side and made their way to the shore. The stolen boat sat there, tied at an old dock. He checked the GPS coordinates on his phone and sent them to the deputies on the boat. He followed up with a call. “There’s only one house out this far, and a boat is tied at the dock, so I don’t think you can miss it. Cut the throttle when you get close and come in as quietly as you can.”
When he hung up, he told one of the deputies to cover the rear in case the occupants went out the back door. The other deputy went with Dalton as he eased around to the front porch. They each took a corner. It was deathly silent, and the faint burble of a boat’s engine reached his ears, and then quieted. He called Sheffield’s phone, and somebody picked up on the other end but didn’t say anything.
“I know you’re in the house,” Dalton said. “We have you surrounded. Come out and give yourself up.”
“What do you think I did?” Sheffield asked.
“You murdered Riley Gunn and a bunch of other guys. We have an eyewitness.” Not exactly the truth, but close enough. Otto Edwards knew nothing of those murders, but he had identified Sheffield as his attacker, and his attacker had murdered Chan.
“Eyewitness? Who?”
“Don’t worry who it is. Just do yourself a favor and come out.”
The line dropped.
Less than a minute later, Dalton heard a noise from the side of the house. “Sounds like a window opening,” he said to the deputy. “Keep an eye on the front door.”
He peered around the side and saw two silhouettes, both men, headed away from a window toward the rear. Then a third man tumbled out. They started running toward the shore. “Stop,” Dalton called, “you can’t get away!”
One of the men turned and fired. Dalton fired back and saw the man drop to the ground. The other two men kept going, and then a woman joined them.
“Give it up. You don’t have to die.”
The woman stumbled and fell, and the two men kept going, running toward the dock. The deputy from the rear of the house rounded the corner and said, “I’ll get her. Go after them.”
Dalton got to the man he had shot and found no pulse. Rising, he called out to the runners, “I’m warning you. Stop or I’m going to put you down.” He heard the sound of the deputies’ boat engine throttle toward the shore.
One of the runners turned and fired. The bullet smacked into a tree several feet away, and Dalton returned fire, but he didn’t hit home either. The runner
s reached their boat and scrambled aboard. The deputies on the water splashed a spotlight onto the bow of the stolen craft, illuminating both men. One of them was Sheffield. Their boat was blocked from moving forward.
Sheffield squatted below the rail and undid a tie line while the other man ran into the wheelhouse. The engine started, and Sheffield headed into the wheelhouse. Dalton raced to the rickety dock, stepped over the boat rail, and headed down the port side to the rear hatch. Certain they had already seen him, he kicked the hatch open and then leaned around the corner to peer inside. Sheffield stood next to the helmsman. He fired a shot that hit the rear hatch jamb, and wood splinters exploded next to Dalton’s face. The engine revved, a gear engaged with a clank, and the boat lurched backward. Sheffield fell back against the console, and Dalton raced through the salon and pointed his 9mm at him. “Lay down the gun. I’m warning you.”
The man at the helm cut the engine and turned to look. Sheffield got to his feet and stepped into the salon, just a few feet from Dalton. He aimed his handgun at Dalton’s head. “You don’t have an eyewitness. This is just a case of police harassment.”
Dalton sighed. “Do what I asked, or I’m going to shoot you. I’m counting to five, and you’re going to die.”
“You’d shoot me in cold blood? My partner in there’ll tell what you did.”
“No, I’ll shoot him, too. One…two…three…”
The other man ran out of the wheelhouse. Sheffield glanced that way, and Dalton stepped out and kicked his gun hand. The weapon broke loose, firing wild to the overhead, and clattered to the deck. Sheffield dived for Dalton, slamming him against the wall. Dalton kneed him in the chin. He fell back, seemingly stunned, but lunged again, and Dalton hit him in the stomach with his fist. The guitarist-turned-hit man doubled over, and Dalton kicked him in the face, putting his heel into it. Sheffield’s head snapped to one side, his eyes rolled up like window shades, and his limp body dropped to the deck.