by Kait Carson
“So I’m back to square one. I’ll say it again, this doesn’t look good.”
Grant cleared his throat. “You know I’m behind you one hundred percent. I’ll help you any way I can. Right now, the best way to help you is to advise you to get a lawyer who specializes in criminal work. I told you that before. Call Mallory’s boss.”
She felt her face tighten and Grant added, “If you’re uncomfortable with Mallory working on your case, I’ll get someone I know in Key West.”
“I can’t think of anyone I would trust more than Mallory. I guess I’m not ready to admit I need a lawyer.” Hayden studied his face. “What are you keeping from me, Grant? I know you too well. I can see it in your eyes.”
Grant cleared his throat. It sounded more like a rumble of thunder in the quiet room. He stood and walked back to the liquor cabinet and gazed at his reflection in the polished top. “It’s officially a murder investigation, Hayden. Oh, no one has called it that yet, outside the various agencies, but that’s what it is.”
The air left Hayden’s lungs with a whoosh. “Devil’s advocate time.” He turned to face her. “Why do you think you are going to be arrested? You’ve mentioned it a number of times. Why do you think you committed this crime?”
“I don’t. I didn’t. I mean, why do you think I did?” The play of emotions across Hayden’s face was telling. She really didn’t know what happened.
Grant crossed the room to her and took both her hands in his. “Then stop anticipating your arrest. You are the one making yourself look guilty. If you were a client, I would tell you to stop picking at the wound. Gather the reports, although I’m sure they will all be whitewashed. Review the information like a professional. You’ll see that they all say the same thing. The police have no suspects.”
“What about the wife?”
“She does have a problem. But then, the wife is always the first suspect. Did you make some of your famous lists?”
Hayden blushed again. “While I was still in the office. I couldn’t come up with anything. You’re right though. I have to stop acting like I’m guilty. It’s so hard.”
“Why? Make me understand, then maybe I can see a way to prove your innocence.”
“It’s the blackout. It’s not the first one, but it is the first time I left the house.” She took a sip of her tea. “Grant, do you think it’s likely I would do something in a blackout that I wouldn’t do normally? Do you think I have multiple personalities? You do, don’t you?”
“No, I think you are one of the most stable people I have ever met.”
“Then what? Are you going to tell me what you’re hiding?”
“I talked to my friend. I convinced him to tell me who the witnesses were.” He searched Hayden’s face.
She made a rolling gesture with her hands.
His next words broke her heart. “Kevin Anderson and Samantha Penmartin.”
Twenty-Two
Hayden drove her Tahoe north on U.S. 1 through the puddles and flooded streets left behind by the previous night’s storm. The sky still looked threatening, dark clouds roiled to the east. South Florida summer weather as usual. Her mood matched the sky.
The Coast Guard Station on Plantation Key scrambled the cutter to the Humboldt. Hayden intended to go there yesterday when her car was broken into. This morning she’d called Station Marathon to see if they had a copy of the incident report. They told her no. Furthermore, they suggested if one existed, the Station that dispatched the cutter would have it. She wondered if Kevin’s information would be in the Coast Guard report or if they would only give her a sanitized version. Grant told her it was a murder investigation. He didn’t tell her she was a suspect. Yet.
Passing through Islamorada, she decided breakfast was in order. If she was going to face the enemy in his den, she wanted a full stomach. At Gretchen’s Bakery, she pulled around behind the structure and backed into a space. Given the size of her truck, she preferred to park head out in limited space lots. Cutting the engine, she hopped down from the driver’s seat and caught the hem of her shorts on the seat adjustment lever. The Tahoe had full power seats. The seat, in response to pressure from her shorts, moved forward. Pulling her pants loose, she re-entered the vehicle and repositioned the seat. Hayden felt a tingling in her hand as she completed the adjustment. A tantalizing tingle of memory stirred but she couldn’t bring it to the forefront.
Seating herself at a booth in the cheerful restaurant, she ordered a double caffeine coffee and a hot cinnamon bun. Gretchen, who ran the restaurant with her husband, Bob, the baker of the delightfully sinful treats, came over and sat down across from her.
“Hey Hayd, you’ve been in the papers lately. How are you doing?” Gretchen asked kindly.
“Pretty good, for someone living in infamy. What have you read? Hey Bob, no need for chef table service. Have a seat if you can. They make great coffee here to compliment the fantastic food.”
The rotund chef shook his head and held out his hand. “Here for moral support only. I want you to know that whatever they say, we’re with you. Richard...well, he was into some stuff, we think. Stuff that would have caused him problems and could have caused him to get dead.” Hayden caught a silent communication pass between husband and wife. Gretchen shook her head slightly.
“Seems everyone knew him but me. I thought he lived in North Florida. That’s what Kevin told me.”
Gretchen snorted. “Kevin the master diver. I trained him. Took him three times to pass his open water. I wouldn’t have passed him ever. He ended up going to one of those scuba diving factories in Key Largo. You know the type—Learn to Dive, see the Christ Statue. You look surprised. Did he try to feed you that ‘I’ve been diving since I could walk’ stuff? Did you ever dive with him?”
“Yes, he was uncomfortable on the deep stuff and he had ear problems. I wondered at his buoyancy control sometimes, but overall, I bought it. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying he learned to dive three years ago. Richard made him. I don’t know why it was so important to Richard. I had the feeling they were involved with something, treasure hunting maybe. Whatever it was, Richard was quiet about it. He, by the way, was a great diver and had been diving since he could walk.”
Hayden chewed her bun and digested the information at the same time. Reaching for her coffee, she took a sip, cleared her throat and said, “What did Bob mean about what Richard was involved in?”
“Like I said, treasure hunting, we think. Only in the Keys. That can have a lot of meaning. Bob loaned him some money a few years ago. Never saw it back, although Richard claimed he paid it back in cash and installments. That was BS. Anyway, he bought a great boat a couple of years ago. Overpowered, we thought, but why have a boat like that if you’re not taking it distances? Thirty-two footer, dual Varados. You can go to the Bahamas in a heartbeat but he rarely took it out for more than a couple of hours and most of those were at night.”
“I was going to buy that boat. I was supposed to look at it.”
Gretchen rolled her eyes. “The paper said you found him? On the Humboldt. I get the Coast Guard folks in here. The rumor is you could have killed him. Monroe County guys agree. Lately though, it seems like there’s someone else they’re looking at. Funny, the only ones who don’t suspect you are the marine patrol.” She continued speaking bluntly, oblivious as to how her words might affect Hayden. “We don’t believe you killed anyone, much less someone like Richard. Be careful. If someone is setting you up, be very careful. By the way, breakfast is on the house.”
The news that two agencies considered her a murder suspect came as no surprise. She’d brought it on herself. Now she had to figure out what to do about it. Hayden savored the cinnamon bun. Biggest and best she’d ever had. Tucking the bun she’d bought to-go into the center console, she started her engine and joined the traffic heading north on
U.S. 1. Time was when summer roads in the Keys were empty. Natives only. These days traffic mid-week in July was nearly as bad as December. Most of the tags were out of state. These folks crowded the road out when hurricanes blew in. Hayden followed the unmarked road around the gas station and over to the Coast Guard station. The Jetson house faced the Coast Guard office and Hayden took a minute to look at the round structure. She remembered her father driving the family up to watch it being built. Nearly everyone in the middle Keys had stories about the construction of the building. It provided entertainment for a summer. An Eastern Air Lines pilot owned it in those days. The building looked old and forgotten now although it was still occupied. Hayden loved it but it reminded her that Kevin had expressed a desire to buy and restore it.
She took a deep breath and jumped down from her truck. The oolite covered parking area felt painful to her sandal-clad feet. Law enforcement parking lots were trying to kill her runner’s feet. At least the marine patrol was in a strip center. Hayden stopped and looked at the one story blue grey building in front of her. She could just make out a desk area with a uniformed woman seated behind it. Mounting the lone step and pushing open the heavy glass doors, she walked up to the woman.
“Hi, I’m Hayden Kent. I was involved in an incident last week and I’d like to get a copy of the report if I might.”
“Insurance report?” the woman asked.
“No, I found a body on a wreck during a dive. I’d like to get a copy of the Coast Guard report. Paul Muller was the officer who responded. We dove the site together to locate the body.” It seemed to Hayden that the woman gave her a funny look, the Gimlet-eyed look as her mother had called it.
“May I have some identification?” She took Hayden’s proffered license. “Have a seat, I’ll be right back.”
Flipping through the pages of an old Boating Magazine, Hayden wondered how long this was going to take. She wanted to get to the marine patrol office. That was back in Marathon. She wanted to do it before the officers left for lunch. Although someone would be in the office, they might not release information. Hayden wanted this over with as soon as possible.
“Ms. Kent, I’m glad I was here. You should have called first. Please come with me.” Paul Muller, in his uniform, stood before her, his hand outstretched.
“Oh, I didn’t want to bother you, Lieutenant. I just want a copy of your report.”
“The full report isn’t available yet. The case is still open and the autopsy results are pending.”
“Then it’s a Coast Guard case?”
“Let’s go into my office to discuss this. It’s more comfortable. And my reading material is more current.” He smiled.
Hayden’s stomach plummeted to her shoes. He’d dodged her question. Was this going to turn into an interview? Did he want to talk to her about being at the marina?
Paul stood aside for her to step into his office and guided her to a chair. The room’s buff color paint complimented his butter brown hair. On land, his eyes seemed even bluer than they looked on the water. The shelves held official looking books interspersed with antique looking nautical items. One photo, front and center, showed him in front of a large sport boat with twin engines. He looked tanned and relaxed, his dive gear around his feet.
“Nice boat.”
He followed the direction of her glance to the photo. “Thanks.” The corners of his mouth twitched up. “It belonged to a friend. Now, how may I help you?”
“I would like a copy of your report from the other day. That’s all.” Hayden decided to attempt to fish for information. “I guess you know I’ve been questioned by Monroe County?” Seeing his raised eyebrow, she continued. “I thought it would be a good idea to get all the reports, see if I could figure out why they questioned me.”
Paul rose from behind his desk and walked to the file cabinet. Unlocking it, he withdrew a file that he flipped open to the first page. Thumbing through the balance of the papers, he said, “Nothing in here indicates your involvement in anything. Just that you found the body of one Richard Anderson. You can have a copy of this if you like. What you can’t have is a copy of my investigation report. It’s not finished and those remain confidential until they are, unless they’re used for litigation.”
“Even under the Freedom of Information Act?” She felt impaled by his blue eyes in response to her statement.
“You can request it under the FIA of course. You won’t get it for a couple of years until it’s released. I’ll make you a copy of this.”
He handed her the file copies in a large envelope. As she pulled them out to thumb through, he said, “You’re quite a diver. I enjoyed our dive despite the circumstances. You know how to handle yourself. Perhaps, when this is over, we can dive together.”
Taken aback at the unexpected invitation, Hayden blurted out the first thought that came to her. “Where is the big cutter you had on the Humboldt? I don’t see it here.”
“That’s a loaner. It’s home ported at Station Key West. Station Islamorada has use of it from time to time. This is Cuban smuggling season so we use the hundred and ten-foot boat on night patrols in case we have to bring refugees aboard. Can’t do that on our little thirty-three footers.”
Hayden nodded and folded the envelope into her handbag.
Paul came around, rested his butt on the front of the desk, and crossed his long legs at the ankle. The action seemed to cut the small room to the size of a closet. “I meant it about diving together. It’s not often I find a diver who can match my skills. I like it when I can dive and not babysit.” He took her elbow in his hand and helped her up. “Give it some thought.” He pushed himself off from the desk, and keeping hold of her elbow, escorted her to the lobby.
Pondering the surprising ending to their interview, Hayden fingered her remote. Gretchen must have misunderstood. He sure didn’t treat me like a suspect. When she opened her door, she glanced down at the seat’s power control lever. She felt like someone punched her. That was it. She remembered when she got into the truck to drive home from Falkner Marina, the seat was pushed back. She’d readjusted it forward so her feet reached the pedals.
Twenty-Three
Paul watched Hayden’s trim figure make its way through the parking lot to her car. He waited, unmoving, until she pulled out of the driveway and he no longer saw the rear of her SUV driving down Palermo Drive. The fear in her eyes made him wonder what she was hiding. It took a lot of courage for her to come to him as frightened as she was. Lost in thought, he turned and headed back toward his office. Something didn’t sit well with him.
He slid into the chair behind his desk and opened the lower drawer. Flipping through the files, he spotted the one bearing the name “Kent, Hayden.” The chair made a sighing sound as he pulled the file from the drawer. This was the report Hayden had really come for. The one that had impressions, avenues of investigation, a multitude of thoughts and theories. As he read down the scrawled notes he saw a pattern of sorts emerge. Blackouts. The woman was subject to blackouts. She claimed they were associated with migraine headaches. Paul rubbed the bridge of his nose to alleviate the tension he felt building. He smiled at the action.
“Power of suggestion,” he muttered. Leaving the file open, he reached behind him and grabbed a clipboard with a pen and yellow legal pad attached. Scribbling his notes of the meeting, he added a postscript about the blackouts. Before he ripped the sheet from the pad, he rolled his computer mouse a few times to activate the screen. When the Coast Guard logo came up, he clicked again and then logged into a law enforcement database. He wasn’t sure who was involved with the investigation into the last body Hayden found, but he thought Highway Patrol was a good bet.
The information scrolled up on the screen. It was a bare bones report. The case was closed. Not finding what he needed, Paul tabbed over to the reporting officer and dialed the number for E Troop.
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br /> “Is Trooper Nadeau still with your agency?” Paul asked the woman who answered the phone and identified herself as Trooper Garcia.
“No sir, but we do have a Sargent Nadeau. Is that the same person?”
The tension between his brows increased with frustration and he took a deep breath. Fighting to keep his voice friendly, he said, “It could be. How many Nadeaus do you have in the Troop? May I speak with him?”
The woman’s intake of breath at his sarcasm was his only reward for holding his temper in check. He twirled a pencil between his fingers like a baton as he waited for the call to transfer.
“Nadeau,” a firm voice said.
“Lieutenant Paul Muller, US Coast Guard. Are you the same Nadeau who was involved in an incident a few years ago? Deceased prostitutes found in boxes along the highway?”
“Yes. That case was closed. What can I do for you?”
The caution in the other man’s voice amused Paul. What, he wondered, was he afraid of after all this time? Did he short the investigation? Take the easy way out? Paul filed the reaction and the information away for future use. “Hayden Kent found another body. This one under water. Frankly, the pieces don’t add up. Was she ever a suspect in the prostitute killings?”
“Wait.”
The Coast Guardsman heard the sound of computer keys tapping over the quiet line.
“Not after the first few minutes. It was pretty clear what happened.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Not much to tell. The Kent woman saw a small kitten sitting next to a packing crate by the side of the Highway. She stopped to rescue the kitten, smelled the smell and called nine-one-one. I responded. Called the morgue and Hazmat, just to be safe. The Kent woman stayed in her car with the kitten. I think she adopted the thing. I questioned her. She found the body. Once the box was opened, well, it was pretty clear she had nothing to do with the death.”