by Kait Carson
“Anything unusual come to mind about her?”
The silence lengthened. Finally, Nadeau said, “One thing, after we had an ID we went to question her again, just to tie up some loose ends. The usual stuff, especially since folks were calling in tips that they had seen the woman at the Rusty Hook. Turned out the Rusty Hook was at the end of the Kent woman’s street.”
“This is the Keys; there’s a bar on every corner.”
“Yeah, but the Kent woman couldn’t tell us anything about the night before she found the body. Said she had a migraine and blacked out. She’s lucky she was never a suspect. That would have been hard to overcome.”
The pencil fell from Paul’s nerveless fingers. Another blackout, another death. “But you cleared her?”
“Yeah, given the manner of death, she didn’t fit. We caught the sick bastard who did it. He confessed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, why?” The guarded tone was back in Sargent Nadeau’s voice.
Paul thanked the man and put the phone back into the old-fashioned cradle the Coast Guard still used. He tapped the warm spot on the handle where his fist had wrapped around it. Then he picked up the phone, held it in one hand and fished through his desk with the other. His hand lighted on a pale grey card bearing the distinctive FWC logo in yellow. He took it from the drawer and laid it on top of the folder. With his free hand, he punched the numbers.
“Officer Kirby, did I get you at a bad time?” Paul asked, when the woman answered her cell. She paused longer than necessary, causing Paul to wonder what she was hiding. Maybe something about her sister. He searched his memory trying to recall if Hayden said she had been to the FWC offices or was going. He was sure she said she was going there. A glance at the clock told him unless she drove ninety miles an hour, Hayden Kent had not arrived at the FWC offices. No, whatever was bothering Janice Kirby, it wasn’t that the Kent woman sat across from her.
“Sorry,” Janice replied. I’m prepping for a Court case. I have to leave in five minutes.”
“Okay, I can call back, or we can meet later.” He paused for a beat. “I want to talk about your sister’s husband’s death.”
“No. It’s fine, I’m on my cell. I have to go to Key West. It’s a drive, we can talk on the way.” Janice’s voice changed cadence in concert with her footsteps as she left the office and strode to her patrol vehicle. “Give me a minute to start the truck and hook to the bluetooth.”
He heard the deep growl of the engine and listened to the clunk of the truck engaging gears.
As he waited, he reflected on how many unanswered questions still existed at this stage of the investigation. Once they had a motive, the rest would fall into place. Drugs or Cuban smuggling led the motive speculation for the higher-ups. With Elena involved, it could be simple spousal abuse. A thin smile curled his lips. Spatricide, that was what his Chicago police officer father called it.
A shard of pain lodged in his heart as he remembered the night his dad’s fellow officers brought word of his father’s death. Killed by participants in a domestic dispute. With an effort, he pulled himself back to the present to hear Janice’s voice. By the sound of her tone, she’d been trying to get his attention for a few seconds.
“Sorry. Reviewing some information,” he said. “I wanted to share some information with you. Professional courtesy. I know your sister is involved in this. I don’t know how much longer you will be on the case.”
“I’m a—”
“Anyway, you were there when the initial report came in.” He spoke over her words, not caring to hear her justification. “Your impressions are invaluable.”
A sigh came over the crackly line of the cell phone connection. Paul knew immediately she hadn’t activated the bluetooth connection in her patrol. “I think the Kent woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“She knew your brother-in-law.”
“Did she? Elena doesn’t know her. Richard never mentioned her.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong. She dated the brother.”
“Yeah, he’s a funny duck though.” The American expression sounded strange tinged with Janice’s slight Spanish accent. “Hardly ever around.”
“What about the relationship between the brothers?”
“Off and on. Lately it had been coming back to on. At least Elena said Kevin called a couple of times a month.” Janice paused for a beat. “This isn’t your case, is it? What are you calling for?”
He’d wondered if she’d get around to that. “I told you. Professional courtesy. Hayden Kent left my office about forty minutes ago heading for yours. She wants copies of the reports. Monroe questioned her. You get a copy?”
“Yeah, I read it. They really beat up on her.”
Paul cleared his throat. “She brought that on herself. Who goes to a preliminary interview with an attorney? The woman is a great diver, but something about her...” He paused for a beat, waiting to see if Janice filled in any information. “This is her second body. That’s pretty unusual.”
“Or unlucky.”
“Or unlucky. But she’s conducting her own investigation here. She’s acting like she’s trying to clear herself before someone accuses her.”
“Do you blame her? And as for the lawyer. If I had one handy, I wouldn’t talk to the cops alone. At least not in her shoes.”
Paul flipped through the pages as Janice spoke, trying to find something that would focus her on the investigation in general and on Hayden Kent specifically. “She worries me. She strikes me as a wannabe. Those folks are always a danger to themselves and everyone else.”
“I think you’re wrong, Paul. I’ve spoken with her. I think she’s scared and confused, and maybe, just maybe, a little worried about either her health or her sanity.”
“The blackouts?”
“Yeah.”
“She had one the night before she found the last body too.”
Janice let out a low whistle. “I didn’t look into that. Do you think she’s some sort of multiple personality?”
He turned the thought over in his mind. It didn’t fit. Not based on what the Highway Patrol told him. Still, it bore further investigation.
“You better hope so. If she didn’t do it, the smart money says your sister did.”
Twenty-Four
Hayden chewed on the discovery as she made her way back to Marathon. She tried to remember something, anything, more. Now that some memory came back, maybe more would follow. Did she wait at the marina? She often moved her seat down and back if she’d be in the car for a while. Especially if she had a headache. Maybe she did it to change the angle of the setting sun. Keep it out of her eyes. Falkner Marina faced west after all. What time was sunset? That could give her an idea of when she left her house. Again, she took herself back from the time she left her office until the time she woke at the marina. Nothing else came to her. Frustrated, she banged her hand on the steering wheel, inadvertently sounding her horn. The man in the car in front of her took it personally and shot a bird out his window.
The puddles dried completely by the time she drove over Long Bridge Channel. Even the flooded area near Cocoplum Road held only some red muck along the verge. Hayden continued into Marathon proper. She remembered a time when Marathon referred only to the city. Now people referred to the entire Key as Marathon totally forgetting the name was Vaca.
A storefront on U.S. 1 held the marine patrol Office. Hayden tried to find a larger parking space in the back of the building. She found herself face to face with a fenced off area topped with concertina wire. Riding back to the front of the building, she expertly backed her car into a space, right in front of a sign that read Head on parking only. What the heck, she thought, if you’re gonna break the law, do it in front of a cop shop. Let them ticket her. Why did it matter what end of her vehi
cle faced forward? The cardboard covered window caught her attention and she made a mental note to get it on the to-do list.
She shuddered when she looked across the Overseas Highway. For the first time, she realized the marine patrol office faced the entrance to Falkner Marina. Maybe a cop was a witness too. Maybe a marine patrol officer saw something. Hayden bit her lip. Would the report have the information about the witnesses? She climbed down from the truck and strode to the door.
The uniformed officer behind the information desk looked up with a bright smile. The office was small, cramped, and painted an unwelcoming grey. The walls were lined with black and white photos of, Hayden supposed, the succession of Captains or Majors that oversaw this particular office.
“Hi there, I’d like to get a copy of a report for an incident that occurred about a week ago.” Hayden smiled back at the young man while she fished in her handbag for her identification.
“Sure, are you press?”
Laughing out loud, Hayden replied, “No, actually, I was involved in the incident.”
“Oh.” The officer seemed temporarily confused. “Who was the officer?”
“Janice Kirby. I found a dead body on the Humboldt.”
“Janice is on her way to Key West right now. Why don’t I leave a note for her and she can call you so you can come in and speak with her?”
“Is that necessary? Isn’t this all public record? Aren’t I entitled to have a copy of an incident report that I was involved in?” Hayden tried to soften the sharpness that crept into her voice. She needed allies, not enemies.
“Well, yes, it’s just that if the report isn’t complete or final, then there’s nothing much I can give you. Janice can give you the whole thing and she’ll know how close it is to finalizing. If you talk to her, it’s better. She should be back in the office by three thirty. She’s in court this afternoon on a case. Really, she’ll call you. It would be better.”
Hayden wondered if the young man was brushing her off. She sighed and pulled a business card from her wallet. She crossed out the information on the front of the card and wrote “on leave, please use numbers on back.” Then she turned it over and wrote her home and cell phone numbers, and handed it to the officer behind the desk.
Flipping open her cell phone as she left the officer, she dialed Mallory’s number. “Hey there hard worker, you want to catch a quick lunch?”
“Not today, sorry. I’ll call you back later.”
Not wanting to be alone, but having no other alternative, Hayden drove the few blocks to her house. Turning down her street she again thought how lucky she was to own a house here. An only child, Hayden’s parents left it to her when they died, killed by a drunk in a head-on collision. The house, built in 1925, survived every hurricane nature threw at it. The old conchs knew how to build. Called a hurricane house, an anchor chain ran from roof to reef right through the middle.
A sailing family had built her house. The topmost floor, a widow’s walk, opened to the sky. These days, she used it for a sunning deck. During her childhood it served as a sleepover hangout. Far enough away from her parents for privacy, but still in her house. The trees grown tall during her lifetime obscured a view of the lagoon. Hayden considered that when she could, she’d have the trees moved elsewhere on her property. She wanted the view back.
The staircase to the roof circled a concrete pillar that concealed the anchor chain and provided access to a second and a half story safe room built to be above the mean flood line in a hurricane. The walls of the circular area were ballast rock. Her mom and dad took shelter there when Donna came through in the sixties. They marked the high water line on the inner wall of the staircase. It was a full four feet beneath the safe room. The prior owners marked the water line for the famous 1926 hurricane. That mark was six inches above the Donna mark. The house always comforted her. It let her know that no matter how bad things got, she could still survive if she planned well.
Hayden climbed to the sun deck and opened the envelope she carried in her hand. She scanned the Coast Guard report, irritated that it contained little beyond what she read in the newspaper. The report lacked any indication of the status of the investigation or if there even was an investigation. Paul tried to warn her. She hadn’t listened.
Her cell phone rang. The caller ID read FWC, the formal name of what the locals still called the marine patrol. Hayden flipped the phone open. Janice told her she could come by and pick up a copy of her report at four o’clock. She mentioned some information she wanted to share in person and suggested they talk for a few minutes.
Janice stood in the reception area waiting. She held a now familiar manila envelope in one hand. Taking Hayden back to her office, she closed the door behind her.
“There’s not much in it,” Janice began. “There’s not much I was involved in. The initial call. The Coast Guard took it from me, and I think Monroe County has taken it over from them. I’m not sure about that. They may be working it together.”
“That’s more information than anyone else gave me. I feel like a suspect. I’d like to know why. How I got so lucky.”
Janice looked directly at her. Impaling her the same way Tiger Cat did. The one who blinked first lost. Janice blinked. Hayden watched her expressions change as she seemed to struggle with her own demons. Finally, after a full minute of silence, Janice’s mouth drew itself into a straight, stern line. “Okay,” she said, “I’ve got to trust someone; I think I can trust you. You and my sister are top picks for the most likely suspects. The odds given depend on the agency you talk to.” Janice turned and reached into a file cabinet located in the credenza behind her. She pulled out a file folder and handed it to Hayden. “Can we talk about this somewhere else? It’s a copy. You can take it with you.”
Hayden flipped open the file folder. A paper with two photographs met her gaze. Richard, pale and eyeless in the top photo and laughing at the camera in the bottom shot. Her stomach did flip-flops.
Twenty-Five
The information in the file blew Hayden away. Janice conducted her investigation into Richard’s death with an eye to protecting her sister. Hayden realized it probably wasn’t sanctioned by the agency. The file contained memos from the Coast Guard, a full copy of the Monroe County report, copies of police reports filed by Elena for domestic violence, copies of nine-one-one calls from Elena and, finally, a restraining order issued two days before Richard’s death. Unsure what to do with the information, or whether she should share it with Mallory, Hayden moved to her home office, carrying the file with her. She booted up her computer and reached into her desk drawer for a fresh legal pad. Her hand touched the charm bracelet she’d found on her last dive with Cappy. Pulling it out, she looked at it. The dive seemed a million years ago now. She put the bracelet on her desk next to her phone as a reminder to call and set up a dive. Maybe Mallory would want to come.
She flipped open the last page of the Monroe County report and caught her breath. “Damn,” she whispered. “I was right.” The last page was the text of a telephone call that reported the tip. Kevin Anderson made the call and suggested the police look closely at Hayden Kent for his brother’s death. He refused to say anything more, just kept repeating they should look at her closely. No wonder she’d been called in and interviewed.
Hayden lay out all three reports side by side and read the information again. Then she took a legal pad, divided the sheet into thirds, and began to chart out the salient points of the reports marking where each differed and agreed and noting who had and who lacked information. When she finished she looked down at the chart. She understood why Monroe County targeted her. They had a tip. Okay, it came from Kevin, but it was a tip. Who tipped the Coast Guard? None of these reports mentioned Faulkner Marina. Grant’s report included it. What else was missing? How old were these reports? Grant’s report didn’t have a date, but it had more info. These reports
were all dated within a few days of when she found the body. She’d have to ask Janice for a good timeline.
“Officer Kirby,” Hayden said into her cell phone, “I have to admit I’m uncomfortable with the information. I don’t understand why you gave it to me. What is it you want me to do? I’m not a cop, I’m a paralegal, and I’m a suspect in your brother-in-law’s murder. I’d like to share this information with a friend of mine. A fellow paralegal but one with a criminal practice. Would you agree to that?” Agreeing to meet face to face with the marine patrol officer, Hayden gave Janice directions to her house.
Ten minutes later, the officer standing outside Hayden’s door looked as uncomfortable as Hayden felt.
Leading the way back to her office, she couldn’t help but notice the officer studying the house and the layout. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Would you like to see the house?”
“Oh, no, thank you.” Kirby blushed. “Most everyone I know lives in an apartment or a trailer. You’re lucky, this place is huge.”
“It’s a blessing. My parents left it to me. They’d moved to the Keys in the 1950s right after they were married. They bought this house from the man who built it. He was in his nineties at the time. It’s quite a house. You know,” Hayden continued, hoping to put the officer at ease, “I can still get private hurricane insurance on it. That’s a testament to a shipbuilder’s construction.”
The two women entered the home office. Hayden’s screensaver lit her computer screen with a montage of underwater photos. Hayden indicated the officer should take a seat in the armchair she’d pulled up next to the computer. “Officer Kirby, I have to tell you, I don’t know why you shared this. I’m a suspect. One way for me to clear myself is to find evidence that your sister killed her husband. Frankly, it makes more sense for her to do it than me. I never met him.”