“What are you going to do with the houseboat?” Kim asked.
“I know someone who wants to buy it,” Angie said. “It’s not much, but he doesn’t have a place.”
“Won’t it nickel and dime him, too?” I asked, grinning at Jimmy.
“Yeah, well, I guess it floats fine,” Jimmy admitted. “It’s just that your place here takes three.”
He was right. And he was no doubt coached by Carl and Charlie. Living here was very comfortable, though we had little of the amenities of the mainland. Our lifestyle was about as laid-back as one could imagine. But we did in fact work every day. Last night was work. We got most of our food from the sea or the aquaculture garden. What we didn’t eat, we sold.
The sound of yet another boat reached my ears. In the past twenty-four hours, we’d had more boats within sight of my island than I can remember having seen since the lobster mini-season. This sound I easily recognized. It was Charlie, returning with the kids from their sleepovers.
Kim took Angie and Jimmy to show them the island that they’d soon be living on. Jimmy’d been here a few times, but Angie had only been out once. Carl and I went to the dock to help Charlie. Living on an island meant trips to the mainland were a hassle, and she never returned empty-handed.
Before Charlie even got the twenty-one-foot Grady-White backed in next to my seventeen-foot Grady, the sound of twin outboards could be heard out on the Gulf side.
“You might think about installing traffic lights,” Carl said, as the kids took off to play with Finn.
Charlie hugged her husband and told him of their friends in Key West who’d told her to say hi. She only had a few bags and we carried them up to the deck.
Carl and Charlie had been living here for nearly three years. It was going to be difficult to adjust to them not being here. But he was right. A parent’s first responsibility is to their kids, and living alone on an island in the middle of nowhere wasn’t the best way to raise them. They needed to be around other kids, and not just at school. They needed cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents.
I was an only child, as was my dad, so I had no siblings, aunts, uncles, or cousins on that side. I had two uncles and an aunt on my mom’s side. One uncle was gay and the other a die-hard bachelor. Aunt Beth was unable to have kids, so I had no cousins on that side, either. I hadn’t seen any of them in decades. The only family I had around when I was growing up were my parents and grandparents. I kind of envied the Trent kids; it sounded like they were going to have a lot of extended family around.
Across the flats to the north, I spotted the sheriff’s patrol boat as it came past Content Passage. Carl took the bags I was carrying and followed Charlie down the back steps. Marty was at the helm of the patrol boat and Devon was beside him. She usually didn’t get off work until late in the evening and it was barely after noon.
With the tide at its fullest, Marty turned across the flats between my island and the next one to the northeast, staying on plane all the way. He was very familiar with the water around my island, spending a lot of his free time here every other weekend. He slowed when he turned into Harbor Channel just before the cut leading up to my house.
“You’re early,” I said, catching the line Devon tossed as Marty brought the boat to a stop behind Angie’s.
“Got another girlfriend you need to run off?” she asked, grinning at my discomfort. I often worried that I was too readable, and that my thinking about Savannah earlier would be tattooed on my forehead.
“That’s Angie’s boat,” I said. “Carl’s daughter. Is everything okay?”
“Just wrapped things up early,” Devon replied, stepping up onto the pier and then into my arms. “Can’t say the same for Deputy Phillips.”
Marty looked down at the deck under his feet. There was a mixture of emotions on his face. Anger, tempered by strong indignation and embarrassment.
“What happened, Marty?”
“Got royally chewed out,” he replied, looking around. “I’m on suspension.”
“What the hell for?”
“Disobeying orders,” he replied, finally meeting my gaze. “My sergeant took my report and the evidence, then lit into me for being out there last night.”
Something there wasn’t right. I’d known my share of officers and NCOs in the Corps who were the “by-the-book” types. Those who put the implementation of policy first and overlooked the results of their troops’ initiative. Those NCOs under me, I straightened out quickly. Officers appointed over me, I could only advise. The good ones took the advice in the spirit intended, some didn’t.
I felt bad for the kid. “Well, since you’re off duty, stay for supper and we can have a couple beers to hash it out.”
Kim came down the steps, as we were starting up. “Hey, Devon.”
“Hi, Kim. How was the night dive?”
Marty looked alarmed for a second, and Kim caught it. “It was great. We found an ancient coral formation deep under the sea floor.”
By his expression, I assumed that Devon didn’t know the details of what happened last night.
“Go ahead and get settled,” I told her. “Me and your deputy are gonna get a beer down at the fire ring.”
Devon opened the door to my house, and carried her bag inside. I knew she’d be a few minutes, showering and changing out of her detective suit and into proper island attire.
Sandwiching myself between the two youngsters, I herded them down the back steps. Marty started to say something, but I squeezed his shoulder.
“Kim, you mind taking Finn for a swim?” I said. “He’s been cooped up in the house all morning.”
“But—”
“Marty and I want to talk about you behind your back,” I interrupted.
“Dad!”
“I’m just kidding,” I said with a wink.
“You want to talk about the wrecked shrimp boat.”
“Indulge an over-protective father?”
She smiled and turned toward the Trents’ house, where Finn was playing with the kids.
“I really can’t tell you much,” Marty said, walking beside me toward the tables. “It’s an ongoing investigation as far as I know.”
I just nodded, and kept walking. Stopping at the tables, I lifted the lid on the cooler. There were several bottles of water and three beers floating in about six inches of water, with a few translucent ice cubes. I took two of the Bahamian Kaliks and continued toward the fire ring, offering one to Marty.
“Um,” he hesitated. “I don’t know if I should be drinking, sir. I still have to get back home.”
Tossing a couple pieces of driftwood onto the coals from the previous fire, I stirred and poked at them with a stick.
“There’s a lot of room here on the island.”
He hesitated, then pulled the tail of his uniform shirt out of his shorts and took it off. He removed his vest and lay it on the ground, folding his shirt and placing it on top of the vest. “Thanks,” he said, taking the beer.
I’ve known Ben Phillips, Marty’s dad, for some time. He was a guide out of Ramrod Key and a stand-up guy. To me, the fact that it bothered Marty to drink in uniform spoke volumes about the young man’s character and reflected on his upbringing.
“I also know Kim’s had a beer or two.”
His eyes went wide.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Her mom was younger than me when we met, and I snuck her a few beers. People are gonna do what they do. Just don’t let her get drunk, okay? Now, tell me about this suspension.”
“Not much to tell,” Marty said, sitting on an old fallen palm log. “Sergeant Brady, he’s my shift supervisor; he’s a real pain. Everything has to be by the book.”
“Sometimes that’s necessary. Did he read your report?”
“Glanced at it is about all.”
Pulling a chair closer, I sat down. “What about the head? Take it to the morgue?”
“I was going to,” Marty said, after taking a pull from the beer. “I
filled out the form early this morning, after y’all left. I was heading to the sub-station to file it, but Sergeant Brady contacted me as I was heading in and told me to report directly to him when I got to the dock. He was waiting at the slip when I got there. After chewing me out and putting me on three days suspension, he said he’d take care of the evidence.”
“But he let you take the boat back out?”
“Most of us do,” Marty said. “We’re spread pretty thin in the Middle Keys and none of us have to share a boat. We usually take them home so we can respond faster if we get a call and we’re off duty.”
I considered what he said a moment. “You’re spread thin and he suspended you?”
“Like I said, he’s strictly by the book. It’s probably written in there somewhere, that if you find a head doing what you’re not supposed to be doing, it’s three days without pay.” Marty took another drink from his beer. “At least two of those are weekend days.”
“What all was in the report, Marty?”
“My boat’s not equipped with dive gear,” he said. “I had to put it in the report that you and I found the head together.”
It didn’t bother me that my name was on some report. Not much, anyway. But I really didn’t want Carl or Kim involved, if it wasn’t necessary.
“Just my name?” I asked.
“Yes, but if I’m asked—”
“You’ll have to answer,” I said. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.” I took a long pull from my own beer, before broaching the next subject. “Now, about your sleeping arrangements when you go up to Gainesville.”
Over my twenty years in the Marine Corps, I’ve had to have some difficult conversations. With men who worked under me when they screwed up in their private lives, and occasionally with officers appointed over me who were behaving badly. I’ve also had to talk to more than a few grieving parents and widows. Those were the hardest. Emotionally hard.
Without a doubt, a conversation between a man and his daughter’s boyfriend about sex is a lot more uncomfortable.
After Marty left to find Kim, I sat on the log and continued poking the fire. Devon came over and sat down beside me, her bare thigh against mine. She’d changed into shorts and a tee-shirt, but had one of my work shirts over it.
“He didn’t tell me anything about what happened,” she said. “And it’s not my place to pry.”
I continued stirring the coals. “He came out to where we were diving last night. We had a run-in with another shrimp boat.”
“A run-in?”
Pointing beyond the bunkhouses, I said, “The trawler that blew up yesterday? It’s not there anymore.”
“I heard something about it,” she said. “The Coast Guard took it because it was outside territorial waters. What do you mean it’s not there anymore?”
“Another shrimp trawler came out of the north late last night, dropped nets on it, and dragged it two miles to the north.”
“What the hell for?” she asked. I could practically see the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Like me, Devon has a very narrow view of the line between right and wrong. Moving the trawler was tampering with evidence. Even if it wasn’t her case, I knew it rankled her.
“Marty got the GPS numbers where they dropped it. He and I dove on it before we came back in late last night. Actually, it was more like early this morning, about zero three hundred.”
“And you found something?”
“A body part that didn’t float up with the rest,” I replied. “A man’s head, probably Hispanic.”
“And Marty took it to the morgue?”
“Turned it over to his supervisor along with his report, early this morning.” I tossed the stick in the fire and looked Devon in the eye. “I think these guys are manufacturing methamphetamine.”
“That’s what’s got you so introspective?” she asked. “Drug dealers in your backyard?”
I put an arm around her and pulled her close. Her hair smelled of shampoo, with a hint of coconut.
“No, that’s not it,” I said, breathing deep the scent. “I just gave him the green light to spend the night with my daughter.”
Devon smiled. “Like he needs a green light. They’ve been sleeping together for over a year.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But not here on my island.”
The sun was high overhead as Cedric waited in the parked car. Most of the vehicles in the lot looked worse than his old Corolla. His car didn’t look like much, and the chances of it starting at any given moment were about fifty-fifty. Not that it only started half the time, because it did start most times—but it also hadn’t started and would occasionally quit running for no reason. So any time he stuck the key in the ignition, it was a gamble.
Running back and forth across the state wasn’t something the Toyota was up to, so Cedric was driving one of Ballinger’s cars—a late-model, black Lexus. The car had once been driven by one of the boss’s salesmen.
He ran the car’s engine to keep the air conditioner on. The A/C was cold. It had to be, being black and in south Florida. Keeping it on, he wasn’t forced to put the windows down. That meant that he wasn’t assaulted by the smell of decay that seemed as much a part of the old marina as the water.
The marina was a remote commercial dock on the Caloosahatchee River, on the outskirts of Cape Coral. The place was filthy, rundown, and smelled of dead fish.
He watched the green arrow that represented the shrimp boat on his phone’s screen as it neared the marina. It was arriving later than he’d figured on and he’d had to wait longer than he liked. He’d been tempted to call, but that was too risky. Besides, the app told him they were moving, and the boats were so slow; he hadn’t needed to rush. He just liked driving the Lexus.
Ballinger wanted the GPS coordinates of the wrecked boat. He wanted to send his own crew of divers to remove anything that might be on it. They were standing by, waiting for captain to take them out.
The ugly shrimp boat turned into the short creek and approached the dock. Cedric waited until they were tied up before he got out of the car. Just being around this place made him nauseous, never mind helping with the lines.
As he approached the boat, he looked around nervously. Ballinger said he had the cops in his pocket, but you just never know.
The captain of the boat came out of the wheelhouse and vaulted the side of the boat, landing easily on the dock.
“What took so long?” Cedric asked.
The captain was a redneck from Texas, and Cedric didn’t like him. He was big and rough-looking. But the man feared his new boss and Cedric was an extension of him.
“Ran into a little trouble during the tow,” Darrel Taylor replied. “Some guys in a fishing boat was skulking around. Looked like they were just trolling. So we towed it farther out.”
Cedric absently lit a cigarette, as the men on the boat unloaded plastic containers onto the dock. Cedric knew the bottom one of the first stack of four crates didn’t have shrimp in it. The ones on top did, but he had no idea if the shrimp in those boxes had been caught last night or last week. They reused the decoys until they started to smell too bad.
“You got the numbers?” Cedric asked.
Taylor took out a piece of scrap paper and handed it over. “Name of the fishing boat’s on there, too, if you need it.”
“What’s the weight?” Cedric asked, looking at the GPS coordinates and boat name on the paper, before stuffing it in his pocket.
“Right at five pounds,” Taylor replied. “They said it’s a lot better this time.”
Two more men stepped off the boat and Taylor turned and started walking toward the rusting steel buildings, as they approached.
“The captain said it’s better this time?” Cedric asked the older of the two men.
“This is a shit way to work,” the bald man replied. “Yeah, it’s better. But it’s still crap, on account of the working conditions.”
“How much better?”
“Almost seven
ty-six percent,” the former pharmacist replied. “It should be eighty.”
Raymond Black had been a moderately successful pharmacist for more than twenty years. Until the State of Florida came down on him. Toward the end of his career, he’d pocketed tens of thousands of dollars by unloading out-of-date prescription meds to a few less than scrupulous buyers. One turned out to be an undercover narcotics detective.
Cedric stepped aside as the two deckhands moved up the dock with hand trucks. “Seventy-six is still a lot better than any tweakers can do on their own.”
“Hear anything more about the other crew?” Black asked as he and Cedric followed the deck hands.
Cedric opened the trunk of the Lexus and the two shrimpers removed the top three crates from one of the stacks. Black lifted the single crate that was on the bottom and put it into the trunk. Two more identical plastic crates were already there, pushed back under the rear windshield.
Cedric waited until the deck hands were out of earshot. “They all died in the explosion.”
“The girl too?” Black asked. “How’d Ballinger take it?”
“He’s hard to get a read on,” Cedric replied. “You know about the history between them?”
“I introduced them,” the ex-pharmacist said. “She had a ton of money she’d embezzled from her dad’s business holdings and a really bad habit. The two of them probably went through half a pound of nose candy in a ten-day sex marathon.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t seem too broke up about it. Thank the gods for small favors. His words.”
“Such a waste,” Black said, closing the trunk of Cedric’s car and turning to leave. “She was hot. See ya next Wednesday.”
“Yeah, later.”
“See if you can get him to do something about the smell and contamination onboard,” Black said, when he reached his own car. “I can bring it up to at least eighty percent. That’ll bring a helluva lot better price on the street.”
Cedric nodded and got in the car. The three containers in the trunk were worth half a million bucks, and Ballinger wanted to start ramping up production to ten pounds per run for each boat. Easy enough to do. It only meant the boats would go out for two nights instead of one.
Rising Fury: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 12) Page 8