by Lee, Rachel
“Drugs could have been the motive,” Callie argued.
“Except,” Chase pointed out, “if they’d found any sign of drugs on that boat, Jeff would probably be charged with trafficking, too.”
She hadn’t thought about that. And suddenly the diamonds didn’t sound like such a remote cause for the murders as they had. Anything would be better than having drugs dragged into this mess, she realized. Her brother was exactly the age where people would believe he’d be stupid enough to get involved in trafficking. A twenty-year-old with a boat. A suspicion of drug involvement was the only thing that could make this mess worse than it was right now.
“All right,” she said. “It’s a theory. It’s the only theory we’ve got. But we have to go back to basics anyway. We’ve got to find out about the guys who owned the charter boat, and whether or not they took someone else out with them that day. And if so, who and for what reason.”
“Agreed,” Chase said. “I’ll start with the newspapers.”
An hour later he had compiled the bare bones. Callie sat beside him, taking down everything he discovered in the Miami paper and the Key West paper. Jeff, who’d gotten impatient, went back to scraping, but came in for a drink of water right about the time they were finishing with the papers.
“Okay,” Chase said when Jeff joined them at the table, “let’s go over what we’ve got.”
Callie picked up the pad. “George Westerlake was the owner of the Island Dream, the boat that Jeff salvaged. He was fifty-three, a former pharmaceutical rep who retired to the islands five years ago and started a charter service. With him was his partner, James “Jimbo” Rushman, also fifty-three, a displaced commercial fisherman. Apparently when the net ban got passed, Rushman gave up on commercial fishing and bought into Westerlake’s idea for a charter service. The two men had been friends since high school.”
“Not likely they killed each other then,” Jeff remarked.
“I don’t know about that,” said Chase. “Partnerships can make enemies out of the best of friends if the business starts to go bad.”
“No financial problems,” Callie reminded him. “That was mentioned.”
“No known financial problems. Something might yet turn up.”
She nodded and returned to reading. “They both lived on Big Coppitt Key, so I guess that’s a good place to start looking into things. The papers also said that Westerlake’s wife was under the impression that her husband had a charter that day for deep-sea fishing.”
“Which means he took a party or parties aboard,” Chase remarked.
“So there are other missing people?” Jeff looked horrified. “I could be charged with their murders, too?”
Callie didn’t know what to say to that She couldn’t lie, but short of a lie there didn’t seem to be a single soothing thing she could say.
“The papers aren’t exactly clear on this,” Chase said. “All they said was that the victims may have taken two other men out on the boat.”
“But why wouldn’t the cops know that already?” Callie asked. “I mean, somebody must have seen them set out. Somebody must know something. And if they knew that for sure already, why wouldn’t Jeff be charged with their murders, too?”
“I don’t know,” Chase said. “I’m assuming they’re not sure there were any other people on the boat.”
“Or maybe,” Jeff said bitterly, “if they find out there were two other men on that boat it becomes really unbelievable that Eric and I could have boarded and killed all of them.”
Callie looked at Chase. “The prosecutor couldn’t possibly withhold that kind of information.”
“Hell, I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I wouldn’t think so, but maybe they’re not above stacking the case. Or maybe they just don’t have enough information to make two additional murder charges.”
He rubbed his chin, feeling the bristles of the beard he’d forgotten to shave that morning. “It’s not a whole hell of a lot of information, is it?” He didn’t want to look at Callie, didn’t want to see the fear that never left her blue eyes anymore.
“It’s more than we had earlier,” she said firmly. “So where do we start?”
“In Key West, bright and early in the morning. We’ll check the marinas there and see what we can find out about these guys.”
“Not today?” Jeff asked, disappointed.
“I want to make some phone calls first. I might be able to find out a little additional information before we start asking questions people aren’t going to want to answer.”
Callie’s eyebrows lifted. “Why shouldn’t they want to answer?”
“Because we’re nobody, Callie. Because you’re related to the man who’s been charged with the murders.”
The look on her face ripped his heart, but he forced himself to ignore it. He was getting involved in this for his own sake, he told himself, not for hers. He couldn’t afford to get involved for hers. He didn’t have enough left in him to pay the cost for that.
“I’ll go with you,” Jeff said.
Chase shook his head. “That would be a big mistake.”
Jeff’s expression grew thunderous. “Why?”
“Because you don’t want to get accused of witness tampering.”
Jeff swore and stood up so quickly that his chair tipped over. He left it there as he stormed outside. Moments later they heard the sound of the scraper removing the last paint flakes from the eaves.
“He does have a temper,” Chase remarked.
“He’s under a lot of strain. As bad as this is for me, it’s got to be a lot worse for him.”
“I suppose.” Chase rose and went to pick up the chair Jeff had knocked over. “He needs to learn to control his anger better, Callie, or it’ll get him into more trouble.”
She snapped then herself. “Who made you so almighty perfect? Who gave you the right to tell other people what they need to do?”
He looked into her angry blue eyes, and felt as if he were losing something, but that was so ridiculous he refused even to consider what it might mean. “I never claimed any right,” he finally said. “I just call the shots the way I see them.”
“Well, clean up your own act before you start telling us how to clean up ours.”
That was low, low enough that he felt his own temper flare. But unlike Jeff Carlson, he’d learned to rein it in a long time ago, so he never uttered any of the retorts that sprang immediately to his mind. Instead, he spoke quietly.
“I’m going to go make phone calls now. I’ll let you know what I find out.” Then he turned and walked out, letting the screen door slap closed behind him.
He heard Callie follow him onto the veranda, but he didn’t look back until he was halfway around the inlet. She was still standing there, staring after him, and she looked so alone and frightened that he felt his heart ache.
No, he told himself. None of that. Just do what you have to and forget everything else.
He kept walking.
And Callie kept watching.
A half hour later he was on his way to Miami.
Like most insurance companies, Vantage Maritime, Inc., owned a huge, brand-new office building. Maritime’s Miami offices were on the top three floors, and the lower floors were rented out to various tenants, mostly lawyers and doctors. The building reeked of money, with rose-marble pillars and floors, and brass appointments everywhere. Chase supposed the building was intended to convey that Maritime was financially solid. To him it just announced that Maritime was raking in huge profits on its policies.
Dave Hathaway kept him waiting twenty minutes. Chase supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he had called to make an appointment, and had driven nearly a hundred and fifty miles to get here. The secretary finally motioned him to go in.
Dave wasn’t at the top rung of the company, or anywhere near it, but he did rate an office with a window and carpeting, even if it was a small office. Chase had always thought Dave deserved more than that, considering how muc
h his oversight of salvage operations must save the company every year. But Dave seemed content, and Chase kept his opinion to himself.
Dave greeted him with a big grin and came around the desk to shake his hand. “So you decided to take me up on the job?”
“I’m still thinking about it.” Which was true enough, even if it wasn’t at the top of his list of concerns right now.
Dave motioned him to a chair, then settled back behind his desk. “I suppose you want to know more about what we’re offering.”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Good. Given your experience, I think I can offer you seventy a year. Plus full benefits, of course.”
“Sounds good.” It compared favorably to what he’d been making as an independent. Unfortunately, it meant being chained full-time to a desk.
“I figure you can oversee deep-salvage operations on both coasts for us. You know who the best people are, you know how to evaluate the dives and whether they’re at all practical to make. The kind of thing we’ve been leaving to the individual contractors to decide.”
“So why do you want to hire somebody to do it when the contractors already do it?”
Dave flashed another grin. “In the long run, this is the cheaper way for us to do it.”
It made sense.
“Besides,” Dave continued, “you’re a recognized damage expert. I don’t know anybody else who’s as good as you at looking at a sunken boat and determining what happened. Remember that case two years ago when they claimed an accidental bilge fire and you showed it was arson? Saved us a pretty penny on that one. There’s nobody else as good at that as you, Chase. We don’t want to lose you.”
“But I won’t be diving anymore.”
Dave sat forward. “I know that. But we can bring you photos and samples to examine. And you know exactly what to tell divers to look for. You’d be invaluable to us.”
Chase nodded, but something about this was troubling him, though he couldn’t say exactly what. The proposal, as Dave was putting it, sounded perfectly reasonable. It was probably just his damn paranoia again.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Dave said. “But think about it. Meantime, I haven’t had lunch today. Join me?’
Chase hesitated. If he went to lunch with Dave right now, he might not get back up to this office. “Sure,” he said. “But first, could you do me a favor?”
“Anything within my power.”
“I’d like to see the report on that last dive I took.”
Dave paused mid movement and looked at him. “You know those reports are confidential. What do you want to see it for anyway? You already know what Bill found down there.”
“I just need to see it in black and white. The questions are driving me crazy, and I got to thinking that maybe Bill had put in more detail than what I’ve been told.”
“I see.” Dave was hesitating visibly, and Chase understood why. Violating company policy could get him into serious trouble. He considered withdrawing his request for Dave’s sake, then decided to stick to it.
There might be more information in Bill’s report on the dive, and that information might be useful to him, either to cure his damn nightmares or give him a clue as to what was going on out in those waters, something which had not only affected him, but had affected Callie and Jeff, too. Admittedly, the connection was a tenuous one, but he was damned if he was going to overlook any possibility.
“Just don’t ever tell anyone I did this for you,” Dave said, and hit the intercom switch. “Lettie? Could you bring in the Bruderson salvage report, please?” Dave sat back in his chair and looked at Chase.
“Thanks, Dave.”
“I can’t show you the whole file, you know. Some of it would breach client confidentiality in a way I could never justify.”
“I only want to see Bill’s report on the dive. You can justify that. Hell, I was there.”
“But you can’t remember anything.” Dave’s gaze was suddenly intent. “You don’t remember anything, do you?”
“Not a damn thing. How many times am I going to have to answer that question? I can’t even remember getting my equipment on. Everything’s a big blank.” Except for the demons in the darkness. He remembered those every time he closed his eyes, dark shapes that seemed to coalesce out of the very water, something like the movie The Abyss, only darker and more threatening. He sometimes wondered if that film had laid the groundwork for what his mind had imagined in the depths of the sea.
Lettie came in with a thick file and handed it to Dave. “That’s everything we’ve got,” she said.
“Thanks, Lettie. I’ll be going to lunch in a few minutes, so hold my calls, okay?”
“Sure thing.” The door closed quietly behind her.
Dave opened the file and began flipping pages.
Chase spoke as he watched the pages turn. “Why was Bruderson carrying all those diamonds anyway?”
“He owns jewelry stores in Miami, Tampa, and New Orleans. He said he was carrying the diamonds to his Tampa store.”
Chase shook his head. “I’d have thought there’d be safer ways.”
“Apparently he does it all the time. Gives him an excuse to take a nice long sail and deduct the cost.” Dave looked up with a half smile. “Business people have all kinds of ways to turn their pleasures into deductible expenses. It must give the IRS fits.”
“You’d think so. I’m surprised the company would insure him, though.”
“He paid enough for the coverage, I’ll tell you.” Dave flipped a few more pages. “Here we are.” Releasing the clasp, he lifted out a stack of pages, then passed three of them to Chase. “Take your time… but no more than fifteen minutes. I’ve got a meeting at three, and I want time for lunch beforehand.”
Chase nodded, then bent to read the report. It was typed, of course, with a header that said it had been compiled from Bill’s written report of the dive and subsequent interviews. For the first time since the dive, he found himself wanting to talk to Bill. He looked up at Dave. “You don’t have the raw report?”
Dave shook his head. “I don’t know what they did with that. The investigators who looked into your accident took everything, and all I got back was this. It’s probably in the file on your accident.”
“Can I see that?”
“Not from me. I’d have no excuse to ask for it. You could try the legal department, but considering they’ve been worried you were going to sue, you’d probably have to get a lawyer to shake the file out of them. Is it worth the trouble?”
“I’m not going to sue.”
“You and I know that, but the legal eagles aren’t taking any chances.” He gave a laugh. “You know lawyers.”
“Yeah.” Giving up, Chase read the report. Everything seemed to be there—a description of the boat’s damage, which would seem to support an explosion or fire in the bilge, Bill’s report that the safe was empty, and even a description of Chase’s erratic behavior.
Chase handed the report back. “Thanks, Dave.”
“Did it jog your memory any?”
Chase shook his head. “Nope. Doesn’t even ring any little bells.”
“Funny the guy would claim to have hit an underwater obstacle when there was an explosion and fire.”
Chase shrugged. “He might not have been able to tell the difference. They’d probably feel pretty much the same to him, and he could have put the fire down to damage caused by impact.”
“I’d be quicker to believe that if he’d mentioned a fire at all, but he didn’t. Add that to there being no diamonds, and it gets suspicious as hell.”
“It sure does.”
“The legal guys are thinking about turning it over to the state attorney as insurance fraud. I don’t know whether they’ve got enough to go on, though. So, are you ready for lunch?”
Dave selected a nearby seafood restaurant where the late-lunch crowd was just beginning to thin out. They were given a table near a window with a view of a baking park
ing lot. Dave ordered a grouper sandwich, and Chase asked for the captain’s plate, a mix of broiled seafood.
“So how’s life on the Keys generally?” Dave asked.
“I like it.”
“There’s a lot of weirdos out there on Key West.”
“Some. Depends on what you think is weird.”
“It’s probably the only place on earth that ballyhoos that gays, lesbians, and cross-dressers are welcome.”
Chase started to smile. “Mayberry RFD meets Fire Island. What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s not natural, that’s what’s wrong.”
“Mm. Well, I kinda have the attitude that anything that nature produces is natural. It may not be to my taste, but I can’t see giving anybody a hard time over something that isn’t hurting anyone else.”
Dave shook his head. “I wouldn’t expect that attitude from a former SEAL. You guys are the most macho men on earth.”
“Maybe. I used to think so. Then I realized we were just crazy. It’s a useful craziness at times, but it’s still crazy.”
Dave laughed at that. “Well, you’ve got me there. I sure wouldn’t volunteer for it.”
“Most people wouldn’t.”
“So you’re happy down there just soaking up the rays, huh?”
Happy wasn’t the word Chase would have used. He hadn’t been happy in a while. “I always planned to retire there.”
“You’re kinda young for retirement.”
“I sure haven’t been feeling that way lately.”
“So what about the job?”
“I’m still thinking about it, Dave. I’ll let you know.”
Forty minutes after failing in an attempt to reach Bill by phone, he was heading down US 1 for home and feeling amazingly eager to get there. He’d never liked Miami, but given his recent psychological problems, he was surprised to discover he was glad to be heading back to the Keys.
Living on an island, even an island as big as Lower Sugarloaf Key, seemed like an insane choice for a man with his problems. But he’d bought the cottage last year, with an eye to spending his vacations here, and it had seemed like a much better place to hole up than his apartment in Tampa. He had been craving solitude, convinced that if he just locked himself away somewhere, he’d be forced to make peace with his demons. If he’d stayed in Tampa, he could have continued to ignore his problems. Or so he had believed.