Dead Center (The Still Waters Suspense Series Book 2)

by Dawn Lee McKenna

  Plutes narrowed his eyes at him as Evan crossed the salon to the galley, then he went back to looking out the window. Evan stepped down into the galley and put the shrimp in the small sink.

  Evan had changed the brand of cat litter he used three times, per the advice of a bunch of nitwits on some cat lady forum. Plutes still chose to pee or poop next to the litter box at least twice a month.

  Evan had thought maybe the fuzzy shrimp thing, which he’d suction-cupped to the salon wall, would make Plutes a better person, but the cat actually gave it a wide berth, veering around it by at least five feet, like he thought Evan had loaded it with poison darts.

  After changing into sweatpants and a tee shirt, Evan went back up to the salon and turned on some music. His taste ran from classical to 90s alternative and from indie folk to the blues. He wasn’t in the mood to get harassed by his own music, so he went for classical. Yo-Yo Ma and Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G major. Evan was almost relaxed by the time he stepped back down into the galley.

  He grabbed the paper towels, a grocery bag, and his favorite fancy natural cleaner, and stalked back out to the aft deck. He cleaned up the mess, changed the cat litter out while he was at it, and then threw it all away in the can down by the fish cleaning station. When he came back inside, Plutes was sitting on top of the fridge. Evan went back down into the galley, tossed him a glare, then went to the sink.

  He rinsed the shrimp, then started breaking off the heads, careful not to lose any of the coral-colored gold that seeped out. The heads he placed in a pot with a little olive oil and butter. The bodies he dried with a dish towel, then put half in a plastic container in the fridge and set the other half aside. Every time he looked up, the cat was still perched on top of the fridge like a raven who’d forgotten his lines. Since Plutes didn’t say anything, Evan filled the awkward silence.

  “I know you probably think these shrimp heads are for you, but they are not,” he said, as he started chopping some onion. “It would benefit you to know that the key to a decent shrimp bisque, or any seafood bisque for that matter, is shrimp heads. I’m going to make stock with those, and that will give me my seafood bisque for dinner tomorrow. You can’t have that, because the last time I gave you milk, you threw it up behind the TV.”

  Evan set the onion aside and started peeling and chopping some garlic. One of his foster parents, one of the early ones, had said he ought to be a prep cook because he liked chopping and dicing so much. Evan had wondered why the guy, who meant well enough, hadn’t thought he should be a chef. But cooking did for him what meditation did for others. He wouldn’t have wanted to ruin it by doing it for a living.

  He set the aromatics to sweating in a pan of melted butter, and the smell of the garlic swayed up toward him like a cobra bent on hypnosis. Evan glanced over to see Plutes, head low, neck craned, like a downhill jumper getting ready to take off. His black nose twitched, and he stared at the small, three burner stove.

  “Pay attention, just in case I call one of these days and tell you I need you to start dinner,” Evan told him.

  Sometime later, after washing the dishes and failing to find anything on TV that wouldn’t make him angry or depressed, Evan remembered the cat straightjacket. He went down to his stateroom and grabbed it from his hanging locker, then went back up to the salon to find the cat. He was sprawled on the teak built-in below his favorite window.

  The cat almost flipped his lid when Evan picked him up, so rarely had that occurred, but he went limp in Evan’s hands until Evan sat on the carpet and tried to wedge him into the halter, which, astonishingly, did not come with instructions for application.

  Plutes rabbit-footed him a few times with his back feet and got him good twice with a bite between his thumb and forefinger, but Evan persisted, firmly, but not roughly.

  “Would you stop?” he snapped at the cat. “I’m trying to do something nice for you, you jerk.”

  Evan finally wrangled the cat into the harness, in what he hoped was the proper position. There was a leg sticking out every leg hole and a pissed off face sticking out of the head hole, so Evan figured it was right.

  “There!” he said, putting Plutes down on the carpet. “You see?”

  Plutes took one step, then sort of melted sideways until he was lying down. Evan stared at him.

  “What?” Evan asked. “You can walk. That’s what the holes are for.”

  Plutes didn’t look at him. He didn’t meow. He didn’t growl. He just laid there like he’d been drugged.

  Evan leaned over and picked him back up, set him on his feet. “I didn’t take your legs.”

  He let go, and Plutes oozed back over on his side.

  Evan sat back on the floor and watched the cat, thinking he was trying to make him feel bad. After a few minutes, neither of them had moved. He wasn’t sure the cat had even blinked.

  “Are you having a stroke?” Evan asked.

  It wasn’t quite dawn when Evan rolled onto his back and flung the duvet off his chest. He had finally turned the heat off yesterday, but he’d kept his windows closed, and now the air felt heavy, the room too close.

  He blinked a few times, then opened his eyes when he noticed the light in his peripheral vision. Blue light. He got out of bed and leaned over the built-in teak dresser to look out his starboard side window. Across the marina, at least two cruisers were parked on Jetty Park Drive, which went around the back of the marina. They had their lights on, but he hadn’t heard any sirens.

  There were several short piers jutting out into the bay from the road, along with a few covered pavilions. Between the boats blocking his view and the darkness, Evan couldn’t tell what was going on, but it was curious enough to get him up.

  He went to the galley and got his espresso going, popped a cup of milk in the microwave, and then went back to his stateroom to get dressed. He pulled on a pair of tan cargo pants and a long-sleeved tee shirt since he planned to shower before work, then went back to the galley, where the aroma of freshly-brewed Bustelo made his amygdala water. As he poured his café con leche into his travel mug, he glanced up to see Plutes perched on the ledge that surrounded the galley.

  “You’ll get your eggs in a few minutes,” Evan said as he walked back up to the salon. “Something’s afoot over on the jetty.”

  He grabbed his holster, phone, and badge out of reflex more than anything else and stopped on the aft deck to slip on his deck shoes before stepping to the dock.

  He could have swum to his destination faster than he was going to be able to walk it. The spot where the lights were still twirling was only about a hundred yards across the water from his slip. Unfortunately, Evan wasn’t one of those lizards that run on water. He’d have to walk all the way around the marina on the plank walkway, then up the short embankment to Jetty Park Road. It would have taken just as long to walk to the parking lot to get his car, so Evan enjoyed his coffee as he made his way over there, at something faster than a stroll, but not in much of a hurry. Most likely, someone had dumped a stolen car, or broken into the car of one of the early-bird fishermen or dumped a washing machine into the bay.

  A few other marina residents were making their way to the jetty or just standing topside, peering across the water to see what was going on.

  The cruisers were parked sideways in the road, just in front of a covered pavilion that had picnic tables and a restroom for the many locals who liked to fish there. Behind the pavilion was a short pier that jutted out into the water.

  Evan’s cell rang from his pocket as he was climbing the short embankment.

  “Caldwell,” he answered without looking, slinging a leg over the short wooden fence.

  “Hey, boss, this is Meyers.”

  “Hey, Meyers, what’s up?”

  He heard the deputy blow out a frustrated breath. “We got another one.”

  As Evan crossed the small road, he saw Meyers standing just inside the pavilion with his back to him, phone up to his ear.

  “Another what?”
Evan asked, though he guessed he already knew.

  “Stabbing,” Meyers answered. “And this one’s in your back yard. Where are you?”

  “Behind you,” Evan said, and ended the call.

  FIFTEEN

  MEYERS TURNED AROUND. “Hey, boss.”

  “Hey.”

  “So, that guy over there with the silver hair and the tracksuit, he’s one of those Loopers, staying here for a week before he heads south again. He was taking his morning walk and found our victim.”

  Evan looked over to a small group of people off to the right, near the cruisers. One car was Meyers’ cruiser, the other was PD. The St. Joe officer was talking to a short, slim man of about seventy, who was visibly shaken.

  “Where’s the body?” Evan asked.

  “Down here.”

  Evan followed Meyers over to the L-shaped pier.

  “Mind the blood,” Meyers said, pointing at a softball-sized spot right where the concrete of the pavilion met the wood of the pier. There was another, larger spot on the shallow sand and oyster shell embankment. There were several large, white rocks right next to the foot of the pier, and Evan spotted some spatter there.

  They only went a few steps onto the pier when Meyers stopped and looked over the rail. Evan leaned over to look. There on the ground, about six feet below them was a man’s body.

  “Well, crap,” Evan said quietly.

  The man was at least middle-aged, though there wasn’t enough light yet to be sure. He had sparse, light brown hair that had previously been covered by the Gators ball cap lying a couple of feet away.

  The guy was wearing long cargo shorts and a dark green sweatshirt. His athletic shoes weren’t expensive or new, but they were very clean. The man was lying on his left side, but Evan could see that the right side of his sweatshirt was covered in blood. Blood stained the broken oyster shells beneath him and had seeped into the sand.

  An expensive-looking fishing pole lay halfway down the embankment. A few feet away sat a red tackle box, on its side but still closed.

  “I’m assuming you’ve already been down there,” Evan said.

  “Yeah. He’s dead,” Meyers answered.

  “Who else is responding already?”

  “EMTs dispatched same time I did, but I was just down the street,” Meyers answered. “I was trying to get into work a little early. I heard Forsyth and Summers responding, too.”

  “Okay. Do me a favor, go grab some tape and start taping this off. Everything from the pavilion to ten yards either side of the pier. Include the guy’s car, too.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then call Trigg and the ME’s office,” Evan added. He looked down at the fishing gear. “Looks like he had just gotten here.”

  “We think so,” Meyers said. “The black Saturn on the other side of the pavilion, the trunk is open, got a little cooler in it. Looks like maybe he was gonna go back for that.”

  “You check the registration?”

  “No, I looked, the car’s locked. I didn’t want to check his pockets for the keys; figured once I saw there was no sign of life I oughta back off.”

  “Yeah, good work,” Evan said distractedly.

  “Okay, I’ll go get the tape and call Trigg and the ME.”

  “Thanks,” Evan said. “When Summers and Forsyth get here, tell them to block access to the road, from all the way back where it curves. I don’t want the looky-loos any closer than that. Hopefully, it’s too early for any of the press to be minding the radio.”

  Meyers started to walk back the way they’d come.

  “Hey,” Evan called over his shoulder. “Bring me a pair of gloves, would you?”

  Evan stood where he was and turned a full circle, slowly. The old man in the tracksuit had been joined by a woman who was undoubtedly his wife. She had both arms wrapped around one of his. Three other men stood just beyond, looking on. Two he recognized from the marina. One he didn’t, but that guy was in his bathrobe and accompanied by a terrier on a leash. Nobody suspicious.

  He saw another SO cruiser pulling up, as he kept turning. He didn’t see anything else on the ground that didn’t belong. People were pretty good about keeping the area clean. He saw one Big Red wrapper, but it was sun-faded, clearly not from any time recent. He couldn’t see any prints in the ground between the concrete and the embankment. It was mostly shell.

  He had come full circle back to the body. He took a couple of gulps of coffee; suddenly the caffeine was more important than it had been twenty minutes earlier. He set the mug down on the wooden railing and was rounding the rail to go down the embankment when he heard Goff behind him.

  “Hey, boss,” he said. Evan looked over his shoulder. “Meyers asked me to bring you these gloves.”

  “Thanks, “Evan said, taking them.

  “I was on my way in when I heard the call about a body,” Goff said. “Meyers says it’s another stabbing.”

  “Yeah,” Evan said, pulling on the gloves.

  “Casual’s kinda a new look for you. Can you think without a suit?”

  “You’re charming. I walked over here because I saw the lights.” He started down to the body. “You coming, or do you need to notify somebody that I’m underdressed?”

  “Yeah,” Goff answered, which could have meant anything, but he was right behind Evan anyway.

  They watched where they stepped, and stopped a few feet past the body, as far as they could get without getting wet. Evan crouched down to look at the man’s face and chest.

  “Crap.”

  Goff squatted down next to him, pulling on his own gloves. “Looks like we got another dot to connect.”

  “Looks like it, based on the wounds,” Evan replied. “I can see three wounds for sure, but it’s hard to tell, between the blood and the way he’s lying. All upper right chest, looks like.” He looked over at Goff. “I don’t suppose you could be so useful as to know the guy.”

  Goff shook his head. “Nope.”

  “I want to wait till Trigg gets here before I mess around getting his ID,” Evan said. “Could you call the plates in, find out who this guy is? Black Saturn over there.”

  “On it,” Goff said.

  He stood, walked up the embankment on the other side of the pavilion. After a moment, Evan could hear him reciting the plate over his handheld. Meyers came back into his field of vision, yellow crime scene tape in hand.

  “Summers has the road blocked,” he called down. “Trigg and the ME are on the way.”

  “Thank you,” Evan said, then looked back down at the body. The guy was wearing a nice, but not flamboyant steel watch, worth a good few hundred. No wedding ring and no white line suggesting a missing ring. There was only one defensive wound that Evan could see, on the back of the man’s left hand. It looked pretty deep.

  Evan reached out and touched the man’s neck. He was still warm.

  He stood up as he heard a siren. He watched as another PD cruiser appeared. Behind it was Trigg’s Jeep, which pulled over and parked just in front of the pavilion. Evan watched and waited as she got out, grabbed her kit from the back, and made her way across the pavilion, eyes fixed on the ground two feet in front of her. She didn’t look up until she reached the embankment.

  “What’d you do, now?” she asked drily.

  “I’m fine, how are you?” Evan asked.

  “Disgruntled. Whatever happened to killing people in broad daylight?”

  “We’re not in Miami, anymore.”

  Trigg looked around, noting the locations of the blood. “You’re telling me,” she said, distracted. “If I want a decent Cuban sandwich I have to leave town.”

  She carefully walked down the embankment, crouched on the other side of the body, and set her kit down on the ground. “Meyers says it looks like the same guy.”

  “Looks like it,” Evan said. He watched her pull on her gloves.

  “I suppose it’s better than having three stab-happy people running around town.”

  “That’s a nice,
positive spin,” Evan told her.

  “Hey, boss,” Goff called as he headed back down. “Car’s registered to Mitchell Overstreet. Address over on Hunter Circle.”

  Evan stood as Goff reached them. “Okay, look. Trigg’s just getting started and ME’s not here yet. I’m gonna go back to the boat and change. Once Trigg’s got her shots of the body, get his ID if he has any, see if it matches.”

  “Will do,” Goff said.

  “I’ll be back in twenty, tops,” Evan said, as he walked back up to the pier and grabbed his mug.

  Trigg looked up at him. “Hey, are you making café con leche?”

  Evan nodded. “Most likely.”

  “I don’t suppose you could bring me one?”

  “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Thanks,” she said, already back to her camera.

  Evan let Meyers know what he was doing and walked past the little group with the PD officer, and the small cluster of law enforcement vehicles. He was just about to climb back over the fence when he spotted Sarah standing with the small group that included the bathrobe guy. She was hugging herself, wrapped up in a pair of sweatpants and a bulky sweater. She was watching him when he saw her.

  “Hey,” he said quietly, crooking his finger at her. She walked over to him.

  “What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  “Came to see what was going on,” she said.

  “You don’t need to see,” he said. He gestured at the fence. “Come on.”

  “It’s another stabbing?” she asked as they climbed over.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Like eighteen people,” she answered.

  “Well, this is no place for you,” he said. “You don’t belong with the dead.”

  “Seriously? I’m Angel Hardwick’s kid,” she said. “You think I’ve never seen a dead body before?”

  “Beside the point,” Evan said as they started along the walkway. “Go study.”

  “I have to be at work at seven,” she said.