Shades of Deception

by Charlie Hudson

  The advantage to the vessels purposefully deployed to become artificial reefs, was they could be left with adequate structure to enable divers to safely penetrate if they were trained to do so. Bev and Kyle hadn’t worked their way into taking the wreck specialty course yet, but part of the preparation of the multi-tiered Spiegel Grove had taken divers like them into consideration. Large sections of the hull had been cut out to provide swim-thrus. This meant, as they entered, they did have something overhead blocking them from ascending straight up, but they could also clearly see and quickly get to an exit into open water. From Bev’s perspective, this was the ideal arrangement. As much as other divers talked about making their way through the corridors and into different rooms of the ship, she wasn’t ready for that. If Kyle felt she was holding him back from the experience, he hadn’t expressed it to her.

  The former ship that had served in Korea and for thirty-five years during the Cold War was the Landing Ship, Dock (LSD) class of ship. Bev had read about it, how the ships, conceived of during World War II for amphibious assaults, were designed to carry and launch assault boats, other equipment, and personnel. Part of the design was a well deck, a cavernous open area in the aft third of the ship that could be flooded to a depth of four-to-six feet. The flooding allowed landing craft and other equipment to motor in and out of the vessel when the stern gate was lowered. One of her dad’s favorite classic war movies was “The Longest Day” and she couldn’t remember how many times they’d watched the scenes of troops in landing craft and military equipment emerging from those ships headed for the beaches. Steve Dillworth, who owned the Scarlet Macaw Bar and Grill, had been a part of the diving community for years and had helped raise funds to bring the decommissioned vessel out of what they called the “Mothball Fleet” in Virginia for the long process involved in preparing her to be sunk as an artificial reef.

  That was well before Bev had an interest in scuba and she’d been vaguely aware of the plan. She’d been out of town the week when camera crews and crowds had gathered into the area for the sinking that had somehow gone awry to leave the ship upside down instead of settling to the bottom as intended. With a portion of it not submerged and creating a navigation hazard, there had been a scramble to find a solution that resulted in getting the ship fully below water, although on its side. The ironic aspect of the ship Bev did know about, had occurred a few years later when a hurricane clipped through the upper Keys, doing minor damage. Reports came in of something odd at the Spiegel Grove, however, because seven of the eight mooring balls attached to different points of the vessel were no longer visible. To have so many break loose and float away didn’t make sense considering the relatively mild storm. Within a few hours, “Are you shitting me?” and variations of the question rippled throughout the marine community and made their way into headline news. The mooring balls had not come loose after all. Whether it was whimsy or coincidence, Mother Nature had done what the rushed salvage operation had neither the time nor money to accomplish. The mighty Spiegel Grove had been lifted and firmly settled upright into almost the exact position that was originally intended.

  No matter the orientation of it, the large size of the ship meant multiple boats could simultaneously tie up to whatever mooring was their favorite or whichever one they could get if they weren’t the first boat on the site. Danny Spiller of Adventures Below had been able to grab the ball at the rear of the superstructure today. They’d followed each other down the line to about sixty-two feet deep where they straightened out to begin the dive, a school of grunts to their left and a pair of gray angelfish to their right. That route allowed them to proceed forward along the deck area to see the brackets for life raft canisters and then continue on to the superstructure, swim across to and around one of the gun mounts; angle up toward the upper deck for a chance to look into the combat bridge; and proceed back along the starboard side of the superstructure to the rear to see the small control tower that some people called the PPI flight shack. They hadn’t hurried the dive and enjoyed the plentiful marine life from nubs of new coral growth to the pleasure of seeing a Goliath Grouper in the closing minutes of their dive. They watched the over three-hundred-pound fish disappear inside the ship. They were now close to the mooring line to begin their slow ascent, mindful to look up and see if other divers were already on the line. It was clear between the twenty and fifteen-foot depths where they would relax for their safety stop.

  Respecting this part of the diving process was reiterated during their instruction; the stop allowing extra time for nitrogen absorbed during the dive to be released from their bodies. Bev wasn’t expert about of the details of physics and physiology that made those three to five minutes so important, but she accepted the wisdom of the practice. With the current not pulling on them the way it did on rough days, they were able hold the line loosely in one hand, drift to the side and look around. Visibility was close to seventy feet which allowed them to have the top-down view of the part of the deck where they’d been. Divers moved in and out of sight and a small school of barracuda passed to Bev’s right, headed toward the artificial reef below.

  With this part of the upper Keys home to the third largest barrier island in the world, most of the natural reefs were shallow, few more than thirty to thirty-five feet deep. Bev liked the combination of the deep wreck followed by a shallow reef dive where they normally spent almost an hour poking among the rocks and crevices.

  Unless there were unusual delays, the morning boat would get them back to the dock close to noon. A quick rinse for themselves at the solar heated outdoor shower and a longer rinse of their dive gear would put them in the parking lot of the Scarlet Macaw between twelve-thirty and one o’clock for lunch and a couple of cold beers. It was a great way to spend a day off.

  The ride in was marginally bouncy and they were providing a list of recommended restaurants to the only other passengers, a father-sons trio down from Cincinnati. The Island Hopper boat could hold up to fourteen passengers and it was the policy of Adventures Below dive shop not to book more than twelve. With five on board, space was generous. Bev turned to see how close they were to the channel markers leading into the canal and watched the smile leave Danny’s face, the radio mike close to his mouth. She couldn’t hear the transmission or see Danny’s eyes behind his sunglasses, but she knew his body language well enough to sense something was wrong. Kyle was giving directions to the men and she quietly moved next to Danny who was standing in front of the captain’s chair. “Need a hand with anything?”

  His mouth tightened and he slipped the sunglasses off, allowing them to dangle from the black cord. “Sounds like the Big Blue may have lost a diver. Unconscious, got him to the surface, still unresponsive, performing CPR. Coast Guard and ambulance are on the way. Might call it upon arrival at the dock.”

  “Shit,” Bev said flatly. “They’re coming in now?”

  “Yeah, maybe ten minutes ahead of us,” he said.

  Bev reached for her specially designed fanny pack that she’d placed in the dry area to the left of the captain’s console. There was a disguised pocket for her pistol and badge, although in this case she was after her cell phone that was clipped to the strap. Despite Les Martin, the other detective, being on duty — it would be better for her to do the investigation if the diver was pronounced dead. The sad truth was, there were periodic dive fatalities and she knew the kind of questions to ask, what to look for and could spot red flags in the event there had been negligence on the part of the dive staff. Big Blue was the newer of two Corinthian dive vessels operated by Scuba-Plus, the largest operator in town. They owned the biggest retail store, taught lessons, trained instructors, provided video service, performed underwater weddings, repaired most makes of scuba equipment, and probably had other services Bev wasn’t aware of.

  Les, who had received the call from dispatch and not left the office yet, was happy to relinquish the case. Like Bev’s dad, his interest in the water was st
rictly for fishing and that was mostly back country. Scuba was not an activity he either understood or wanted to. Kyle had noticed her absence and moved close enough to her to speak quietly.

  “That look on your face isn’t about what you plan to order for lunch.”

  “Afraid not. Sounds like a death on one of the Scuba-Plus boats. I told Les I’d take it. I’m sorry, but…”

  Kyle slid his arm around her waist. “Got it, no problem. I’ll take care of everything here and get one of the guys to give me a ride home. Call when you can.”

  She leaned into him, her mouth almost pressing against his ear. “This is another of the reasons why I love you.”

  He smiled. “Yeah well, you can show me how much later.”

  The engine throttled down as Danny entered the canal where Adventures Below was located. It was barely a five-minute drive to the parallel canal where Scuba-Plus had their complex. Located on an L-shaped piece of property, the main retail store fronting the Overseas Highway was on the long section of the L. That building also had two classrooms in the rear. A short walkway led to the dive operation complete with equipment storage and repair center, and the two boats situated on the canal. Both stucco facilities were painted aqua blue and featured eye-catching underwater murals. A smaller, although still generous parking lot, serviced the dive shop area and an Emergency Response Vehicle blared past Bev as she pulled over a bit before falling in behind him. Beau Wilson waved her in next to a vehicle where a male EMT was in the driver’s seat speaking on the radio. His head was turned and Bev couldn’t tell who it was.

  “We hustled everyone on the second boat out of the way to cut down on the crowd,” Beau said, opening her door. “The witnesses are all in the courtyard section. The Captain, mate, the guide – name’s Matt Raney — are on the boat. Boone got here with the first responder, called it and sent them on in.”

  “What about the Coast Guard?”

  “Still here, but I don’t think they plan to stay very long. Mr. Lariby, the senior partner is here, too.”

  “Thanks,” Bev said, wondering how many divers had been booked for the afternoon turn. Nothing could be done about that though and Roger Lariby had been in the business as long as anyone. This wasn’t the first death he’d handled and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He and her dad were friends and he stepped around the corner of the building and waved.

  “Hey, didn’t realize you’d catch this one,” he said, coming up with an outstretched hand. He was a few years older than her dad, his full head of white hair kept in a swept back style. His forceful grip was brief, hands heavily callused from being actively involved in the dive operations. He was known to prefer leaving administration to his partner, Leslie Galen. “How are your folks?”

  “They’re good, thanks,” Bev said, seeing nothing in his intense blue eyes except a professional facing an unpleasant reality. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can.”

  He shrugged, walking beside her. “This is the bad part of the business. This particular crew hasn’t been through it before. You mind doing the customers first so we can get them on their way? I’ve got all their contact information in our records. Sherry’s on the desk today and she’ll have that printed up for you. Kevin is here, too.”

  It must be a slow day at the station for both Kevin and Beau to be on the scene. “Good,” Bev said instead. “I’ll tell him what I need and he can do those interviews. Let me talk with the Coast Guard and see if they need to hang around for anything.”

  They stepped into the rectangular courtyard between the back of the shop and the canal. Mature gumbo limbo trees provided natural shade over the elongated gravel and crushed seashell surface. Four weathered wooden picnic tables were set closest to the boats and almost two dozen heavy duty plastic chairs were spaced beyond those with plenty of room for people to sit and relax between dives. Bev could see a couple of grills on the far end of the rectangle — a set-up for parties Scuba-Plus often held among the dive community. A stone firepit was situated where there was a clear view of the sky.

  There was no party atmosphere today and thankfully it had been a light crowd on the boat, only fifteen people to interview and better yet, none were kids. Even though she and Kyle didn’t have children, she could imagine being in a situation like this would be distressing for them.

  Kevin, who had apparently separated the customers into the seating area, broke from speaking with one of the older couples and walked over to meet her at the edge of the picnic tables.

  The two Corinthian dive boats were docked end–to end, the Coast Guard vessel tied up behind them. Five people were on board the Big Blue. Bev didn’t recognize the woman in the Coast Guard uniform who was speaking with Boone Reynolds. The three waiting quietly clustered around the helm should be the captain, Matt Raney, and the woman would have been serving as mate.

  Bev nodded to them, went immediately to Boone and was introduced to Ellen Toppler who seemed to be matter-of-fact about the situation. She was an inch shorter than Bev, slender stopping just shy of being thin. Her curly black hair was cut close, an easy style to keep considering her position. Her brown eyes had a slight slant that could have been mixed ethnicity and her eyelashes were thick and stubby. Like most women who spent a lot of time on the water, she didn’t appear to bother with make-up, although if she was prudent, she was probably careful about using sunscreen and lip balm.

  “Nothing is out of order from our perspective,” she said with no discernible regional accent. “They followed proper resuscitation attempts protocol. With the location of the incident and the speed of their boat, we opted to meet them at the channel instead of trying to respond on-site. They’ve already done the alcohol test and I have the information I require. Unless you have something to discuss, Boone here can fill you in. We just received another call and I’d like to be underway.”

  “Sure, we’ve got this,” Bev said, only a little startled at the brevity. Wherever Toppler was from, she didn’t seem to have adapted to a laid-back Keys approach and Bev was just as glad to have them out of the way. Not that she didn’t appreciate what they did. It was simply this was not a situation where they could assist and Bev would just as soon get the interviews over with.

  The two women exchanged business cards and as Bev turned her head to look at the captain, he moved as if to come forward. She gave him a Wait signal with her right hand. She wanted to discuss the game plan with Kevin and have a quiet word with Boone.

  Bev didn’t know how many water-related deaths Boone had worked and couldn’t imagine there was a scenario he hadn’t encountered. “Anything unusual?”

  They were turned toward the canal, their voices pitched low to not carry. Kevin was to her left, leaning in to hear. Boone’s face was neutral. “My initial assessment is no.” He tilted his head to the gurney being moved toward the vehicles. “He was packing twenty or so pounds he could do without, muscle tone was probably a little below average, no callouses on his hands. I’m willing to bet he was down from a cold climate, worked in an office, didn’t have a regular fitness routine and if it’s a heart attack or aneurism, this would have happened under a variety of circumstances.” He hesitated a fraction of a second more than he should have.

  “Is there a but coming?”

  Boone shrugged. “Not exactly. The truth is — I think Matt, the guy who was guiding him, is an asshole. Big ego kind of guy and, while it appears he did what he should have, I’d make sure to ask if the deceased gave any indication of problems before they went on the second dive.”

  “You think he may have pressed him?” Even without being as seasoned a diver as many, Bev had observed a few occasions when a diver expressed reluctance to go on a dive and been cajoled or teased into doing so. That was generally a personal dynamics interaction and dive professionals were supposed to adhere to, “better to abort when unsure about diving.” That didn’t mean they always followed the well-established
protocol.

  Boone shook his head sharply. “I’m not saying he would dismiss a stated concern. Matt is a major stud, or at least thinks he is. If it had been an attractive female, he would have paid plenty of attention to her. A middle-aged male like this one and he could have missed a sign he should have picked up on. If so, someone else might have noticed and mentioned something.”

  “Got it,” Bev said. “Let me take a quick look and then you can head out.”

  Kevin moved with her to the body. “You want me to start with the passengers?”

  “Yeah, and I’ll handle the crew. We have the particulars on this guy?”

  “Syracuse, New York, financial advisor,” Kevin said, validating part of Boone’s supposition. “Fifty-seven, here alone. Had a conference in Miami and tacked on three extra days for diving.”

  “Emergency contact?”

  “Haven’t gotten that far,” Kevin said. “I wanted to get the staff and customers separated.”

  “Makes sense,” Bev said with a glance toward the small crowd that would be ready to get this over with. She passed on the additional question for Kevin to ask specifically about if anyone else noticed the deceased experiencing any kind of issues before re-entering the water. She didn’t want to influence anyone’s statement and knew she could trust Kevin to phrase it objectively.