She shifted her attention to the crew who were talking in low voices and when the captain looked in her direction, she beckoned to him. She wanted to get both his and the mate’s version and would then hear what Raney had to say. After that, she would compare notes and see if there were the usual differences or if there appeared to be any collusion. For Roger’s sake, she hoped this would in fact turn out to simply be a tragic accident.
In the half-hour it took for both the captain and the mate to give their statements, Bev’s impression was the captain was either neutral about Raney or didn’t want to agree with the mate who thought he was an asshole. His competency did not seem to be in question though. Both witnesses were suitably subdued as they separately ran through the standard checklist of how they had responded as soon as they realized the situation. Raney had started in-water mouth-to-mouth and the mate had entered the water to help with the cumbersome task of getting an unconscious diver up into the boat. The captain initiated the procedure to recall all the divers and contacted the Coast Guard and the shop who called 911. Raney and the mate continued to attempt resuscitation until the EMTs waiting at the dock took over and signaled it was futile. The mate admitted she thought Belton wasn’t going to make it but didn’t want to be the one who gave up.
The alcohol test required to be administered to the crew within two hours of an incident had immediately followed Boone’s assessment of Mr. Belton and they would all report for a drug test within thirty-six hours. There was no cause to think any of the tests would be positive, but those were the rules.
Bev glanced occasionally toward Raney who had his head down, focused on his cell phone. If he was trying to listen in, he hid the effort well. A quick look toward Kevin showed he was down to the last couple, both of whom appeared to be in their sixties and slender. She took that none of the group had anything unusual to say as a good sign. Kevin wouldn’t have allowed them to leave if there had been something of concern.
As soon as Bev released the Captain and mate, Raney made a sound that might have been a muttered curse. She moved to the helm where he straightened at her approach. He hadn’t bothered to slip a shirt on, his red swim trunks a moderate mid-thigh length, sunglasses on a black cord around his neck, feet still bare, too. She hadn’t been able to feel the sexual magnetism from the distance she’d been and despite him not being the type of man she was drawn to, it was a discernible characteristic. Was part of it because his eyes were the blue that made certain actors famous, fringed with thick lashes women rarely had naturally? He was a bit larger than the standard “surfer dude” mold, at maybe six feet, clearly defined muscles and golden chest hair. The lighter streaks in his blonde hair were, no doubt, natural from the sun and his smile held both laziness and an invitation, while inappropriate for the occasion, would be so instinctive to him he probably would have been surprised to be told he was smiling.
“My turn now? Matt Raney, as I’m sure you know.” His stood from the captain’s chair he’d taken over and gestured to the end of the bench where empty scuba tanks were waiting to be removed.
“Bev Henderson, Detective, Verde Key Police,” she said and signaled him to re-take his seat. It was no problem for her to take notes while standing and at her five foot seven, she wanted their heights to be equal.
“Look, I’m not sure how this goes. It’s a bummer about Larry, but like I was telling the Coast Guard babe, I don’t know what the hell happened. Everything was fine and then it wasn’t.”
Bev idly thought of what Toppler would likely have to done to him with the careless labeling of her. She tightened her voice to let him know this was no social meeting and his charm wasn’t an asset. “Let’s start from the beginning, and yes, I dive, so you don’t have to explain the basics to me. Was this Mr. Belton’s first time to dive with you?”
The smile disappeared with an accompanying shrug of broad shoulders and he essentially reiterated what the captain and mate had said. Larry Belton was a new customer, had wanted a guide. Made one to two dive trips a year, had a total of around sixty dives logged, hadn’t been to the Keys for several years, the shop he’d used before had been sold, and a guy he’d met at the conference he was attending recommended Scuba-Plus. Both dives were reef and therefore shallow; first dive was forty-nine minutes, guy’s skills were okay, but he wasn’t great on air. That came as no surprise since people who didn’t dive regularly often consumed air at a faster rate than those who were able to go under more often.
They were about thirty minutes into the second dive, Raney leading along one of the sand channels of the spur and groove reef. The older couple coming from the opposite direction had pointed to a rock outcropping with the “shark” sign, and Raney had led Belton to show him the resting nurse shark. They’d proceeded another few slow fins kicks, Raney shining his flashlight into the crevices and when he’d turned to check on Belton, he realized his eyes were unfocused and the regulator was slipping from his mouth. He immediately closed the gap to see the man was unconscious, although the regulator was mostly in place which meant he hadn’t been unconscious for more than maybe a few seconds. Fortunately, the pattern they were diving had brought them near the boat. He surfaced them close enough to be able to call out, pulled Belton’s mask off and began in-water mouth-to-mouth while pushing them forward.
Bev pressed for any indication Belton had given a sign of distress prior to the second dive and when she’d asked the question in a different way the third time, Raney’s eyes clouded. “Look, I know you’ve got a job to do, but I’m clean here, okay? I’m sorry for what happened, and I did everything by the book as soon as I saw he was in trouble. I’m getting the feeling you don’t want to believe me.”
“That’s not the case at all, Mr. Raney,” she said coolly. “I just like to be thorough.”
He lifted both hands and let them drop to the wheel. “Sorry, that came our wrong. It’s a major downer, you know?”
“Sure,” she said, thinking it was more so for Belton. “Actually, this should wrap us up.” She handed him a card he didn’t look at and turned at movement in her peripheral vision. Kevin was holding up his notebook and the courtyard was empty.
“Could I buy you a drink?” Bev swiveled her head back to Raney who was trying the charming smile again. “To make up for my crack. A late lunch.”
Was he really this obtuse? “Uh no, I still have a number of things to do. You can go, but I’ll need you to come by the station in the morning to sign a statement. If I’m not there, either Detective Martin or Sergeant Brinkley, the officer here with me, can take care of it.”
“Okay then,” he said and stood, his hand out. “Be seeing you around, I imagine. Roger has some paperwork for me to fill out.”
Bev ignored his hand, settled for a nod and spun around to precede him off the boat. Kevin had stepped toward the courtyard and waited until she was close enough for them to talk without being overheard. “I don’t have much. You have more to do here or you want to come to the station?”
“I want to talk with Roger as the senior partner,” Bev said and gestured to one of the picnic tables. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. What did you pick up?”
“The couple in their late sixties, Oscar and Roseann Schofield said they’d wait until last for their interview. They live in Geneva — our Geneva, up near Titusville — not the one in Switzerland. They have a condo here and come down every two months or so. Were set up on the boat next to Belton and Raney.”
“They’re experienced divers, then?”
“Yeah, been to a lot of different places and use Scuba-Plus for all their dives here.”
“They noticed something?”
Kevin didn’t consult his notebook and shrugged. “As they said, it was a small thing, and neither of them gave it any thought at the time. They’d been talking some with Belton about places they’d all been – the normal kind of conversation. Belton started poking his chest a little
and Mrs. Schofield asked if he was okay. He let loose a big belch, apologized, and told them it was heartburn. Said he should have had a bagel for breakfast instead of a Denver omelet.”
“I see,” Bev said thoughtfully. The pang of heartburn was common enough and if there were no other signs of problems, it would hardly have gotten anyone’s attention. She looked around and saw Roger on the deck, waving a file folder. “Okay, I think we have what we need from here. I’ll talk to Roger for another few minutes, then come by the station. Can you call Doc Cooper’s office and see when we can expect the autopsy?”
“Sure, and I’ll start the report. There wasn’t anything going on until this call.”
“Thanks,” she said and with Kevin’s departure, the only movement was from the staff, the sounds of tanks being off-loaded, equipment and gear being rinsed in the large tubs set out, murmured voices going about the tasks. No boats were moving along the canal; the one o’clock excursions had already left and no private boats were in sight. Two lots down and across the canal the waterside tables of Sal and Joe’s were full, reminding Bev this wasn’t the first time her plans for a leisurely lunch had been interrupted.
“Come on into my office, I’ve got a sandwich for you,” Roger said as she came up the three wide steps. “Turkey and avocado if that’s okay. Probably not what you had in mind for the day, but I figure you’ve got to be hungry.”
“Appreciate it,” she said and pointed a finger at the folder. “That’s the release form Mr. Belton filled out?”
“Yep, like I thought — no medical issues mentioned.”
Bev followed him inside. The area was empty except for a young woman on the telephone, her bare arms decorated with tattoos. As the dive operation part of the business, there were limited retail items on display here; T-shirts and hats, some books, dive accessories, the open space for customers to mill about during the check-in and check-out process. Large posters of marine life filled in the little remaining wall space and a short hallway led to the bathrooms and a room with a closed door Bev assumed was for the staff. The L-shaped wooden counter was painted aqua blue, topped with a lighter blue Formica. The large blackboard on the wall behind it listed the dive conditions for the day and prices of the dives, rental gear, and the standard instruction courses with a note, “Ask us about specialty training.” With dozens of courses to teach, they couldn’t possibly fit everything on the board.
Roger motioned her into his office to the left of the counter and closed the door. It was more spacious than she would have thought and then remembered this was his preferred domain over the main building. The standard office furniture desk perpendicular to the left wall was black, the three-drawer type with a center drawer and two on the right-hand side. The top was relatively uncluttered holding an opened laptop, a mobile phone, a seahorse-shaped ceramic pen and pencil container, a stapler, yellow writing tablet, and a small stack of file folders. A quartet of framed photographs hung above the desk, each one with Roger and one or two individuals in wetsuits, probably well-known figures in the diving community considering how long Roger had been a part of it and the circles he moved in. The rest of the wall was taken up with black metal bookcases crammed with hard copy and soft cover books — thin volumes and thick manuals. A small round wooden table with two straight back chairs sat beneath the single double window. The wooden blinds were raised almost to the top, no valance or other decoration. An old white refrigerator was against the right-hand wall, a short wooden table next to it with the coffeemaker. Three green mugs were upside down on a folded towel, a clear plastic container was filled with sugar and sweetener packets. An extra straight back chair was on the other side. The wall with the door had two short bookcases and most of the surface was covered with more photos — underwater shots of sharks, octopus, seas horses, squid, turtles, and rays.
Two sandwiches were still in wrappers on the table, a large open bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and a stack of napkins between them.
Roger gave her the folder and opened the refrigerator. “I assume you’ll pass on beer. Coke, Diet Coke, Sprite, water, or grape Gatorade?”
“Diet Coke, thanks,” Bev said and scanned the standard release form divers were required to fill out. According to Belton’s signature, he understood the inherent risk in diving and didn’t make a note of any medical issues. Even though scuba was a safe sport when proper procedures were followed, and there were many physically challenged divers who didn’t allow missing or paralyzed limbs to keep them out of the water, it was known within the industry people weren’t necessarily as honest on the forms as they could be. That was one of the reasons most shops had a policy of divers taking a refresher course if it had been a year or longer between dives. If there were undisclosed health problems, those might come up in discussion in the one-on-one session with an instructor.
“Mr. Belton had rental equipment from us and that will be checked, but I’m assuming heart attack or embolism,” Roger said and passed her the cold can before sitting. “Those are the two most prevalent causes under these circumstances.” He unwrapped a sandwich. “The contact information for everyone who was on board is the second page in there as well as a copy of Matt’s resume, in case you need it for anything.”
Bev set the folder aside in favor of lunch. “Anything out of the ordinary in it?”
“Nope. Born and raised near Indianapolis, majored in outdoor recreation with a minor in marketing. Started diving in college, finished his instructor training four years ago with a shop in the Tampa area, stayed there for a little over a year, was down in Bimini, then here. He spends most of his time on the retail side in sales, instruction is primarily with the Discovers and he guides. He hasn’t expressed any interest in learning the technical side of diving or taking on any more specialties. That’s fine with me — I have enough staff to cover those areas.”
“Any problems with him?” Bev knew the “Discovers” meant the one-day introduction course popular with people who wanted a taste of scuba before committing to the full certification course. Hiring a guide was an option when divers wanted to be assured of the personal attention of their own dive professional.
Roger grinned before popping a chip into his mouth. “He hit on you?”
Bev raised her eyebrows. “I’m not quite sure you’d call it that.”
“He’s a lady’s man. Doesn’t cause us any trouble,” Roger added quickly. “He’s one of these guys who’s good with sales and in his case, he automatically gravitates to women — age doesn’t matter by the way. If they’re older, he flatters the shit out of them. Younger and the charm factor notches up, or at least that’s what Leslie tells me. She gets a kick out of him. Some of the guys think he’s kind of an ass — and I’m not saying they’re wrong, but it’s manageable as far as I’ve seen. My bet is if he stays in the business, he’ll swap over to one of the major retail and marketing companies before too long. The instructing is just a means to an end for him; not the driving factor.”
Bev wiped her mouth. The sandwich was from a place that specialized in baking their own bread and used as many fresh, local ingredients as they could. She was certain the avocados had come from Redland in Miami-Dade County. “Because of the money you mean?”
Roger nodded. “You can’t make a living as an instructor and he hasn’t expressed an interest in becoming a boat captain. That, too is okay by me because, quite frankly, there are plenty of people who want to do that. A hot-shot sales person is harder to find. He takes the time to learn the products, knows the different lines we carry, and actually dives with a variety of equipment so he puts his personal spin on it when talking to customers. He’s been in the top three sales figures for the past four months. I think he’s made enough contacts to get an offer soon from one of the manufacturers.”
“Okay, I think that about does it,” Bev said. “Thanks for lunch.”
“Sure, and tell your folks I said hi. I need to go out
with your dad one of these days. I know he won’t be coming to my place.”
“That’s true, he probably won’t. We’re having dinner with them tomorrow.” Bev stood, returning Roger’s handshake. “I don’t know how quickly Doc Cooper can do the autopsy.”
Roger’s tone was somber. “This isn’t my first rodeo and you hate it every time. We’ve got the dive side protocol to get through as well. It’s important to follow the rules in these investigations and maintain the integrity of the process. In those few occasions where there is fault, you have to find it and weed it out. You can’t have people in the business who get careless.”
Bev’s mind flashed to the case that brought her into the scuba world, remembering the unusual circumstances of the death only a few people were aware of. Maybe she’d tell Roger the truth of it someday over a cold beer. “Got it,” she said instead.
With the afternoon dive cancelled, there were few vehicles in the parking lot and Bev idly thought of how often she’d passed the profusion of dive shops in town without paying them any attention. Her father, dedicated to deep sea sports fishing, had often taken her out on the water — but other than swimming, she hadn’t felt the urge to explore the habitats of the reefs. She’d been diverted from fishing by middle school, her competitive spirit edging her into medals and trophies in track that carried her though college on joint academic and athletic scholarships. Her choice of majoring in Criminal Justice had elicited concern from her mother and brought a chuckle from her father. He opted for early retirement within a few years of her joining the force, agreeing her mother shouldn’t worry about both of them. Bev had felt a sense of satisfaction that the money she’d helped them save by mostly earning her own way through college had contributed to him being able to partner with another retiree to open a charter fishing business.
Shades of Deception Page 3