Backwater Pass

by Steven Becker

  It was a beautiful summer day that didn’t yet hold the threat of thunderstorms. Between the weather and the ceremony this morning, there was still a lot of traffic on the water, enough that the white water from the wakes of boats going in both directions looked like the markings on a highway. I waited for a space and merged into the side that was heading back to the ramp at Bayfront Park. I wasn’t sure I was happy about the additional traffic, but I knew Martinez would see it as a boon for his budget, which would make my request a slam dunk.

  It was no surprise to see Susan’s boat tied up in its slip, and I backed into mine, hoping that I could get Martinez alone. She would find some reason to object to my request just because it was my request. After I secured the boat, Justine and Allie went to the truck while I went inside.

  Mariposa confirmed that Martinez was still in a good mood, and after hearing that Allie and Justine were outside waiting, she decided to take her break and went to see them. Tentatively I walked up the stairs and approached the open door to Martinez’s office. Susan was sitting across from him and I clenched my jaw before entering.

  “Hunter, we’re clear that this is a reef now and not a bridge, right?”

  “Yes.” That fact was obvious. “There’s an awful lot of boat traffic out there. I think we should make it a priority to set the mooring buoys. Ray and I can probably have it done before the weekend.”

  We all knew that buoys were a huge help in limiting the number of boaters and divers on a particular site. The proper way to anchor was to check the current and position the boat so the anchor was set in the sand and the boat drifted back over the reef. This was lost on many boaters, who dropped anchor directly on the reef and used a short scope to stay above it. Rather than use a retrieval method, many simply pulled the anchor with their engine. The wear and tear on the delicate ecosystem from the jerking of the anchors and chain was harmful to the reef. On every dive I had done that did not have mooring balls, I had seen anchors and chain littering the bottom. On the natural reefs, the balls eliminated the need to anchor, which saved the coral. Chunks of concrete like the bridge debris would also be an anchor magnet, making the mooring balls desirable.

  “Right. I’m thinking that Susan can run the regular patrols and you and Ray can set the mooring balls.”

  I saw the look on Susan’s face when she heard this. That was a lot less desk time and a lot more boat time than she was used to. The allocation of resources actually made sense—which made me worry. This was not how we usually rolled around here.

  17

  After dropping off Justine, I headed north on 95 to take Allie home. My worry about Jane seeing Burkett last night turned out to be nothing—because she wasn’t there. Now I had a new fear, that Allie would be home alone. I should have known at close to sixteen that she would be by herself sometimes; Jane was thankfully employed which cut down on my payments. The last time we had been a family I would never have left her, but that had been close to two years ago—an eternity in any teenager’s life.

  I tried to control my emotions while I watched her use her own key to let herself into the house—something else I didn’t know. There was no doubt in my mind that it was the right decision to allow her to essentially live here full-time. The stability was good for her. But it hurt that I was missing parts of her growing up. She waved goodbye and the door closed.

  I had no other plans and wanted to sit there and keep watch, but I knew she would be upset by my hovering. Slowly I pulled away from the curb and seconds later my phone dinged with a smiley face emoji. I smiled. The right thing isn’t always the easiest, but it often pays dividends.

  Thinking about doing the right thing, I knew I needed to do something about Burkett. Finding the blasting cap in his pocket implicated him in a way that needed to go through the procedural channel. As much as I felt sorry for the guy, I had to call Grace.

  She answered and agreed to meet at her favorite coffee shop. These meetings were sometimes awkward, but it was better than having the eyes of Miami-Dade watching me if I came into the station. Besides, she couldn’t get her unpronounceable coffee drink from the drip machine there.

  I got there first, ordered a black coffee, and sat at a corner table. While I waited I pulled out my phone and caught up on my email. I was surprised to find a message from Sid. The nighttime, almost retired, ex-Jersey coroner usually called or texted, but after seeing his message had been sent at four a.m., I silently thanked him for the courtesy. He was probably just getting to work now and I called him back.

  “My favorite Ranger. I guess you haven’t been fishing lately.”

  I knew he was referring to my penchant for hooking floaters instead of fish. “Nope, just the usual.”

  “I was speaking to Detective Herrera yesterday about another matter, and she noticed that I had the bodies from the bridge collapse ahead of me. She said that you had an interest in the incident.”

  I wondered where this was going, but knew there was no rushing him. “I started on the bodies and found something on one that was a little odd,” he said.

  Alarm bells were going off in my head and I kicked myself for not reaching out to him first. Autopsies were standard procedure for any unnatural deaths. “Who was it?” There was a pause and I guessed the question threw him off. It should have been what was it.

  He paused for a minute. “Maybe you can come down to the office?”

  I told him it would be my next stop. Grace had come in and was at the counter waiting for her coffee when I hung up. With her extra large cup in hand she sat across from me. I waited until she took a sip and told her about my run-in with Burkett last night as well as finding the blasting cap in his pocket.

  “I’m not sure that’s admissible evidence. Considering how you found it, even a half-ass defense attorney would have it thrown out.”

  I would have to fine-tune my procedural game. “It’s enough now to bring him into custody. He’s running around like a loose cannon.”

  “No problem there. I’ll have him picked up. I’m guessing you want to be there when we question him?”

  I thought about that while she drank. Miami-Dade had a reputation for being hard on suspects. I was also the only ally Burkett thought he had. “Maybe a little good cop, bad cop.” I explained my plan. “See if he asks for me first.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep you posted.” We talked for a minute about her partner situation while she finished her coffee and got up to leave. I got the feeling that she preferred Tracy to her new partner, someone that after meeting him made me wonder about the hiring practices in the Miami-Dade department.

  We left the coffee shop together and said good-bye, then headed to our own vehicles. I followed her out of the lot. At the first light, I turned right to head downtown while she went straight in the direction of the station. I caught the mid-afternoon lull in traffic as well as all the lights, making record time to the medical examiner’s office.

  The building had one of the only basements in Miami, and I shivered as I went down the stairs. In this climate, moisture clung to you and stayed until it fell off or evaporated. The air conditioning felt like a brain freeze to the body as it sucked the moisture from my skin.

  I found Sid mumbling to himself while trying to make a cup of coffee at Vance’s new machine. The hipster was actually his boss, but that was by agreement and I knew he respected Sid as a senior and mentor. Sid returned that respect except when it came to the stainless steel machine sitting on the counter. I walked over and helped him out.

  With his cup in hand, Sid led me into the examination room. I couldn’t help but notice when the door closed that over the last year I had become immune to the smell of death. What had once caused me to watch what I ate and made me queasy, now had no effect. One of the victims was laid out on the table, showing the freshly sewn Y-shaped incision on his chest.

  “Lucky for you, there’s nothing on the inside.”

  Sid reached under the table and grabbed a large plastic bag containing
the man’s personal effects. I wondered what he was up to. I had expected blood and gore and now it looked like he was handing me a bag of dirty laundry. “Wouldn’t this go to the next of kin?”

  “Eventually, when we release the body, but you might find something interesting.”

  I could have gotten angry at him for not just telling me what he knew, but Sid had mentored and nurtured me through my first few bodies here. Out West, I’d had my share of run-ins—all living. Most were meth heads, poachers, and illegal dredgers. I had spent some time at hospitals both getting patched up myself and following up on suspects there, but there had been no dead bodies. Losing my virginity in that area had been made easier by the stooped-over medical examiner.

  He was giving me no clue, and I glanced at him. He nodded to a stainless steel table against the sidewall of the room. I put on a pair of gloves, took the bag over, and dumped the contents on the table. There didn’t appear to be anything unusual as I sorted through the clothes, underwear, and socks. I moved on to the contents of his pockets, which were in a separate bag inside the larger one. A set of keys, a wallet which I assumed I wasn’t the first to pick through and a tube of Chapstick. Not a whole lot to go on. It all lent some perspective to the naked body on the table, but not to my case.

  Sid was doing something by the body and I knew better than to ask for his help. Going back to the wallet, I took out my pad and pen to start taking notes. The driver’s license told me he was Larry Shelton, a name I recalled from the search Justine and I had done last night. Some quick math told me he was forty-five and the address on his license was in Homestead. Nothing there to raise an alarm. There was a small amount of cash and the usual assortment of credit cards. I recorded the issuing banks and card numbers. In a separate compartment there were about a dozen of his business cards. The logo struck me immediately.

  “He worked for the engineering company that designed the bridge.”

  Sid looked up. “Apparently.”

  I started to wonder why Roslyn hadn’t mentioned this, then quickly recanted. There was no doubt she was devious, but I imagined theirs was a large company. She might not have even known him. I put that in the doubtful-but-possible camp. I took one of the cards, put everything else back in the bag, walked to the autopsy table, and handed it to Sid. He took it and placed it back on the shelf underneath the table.

  “Looks like you have some detective work to do,” he said.

  “Nothing else unusual?” I asked.

  “Not so far. I should be through the rest by morning.”

  I thanked him and left the subterranean cooler. Walking back outside had the reverse effect as when I had come in and I felt the moisture in the air as it blanketed me. I went back to the truck and once inside opened the window instead of running the air conditioner. I didn’t expect the drastic shifts in temperature were good for anyone.

  I had my phone in one hand and the card in the other. The more I thought about it there was no way Roslyn hadn’t been informed that one of the fatalities had worked for her company. There would have had to be talk about it and plans for a memorial or service. In my years in law enforcement I had learned that coincidences were seldom that. Somehow this man had something to do with the bridge and was killed for it. It would take a cold-blooded calculating killer who knew enough about demolition and bridge construction to cause it to fail right when the man’s vehicle was underneath it. The top suspect on that list was hopefully in Miami-Dade’s custody by now.

  I texted Grace and asked if she had taken Burkett in and when I could speak with him. The answer came back quickly that she had him in custody and I could come down now. He was at the station rather than the county jail, which worked as well. Hopefully while I interviewed Burkett, Grace could run a background check on Larry Shelton.

  I hadn’t heard from Allie or Justine and texted both a quick hey, then headed over to see Burkett. I caught the seven o’clock shift change at the station, doubling the nasty glances I caught on my way upstairs. Grace was behind her desk; her new partner sat in the next cubicle.

  “Got a few minutes?” I asked. “I just left Sid and have some information that might be useful.”

  “Useful to who?” her partner asked.

  I ignored him and handed Grace the business card. “Who’s that?”

  “One of the victims from the bridge collapse. He works for the same firm that did the engineering.”

  “Says here he’s in their testing department.”

  “Even more interesting. Maybe he was a whistleblower.” I felt I might have gone too far when her partner rolled back his chair and leaned forward.

  “Us real police like to rely on evidence to solve our cases.”

  He was becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Anyway, can we get some information on him?” I handed Grace the page from my pad with his driver’s license and credit card information.

  “I’ll have a quick look while you talk to Burkett.” She looked over at her partner.

  He got up and led me down the hall to a closed door with a small window glazed with security glass. Removing a key, he opened the door and entered the room. Burkett sat on the right side of a plain table facing what was clearly a one-way mirror. He had a cup of coffee in front of him. “I’ll do this myself,” I told him.

  He gave me a look and relented. “They got recorders and cameras in there,” he said, nodding to the mirror.

  I was sure they did and he would probably be watching and listening in real time next door. “You okay, James?” I asked, and took the chair across from him.

  “You guys have this all wrong. That cap you found, I was going to hand it over to you. Found it at the site. There’s no way I would blow up my own bridge.”

  That was an interesting point. I knew from my dad that good contractors took ownership of their projects. They felt the work was theirs until it was finished, and sometimes afterward. I also knew he hadn’t gotten his final payment yet, and now would face a drawn-out court battle to get it.

  “You know this guy?” I handed him the business card and watched as the deep red ruts on his face turned white.

  18

  While I waited for Burkett to compose himself, I glanced at the mirror. I knew it was probably standing room only in the small room behind the one-way glass. From his reaction, I half expected the door to be flung open and for us to be surrounded by Miami-Dade officers wearing bulletproof vests and pointing AR-15s at us. He clearly knew something.

  “He worked on the project. Did the concrete testing.” He thumbed the card.

  He was not good at concealing his emotions and I could tell from the look on his face that he was troubled. The problem was that I hadn’t told him why I was asking.

  I dropped the bomb. “He was killed in the accident.”

  He looked down and shook his head. Over the years, I’ve observed the reactions of people when they were given bad news. It was only my opinion, but I believed his reaction now was sincere. I wondered for a second whether the betting line from the spectators behind the glass had changed. What I had to figure out was whether it was because he had just found out the man had died or because he knew he had been discovered.

  “Why don’t you tell me about him?” I asked, thinking I could draw him out.

  “Good guy. A lot of the techs come onto the job site and act like they are real engineers. They make you jump through hoops when they really have little authority. Larry wasn’t like that.”

  I was starting to lean toward the “he-doesn’t-know-anything” side. “Was he good at his job?”

  “Yeah, concrete testing isn’t rocket science. Really just measuring the slump, which is the consistency of the concrete when the material arrives and filling cylinders from each load for testing after it cures.”

  “So, he didn’t make any determinations on site?”

  “No, the good testers stay out of the way. I guess their real work is at the lab.”

  “Anyone have a problem with him?”


  “Why would they? He wasn’t parading around like that bitch Roslyn or those eco-clowns from FIU. Changing this, that, and the other thing on site. They cost me some money.”

  But Roslyn was still alive and the tester was dead. After watching Burkett for the past few days, I wasn’t sure he could actually kill someone, but if he could, it would more likely have been her. “Any reason someone would want to kill him?”

  “You think this is a planned murder—like on TV?”

  “You had a blasting cap in your pocket that fit into a hole bored into the concrete. It’s too late to tell if that caused the bridge to fail, but the evidence all points in your direction.” The only sound that could be heard for the next few minutes was the hum of the ventilation system. I wouldn’t go as far as calling it “air conditioning” because the room was bordering on hot—probably some kind of secret police tactic, or the crew next door had turned up the heat for my benefit.

  “You have a piece of paper?” he asked.

  I left the room for a minute and found Grace and her partner in the hall. “You hear?” We all thought he was ready to write a confession.

  “Didn’t think you had it in you. They teach you that in Ranger school?” Grace’s partner asked.

  I wished he had been in a uniform. A name-tag would have helped. Initials ran through my mind: JR, JT. Before I could recall, Grace handed me a legal pad and pen. I took it from her, turned, and took a deep breath before re-entering the room. After handing it to him, I asked Burkett if he wanted a refill of his coffee while he wrote. He took the pad and pen then pushed the cup toward me.

  “A little something extra would be nice,” he whispered.

  I took the cup and left him to write his confession. Word had apparently spread and the aggressive looks I often got from the detectives and officers were tempered—slightly. After refilling the cup, I stopped by Grace’s desk. “Anything on the tester?”