Backwater Pass

by Steven Becker

  I knew she was playing with me and I deserved it. It was time to step up. “That I love you.” It was easier said the second time.

  “And I meant it, too,” she said.

  The doghouse was too big to get out of with words alone, however. I put my arms around her and swung her into a deep embrace. Finding her lips, I kissed her long and hard. It quickly turned into a contest of who would release first. The moment had been building for a while. Unfortunately it had taken a life-or-death situation to get it out.

  “You saved our lives.”

  “Ray doesn’t deserve to die.”

  Saying it like she did meant that I might. I knew she was kidding in her way, but I got the message. Our fight from last night lay unresolved and I knew better than to bring it up now. Instead I turned my attention to the present.

  “Ray should be okay. I should call Becky when I find out where they are going to take him.”

  “Yeah, probably ought to let your boss know, too. He was working. It should all be covered by workers’ comp.”

  I decided to put that call off, but the decision apparently wasn’t mine to make. My phone rang, something I would never have heard if we’d already been underway. Our delay had cost me.

  “What the hell, Hunter?” Martinez started. “Susan’s boat is at Adams Key and Ray’s is drifting in the bay.”

  I had forgotten about Ray’s boat. “Can you give me the coordinates? I’ll go after it.”

  “And you will bring it back to headquarters and we will have a conversation.”

  We would. I was feeling empowered after surviving the blast and telling Justine that I loved her. Between the euphoria of being alive and her response, I was ready to face the elephant in the room. It was time to deal with Martinez.

  With the phone on speaker and with the engine idling, I kept the bow into the wind to allow Justine to enter the coordinates as Martinez read them off. When she had finished, she hit the GOTO button and the plotter calculated our course and distance.

  Ray’s boat was several miles off, floating with the waves toward Black Point Park. After checking that everything was secure, I swung the bow around and headed toward the coordinates. The boat would continue moving as we pursued it, but its course would remain the same. Once the compass needle matched the direction indicated by the GPS, I pushed down the throttle.

  With an outgoing tide and the wind out of the east, the waves were stacked behind us making it difficult to find a comfortable speed. Finally, I found that going with the flow instead of fighting it was the best option and tuned the rpms to the speed of the waves. Except for the stern fishtailing off some of the breaking crests, it was a more comfortable ride, but slow.

  Justine spotted the boat first and we were soon floating fifty feet from it.

  “Do you want to drive it, or should we tow it?” I asked her. A tow would be messy and slow going in these seas, but it was her call.

  “I’ll drive her in.”

  Although we’d be separated, that was the simplest way. I set my boat in gear and allowed the drifting boat some leeway. After it had passed us, I gave the engine some juice and ran up next to it. Justine hopped nimbly over the gunwale, landing squarely on the deck. I didn’t wait for her okay, but moved off immediately, before the boats could damage each other.

  Justine took the lead and I followed her to headquarters. The run in gave me some time to think about what had happened earlier. First, I needed to find out Ray’s status. I glanced at my watch. It had been forty-five minutes since Johnny Wells had taken off toward Miami. The park service bay boats were generally perfect for these waters—except when the wind kicked up the seas. The ICE Interceptor was built for heavy seas and would easily have docked by now.

  It was too loud to call while underway. With the combination of the wind blowing at fifteen knots and the engine noise being blown back toward me there was no way to make a call until we stopped. I wanted to call Johnny before I talked to Martinez; unable to signal Justine, I accelerated to pass her.

  Justine, being Justine, took this as a challenge and started to match my speed and then pulled slightly ahead. I had to push the boat hard to catch her and when she finally glanced over I could see the competitive smile on her face. It disappeared when I signaled her to slow down.

  We entered the channel that the headquarters building shared with Bayfront Park and I continued past the turn to our marina. Passing the deserted boat ramp for the park, I idled into the small turning basin for the public marina just beyond it. It was calm enough to talk here and we drifted together in the light current.

  “I want to talk to Johnny and find out about Ray before seeing Martinez.”

  “Probably a good idea. I have to call my boss, too. Looks like I’m going to be late.”

  I felt bad about keeping her, but figured she could spin her tardiness as being related to the case. We each made our calls. The news about Ray looked promising. He had been taken to Jackson Memorial and Johnny was standing by with him. I thanked Johnny and dialed the medical examiner’s office, which was around the corner. Sid had been a great advocate when Justine had been shot on another case. I hoped he would have time to run across the street and do the same for Ray.

  Justine was still talking and I turned to her with a questioning look to see if everything was okay. She nodded and finished her call.

  “All good. Actually, he had an idea that we should get a warrant to search the Mud Man. If you can get that going, I’m cleared to process it. We might find explosive paraphernalia or residue and I bet if we do that it’ll match the blasting cap.”

  “Great idea.” I turned away and backtracked to the park service marina, passing the empty slip where the ICE Interceptor lived. I silently thanked the crew for being out in this weather. Before reaching my slip, I passed Pete Robinson’s FWC boat rocking in its slip, a testament to his laziness. I backed into my slip and tied off the boat. Justine pulled into the empty slip next to mine and I helped her tie off Ray’s boat.

  “I have to talk to Martinez,” I said.

  “I’m going with you. I witnessed the whole deal.”

  I had this feeling, as if it was my mother insisting on going to the principal’s office, but Justine was probably right. I had to put our personal relationship aside and act professional.

  We entered the building and caught a quick wave from Mariposa, who mouthed something to Justine that I couldn’t catch. Heading upstairs I steeled myself for the confrontation. Martinez had gotten his reef and inside of twenty-four hours it had become a crime scene—that wouldn’t make him happy.

  The door to his office was open and he waved us in, motioning to the two seats. He was on the phone, one of his usual ploys to set me on edge. While we waited, I tried not to look at Justine and act natural. She made it easy by checking her phone. I couldn’t help but notice that Martinez noticed her and I smiled inside. She might have been checking her Facebook feed for all I cared, but she’d turned his rudeness against him.

  He hung up. “Tell me what the hell happened out there.”

  I recounted every detail. Before he could say anything about taking Susan’s boat, I told him that Becky was on her way in with it. When I finished the room went silent and I could see the wheels turning in his head about how to play this to his advantage. I didn’t care much about that now. Ray and I had almost been killed this morning, and I had a lead on who had done it.

  “I want to get a warrant to search the Mud Man.”

  He looked thoughtful again. “You think whoever was aboard is responsible for the bridge collapse as well?”

  I knew if he thought I was going to close the case he would do as I asked. “I need a motive, but if we can get a forensics match to the explosives, we can probably make an arrest.”

  He sat back and looked at his watch. I knew he was trying to figure out if he could get the warrant fast enough that the arrest would make the six o’clock news. “I know a judge. Head up there and I’ll have it ready.” />
  That was easier than I had anticipated, but did not satisfy my need to confront him. For now, I made peace with myself, but knew at the same time that I had unfinished business.

  My thoughts turned to the Mud Man. Except for the fact that I didn’t know where the boat was, I had gotten what I wanted. There were ways to find a boat that large and expensive, though. I started to rise when he cleared his throat.

  “Take Susan,” he said, dismissing us.

  I felt like I was in a pickle between third and home, but there was nothing to do about it now. Susan was always a wild card, but I was so close to solving this. I had what I wanted. Justine and I got up to leave as he turned back to his monitors.

  “What are we going to do with Susan?” Justine asked on our way downstairs.

  “She might be able to run interference with Brockmore while we search the boat.”

  “That didn’t work out too well last time.”

  Justine was referring to another case, one during which Susan had tried to seduce a suspect in order to get leverage. “This guy deserves her.”

  Rain clouds were forming on the horizon to the north as we left the building. That got me thinking that finding evidence on the Mud Man might not be as easy as I hoped if the boat had been hosed down by its crew. Even if it hadn’t been, the rain would do their work for them.

  “We need to find the boat. Can you call Johnny Wells and see what he can do?” I asked as we pulled out of the park service lot.

  “Roger that.”

  Between the Interceptor’s state-of-the-art radar and its access to vessel-tracking websites, if the boat was still at sea, I was sure Johnny could locate it.

  “No problem,” Justine reported. “He’ll call back when he finds it. Says Ray is okay too.”

  “Mind if we run by the hospital and see him?”

  “I’d like that.”

  My phone chimed the Darth Vader ringtone I had assigned to Martinez. Justine looked over at me and I nodded. She entered my password.

  “He has the search warrant.”

  I was surprised by his efficiency. Now all we needed was a location. Playing the odds, I expected we would find the boat in Miami. Just when we hit the Shula Expressway the ominous skies turned into a rainstorm, slowing traffic. Thunder struck, followed by several flashes of lightning nearby. It passed by the time we reached 836, where I turned east, but the sky told me that wasn’t the end of things.

  With the rough seas and now the thunderstorms rolling in, I doubted the Mud Man would be out. If it were docked, it would likely be in one of the high-dollar marinas just past the hospital, in the direction we were heading anyway. We reached the exit with still no word from Johnny.

  With my credentials leading the way we were soon in Ray’s room. His leg was in a cast, elevated by some kind of apparatus. Becky sat by his side holding his hand and trying to entertain Jamie at the same time. His other hand was on the morphine drip.

  “How goes it?” I asked, never knowing how to start a conversation in a hospital room.

  “Been better.” He turned to Justine. “I wanna thank you for saving us.”

  “De nada,” she said. Leaning over the bed she kissed his forehead. “How long are they going to hold you?”

  “Got a specialist coming to have a look, but I’m breaking out of here tonight—one way or another.”

  “The hell you are.” Sid entered the room.

  “You the specialist?” Becky asked.

  “No, the coroner,” Sid said.

  I’d never seen Becky blush before. She looked flustered, especially as the rest of us were laughing. “He’s a friend. I asked him to come by and make sure Ray gets the best treatment.”

  “And a good thing you did.” Sid started pecking at the computer in the corner until he gave up. “Access codes. Paper charts were so much more accessible.” He got up and went to the door. “I’m going to find the doctor.”

  Stooped over and head down, he charged out of the room to fulfill his mission. Just as the door closed, my phone rang. The caller ID said it was Johnny Wells.

  24

  I looked down at the screen, turned to Justine, and mouthed Johnny.

  With the phone still ringing we said quick good-byes. Becky gave us a heartfelt “thank you” and embraced us both. Ray, who was immersed in his escape plans and the morphine drip, merely nodded. Jamie just stared at the computer monitor. He had just started playing games on Becky’s phone and the continuous lines running across the screen had him hypnotized. With Sid running the show now, Ray would be in good hands. No one would want to mess with the old man.

  I pressed Accept as soon as I was through the door. “Hey.”

  “Got something for you. Right now the vessel is at the Miami Beach Marina. Not sure if they have a slip there or are fueling up. I’ll have eyes on in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks. We’re over at Jackson Memorial. Should be there about the same time with a warrant.”

  “Fun times,” Johnny said and disconnected.

  I was glad he was involved, rather than having to rely on Miami-Dade for backup. Justine was by my side and I told her the location.

  “Scene of too many crimes,” she said.

  She was right about that. The marina had been central in several of my other investigations. It was located on South Beach with easy access to downtown, the Intracoastal Waterway, and the Atlantic through nearby Government Cut. If you had the money, that was the location. “Ready?”

  “Right behind you, Kimo sabe.”

  We left the hospital and took off toward the marina. Red lights immediately stopped our progress when we got on 836. I guessed there was a ball game in town and settled in for the wait.

  “Use your lights,” Justine said.

  The small park service truck had a mini light bar. Compared to the trend of nightclub lighting on emergency vehicles it seemed almost like a toy. Deciding there was no harm besides being embarrassed when no one obeyed, I hit the switch. The lights started flashing, but no one moved, and I wished I had a siren to go with it. But between the lights making me look at least semi-official and Justine gesturing out the open window, I was able to reach the shoulder. I guessed Martinez was going to get a few window repair bills when gravel spun from my tires as I accelerated.

  I could see the irritated looks on the drivers of the other cars as I passed them. Many had their heads down, probably searching Amazon for a set of make-believe police lights for themselves while they waited. The shoulder abruptly ended when I reached the causeway and I wove back into the flow of traffic. We were in the clear now, past the stadium exit, and cruised over the bridge at the speed limit. After passing several cruise ships docked across the channel at the pier on Dodge Island, the view opened up. We went by a string of smaller islands with large houses on the left. South Beach and the marina were ahead.

  I turned right on Alton Road and then right again into the marina parking lot. There was no need to hide our presence and I pulled up in a no parking area in front of several buildings. We left the truck there and ran around the corner to the marina, where I scanned the area for the ICE Interceptor or the Mud Man.

  It was a big boat, probably close to sixty feet, that in most other marinas would have stood out, but here it was average size. Searching through the maze of masts and flybridges it was almost impossible to see past the first few boats. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I reached for it as we made our way toward the first of several finger piers.

  “They’re on the back side of the northernmost dock. Looks like there’s a sign for Pier 1. Got their engine running like they’re getting ready to head out.”

  For a boat that size, “heading out” might mean for the Bahamas. “Can we meet you at the fuel dock and come around by water?” I asked.

  “Roger that. Hurry; they’re starting to throw lines.”

  I already knew that each finger pier had a locked gate. We would have to present the warrant to the dockmaster to gain access, but I k
new most dockmasters were well taken care of by the boat owners, who expected them to provide privacy and security. If we ran into anyone other than Kyle or his sister, who I already knew, it would take too long. They would automatically delay us and try to reach the owner before letting us in. Going around by water, we’d also have the advantage of being able to blockade the Mud Man.

  We ran to the fuel pumps, where Johnny was nosing the Interceptor’s bow toward the dock. He stopped six inches short and I followed Justine aboard. Before I had reached the helm, he had already reversed and spun the wheel. Ignoring the idle speed signs, he accelerated toward the pier and turned on his light bar.

  Not wanting interference or questions from adjacent boats, I would have preferred a quieter entrance, but when we rounded the corner, the Mud Man was just about to depart. Johnny called over the hailer for them to stand down, and slid the Interceptor broadside in front of the bow of the larger boat.

  “We have a warrant. Secure your vessel and move all hands aboard to the dock,” Johnny called over the hailer.

  We had the attention of everyone in the marina as well as the passing boaters who had all stopped to watch the show. I got serious boat envy when Johnny used his bow thruster to hold the Interceptor in place while the Mud Man’s crew complied with his orders. A few minutes later, I could see three people disembark and line up on the dock. I relaxed my grip on the grab rail and moved to the port side where Johnny, seeing his orders were obeyed, slid the Interceptor toward the end of the pier.

  Justine was just about to hop onto the dock when I saw movement down on the pier. Between the docked boats, I could see someone running for the gate. It looked like Brockmore. The gate slammed closed behind him and I took off at a run.

  Justine was right behind me when I hit the paddle handle on the gate. The excitement had drawn a crowd, which worked to Brockmore’s advantage, and he was quickly lost in the swarm.

  “Let’s split up,” I said to Justine and headed south. She turned and went north. A few minutes later, both breathing hard, we met back at the gate. He had eluded us. I glanced down the pier and saw Johnny had tied off the Interceptor and his men were standing guard over the crew. His boat was in our control, but Brockmore had likely reached his vehicle by now. We needed help and if he was on land, the only source I had was Miami-Dade.