Backwater Pass

by Steven Becker

  “No foreplay for you,” she said, leading me across the concrete floor to the steel racks.

  They were sorted by date and it didn’t take long to find what we were looking for, or rather the location of what we were looking for, because the dates jumped…from Friday to Monday.

  26

  Roslyn’s stone facade crumbled and I could see she was shocked to see the samples were missing. In that moment, she seemed almost human. Moving through the rows of stainless steel cylinders she became more and more frantic as she searched. If my theory was correct she wouldn’t find them. While she looked, I did a little math in my head.

  “Wouldn’t they already be crushed?” After twenty-eight days the concrete would have completely cured, and the cylinders crushed with one of the large machines against the wall to test for comprehensive strength.

  “We always save at least two.” She started searching back at the beginning. “In the event there is litigation concerning one of our projects, we are required to do another test in front of an impartial engineer.

  “Can you access the records from the original test?” I was hoping that would provide some insight.

  She went to a table by the entry door where several computers were lined up. I leaned closer to her than I would have dared before seeing some sign of human emotion a few minutes ago. I watched her as she entered the job, location, and date of the sample. No results appeared in the search field. My phone vibrated while she worked and I snuck a peak at the screen. It was a smiley emoji.

  “This is bad.”

  “Who would have had access to the samples? It appears they were taken before the cylinders were tested.”

  “There’s not much for security here. People are in and out all day.”

  “Cameras?” I asked, looking around.

  “No.”

  I guessed there was a traffic camera nearby that might show Brockmore’s vehicle here, but scanning twenty-odd days of footage for evidence that would be circumstantial at best was too time-consuming to be worth it. Miami-Dade might have people for that, but I didn’t. The theft could have occurred any time from the date of the pour, when the samples were brought in, to the date they were due to be tested—almost a month later.

  I already knew he had done it. Though there was plenty of evidence leading to Brockmore, I finally had a motive. Knowing the concrete was subpar, Brockmore had removed the cylinders before they could be tested. Brockmore could easily ascertain that Larry Shelton was the inspector on the day the concrete was delivered from the job log. He would have done the testing as well and found them missing. He was killed before he could report it. I had a motive and a timeline now. “Would anyone know if several tests weren’t done?”

  “You could probably figure it out, but you’d have to look at the site logs and see what days they poured, then go back to the plant and check their records. The tests are just documentation after the fact.”

  Roslyn was still working the computer, trying to find something that wasn’t there. I let her go and called Grace.

  “Brockmore’s our man,” I started, and explained about the underwater explosion and the evidence Justine had found.

  “That doesn’t tie him to the murder,” she said.

  “I just need a little time,” I said. Blowing the bridge at the exact moment when Shelton was driving underneath it was a tricky bit of business and a loose end that I would have to tie up, but I felt like I had enough for an arrest now and maybe a conviction if I could tie the missing cylinders to Brockmore.

  “If he’s not a flight risk, it’s not worth bringing him in on a misdemeanor. Guy like that, owning a business and all, will be out on bail by midnight.”

  I disconnected and thanked Roslyn, who only nodded as she continued to try and find anything that would save her company. I heard her fingers slamming the keys as she became more anxious, and she barely acknowledged me when I left.

  I sat in my truck. I had nowhere to go until Susan was able to update me with Brockmore’s whereabouts. Sitting there I tried to think about the best way to reach her without alerting Brockmore, but the heat was making it hard to think. This could easily be the hottest day I had experienced here. It was somewhat akin to wrapping yourself in tin foil, basting in oil, and sitting in the sun. Even with the air conditioning on and the windows open, the late afternoon sun was countering the effect of either. A cluster of shade trees looked inviting and I moved the truck there. I wiped my brow waiting for the heat to dissipate and looked at my phone.

  I had to do something and started typing in a message for Susan. Calling her would be better, but if she was with Brockmore, it might alert him. The last item in our text string hit me in the face. It was the emoji I had seen inside. I’d had thought it was from Allie and figured I would answer her later. Instead it was Susan’s message. The smiley face must have meant that she had found him.

  If I knew Susan and she had Brockmore occupied, they probably weren’t at his office. As I turned out of the lot and started in the direction of the concrete plant, I realized my mistake. In my revenge-fueled rush to search the Mud Man, I should have included Brockmore’s home and office in the warrant as well. Now, if I wanted to find any evidence I would have to deal with Martinez and whoever the judge on call for the weekend was, or do it illegally. I decided to have a look around the plant and decide.

  It would have been helpful to know where Susan and Brockmore were. Martinez again was the easiest solution, but taking him away from his Friday evening happy hour, especially after his high-profile week, could go badly for me. Contacting Susan could compromise her. There was one option left: to track her.

  It was a shot in the dark, especially for someone like Susan, who was both tech savvy and devious. It was no surprise that she hadn’t shared her location with me. Frustrated and angry at myself for getting in a position where I had to rely on Susan McLeash, I texted Justine to see if she wanted to get a bite to eat. The pieces were all falling into place and I had the feeling this was going to be resolved soon—maybe tonight. I might as well get some fuel in me before it did.

  I was still on the phone with Justine when I saw the door open and Roslyn appear. Her usually determined face was screwed up tight and even from here I could see the anger in her eyes.

  “You still there?” Justine asked.

  I paused, then started giving her a play by play as Roslyn went to her car and pulled out of the lot. Her tires screeched when they hit the asphalt. “I’m going to follow her.”

  “Let’s not make any rash moves, Special Agent.”

  “I’ll keep you posted—promise.” I disconnected and went after her. Unless you were in the older neighborhoods near the coast, following someone in Miami was not all that hard. The surface streets run in a grid and are more like multi-lane highways with traffic lights than streets.

  I slowed when I saw the yellow light on SW 252nd Street, but she had no intention of stopping. Swinging into the left lane, she made the light. I was still several cars behind and followed, expecting Martinez was going to get a picture from the red light camera on SW 176th Ave. She entered the Turnpike heading north.

  I followed. The small light bar on the plain white park service truck gave me a little worry, but I guessed from the look on Roslyn’s face when she left the testing plant that being followed wasn’t on her radar—she was looking ahead. Using the larger SUVs and trucks for cover, I worked my way to within a hundred yards and stayed in the middle lane. Sitting on the bottom of the peninsula and heading north, she had the entire country open to her, but when she moved to the right hand lane just ahead of the exit to Highway 41, I had an idea where she was headed.

  If she was going where I thought, the cylinders would likely be there. Without looking away, I slowed and reached for my phone. Justine’s number was at the top of the call log, and I pressed the button to connect. “I think she’s going to Brockmore Concrete,” I said when she answered. “Might be good if you could get over there. I’m guessin
g he has the cylinders there.”

  “Why me? You should be calling Grace.”

  “If he has them, I want them taken into evidence the right way. He’s moving up the line from defacing public property to breaking and entering if he stole them. It’s time to nab him. They’ve got a regular mining operation there.” I recalled the nuclear lake and heavy equipment. “Might be some evidence of the demolitions around, too, and we can get him for the murder of Larry Shelton and five others.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way, but call for backup, too.”

  I waited until Roslyn pulled off the highway and turned left on 41 before calling Grace. The call went to voicemail and I left her the details, then called the general dispatch number. After a runaround and getting kicked upstairs, I was promised backup. I set the phone down and focused on Roslyn’s car. Turning left on Krome about a quarter mile after her, I stayed well back now that the traffic was lighter. There was no question now of where she was headed; Brockmore’s plant was only a few miles away.

  The lack of cover started to bother me. From a mile away, I could see the reflection of the sun off several windshields in the parking lot. When I was within a half-mile, I saw the twin to my truck sitting next to a tricked out late-model pickup.

  It was too late to be proactive and I wouldn’t know what was going on until I got there. It turned out I didn’t have to worry about setting a trap. It looked like Susan was making a grab for glory and Roslyn meant to change it. From a quarter mile out, I saw Roslyn turn into the parking lot. A flatbed truck came up on my right, obstructing my view, but I knew it would do the same to her. Matching its speed, I moved closer, finally backing off just before the entrance to the plant.

  Roslyn had reached the entrance. When I saw what I thought was a gun in her hand, I forgot about stealth and swerved to the right, entering the parking lot in a blur of gravel. Florida has a Castle Doctrine, which gives a person immunity from dealing with a deadly threat if they are in a legally occupied property. I expected a business qualified. I wasn’t sure if Albert had a weapon, but I knew Susan did, and she wasn’t afraid to use it.

  27

  Roslyn was already inside and I hadn’t heard a gunshot—yet—so I swung the pickup around the side of the building out of sight of the front entrance. If no one had been shot and they hadn’t seen me, there was no point in broadcasting my presence. Exiting the truck, I removed my gun belt from the glove compartment and started toward a window that I thought was from Albert’s office.

  I buckled the belt around my waist, removed my weapon and checked the magazine and chamber. Keeping it in hand, I slid my back across the hot cinderblock wall until I could just see inside. It might have been the correct window, but all I saw was my own reflection in the heavy tint installed to keep the tropical sun at bay.

  Just in case it was one-way, I ducked underneath it. I was heading toward the back corner of the building when I saw a glint of chrome from the parking lot. Changing direction, I ran to the front entrance and my heart dropped when I saw it was Justine.

  I had called her in to help with the evidence, not to be a part of a gunfight. The last takedown we’d been through together hadn’t ended well for her. I signaled for her to bring her car around the side by my truck and ran over.

  “They’re all inside. Roslyn, Albert, and Susan. At least two are armed.” I didn’t have to tell her that one of the two with a weapon was Susan. Justine had been a party to Susan’s actions as well.

  “We should wait for backup. You did call it in?” she asked. “What’s the she-wolf all hell bent about?”

  I checked my watch. “They should be here any minute.” I thought about Roslyn. “She needs those missing cylinders to protect her company. Without them, they could be deemed complicit in this. With them, she can prove that it was the flawed concrete from Brockmore's plant.”

  We agreed that unless something drastic happened we would wait. Justine slid down behind her car, resting her back against the wheel. I sat down next to her, using the shade of the car both to keep us out of sight and block the sun. There were few cloudless afternoons in the summer here and I was witnessing firsthand how hot the sun could get.

  Even in the shade, sweat dripped into my eyes. I removed my sunglasses and wiped my brow, wondering how much longer it was going to take for backup to arrive and what we were going to do once they got here. There was no cause to breach the building and I was thinking about texting Susan to see if I could get an update when I heard the back door open.

  We couldn’t see the back of the building from where we sat. I motioned for Justine to stay behind me and with my pistol extended before me I started to make my way to the corner of the structure. Suddenly a piece of heavy equipment fired up and I heard a gunshot ring off steel. Moving faster, I reached the back and peered around the corner.

  Roslyn was in a firing stance near the back door, shooting at the back of a large loader moving away from her. She fired several shots then took off at a run after the machine. Heavy equipment can move quickly on a smooth surface, but as soon as it hits uneven ground, a runner can easily keep up. Roslyn was a runner and was slowly closing the gap.

  Another shot rang out and we couldn’t wait for backup any longer. They were at least a quarter mile away now, just by the northern end of the lake.

  “Let’s take the truck.” I turned back to Justine. We both ran to the pickup. I handed my weapon to Justine and fumbled with the keys. Finally, the key slid into the ignition and after starting the engine, I pulled back in reverse and slammed the shifter into low gear. Whoever had made the decision to buy two-wheel drive government trucks, thinking Florida was flat, hadn’t taken into account the amount of dirt and gravel roads we faced—or the potholes and ruts created by the rains.

  But even without four-wheel drive, the truck easily caught up, and I saw a small metal building on the edge of the lake. It looked like that was their destination and I sped forward, taking a side road to cut them off. The loader reached it before Roslyn or I did, and I watched as Albert jumped down from the driver’s seat and ran to the door.

  I cursed when I saw Susan on the far side of the loader and again when I saw her weapon was drawn and she was facing Roslyn. The women were in firing stances, facing each other from fifty yards—a standoff. Briefly I hoped they would shoot each other. That thought left my mind as soon as Albert unlocked the steel door and swung it open.

  Justine and I were off to the side and with Albert focused on getting in the building and Susan and Roslyn on each other, we hadn’t been seen. I used that to my advantage and after taking my weapon from Justine, left our truck and headed for the back of the building. Whatever was causing the standoff was inside—and I had a pretty good idea what it was.

  When I got to the structure I could hear things being knocked aside as if Albert were searching for something inside. Then it was quiet for a second, and I moved around the far side of the building and saw him emerge. The two stainless steel cylinders he carried caught the sun as he ran toward the lake.

  “Susan, stop him. That’s evidence,” I called, but she was focused on Roslyn, thinking she was protecting him. Just as she turned toward Albert I saw movement behind Roslyn. A quick look behind me confirmed Justine was gone.

  NO formed on my lips, but I held back the word, not wanting to alert Roslyn. She remained with her gun pointed at Susan and I hoped her tunnel vision would work in our favor as Justine crept up behind her. I watched as she lowered herself like a cat into a crouch, preparing to spring forward. I said a silent prayer as I watched Justine launch herself across the five feet separating the two women.

  She landed on Roslyn’s back and immediately grabbed for her gun hand as the two women went to the ground. It might have been a fair fight had they been facing each other, but Justine had the element of surprise and quickly disarmed Roslyn, pulled her arm behind her back, and lifted her to her feet. I could see the triumphant look on her face as she marched her toward the truck.


  A splash turned my attention back to Albert and Susan. He had used the fracas to ditch the cylinders in the lake. Susan stood motionless as if she didn’t know what to do, but suddenly turned to him with her weapon raised.

  This was where she was the most dangerous; the intersection of her emotions and the part of the brain that restrains you from doing something stupid.

  “Susan. I have him covered. Lower your—”

  She fired before I could get the last word out and I held my breath for a second. Albert dropped to his knees, but I realized when he put his hands behind his head that he hadn’t been shot. Susan walked up behind him and I was just about to call out again when I heard sirens coming toward us.

  The Miami-Dade cruisers came bouncing along the uneven road and reached us a few seconds later. While they took Roslyn and Albert into custody, I walked over to where Susan was standing.

  “You have no evidence anymore. No one in their right mind will go into that water,” Albert spat at me as he was marched to one of the cruisers.

  “You okay?” I asked Susan.

  “Probably shouldn’t have fired.”

  Every dog needed a bone now and then and I offered one. “I’ll say you were shooting back at Roslyn in self-defense. You’ll get credit for the arrest as well.”

  She smiled and I knew I had done the right thing. Justine came up beside me and asked what I had said and agreed.

  “You’re not going to change her, and you’re pretty much stuck with her. Maybe this’ll buy some goodwill.”

  “What about the cylinders? We need that evidence to convict him.”

  “Nobody’s diving in that muck, but I’ve seen you work a backhoe.”

  I looked around at the equipment nearby and saw an excavator. “You think you could have a quick look around the office before this place is overrun?” I expected with Miami-Dade here, word would get out and with the high profile of the case, that anyone, either on or off duty, within miles would be here soon. “Anything that might show how Brockmore timed the killing.” That was the missing link in charging him with first-degree murder.