Backwater Flats

by Steven Becker

  “A freakin’ report? You’re going to make me fill out paperwork?”

  Reaching into my pocket, I removed a pen and started writing. Reluctantly, Robinson answered the questions. To my surprise, he was pretty honest about the incident this morning. There was no talk of the lobsters or the pen, but he was clear that he had suspended Scott several hours ago. The boat, with Scott in it, was well overdue.

  “Can we talk about Hayward’s murder?”

  “How the hell is that related to my missing boat?”

  “I’ll find your boat, but something bigger is going on here.”

  “Do your job, Hunter. Find the boat!” He turned and walked away.

  I figured Scott was smart enough to turn off his radio if he was on the run, and so I wasn’t disappointed when I couldn’t locate him through my VHF. That left me to use Martinez and his resources, as well as begging a question: Why didn’t Robinson locate the boat through his own network?

  That question was also the first thing out of Martinez’s mouth when I handed him the incident report. Robinson had failed to sign it, but I knew Martinez had been watching—his office, as well as his cameras, overlooked the docks.

  “I don’t know what his game is, but somehow this is related to Hayward’s murder. But you warned me about not getting up in another department’s business.”

  He waved me off, as if to dismiss me, but still holding the original incident report. He now owned a piece of paper that would justify his actions. “I’ll do some digging on my end. Did Susan speak to him?”

  That was a good question. “I thought she was seeing him today?”

  We looked at each other. “Get on it, Hunter. We have a missing agent.”

  I took that as permission to do my job—something that wasn’t often granted outright from him. Executing a hasty exit so as not to allow him time to change his mind, I briefly stopped to chat with Mariposa and see if she’d had any luck with the clinics and hospitals. She had called as I asked, but the responses were all negative. I wondered if we shouldn’t broaden our search to include Miami, but with the recent developments, I didn’t think it would be worthwhile. I certainly wasn’t going to give her busywork.

  While Martinez checked his footage, I figured a run across the bay, some lunch, and a change of clothes were in order. Sometimes, given a little space, things often resolve themselves. With Susan (I hoped) having lunch with Robinson, I knew where two of the three parties were. Scott was missing, but he had not been gone long enough to warrant an all-out search. Figuring another hour wouldn’t hurt anything, I started up the boat and left the marina.

  Crossing the bay, I remembered my prior to-do list. Finding the lobster buyer might give the defining answer, and I hoped Ray was around to answer some questions on that subject. I also needed to pass on Scott’s threat and ask my neighbor how he sold his product.

  It was a slow ride home. The wind had increased a few knots since the morning and, looking behind me, the sky showed signs of storms forming over the mainland. Those often extinguished themselves before reaching open water, but—if this was even possible—the air felt more humid than usual. I suspected we might be in for another squally afternoon. That, at least, might separate me from the political maneuvering on the mainland, and give me a little time to figure some things out.

  I was wrong on all counts. Adams Key came into view and I pushed down on the throttle, then saw both the FWC center console and Ray’s boat at the dock. I had solved the case of the missing agent, but I feared for my neighbor.

  Spray flew over the port rail as I pushed the boat hard through the side chop. It turned out to be a wasted effort. From a hundred yards away I could see a man and woman sitting in the FWC boat. Ray was nowhere in sight as I dropped to an idle and pulled up behind the center console. Scott, unlike his boss, came over to help with the lines. Susan McLeash didn’t.

  The two of them were an odd couple. I could tell by their body language—the way they didn’t look at each other and the distance they kept between them, even when sitting on the boat—that they weren’t happy to be together.

  “Robinson is looking for you. Might be a good idea to tell him when you’ll be back with the boat.” I had thought about offering to cover for him, but with Susan here that wasn’t a good idea.

  “Hello, Susan,” I started, having no idea why she was here or what she wanted from me. She was supposed to be having lunch with Robinson. I doubted her reason would include an offer to help.

  “Okay, Hunter,” she said, crossing her arms. “Robinson was all pissy and wanted nothing to do with the idea when I called him. He even canceled our lunch date.”

  With a pouty look on her face that threatened to crack her makeup, which had already taken a beating on the boat ride out here, she paused.

  “Anyway, I’ve heard rumors that ‘ol Jim Scott here might be receptive. He told me he was suspended this morning and I thought maybe you could help out. It is your little project that got him in trouble.”

  I looked over at Scott. We both knew this wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t want Susan involved. Casting him a warning look that I hoped she wouldn’t catch, I turned back to her.

  “So, how did you two lovebirds get together?” I was trying to assemble a timeline of Scott’s activities since the fight with Robinson.

  “Funny, Hunter. I called Jim and he asked me to meet him at the dock by Turkey Point. He sounded excited about the idea. I didn’t think there was any risk until he dragged me out here. I’m guessing it was a ruse to get me here. Now, you’re going to take me back.” She uncrossed her arms, climbed to the dock, walked to my boat, stepped down to the deck, and settled herself onto the leaning post.

  “You’re the only one that can help me,” Scott said

  “Then why take Susan? I would have met you if you called.”

  “Has to be under the radar, and this one is mixed up with Robinson and Hayward. Thought it might be a good idea to take her out of play.” He motioned to Susan.

  “Mixed up like a gin and tonic. We just go for drinks and hang out!” Susan yelled.

  I gave her a look that commanded her to settle down. “Let me get a change of clothes and I’ll run you back to your truck,” I added to make sure she got the point, then turned toward my house.

  Before I even made it off the dock, I heard Ray’s screen door open. Zero, seeing fresh blood, bolted down the stairs, but skidded to a stop ten feet away from Susan. I had to give it to the dog; he knew how to pick his friends. Beer in hand, Ray followed behind him and headed straight for Scott.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” He set the bottle down on the dock and approached the FWC boat.

  I sensed what was coming and moved to intercept him, but Zero decided to get in on the action and pushed me out of the way. As he moved to Ray’s side, he started growling at Scott. Ray stepped into the boat and quickly moved toward Scott. I jumped in, landing in the bow, and quickly made my way around the console to break up the two men.

  17

  I was a step faster getting to Ray than his first punch was getting to Scott. I hoped I'd stopped things in time that Scott wouldn't press charges. Separating the two men, I pulled Ray toward the bow.

  “Not the way to get this done,” I said, getting right in his face.

  “Shit, Kurt. He’s messing with my family.”

  In an indirect way Ray was right, but my friend also was using family to justify doing something illegal, if only slightly so, at least in my opinion.

  “Go back up. I’ll get rid of him.” I shot a look in Scott’s direction. “We’ll talk later.”

  Ray left with a humph and several not-so-veiled threats. Zero followed. When he reached the steps to his house, I drew a deep breath. Moving to get off the boat, I paused by the console, where several lobster gauges were clipped to the T-top support. It was hard to tell from a quick glance if they were the doctored ones used to confiscate legal lobsters from the boaters who the FWC officers stopped,
or if one happened to be the murder weapon, but I was not going to give up the chance to find out.

  “Susan!” I called over to my boat. “Take my boat. I’ll take Scott back.” I figured that would separate them, as well as remove any chance of Scott making a run for it. Scott moved back to the leaning post. After his suspension, then his run-in with Ray, and now being relieved of his craft, he wasn’t a happy guy, but at least I wasn’t arresting him. I’d witnessed his temper already, and though I didn’t expect trouble from him now, I left him sitting there with a cross look on his face.

  Susan, about to drive off in my boat, had several incidents with firearms on her record. I couldn’t imagine how she could possibly get into trouble by herself, but this craft and any weapons on it were my responsibility.

  Moving past her, I pulled my pistol from the glove compartment and buckled the gun belt around my waist. Out of habit I checked to make sure my handcuffs were in the small pouch, just in case I needed to subdue Scott. I took the key to the console from the chain and locked the compartment with the shotgun inside, then pocketed the key. I suspected there were weapons aboard the FWC boat as well. I would keep an eye on Scott. Truthfully, I was worried more about Susan taking my boat than having any problems with Scott.

  With the case of the rogue agent and missing boat solved, we set off across the bay. For once I was grateful for the engine noise, which was loud enough to make conversation difficult. Twenty minutes later, with Susan following somewhere behind me, I entered the channel leading to the marina next to headquarters and pulled the boat into its slip. Martinez and Robinson were standing on the dock looking like Laurel and Hardy. I wasn’t sure how, but Susan must have informed Martinez that we were headed this way.

  I could feel Scott tense beside me as the pair walked toward the boat.

  “Your suspension has now become a termination. I’ll expect all your gear in my office before close of business today,” Robinson said.

  Even Martinez was surprised. Firing a government employee was not easy, and returning a boat a few hours late was far from cause. I had no intention of intervening and, for once, took Martinez’s advice from earlier this morning. After securing the lines by myself, I pulled the key and kill switch from the ignition panel.

  Robinson and Martinez were focused on Scott. Susan was as aggressive running a boat as she was everything else. Unsafe at any speed was a good description, but the same conditions that had threatened to streak her makeup had slowed her down. With Susan yet to arrive, and the three men staring at each other, I saw my opportunity and grabbed the gauges from where they were clipped to a horizontal rail on the T-top. Stashing them in the large outer pocket of my cargo shorts, I stepped onto the dock. Handing the keys to Robinson, I walked toward my slip to wait for Susan.

  I heard the engine before I saw my boat, and breathed a sigh of relief as it entered the marina. In addition to her tendency to shoot guns that weren’t hers at inopportune times, Susan had a reputation for being a reckless boater. She approached the slip too fast and, unable to do anything, I watched her come in hot. Too late, she dropped into neutral, but I was able to fend the boat off the dock with my foot. Rather than watch her fumble around trying to dock against the wind and current, I stepped aboard. She readily relinquished control and I eased the boat into the dock. To her credit, she helped with the lines.

  “I’ll give you a ride to your truck,” I said quietly, not wanting Robinson or Martinez to hear. The former was watching Scott as he removed his personal items from the boat; the latter had disappeared. Not wanting to give her a chance to talk to either man, I started walking toward the parking lot.

  “Slow down. I want to hear what’s going on.”

  Without turning or slowing down I called back to her: “I’ll tell you all about it on the ride over.” That seemed to satisfy her, and she double-timed it to my truck. I unlocked it, started the engine and powered down the windows at the same time as I turned the AC to max. It wasn’t all that hot out, the day not even registering on the “hell” scale, but the subtropical sun had turned the truck into an oven. I waited for Susan to get in the passenger side, and started out of the lot.

  We drove in silence, letting the combination of the open windows and air conditioning cool the interior to a tolerable level. When I finally felt the cool air win, I closed the windows and told Susan everything that had happened today, leaving out the gauges and my theory about them. I wanted her to hear the details from me and not cobble together her own version. Given the chance to speculate, she would go running to Martinez and Robinson, like a high-school girl with two dates to the prom.

  “Robinson can’t fire Scott for that,” she said, when I finished.

  “I don’t know if there’s other stuff. He’s passionate about his work, I’ll say that for him.”

  “Dudley Do Right, they call him.”

  Of course, Susan was privy to the gossip. “What else do they say?” I tried to keep her talking.

  “The usual.”

  As a government employee, I had a pretty good idea what she was referring to. People in the private sector often seek out government jobs, knowing the conditions and benefits are superior. The pay was often lower, though not by much, but adding in the benefits of health insurance and a pension plan, which the government provides, it didn’t take a master’s degree to tell you which kind of job was more secure. Those who had never worked on the outside, and those who had and forgot, convinced themselves they were getting a raw deal. My dad had been a contractor and had encouraged me to follow in his footsteps, offering me his business when he retired. I’d done it for a while, but we couldn’t get along. I remembered well how hard it was. If I counted all the hours he worked when I was growing up, I wasn’t sure he even made minimum wage. Susan had never worked for anyone beside the park service. She had no idea.

  “Any of them throw around money?”

  “Kurt.”

  I glanced over at her and immediately turned away, wishing I hadn’t. She looked like a sixth-grader pouting.

  “I just go for drinks once in a while. It’s happy hour, you know, two for one.”

  I couldn’t hold it against her that she only saw what she wanted to. Her priority was getting free drinks, not scoping out the agents. None made enough money to be boyfriend material.

  “Just asking. You think you can find out what Robinson’s got to say later?”

  I swear she winked. “Now, that’s my kind of assignment.”

  The landscaped entrance to the Turkey Point power plant stood out as an oasis amongst the scrub, brush, and canals. Once inside the property, I couldn’t wait to discharge my passenger. I dropped her at her truck and pulled away without waiting for her to unlock the door. After fifteen minutes alone with Susan McLeash, I felt like I needed a shower.

  Aside from Susan irritating me, the lobster gauges in my cargo pocket had been poking my thigh. I hadn’t wanted to remove them with her in the truck, but now, I slowed and pulled them out. I badly wanted to get them to Justine but, with my current shaky standing with Miami-Dade, I had to follow protocol. I liked to think their requirement for a case number, which meant the department knew who to bill for the work, was merely good practice, not anything against me personally, but I knew otherwise.

  When I first arrived here, Justine had the run of the old lab. Working the swing shift allowed her freedom to work alone. The aged facility had been the incubator for our relationship. Without having to worry about anyone watching, she had often helped me with cases, many times with me looking over her shoulder. That had all changed when the new, state-of-the-art lab was opened last year. To mitigate or justify the cost, or maybe both, the techs needed to log their hours with each piece of equipment to a specific case. I supposed it was good business, but that didn’t do much for me personally. With the closing of the old lab, we had lost our freedom. Except for late at night—or early morning, depending on your perspective—there were usually other techs around, and when they
weren’t, there were cameras positioned to observe the entire area.

  Detective Grace Herrera once had been my connection with Miami-Dade. She had a way of staying above the fray and not allowing the petty political machinations of the department to influence her. For her effort, she was given a well-deserved promotion, but her rise in the department had left me in the cold. Now, it was Martinez who had to authorize the work. I didn’t expect he was happy with the FWC after tying up his resources for the afternoon and, hoping my conduct today had put me in his good graces at least temporarily, I pulled out my cell, pressed his name in my contact list, and hit connect.

  Whether he knew it or not, I was already heading to Miami and there was no way to obfuscate the road noise, anyway. So, I just told him what I had found and where I was headed. To my surprise, he said he’d file the paperwork. Now, I just had to clear it with the real boss—Justine.

  She sounded excited and there wasn’t even a dead body involved. Several minutes later, she called back with the green light for me to come by. All the dominos were falling in place, and I must have subconsciously accelerated, as seconds later I had to brake hard and veer onto the shoulder to avoid the car in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I pulled back into the bumper-to-bumper turnpike traffic. Martinez and the powers that be were working in my favor. The Miami traffic wasn’t.

  18

  The exterior doors of the building that housed the lab were still open, and I crossed the lobby and waited for Justine to let me in the interior security door. It took her several minutes to get there and in the interim several workers left through the magic door, each one eyeing me suspiciously. I didn’t recognize them, but I suspected my picture was posted on the wall in the break room with the caption, “Don’t do him any favors” below it.