by K D McNiven
Surprise registered on Decker’s face. “Heard of him. Why?”
“Seems they found him hanging from a ceiling fan in his bedroom this morning.”
Decker looked at Brock stone-faced. “A shame.”
An awkward silence followed. “Your fingerprints were found throughout the house.”
“What!” Decker had been thorough in wiping down the place. No way could his prints have been discovered.
“Can you explain?”
“No…hell no!”
Brock inhaled deeply. He had only deep respect for Decker. This interrogation was more than a little difficult on him. He wanted so badly to hear an explanation that would exonerate him. “A couple of my officers uncovered evidence near the body—a silver watch with the initials D.H., and a few strands of hair were sent in for a DNA match. Unfortunately, it matches yours.”
Decker stood speechless. He tried to wrap his mind around Brock’s accusations. It became more than a little obvious to Decker someone was deliberately setting him up. It had to be the same people who’d been following him in Miami, he mused. The same men who had killed Derrick Lasslo at the warehouse. But how would he prove his innocence when they ironclad evidence stacked up against him?
“What the hell! They broke into my house?” he said out loud, but almost as if to himself than the circle of people staring at him.
“Who broke into your house, Decker?”
“Never mind.” He pawed his hand in the air in a frustrated gesture. “If you take a look at the watch you’ll find the stem is jammed and it won’t reset the time. If I’m not mistaken, it should still read five o’clock pm, and the date would have stopped several months back. I hadn’t taken the time to take it in for repair,” he explained. “Besides, Callie purchased me a new one for my birthday last month. I didn’t have the watch with me.” He raised his wrist, showing he was wearing his watch. “I left it at our apartment in Miami. On all accounts Detective, I’m being framed.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t exactly know,” Decker said honestly. Decker began to tell Brock the story of what they had discovered in the Bermuda Triangle. Shared what had happened to Derrick and how he and Callie had snuck out of their apartment to see their way clear of the government agency tailing them. He proceeded to disclose the details of how and when he had discovered Paul Cummings body.
“He was dead when I arrived,” Decker insisted. “Swear.”
A withdrawn sigh escaped Brock’s thin lips. He raked his fingers through his gray hair, looking conflicted at the very least. He raised his hand in the air and flagged Brodsky who hurried back over to the desk, curiosity imprinted on his face.
“Would you read Decker his Miranda rights,” Brock said somberly. “Sorry, Decker, the evidence is overwhelming. “I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this. For the record, I believe you.”
Decker stood in stiff silence while Brodsky read him his rights. When Decker nodded, confirming he understood, Brodsky, with an almost anguished expression, cuffed him and steered him toward the rear of the station.
“Brodsky,” Brock called out. “Uncuff him and give him his own cell.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Dax said. He stood quietly by, his mind scarcely able to comprehend what had just transpired. He knew the whole story. He knew Decker’s integrity. Instantaneously, his thoughts went to Callie. “I need to go to the hospital. Callie needs to hear this from me before she hears it on the news.”
“I meant what I said, Dax. I will do everything in my power to see justice done. I’m going to catch an afternoon flight to Florida and do some digging.”
“I’m going with you.”
“I’ll book us a flight.”
***
When Dax entered the room, he found Callie sleeping. She stirred as he reached out to touch her shoulder. When her eyes flickered open, she saw Dax bent over her. She noted by his expression something was out of sync. With great effort, she pushed herself onto her elbow and straightened herself.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Decker’s been arrested,” Dax said outright, no easy way to tell her what had transpired. Just when she’d found her way back to Decker, they would be ripped apart once more. It weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Tears sprang to her eyes. “For what?”
Dax took her fingers into his hand. “The murder of Paul Cummings.”
“No! No, no, no,” she wheezed. “He would never…not unless his life was threatened.”
“I know Callie. I don’t understand either. I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around this. It appears he’s being framed,” Dax did his best to explain. “The police found his fingerprints all through the house. Worse, they discovered his watch near the body. A watch Decker says someone took from your apartment in Miami.”
“His old watch? The broken one?”
“Seems so, which would indicate whoever has been following you since Miami, decided to break into your apartment, remove the watch, and gather a few sprigs of hair in order to incriminate Decker.”
Callie delved into her thoughts. Could things look bleaker, she wondered? They had left Miami so abruptly they hadn’t set the alarm. Anyone could have broken in without notice. “Whoever it is, they’ve gone to great lengths to cover up whatever secret they’re hiding.”
“Agreed. It’s why Brock and I intend to fly out for Miami today and see what we can come up with. In the meantime, the nurse said they might release you early if you promise to take it easy for a few days until you have your strength back.”
Without hesitation, she replied, “I want out of here as soon as possible, Dax. Whatever it takes.”
“I want you and Kat to stay on board the Shark Eater where I know you’ll be safe. Besides, Decker needs the comfort of knowing you’re being protected.”
“Thank you, Dax. You’re a good friend.”
***
Brock met up with Dax at the airport, a briefcase in hand. “How did Callie react to the news?” he asked Dax.
“As well as could be expected under the circumstances. She needs her husband right now. I’m going to have her and Karina taken over to Shark Eater where she can be looked after while she heals.”
They heard their flight number called out over the intercom, and the two of them prepared to board. Neither of them knew what kind of a disaster they were walking into. There had already been two murders, and now Decker remained behind bars until they were able to find evidence to prove his innocence. It had grown apparent whoever was behind all of this were professionals, and trying to ensnare them might prove to be a difficult challenge.
Chapter 19
⁂
Miami
The wheels squealed as they met with the asphalt tarmac in Miami. They taxied for a length of time. When the plane came to a stop, they grabbed their bags from the overhead and made their way into the terminal. From there, they took a shuttle to a car rental and secured a cherry red Pontiac Firebird with two wide black stripes on the hood.
Dax grinned. “Going in style, mate?”
Brock shrugged as he scooted in behind the steering wheel. He grabbed hold of his cell phone and flipped it off of airplane mode. “A minute. I have to return this phone call.” He hit speed dial and waited for his call to be picked up.
“Dad,” came Kari’s relieved voice on the other end. As if reading his mind, she said, “You won’t make it tonight, will you?”
“Sorry Sweet. Couldn’t be helped,” Brock explained. “A friend of mine has been arrested for something he didn’t do and I needed to fly to Miami to see what I can find out.”
“It’s all right, Dad. I know you wouldn’t fly all the way to Miami if it wasn’t urgent. But promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Please, buy yourself a salad for dinner or something with some nutritional value at least.”
Brock laughed and shook his head. “Promise. I’ll be back soon and
make it up to you. Don’t worry yourself, I’m fine.”
Brock felt Dax’s eyes on him when he got off. “Something on your mind?”
“Sweet? A girlfriend you stood up?”
Brock grinned. “Um…something like that. My daughter, Kari. I promised to meet her for dinner tonight. Seems I’m always letting her down.”
“Catch a rain-check when we’re back,” Dax said.
“Even my rain-checks seem to get botched up. Poor girl, she deserves better.”
Dax smiled and changed the subject. “I think the best place to start would be the Jade II… Decker and Callie’s yacht. We can speak with the crew and see if they have any information.”
Brock stuck the key in the ignition, revved the motor, and headed out toward the docks. He knew if he didn’t come up with something solid, it looked pretty grim for Decker.
At the docks, they parked the Firebird and headed down the wooden-planked walkway. The Jade II, moored in its usual birth, rocked gently on the transparent green water beneath. Dax spotted a couple of familiar faces swabbing the deck. He knew the news they had to impart would come as a shock, but hoped the crew would be able to give them something solid information-wise so their time in Miami wouldn’t be wasted.
Approaching the gangplank, they saw a young man coming towards them. His bleached-gray hair ruffled back away from his richly-tanned face. Dressed in blue jeans and a dark blue T-shirt made his slate-blue eyes even more striking. He smiled welcomingly as they approached.
“What can I do for you?” He stretched out his hand. “Names Ryn Lansing. I’m the first mate here on the Jade II.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dax replied, accepting his firm handshake. “I’m Dax Drake, and this here is Detective Brock Scanlin from New Orleans.”
“Dax Drake! I’ve heard your name mentioned more than twice since I signed on. Nice to finally meet you. Detective,” Ryn said with the nod of his head in acknowledgment.
“Do you have some time to speak with us?” Brock asked.
“Why don’t we go to the galley? I’ll serve us up some coffee and have Captain Perry to join us.”
They walked up a small flight of metal stairs, then followed a companionway into a comfortable room decorated with sofas. There were a couple of round tables, one of which they settled down onto while Ryn hurried off to find the captain.
“I’m impressed,” Brock said, his eyes searching the interior. “When Decker said he had plenty-enough money, he certainly wasn’t understating the fact.”
“An inheritance,” Dax told him. “Though they also make their share of money on excavations and magazine articles.”
“Excavations?”
“Decker and Callie work as archaeologists. Quite well known in their circle of friends. They also helped finance my last adventure—a shipwrecked Spanish galleon.”
“I must admit, I don’t know much about either of your backgrounds. You’ll have to come to dinner one evening when we get back and you can fill me in.”
“Would love to, mate.”
Captain Perry and Ryn returned and sat at the table, both looking a bit perplexed by the visit.
“I’ll get right to the point,” Brock said. “I’m here on official business. Decker Hayden was arrested this morning in New Orleans.”
“Come again?” Carson said, stunned by the news. “What the devil for?”
“Murder.”
“No way possible,” Carson said. “Who?”
“A man by the name of Paul Cummings.” Brock began filling them in on the events that had happened over the past few days.
They were speechless. Carson and Ryn stared blankly at Brock wondering how this had come about. Both tried to connect the dots and concluded it must have something to do with Derrick Lasslo’s murder, as well as the government agents who had staked them out.
“Recently, Pete Polly and I decided to go check out two government officials… at least we believe that’s who they are. They’ve been watching us for days since Decker left Miami. We confronted them, though we didn’t get any much out of them. Haven’t seen them since.”
“I believe Decker is telling me the truth. I think he’s being framed. However, I’m a detective and I have evidence saying otherwise,” Brock said. “Now, about the other murder of…” Brock glanced down at the report in his hands. “Derrick Lasslo. Do you have any further information related to his death that might be of any help in my investigation?”
Carson shrugged. “All we know is what the report said. Decker told us Derrick had some info to hand off to him. At the time of his death, Decker had been cold-cocked and hospitalized. I have since learned Decker went back to the warehouse where he found an envelope. The contents led him to New Orleans.”
“You might consider looking over your shoulder,” Ryn said. “Two men have died already. Decker’s jailed. Whoever is behind this clearly doesn’t want anyone to discover the reasons behind it. Looks like some kind of governmental cover-up if you ask me.”
Brock had been entertaining the same scenario in his mind. Something much more complex stirred beneath the surface. He hadn’t discounted the idea that the government had their hands in this somehow.
Brock withdrew a plastic bag from his jacket pocket. “Would you have any knowledge of this watch?”
Carson looked it over. “Yes! If I recall correctly, the watch had gotten broken while Decker made some repairs on the dinghy motor. I only remember because a month ago Callie bought Decker an expensive Descent MK1 dive watch for his birthday to replace it. I remember because I was green with envious.”
Brock sprawled out some writing on a small notepad. “What’s the name of the watch again?” When Carson repeated it, Brock finished and stood up. “I think I’ve got what I need for now.”
Brock and Dax left as quickly as they had come.
“Where to Detective?” asked Dax, sliding onto the Firebird’s soft leather seat.
“I think we ought to visit the National Weather Advisory Center. I’m interested to see what Harry Patton told Decker in regards to the trip they took to the Bermuda Triangle area. Seems it’s when everything started on a downhill slope for Decker.”
Brock revved up the motor. A wide smile turned the corners of his mouth. He had always wanted to drive one of these beauties. Shifting down, they squirreled out of the lot. Dax turned an amused look on Brock.
They sped along the highway, turned off onto a side street, and the three-story NWAC building came into view. With all the complexities of this case, they wondered if they would learn anything newsworthy? It was worth a try. Brock was banking on obtaining enough information to establish a possible conspiracy. He needed solid evidence. Something he didn’t have as yet, except for Decker’s watch.
Once Brock slipped into a parking spot, they hurried up the front steps to the reception area where a middle-aged woman with white hair and brown, horn-rimmed eyeglasses greeted them.
“How may I help you?” she asked.
“Looking for Harry Patton,” Brock said, taking his badge from his pocket to show the woman they were on official police business.
“I would like to help you. However, Harry has not been to work for days. We’ve tried to call him multiple times but never have gotten hold of him,” she said. “We even contacted his parents. They haven’t heard from him either. Yesterday our boss called the police to report him missing.”
Brock glanced at Dax and saw surprise flash in his eyes by the news. Brock knew their trail was running cold. Whoever they were dealing with were pros at covering their tracks. They needed desperately to find whoever was responsible for the two deaths, and a missing person. Brock wondered if they were looking at three bodies now instead of two.
Touching the brim of his hat, he nodded to the woman. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it over to her. “If Mr. Patton should show up, or you hear anything, please give me a call.”
“Any brilliant ideas, Detective?
” Dax asked as they made their way back to the car.
“I’m stumped. Someone’s been busy covering their tracks,” Brock said, grim-faced, his carriage stiff. He began to feel like a hamster running on a wheel going nowhere. “Maybe head over to Derrick Lasslo’s warehouse and see if we can find out anything new.”
Brock sped back onto the interstate and headed back toward the docks. After a couple of minutes on the highway, he spotted a black sedan following close behind. The car continued to gain on them until it nearly touched their bumper. In response, Brock punched the pedal to the floor, transferring as much torque from the Firebird’s engine to the wheels as possible. The motor roared as the RPMs redlined.
The tires squealed as Brock accelerated and whipped out into the other lane. The sedan held fast. “Hang on, Dax. We’re in for a wild ride!” Brock said, his eyes transfixed on the road ahead.
As the sedan continued to pursue them, Brock increased to a breakneck speed, forcing him to swerve in and out of traffic to avoid a pile-up. Because of the heavy traffic, he ruled out trying to shoot out their pursuers tires so Brock pushed the engine to its uttermost limits.
The off-ramp to his right would take him out of the heavy flow and down toward the docks. He turned the wheel sharply in hopes to frustrate their pursuit and give the sedan the slip. They raced down the ramp, the docks beyond. Coming to the intersection, Brock realized stopping would be difficult at their speed but he slammed on the brakes to at least make an attempt, hoping to avoid a collision. To his horror, the brakes did nothing to stop them. In desperation, Brock tried to pump the pedal but it gave way, driving all the way to the floor.
“Dandy!” he growled. “I think someone cut the brake line.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Do I look like I’m kidding, Dax?”
“Bloody hell!” He shouted, placing his palms on the roof to brace himself for the worst.
The Firebird rocketed past the stop sign and continued through the intersection. All along the wooden pier were bars, restaurants, and charter rental stations. Crowds of people began leaping for their lives as the car hurtled toward the wooden pier.