Death By Blue Water (A Hayden Kent Mystery Book 1) (8 page)

Thirteen

The cutter barely noticed the six to eight foot seas in the Straits of Florida. Paul leaned his forearms on the bow rail and closed his eyes in the night vision goggles. No matter how many times he wore them, the greenish glow that colored his vision took some getting used to. There was no moon tonight. The stars shown like mini klieg lights and the sea shot sparks of phosphorescence over the water. He straightened on the dark boat and moved his head to scan the horizon. Behind and above him on the shooting platform a gunner stood at the ready with the FN M240 machine gun. Overhead on the bridge deck an ensign stood at a spotlight watching for a signal from one of the spotters. All of the men and women on the deck wore night vision goggles. Summer was smuggling season. The calmer seas in the Straits of Florida attracted drug runners and human smugglers alike. Both usually rode in thirty or forty-foot go-fast boats. Both carrying whatever cargo was likely to turn a profit.

Paul shifted restlessly. He preferred the smaller command of the Coast Guard drug boats. He loved feeling the speed of the boats over the water while the adrenaline pumped through his veins. Tonight, he was confined to the slower cutter. Even if they caught someone, the fun would belong to someone else. The intercept speedboats didn’t have enough space for captured refugees, forcing the smaller boats to stand by and wait for a larger vessel like the cutter to arrive. The smuggling numbers were so high this summer that Station Islamorada had a cutter on loan from Station Key West for night patrols.

A flash of movement off the port beam caught Paul’s attention. Keying the radio he wore clipped to his belt, he confirmed the sighting with one of the port watchers. The two men kept up a whispered communication until they identified the small boat as a go-fast bouncing over the waves of the Straits. A crackly voice broke into the conversation.

“Go-fast sighting confirmed,” the spotlight operator whispered. “Captain says it looks like a smuggler operation.”

“How many souls?” Paul asked.

“Not sure, too far away and bouncing too much. Doesn’t seem to be much space between the bodies though.”

The men moved to battle stations to prepare to intercept the boat. If it continued on its course, it would cross approximately one hundred and fifty yards from the bow of the cutter. Paul knew the boat was too low to track on radar.

That was what made the go-fast boats so popular. The interception depended on luck or information. Since most smugglers received in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars per person from relatives seeking to bring their loved ones over, tipsters were few and far between. Luck ruled the high seas on these nighttime runs.

To avoid the sound blast from the machine gun, Paul moved away from the bow and onto the port side of the vessel. He cautiously removed his night vision goggles and gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust to whatever ambient light was at sea. He picked up the night vision binoculars from around his neck and focused on the boat. His heart pounded as he heard the engine’s deep throaty roar. The boat was moving at top speed. So far, it didn’t look like the driver saw the patrol boat. Then the go-fast slewed sharply to the starboard.

“He’s got us,” Paul shouted into his radio. The throb of the cutter’s engines vibrated under his feet before he finished his sentence. The cutter, no match for the overloaded go-fast, moved off with as much speed as it could muster. The speedboat began to carve a sinuous path into the sea.

“Damn him,” Paul said to the man standing next to him. “Doesn’t he realize how dangerous he is? Look at all the people on board.” He shoved the binoculars toward his companion.

“He’s got to have at least thirty. It looks like an open forty-footer. He’s gonna dump some folks for sure.”

The cutter’s bow bit the water, causing waves to roll away from the ship. Paul estimated it was at its top speed of twenty-nine knots and it wasn’t gaining on the go-fast. If the driver of the other boat was smart, he’d continue on a straight course away from the cutter and take his chances that he could elude the support craft. Paul fitted the binoculars to his eyes again.

While he watched, the skipper of the speedboat cut a sharp turn. The go-fast rose on its starboard side, dumping refuges into the deep water, then it dropped hard and knocked a few more out. “Stupid fool. He nearly capsized that boat.”

“Stupid or effective,” said the captain’s voice from the radio. “He knows we’re going to stop and pick up the swimmers.” As he spoke, the sound of the engines changed and the cutter lost speed. Paul ripped off his night vision goggles and screwed his eyes shut. When he opened them, the spotlight illuminated the people in the water. Paul counted ten and tried to note the position, gender, and age of each. He would captain the recovery boat.

“Stupid,” Paul said again as the speedboat turned and cut back towards the people in the water. “He must have dumped someone from his crew or family.”

The crack of a bullet carried over the water. A soft thud sounded beside Paul. He spun around and looked at the side of the ship behind him. A small black cavity with a shiny center winked in the reflected glare of the spotlights. “We’re taking pistol fire.”

The boat continued to speed toward the cutter. A loud fast booming sounded from the machine gun over their heads. “Belay the weapon fire.” The captain’s voice had a frantic edge. Paul could hear the man thinking he was witnessing the end of his career if the machine gun fire hit a civilian. Especially a civilian in the water.

“We’re taking fire,” the gunner said.

“We have innocents in the water,” the captain’s voice shot back. “You have no authority to fire. You better pray you didn’t hit anyone.”

“No, Sir. I shot over the bow and away from the swimmers. No one was hit.” The gunner’s voice had a hard edge.

The boat cut a sharp turn and rose up on its starboard side again. This time the boat continued on its path and overturned completely.

“Drop the cutter boat,” the captain ordered. “Divers, suit up, now.”

Paul hurried to his boat station ready to board the small rescue boat when it hit the water. Two men in dive gear and an ensign joined him before the boat settled. Together the four men went down the steps and into the boat. With practiced ease, each man balanced the boat for the next man to board. Paul gave a signal and the men on the cutter let loose the lines securing the rescue boat to the larger ship.

“Do you want me to drop you first?” Paul called over his shoulder to the divers. The two men now wearing horse collar flotation devises with tanks strapped on to them nodded. They pulled their masks down over their eyes and sat on the gunnels, ready to do backrolls into the water. “Ensign, keep a sharp eye on the swimmers. If anyone looks like they’re in trouble, toss a life ring and be sure we pick him up first.”

“Him or her, Sir,” the ensign corrected.

Disgusted, Paul turned his head away from the wheel and said, “This is life or death, not political correctness. I don’t care if it’s a dog. We pick
him
up first.”

In the light of the spotlight, Paul saw the man’s face redden. He shook his head and cut the throttle as they neared the upside down boat. The two divers splashed into the water. Paul counted to ten and throttled up the engine again for the group of swimmers. He counted twenty-five this time. He cut the engine again so the prop blades on the ninety horsepower engine couldn’t do more damage.

“Over there, Sir,” the ensign cried out. “Looks like a group in trouble.”

Paul directed his attention to the group. It looked like a family with young children. The father was struggling to keep four other people afloat. Moving the boat just above idle speed, he cautiously approached the drowning group. As soon as they were close enough, the ensign tossed two life rings. Paul maneuvered the boat as close as he could. The children continued to cling around the man’s neck, dragging him down. The man reached for the life ring. It slipped from his hand. The stretching movement dislodged one of the youngsters and the child began to sink beneath the water. Paul kicked off his shoes and dove into the sea. The ensign was helping the man and three children on board when two heads popped up near the ladder. The father pushed himself away from the ladder, speaking in rapid Spanish, and kicking for his daughter in Paul’s arms. Understanding the action, if not all the words, Paul held the little girl in his arms and looked into her face. She was silent. In the unnatural light of the spots she looked blue around the lips. The child was unusually heavy for her size. Still in the water, Paul managed to get the child’s legs over the gunnel. The ensign held her while Paul hit her hard between the shoulder blades. She coughed a stream of water over the side and let out a loud wail. At the sound of the cry, the father swam back to the ladder and mounted quickly. Paul followed behind.

“My wife, she still on the boat,” the man cried out as soon as he regained his breath.

Paul and the ensign shared a look. “We have divers down under the boat now, looking for survivors.” Paul said in English. The ensign repeated the words in Spanish.

The man gathered the children to him, kissing each in turn. Then he reached into the plastic diaper cover of the youngest child and pulled out a packet. He held it out to Paul. “Gold, for you to take us to land. Don’t send us back, please.”

Paul, water flowing down from his hair and into his eyes, pretended not to hear. Instead, he took control of the helm and looked for the divers. He saw bubbles in the light from the cutter. No one had surfaced yet. He carefully surveyed the group still in the water. Twenty-one more folks floated or treaded water, some clinging to each other. He concentrated on picking up the ones who called out in fear or looked unstable in the water. Another support vessel would come to the aid of others. His mission was to save those who didn’t look like they could wait, and take care of his divers and any survivors they might discover. Much to his surprise, a woman who looked to be in her seventies was swimming from person to person offering assistance and encouragement.

When the cutter boat was nearly full, he looked for the divers again. Both men broke the surface, each holding two sputtering people. Cautiously Paul motored over to pick up the survivors. Overloaded by one person, he left the divers to look for more people trapped under the boat or in the surrounding water and motored to the cutter. The disembarkation team quickly unloaded the rescue boat, triaged the survivors, gave first aid where needed, and sent Paul back. Several trips later, no one was left in the water and the divers were satisfied no one else was trapped.

The captain was questioning the handcuffed driver of the go-fast boat. The man’s eyes widened when he saw rescue team approach with the last load of refugees. He mumbled something in Spanish and pushed his shoulder into the captain, bringing his foot up behind the captain’s knee as he did so. The captain went down and the driver ran for the rail and jumped overboard.

The divers struggled into their wet gear and leapt into the water as close as possible to where the handcuffed driver had entered. They came back empty-handed.

Fourteen

Hayden entered her office feeling sheepish. Grant had told her to take a few days off. She wasn’t sure if he meant until this whole event was over or if she should come back when she felt up to it. She returned, wearing a bright yellow sundress for confidence, to test the waters.

“Hey, Ruth.” She greeted the receptionist. “The prodigal diver returns.”

“Oh, you’d better go see him. He left a note in case you came back today. How are you doing?”

Hayden shrugged and gave a tentative smile. “Okay, I guess. For someone who’s the talk of the town.”

“Did you see the paper this morning?”

“Nope. Since I’ve been getting my fifteen minutes of fame, I’ve made it a point to ignore the
Miami Sun Ledger
.”

“Wait,” Ruth commanded. She dove under her desk. Hayden heard her rummaging in the wastebasket. She came up with the crumpled front section of the offending paper and smoothed it on her desk. “Is this the Paul you met?”

Hayden took the offered paper and glanced at the photo of the man in uniform. “Yep, that’s him.” She scanned the article as she spoke.

“Hunky and a hero. Are you going to let this one get away?”

Hayden snorted and tucked the paper into her briefcase. Ruth was a happily married grandmother of four. She thought everyone should share her marital bliss. “My master awaits.” She ducked around the corner of her office and placed her briefcase and handbag on the chair next to the door. She glanced at the mirror on the wall between her office and Grant’s. She looked about as good as she felt, which put her one step above a train wreck. Allowing herself a deep breath, she tapped on the door.

The lawyer answered her knock promptly. Normally she’d have just knocked and opened the door. Today she didn’t know if she should behave like a client or an employee. Hayden settled on one of the two deep blue couches and Grant approached her with a file in his hands.

“Hayden, I have a problem. Richard and Kevin’s parents, Dwight and Ruth Anderson, are long-time clients of mine.”

A trickle of sweat ran between her breasts. Why hadn’t she known that? Why hadn’t he said something before? “Are you sure? I’ve never met them. We have a couple of Andersons on the client list.”

He handed her the file he held. “I know, I’d forgotten too. It’s been years since I saw them last. They came in for estate planning.”

“Kevin never said anything. But even if I had realized his parents were clients, it’s doubtful I would have thought anything of it.” She paused for a beat and tried to read Grant’s expression. “Are you going to tell me you have a conflict and it would be better if I got myself another job?” She winced when her voice trembled. To avoid looking at her boss, she opened the file on her lap. It contained a transcript of her meeting with the police.

“No.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face until she met his eyes. “I’m not going to fire you. You haven’t done anything wrong.” He removed his finger.

Hayden searched his face and saw only compassion. She breathed out a sigh.

“I may ask you to take a paid leave. But not yet,” he continued, when her head jerked up at his words.

He paused again and seemed uncomfortable.

“What? Just tell me.”

“I think you need to get another lawyer. One who specializes in criminal work.” Grant waved his hand back and forth. “I’ll help you find one. And if money is a problem—”

“No. I won’t let you do that. I’ll be fine. If you’ll help with some recommendations…”

“You understand, right?” His grey-green eyes searched hers.

More than anything, she wanted to say something that would put him at ease. They didn’t have much of a criminal practice. She knew that. He’d been available when the police showed up. He didn’t want her to be alone during the interview. He’d rushed into the breach. Nothing more. “Yes. I do understand.” She laid her hand on his and willed herself not to feel the disappointment that shot through her.

“Do you want me to start that leave now?”

“No. I may need you to leave today for a while though. Richard’s parents are coming in.”

Hayden felt the tension flow from her body. That explained why he was so tense. He was worried there would be a confrontation. “Do they know?”

“That you work here? Yes, they already knew.” He looked up at her. “Kevin must have told them. They’re coming in on a real estate matter. I suggested another lawyer. They said no. These are special people. They expressed sympathy that you found the body. But they asked if they could meet alone with me. They want advice about going to the police.” At Hayden’s look, Grant continued, “They said they didn’t think their son died in a boating accident.”

A myriad of thoughts ran through Hayden’s mind. She tried to isolate one and failed. Grant didn’t say so, but obviously, they had a suspect in mind. Did they know she’d been questioned in Richard’s death?

“You ever meet them?” Grant asked.

Hayden shook her head. “Are they local?”

“They live in Weston. Up in Broward County. I’m surprised you didn’t know  that.”

“Kevin rarely spoke of his parents. To be honest, I thought they were dead.” Something wasn’t adding up here. Who was this man she’d dated for nearly a year? When Kevin first dumped her, she felt responsible, she was hurt, but she thought something was missing in her. Now she began to think Kevin had agendas and problems she hadn’t begun to fathom. She’d missed every red flag in the year they’d been together.

Switching from personal to professional to bring the meeting to a faster end, Hayden asked, “What kind of real estate matter?”

“They deeded a house to Richard as co-tenants with them in Big Pine Key. He lived in it until his death. They want to change the deed. I guess they want to sell, or maybe put Kevin on the deed in place of Richard. We hadn’t gotten that far.”

Hayden watched the dust motes dancing in the sunlight wondering what kind of parents would think of real estate legalities so soon after their son’s death. She stood and said, “When are they coming in?”

“They’ll call. They need to arrange the funeral. The body is being released today.”

An image of the body filled her mind as she walked to the door. It took all her willpower to keep moving.

“Hayden.”

She turned her head, her hand stayed on the knob. “I’ll draft the deed if you want. I won’t meet with them but I can take care of the physical drafting. Help take some of the workload off of you.”

“I’ll think about that.”

He paused and Hayden wondered what he hadn’t said. “The more I think about it, and the more I read the transcript, it seems like they were fishing.”

“Thanks, Grant.” Hayden smiled her first genuine smile of the day.

“But that doesn’t change the fact you need to speak with them. Don’t wait too long. That will make it worse.”

Sitting in her office, she acknowledged there was something more that bothered her. Something Kevin told her about Richard. It danced tantalizingly out of the reach of her memory.

Unlocking her file cabinets, Hayden shook her head. Kevin. Why worry about anything he said? She couldn’t believe it anyway. His brother lived in the Keys, his parents lived on the mainland. He’d seemed honest enough. So was he one of those liars who so believed his own stories that he came across as honest? What was he hiding?

To clear her mind she picked up the newspaper article about the Coast Guard rescue of the illegal aliens and sat at her desk. The story put Paul in a much different light than her first impression. He’d seemed so clinical when they met. She wondered about the smuggler who died rather than face charges. Idly she thought there was more to the story than met the eye. He was afraid of more than prison. He was so terrified he took his own life rather than face his fear.

She scanned the part about the rescue of the father and four children again and wondered at the length a father would go to in order to save his family. Setting out in a small boat with someone he didn’t know. How did the man even get in touch with the smuggler? There had to be a family connection. People didn’t just walk the streets in Cuba carrying a wad of cash and looking for sailors. Or did they? She didn’t know much about it. Never thought about it. Now the family would get sent back to Cuba. What kind of welcome waited for them? She hoped the close-knit family would be allowed to stay together.

The change of mental viewpoint had the desired effect. Her thoughts were a jumble. They lacked the order she needed to find a solution to her problems. Grabbing a legal pad Hayden covered the page with shorthand writing and diagrams putting Kevin and Richard’s family, as she now knew it, into perspective. Why had Kevin lied? Where was the boat? Big Pine? Sunk? In some other marina? Was there a boat, or was that another lie?

Hayden leapt out of her seat. She remembered Kevin telling her that Richard had a wife and two children. If Kevin told the truth about that, the Andersons were making their own grandchildren homeless by changing the deed. She needed to prepare Grant for the meeting, especially if the Andersons were seeking his advice about accusing their own daughter-in-law.

Her phone rang as she reached the door, and the tone indicated it was an inside line call. Torn between seeing Grant and answering, Hayden reached for the phone.

“They’re on their way,” Grant said.

“Grant, he’s married. That’s what I couldn’t remember. Richard has a wife, and two kids.” The silence on the other end of the line told her Grant wanted something more.

“Okay, Hayden, so what?”

“Are they evicting their daughter-in-law and grandchildren?”

Hayden heard Grant’s sharp intake of breath and long exhale. This wasn’t her business. He’s specifically asked her to remove herself from any involvement.

Hayden winced and said, “Grant, do you want me to leave or just close my door?”

“Take the rest of the day Hayden. I think you still need time off.”

“Good,” she whispered to herself. As a paralegal, she knew how to research effectively and she had some things she wanted to check into. Things she didn’t want Grant to oversee.