Backwater Bay (Kurt Hunter Mysteries Book 1) Page 11

  The only reason I could think of for anyone to kill Abbey was that she had discovered something. Herb and Holly were hurting financially and her rent had to help. The almost-divorced Brenda appeared to be living large, although I knew this meant nothing. Gordy was the sponge of the group but seemed to be the only one smart or sober enough to hatch any kind of plan. If the strange zinc plate was indeed involved, it further implicated him. I tended to side with Gabe. Having been through a divorce, I felt his pain. I knew I would have to put that aside or it would cloud my judgment. Originally, I had discounted Brenda as too weak. But watching Becky use leverage instead of strength to handle the boat had changed my opinion on that.

  My head was spinning from all of it. Usually, when this happened, activity was the answer; let your body do something different and your subconscious can take over. Walking to the sliding door, I looked out at the sheets of water pouring off the roof. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Another beer and back at the computer, I looked at the list again. I was pretty sure Brenda and Holly were sisters but had never confirmed it. It took a few minutes of searching online to find them. My efforts were rewarded when their maiden names came up the same. I took another look outside and dove into each person’s financials, starting with the address of Herb and Holly’s house. It was past due on property taxes and would probably be auctioned from underneath them if they didn’t sell soon. I found a record of Brenda and Gabe’s divorce filing in the courthouse database, but nothing financially. Same for Gordy—if that was his real name.

  The motive had to be either love or money—more roughly stated as sex or greed. There is not much else in the human psyche that triggers the emotional response to take a life. Herb and Holly were broke and both unemployed and with their drinking habits, unemployable. Brenda was living on her access to Gabe’s money. That would stop when the divorce was final. The roulette wheel stopped spinning and money appeared to be the winner. I still had to figure out how Abbey fit into the mix. As it turned out I knew nothing about her personal life. For all I knew she could have been having an affair with Gabe and Brenda killed her for that. Still there was something odd about the zinc plate and my gut told me she was a pawn; a way to accomplish something. Being family only made this seem colder.

  I wasn’t quite through patting myself on the back when the phone buzzed. Justine’s number came up and I answered, trying to count how many beers I’d had and hoping she wouldn’t hear them in my voice.

  “Hey, still raining out there?”

  “Like crazy. You wouldn’t believe it. It’d be pretty cool if you were here.”

  “Aw shucks, that’s sweet.”

  I paused for a minute, doubting she had called to chat. One of the things I liked about her was her quiet demeanor. She didn’t need conversation to fill every hole in her life. “How’s work going?”

  “Getting caught up. I guess the rain is bad for the crime business too. Gave me some time to look at our stuff and I dug out the wetsuit.”

  “I thought the evidence would be no good after it dried out.”

  “Some, yes. But I found some hair samples on it. Neoprene is like a magnet.”

  I had almost forgotten about the wetsuit. Abbey had been found wearing it; if there was evidence on it, it could be a link to the murderer. “What’s it look like?”

  “The saltwater has degraded them significantly, and letting it dry out didn’t help either. There are some tests that I can do, but without a sample to compare them to, there’s not much to be gained. I can’t tell unless we run a DNA test whether the strands are male or female, but I compared them to the samples we have on Abbey and I am pretty certain they belong to someone else.”

  I wished I could be there with her, then wondered if it was creepy to want to share a microscope with the same woman you wanted to share a bed with. “Long or short?” I asked—that was all I had.

  “Maybe shoulder length. I don’t think that’s any help though. Could be a long-haired man or come from anywhere on a woman’s head. Sorry, I’m not sounding like this is really helping.”

  “No, any idea what color?”

  “That’s a bit unusual. Abbey’s hair retained the pigment. The male hair is dark, but the woman’s has almost no color. You can almost see through it.”

  “Hair dye?”

  “Probably. That help?”

  I looked down at my pad and the women’s names. Both Holly and Brenda were at that age where they were likely to dye their hair. “Kind of narrows things down.”

  “If you want to make a wild-ass guess without any conclusive tests.”

  I was grasping for straws and I sensed she knew it. Maybe it was the beers, but I hoped I hadn’t pushed too far. “See you tomorrow?”

  “You bet. Get some sleep. You sound tired.”

  We said goodbye and disconnected. I noticed it was quiet now. A metal roof lets you know what the weather is like without going outside. Sometime during our conversation, the rain had stopped. I went to the sliding glass door and looked outside. The weather had passed, leaving a crystal-clear sky, something you almost never saw there in the summer. Out west, it was like this most nights, and away from the lights, the Milky Way was often visible. The sliver of the moon above the horizon highlighted the small waves. The whitecaps were gone and the water looked tranquil.

  Slipping on my flip-flops, I left the house to check on the boat. I had learned quickly that though boats and cars had a lot in common, boats needed to be looked after in a way that cars didn’t. Walking down to the dock, I checked the lines and made sure the bilge pump and scuppers had done their jobs. Everything looked okay, and I went back inside.

  I paced the floor for a few minutes before I came to the conclusion that it was futile to stay. I needed action, and the smallness of the house and island, something I had longed for when I arrived, was making me restless since I knew the murder was not going to get solved while I sat there.

  The schedule I had made for Martinez lay on the counter, and I looked at tomorrow’s promised area. I had intended to patrol the outer islands as far north as the Ragged Keys. The route led me to a good jumping-off point for a run to Miami. I thought about it for a second, trying to gauge what Martinez’s reaction would be if he found out I had patrolled at night. I could easily tell him that a boater had stopped at the dock after the storm with a story of suspicious activity and I had followed up. With the track-course option enabled on the GPS, I could even prove it to him.

  Transportation once I got to the mainland would be an issue. A straight shot across the bay to headquarters was the fastest and easiest way. The problem was the keys to the vehicles were locked in the office. Martinez had never given me a key, leaving that a dead end until business hours. If I wanted to do something tonight, a boat ride to Government Cut was the best option. I texted Justine and she agreed to pick me up. We could go back to the lab and look at the zinc and hair together. I smiled, thinking I might just get my microscope date after all.

  I texted her my plan and changed clothes. Stuffing the last of the lobster in my mouth and downing a big glass of water to cut through the beer in my system, I left the house and went to the boat.

  It was strange being out on the water alone at night. My senses were alive as the hull coasted over the ink-black water. The only light came from the moon and the phosphorescent trail in my wake. Using the GPS chart plotter to navigate, I stayed well away from land and could only tell where the Keys were by the few lights on in the Park Service buildings and bathrooms at the campgrounds.

  It was quiet. My report would have no mention of anything of interest. Once I cleared Sands Key, I could see the open Atlantic to starboard. The usual white dots showing the fishing boats on the reef were missing tonight, probably scared off by the storms. I headed toward the mainland, steering a straight line to the markers at the entrance to Government Cut.

  Half an hour later, when I had the boat secured to the dock on Dodge Island, Justine pulled up with a smil
e on her face. I got in and reached for her hand. She pulled it away, leaned in, and kissed me.

  The zinc plate in my pocket jabbed into my groin, breaking the moment.

  Before I could say anything, she pulled away from the curb and sped toward the 836. The traffic was light and she was driving like Sid on steroids. I just hung on as we flew across the causeway. I left her to drive, not wanting to disrupt her concentration with conversation. Anything I said could have killed us.

  Fifteen minutes later, we reached her office, and I exhaled.

  I followed her down to the lab and she explained her excitement. “There are some paint chips on the wetsuit that might tie Abbey to the Big Bang.”

  An image appeared on the computer monitor. “Paint?”

  “When the wetsuit dried out there were these small chips that came to the surface.”

  “Are you thinking that rubbed off the bottom of the last boat she cleaned?”

  “Bingo. Divers clean their wetsuits after every dive.”

  “So, if I collect samples from the bottom of the Big Bang, we might get a direct connection and establish the boat as a crime scene?”

  “Well, that’s where the detective work comes in.” She said it like a coach putting you in the game with every confidence you would have a positive impact.

  “This might help too.” I pulled the zinc out of my pocket and set it on the table.

  “Right on,” she said, picking it up and twirling it in her hands. She set it down and handed me an evidence bag and a pair of blue nitrile gloves. “You go check on the boat paint, and I’ll run this and see what we have.”

  “Borrow your car?”

  She smiled and handed me the keys. “No worries, I can get a patrol to take me home if you’re not back.”

  I felt a tinge of jealousy at the thought of a uniformed officer putting her to bed.

  17

  With a few hours before dawn I decided to pay Sid a visit and see if he would revisit the cause of death. The only problem was he wasn’t there.

  In his place was a hip-looking young man, I guess what you would call a hipster. His hair and mustache both were too well groomed for my taste and clearly required a whole lot of product to hold their form. I guessed he’d have been wearing a plaid shirt and too-tight jeans if he weren’t in scrubs. I felt my thirty-eight years when I judged him too young to be a doctor. That quick decision almost cost me. “Is Sid around?” Fortunately, I used his name instead of asking for the generic medical examiner.

  “Vance Able.” He held out his hand. “Chief medical examiner. What can I do for you?” he asked, eyeing my uniform.

  “Kurt Hunter with the National Park Service. I’m the special agent for Biscayne.

  “Biscayne—cool, man. Sid’s off tonight. I’m filling in.”

  His voice had just a twinge of squeakiness to it that was slightly irritating. Not enough to sound like nails on a blackboard, but enough to be noticeable. It didn’t do anything to establish his credibility, in fact quite the opposite. The voice in my head told me not to judge. “I had a body come in that was labeled a Jane Doe. I think Justine from the crime lab confirmed the identity as Abbey Bentley. During the autopsy, Sid ruled it an accidental death. I wanted to talk to your office about some evidence we’ve collected that it might be a homicide.”

  “Sid is the man. Guess it gets lonely down here at night. I bet he let you help. Hey, you get to fish much?”

  He led me over to a computer monitor and asked for the name again. It came up as Abbey Bentley and not Jane Doe. I had to convince him now or I would lose the body.

  He studied the screen for a few minutes, clicking on several images that showed the propeller wounds. “Gnarly. And you think this happened postmortem? Bruising would signify the sequence. Sid knows his stuff.”

  “She was in the water for almost ten days before the body was found.”

  “That makes it harder.”

  “I have a theory that she was murdered.”

  “Go ahead. . . .”

  He was all business now. I took a breath, knowing I probably only had one shot at this. “He noted during the autopsy that there were visible signs of overexpansion to her lungs. She was using scuba gear to clean a boat bottom at the time of death. I think the murderer held her in place with the air line while depressing the purge button on the regulator.”

  “Interesting. I’m more of a fisherman than a diver. Your knowledge of scuba equipment is good enough to support this?”

  “I had an expert run through it with me.” I had his interest now.

  “I’ll make a deal,” he said, looking at the file.

  I nodded.

  “Got any hot bonefish spots?”

  I paused for a second, knowing where this was going. “A few. I’ve only been here a month so I’m just learning the water.”

  “Awesome, dude. I’ve been trying to figure out the fly scene lately.”

  I wondered when fly fishing had gotten hip. “I’m just learning the saltwater thing. Most of my experience is the streams out west.”

  “You think you could take me out someday?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation back to Abbey. “We can give it a shot.” I guessed Martinez would be okay with my sucking up to the chief medical examiner, but I figured I better not get his expectations too high. “Bonefish is a hit-or-miss business though.” He took the bait and looked back at the screen. I watched over his shoulder while he worked. Once he focused on his work, he appeared older.

  I inched closer to see the screen. He was scrolling through the report faster than I could keep up.

  “Sid followed procedure. The lungs were clearly damaged by overexpansion, but the major trauma was the propeller wound. With the body in such a decomposed state, he went with the overwhelming evidence. There was no sign of a struggle—not that there wasn’t one, but if there was, it just wasn’t visible because of the state of her body.”

  “She was wearing a wetsuit. There are some hair strands belonging to someone else as well as paint smudges.” I summarized Justine’s findings.

  “I’m not going to change Sid’s finding.” He paused. “I will talk to him though.”

  That was the best I could hope for.

  “So, the bonefishing gig?” he asked as I walked out the door.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said abruptly, maybe harsher than I should have. I guessed that he was only a few years younger than me, but it felt like a generation. The hipster deal had never appealed to me.

  Back on the street, it was still dark. The screen of my phone was blank—no texts or messages from Justine. I decided against bothering her about work now. She would likely be asleep. I was tired as well but with the body having an identity, I was out of time.

  With no destination in mind, I found myself driving toward Coral Gables. Herb and Holly’s house was dark, although a few of the neighbors already had lights on. Driving past their block, I found a coffee shop just opening and bought a large cup, water, and a few energy bars. I used the restroom and drove back to the house. It was just starting to get light when I returned. This early in the morning there was little going on. A few early joggers and the lights in several kitchen windows were the only signs of life. With a cup of gas station coffee between my legs, I sat in the truck and watched the street wake up. It was a slow process. School must not have started yet because that wave of activity never came.

  There was no action at the house until after the stroller brigade had done their meet-and-greet and taken a few laps around the block. It was then that I saw the first sign of activity. Holly made the first appearance, dressed like almost every woman I had seen. Her outfit said yoga all over it. From what I had seen of the stroller brigade earlier, that was no indication that yoga was in the forecast. She got in her Jeep Grand Cherokee and pulled out of the driveway. I let her go. It was Herb that I was interested in.

  An hour later, Herb wandered out with a cup of coffee and climbed
into his basic blue Honda Civic. I followed at a distance. With no idea where he was heading, I kept close enough to catch any quick turns and far enough back that my vehicle, thankfully a plain white, didn’t catch his eye. My inexperience at tailing didn’t matter as he seemed oblivious. He turned onto South Dixie Highway, the local name for US 1, and after a few blocks turned into a strip center. Parking in front of a plain storefront with a sign that said DELANY AND COMPANY - insurance, he exited the car and went inside.

  The large windows kept me from going over to scope the place out. Instead, I checked the website for Delany and Company. Their specialties included every kind of insurance you could think of. I scrolled down the list. From the tax lien on their home and the age of the cars they drove there was no reason to need an agent for their insurance. Unless you were totally inept, that was all easily done over the Internet. RV and boat insurance were non-starters, and then I saw life insurance—something you couldn’t buy online.

  My phone rang and the screen changed, showing a local number. I hit Accept and heard Sid’s voice. “So, I see you met Vance.”

  Sid’s strong Jersey accent was loud and clear. So was his mood. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes. We just started talking.”

  “Well, he’s all excited about you taking him fishing. I never understood this fly-fishing, ‘catch-and-release’ thing he keeps talking about. I’m more of a bluefish and striper kind of guy. Seems like you’re his new best friend.”

  I had a vision of Sid standing on a rocky shore with a surf rod, stooped over and casting into a biting wind. “Believe me, that was nothing I was trying to come away with.”

  I relaxed the death grip on my phone when he laughed.

  “Yeah, the boy can be a little eager.” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “He explained your theory about the woman’s death being a homicide.”