Death By Blue Water (A Hayden Kent Mystery Book 1) (13 page)

Twenty-Three

Paul watched Hayden’s trim figure make its way through the parking lot to her car. He waited, unmoving, until she pulled out of the driveway and he no longer saw the rear of her SUV driving down Palermo Drive. The fear in her eyes made him wonder what she was hiding. It took a lot of courage for her to come to him as frightened as she was. Lost in thought, he turned and headed back toward his office. Something didn’t sit well with him.

He slid into the chair behind his desk and opened the lower drawer. Flipping through the files, he spotted the one bearing the name “Kent, Hayden.” The chair made a sighing sound as he pulled the file from the drawer. This was the report Hayden had really come for. The one that had impressions, avenues of investigation, a multitude of thoughts and theories. As he read down the scrawled notes he saw a pattern of sorts emerge. Blackouts. The woman was subject to blackouts. She claimed they were associated with migraine headaches. Paul rubbed the bridge of his nose to alleviate the tension he felt building. He smiled at the action.

“Power of suggestion,” he muttered. Leaving the file open, he reached behind him and grabbed a clipboard with a pen and yellow legal pad attached. Scribbling his notes of the meeting, he added a postscript about the blackouts. Before he ripped the sheet from the pad, he rolled his computer mouse a few times to activate the screen. When the Coast Guard logo came up, he clicked again and then logged into a law enforcement database. He wasn’t sure who was involved with the investigation into the last body Hayden found, but he thought Highway Patrol was a good bet.

The information scrolled up on the screen. It was a bare bones report. The case was closed. Not finding what he needed, Paul tabbed over to the reporting officer and dialed the number for E Troop.

“Is Trooper Nadeau still with your agency?” Paul asked the woman who answered the phone and identified herself as Trooper Garcia.

“No sir, but we do have a Sargent Nadeau. Is that the same person?”

The tension between his brows increased with frustration and he took a deep breath. Fighting to keep his voice friendly, he said, “It could be. How many Nadeaus do you have in the Troop? May I speak with him?”

The woman’s intake of breath at his sarcasm was his only reward for holding his temper in check. He twirled a pencil between his fingers like a baton as he waited for the call to transfer.

“Nadeau,” a firm voice said.

“Lieutenant Paul Muller, US Coast Guard. Are you the same Nadeau who was involved in an incident a few years ago? Deceased prostitutes found in boxes along the highway?”

“Yes. That case was closed. What can I do for you?”

The caution in the other man’s voice amused Paul. What, he wondered, was he afraid of after all this time? Did he short the investigation? Take the easy way out? Paul filed the reaction and the information away for future use. “Hayden Kent found another body. This one under water. Frankly, the pieces don’t add up. Was she ever a suspect in the prostitute killings?”

“Wait.”

The Coast Guardsman heard the sound of computer keys tapping over the quiet line.

“Not after the first few minutes. It was pretty clear what happened.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Not much to tell. The Kent woman saw a small kitten sitting next to a packing crate by the side of the Highway. She stopped to rescue the kitten, smelled the smell and called nine-one-one. I responded. Called the morgue and Hazmat, just to be safe. The Kent woman stayed in her car with the kitten. I think she adopted the thing. I questioned her. She found the body. Once the box was opened, well, it was pretty clear she had nothing to do with the death.”

“Anything unusual come to mind about her?”

The silence lengthened. Finally, Nadeau said, “One thing, after we had an ID we went to question her again, just to tie up some loose ends. The usual stuff, especially since folks were calling in tips that they had seen the woman at the Rusty Hook. Turned out the Rusty Hook was at the end of the Kent woman’s street.”

“This is the Keys; there’s a bar on every corner.”

“Yeah, but the Kent woman couldn’t tell us anything about the night before she found the body. Said she had a migraine and blacked out. She’s lucky she was never a suspect. That would have been hard to overcome.”

The pencil fell from Paul’s nerveless fingers. Another blackout, another death. “But you cleared her?”

“Yeah, given the manner of death, she didn’t fit. We caught the sick bastard who did it. He confessed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why?” The guarded tone was back in Sargent Nadeau’s voice.

Paul thanked the man and put the phone back into the old-fashioned cradle the Coast Guard still used. He tapped the warm spot on the handle where his fist had wrapped around it. Then he picked up the phone, held it in one hand and fished through his desk with the other. His hand lighted on a pale grey card bearing the distinctive FWC logo in yellow. He took it from the drawer and laid it on top of the folder. With his free hand, he punched the numbers.

“Officer Kirby, did I get you at a bad time?” Paul asked, when the woman answered her cell. She paused longer than necessary, causing Paul to wonder what she was hiding. Maybe something about her sister. He searched his memory trying to recall if Hayden said she had been to the FWC offices or was going. He was sure she said she was going there. A glance at the clock told him unless she drove ninety miles an hour, Hayden Kent had not arrived at the FWC offices. No, whatever was bothering Janice Kirby, it wasn’t that the Kent woman sat across from her.

“Sorry,” Janice replied. I’m prepping for a Court case. I have to leave in five minutes.”

“Okay, I can call back, or we can meet later.” He paused for a beat. “I want to talk about your sister’s husband’s death.”

“No. It’s fine, I’m on my cell. I have to go to Key West. It’s a drive, we can talk on the way.” Janice’s voice changed cadence in concert with her footsteps as she left the office and strode to her patrol vehicle. “Give me a minute to start the truck and hook to the bluetooth.”

He heard the deep growl of the engine and listened to the clunk of the truck engaging gears.

As he waited, he reflected on how many unanswered questions still existed at this stage of the investigation. Once they had a motive, the rest would fall into place. Drugs or Cuban smuggling led the motive speculation for the higher-ups. With Elena involved, it could be simple spousal abuse. A thin smile curled his lips. Spatricide, that was what his Chicago police officer father called it.

A shard of pain lodged in his heart as he remembered the night his dad’s fellow officers brought word of his father’s death. Killed by participants in a domestic dispute. With an effort, he pulled himself back to the present to hear Janice’s voice. By the sound of her tone, she’d been trying to get his attention for a few seconds.

“Sorry. Reviewing some information,” he said. “I wanted to share some information with you. Professional courtesy. I know your sister is involved in this. I don’t know how much longer you will be on the case.”

“I’m a—”

“Anyway, you were there when the initial report came in.” He spoke over her words, not caring to hear her justification. “Your impressions are invaluable.”

A sigh came over the crackly line of the cell phone connection. Paul knew immediately she hadn’t activated the bluetooth connection in her patrol. “I think the Kent woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“She knew your brother-in-law.”

“Did she? Elena doesn’t know her. Richard never mentioned her.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong. She dated the brother.”

“Yeah, he’s a funny duck though.” The American expression sounded strange tinged with Janice’s slight Spanish accent. “Hardly ever around.”

“What about the relationship between the brothers?”

“Off and on. Lately it had been coming back to on. At least Elena said Kevin called a couple of times a month.” Janice paused for a beat. “This isn’t your case, is it? What are you calling for?”

He’d wondered if she’d get around to that. “I told you. Professional courtesy. Hayden Kent left my office about forty minutes ago heading for yours. She wants copies of the reports. Monroe questioned her. You get a copy?”

“Yeah, I read it. They really beat up on her.”

Paul cleared his throat. “She brought that on herself. Who goes to a preliminary interview with an attorney? The woman is a great diver, but something about her...” He paused for a beat, waiting to see if Janice filled in any information. “This is her second body. That’s pretty unusual.”

“Or unlucky.”

“Or unlucky. But she’s conducting her own investigation here. She’s acting like she’s trying to clear herself before someone accuses her.”

“Do you blame her? And as for the lawyer. If I had one handy, I wouldn’t talk to the cops alone. At least not in her shoes.”

Paul flipped through the pages as Janice spoke, trying to find something that would focus her on the investigation in general and on Hayden Kent specifically. “She worries me. She strikes me as a wannabe. Those folks are always a danger to themselves and everyone else.”

“I think you’re wrong, Paul. I’ve spoken with her. I think she’s scared and confused, and maybe, just maybe, a little worried about either her health or her sanity.”

“The blackouts?”

“Yeah.”

“She had one the night before she found the last body too.”

Janice let out a low whistle. “I didn’t look into that. Do you think she’s some sort of multiple personality?”

He turned the thought over in his mind. It didn’t fit. Not based on what the Highway Patrol told him. Still, it bore further investigation.

“You better hope so. If she didn’t do it, the smart money says your sister did.”

Twenty-Four

Hayden chewed on the discovery as she made her way back to Marathon. She tried to remember something, anything, more. Now that some memory came back, maybe more would follow. Did she wait at the marina? She often moved her seat down and back if she’d be in the car for a while. Especially if she had a headache. Maybe she did it to change the angle of the setting sun. Keep it out of her eyes. Falkner Marina faced west after all. What time was sunset? That could give her an idea of when she left her house. Again, she took herself back from the time she left her office until the time she woke at the marina. Nothing else came to her. Frustrated, she banged her hand on the steering wheel, inadvertently sounding her horn. The man in the car in front of her took it personally and shot a bird out his window.

The puddles dried completely by the time she drove over Long Bridge Channel. Even the flooded area near Cocoplum Road held only some red muck along the verge. Hayden continued into Marathon proper. She remembered a time when Marathon referred only to the city. Now people referred to the entire Key as Marathon totally forgetting the name was Vaca.

A storefront on U.S. 1 held the marine patrol Office. Hayden tried to find a larger parking space in the back of the building. She found herself face to face with a fenced off area topped with concertina wire. Riding back to the front of the building, she expertly backed her car into a space, right in front of a sign that read
Head on parking only
. What the heck, she thought, if you’re gonna break the law, do it in front of a cop shop. Let them ticket her. Why did it matter what end of her vehicle faced forward? The cardboard covered window caught her attention and she made a mental note to get it on the to-do list.

She shuddered when she looked across the Overseas Highway. For the first time, she realized the marine patrol office faced the entrance to Falkner Marina. Maybe a cop was a witness too. Maybe a marine patrol officer saw something. Hayden bit her lip. Would the report have the information about the witnesses? She climbed down from the truck and strode to the door.

The uniformed officer behind the information desk looked up with a bright smile. The office was small, cramped, and painted an unwelcoming grey. The walls were lined with black and white photos of, Hayden supposed, the succession of Captains or Majors that oversaw this particular office.

“Hi there, I’d like to get a copy of a report for an incident that occurred about a week ago.” Hayden smiled back at the young man while she fished in her handbag for her identification.

“Sure, are you press?”

Laughing out loud, Hayden replied, “No, actually, I was involved in the incident.”

“Oh.” The officer seemed temporarily confused. “Who was the officer?”

“Janice Kirby. I found a dead body on the Humboldt.”

“Janice is on her way to Key West right now. Why don’t I leave a note for her and she can call you so you can come in and speak with her?”

“Is that necessary? Isn’t this all public record? Aren’t I entitled to have a copy of an incident report that I was involved in?” Hayden tried to soften the sharpness that crept into her voice. She needed allies, not enemies.

“Well, yes, it’s just that if the report isn’t complete or final, then there’s nothing much I can give you. Janice can give you the whole thing and she’ll know how close it is to finalizing. If you talk to her, it’s better. She should be back in the office by three thirty. She’s in court this afternoon on a case. Really, she’ll call you. It would be better.”

Hayden wondered if the young man was brushing her off. She sighed and pulled a business card from her wallet. She crossed out the information on the front of the card and wrote “on leave, please use numbers on back.” Then she turned it over and wrote her home and cell phone numbers, and handed it to the officer behind the desk.

Flipping open her cell phone as she left the officer, she dialed Mallory’s number. “Hey there hard worker, you want to catch a quick lunch?”

“Not today, sorry. I’ll call you back later.”

Not wanting to be alone, but having no other alternative, Hayden drove the few blocks to her house. Turning down her street she again thought how lucky she was to own a house here. An only child, Hayden’s parents left it to her when they died, killed by a drunk in a head-on collision. The house, built in 1925, survived every hurricane nature threw at it. The old conchs knew how to build. Called a hurricane house, an anchor chain ran from roof to reef right through the middle.

A sailing family had built her house. The topmost floor, a widow’s walk, opened to the sky. These days, she used it for a sunning deck. During her childhood it served as a sleepover hangout. Far enough away from her parents for privacy, but still in her house. The trees grown tall during her lifetime obscured a view of the lagoon. Hayden considered that when she could, she’d have the trees moved elsewhere on her property. She wanted the view back.

The staircase to the roof circled a concrete pillar that concealed the anchor chain and provided access to a second and a half story safe room built to be above the mean flood line in a hurricane. The walls of the circular area were ballast rock. Her mom and dad took shelter there when Donna came through in the sixties. They marked the high water line on the inner wall of the staircase. It was a full four feet beneath the safe room. The prior owners marked the water line for the famous 1926 hurricane. That mark was six inches above the Donna mark. The house always comforted her. It let her know that no matter how bad things got, she could still survive if she planned well.

Hayden climbed to the sun deck and opened the envelope she carried in her hand. She scanned the Coast Guard report, irritated that it contained little beyond what she read in the newspaper. The report lacked any indication of the status of the investigation or if there even was an investigation. Paul tried to warn her. She hadn’t listened.

Her cell phone rang. The caller ID read FWC, the formal name of what the locals still called the marine patrol. Hayden flipped the phone open. Janice told her she could come by and pick up a copy of her report at four o’clock. She mentioned some information she wanted to share in person and suggested they talk for a few minutes.

Janice stood in the reception area waiting. She held a now familiar manila envelope in one hand. Taking Hayden back to her office, she closed the door behind her.

“There’s not much in it,” Janice began. “There’s not much I was involved in. The initial call. The Coast Guard took it from me, and I think Monroe County has taken it over from them. I’m not sure about that. They may be working it together.”

“That’s more information than anyone else gave me. I feel like a suspect. I’d like to know why. How I got so lucky.”

Janice looked directly at her. Impaling her the same way Tiger Cat did. The one who blinked first lost. Janice blinked. Hayden watched her expressions change as she seemed to struggle with her own demons. Finally, after a full minute of silence, Janice’s mouth drew itself into a straight, stern line. “Okay,” she said, “I’ve got to trust someone; I think I can trust you. You and my sister are top picks for the most likely suspects. The odds given depend on the agency you talk to.” Janice turned and reached into a file cabinet located in the credenza behind her. She pulled out a file folder and handed it to Hayden. “Can we talk about this somewhere else? It’s a copy. You can take it with you.”

Hayden flipped open the file folder. A paper with two photographs met her gaze. Richard, pale and eyeless in the top photo and laughing at the camera in the bottom shot. Her stomach did flip-flops.