“Jake helped out when he could, I suppose, but most of his income went to alimony. Loretta always managed to get by, and I give her full credit for that. I didn’t have to go to work until I was a sophomore in high school, which was late in the game compared to a lot of kids on the islands.”
“You worked in your uncle’s detective agency,” Ransler said. “At least you’re listed as an employee in state records. Hope you don’t mind that I checked.”
“It was better than waiting tables,” I responded. “I wasn’t crazy about being in an office, but I learned how to keep books, and I did the computer searches, too. So, no, checking on me, I understand that it’s part of your job.”
“Office work beats what some of your neighbors did to make a living,” the special prosecutor said, his eyes on the derrick that had hoisted unknown tons of drugs.
His meaning was obvious and his tone had a hint of superiority, which was irritating.
I turned, opened a hatch, and got out the stern line, before saying, “One thing you might not understand is why people here starting running marijuana. Used their mullet boats to meet bigger boats offshore, then off-loaded the bales in places like this because the Marine Patrol and Coast Guard didn’t know the local waters.”
“Money,” he replied. “Isn’t it always about money? Then they’d truck the drugs to Miami, sometimes Atlanta, right? Poor men became millionaires in a few months. Hannah, I have done a fair amount of research on the subject. For a while, the DEA kept active files on more than half the adult population of Sematee County and Sulfur Wells-did you know that?” The man looked at me in an odd way, which put me on the defensive.
“You’re skipping over something important,” I countered. “The state put a lot of commercial fishermen out of business in those days. More and more regulations, then a net ban. Families that had been fishing for five or six generations were suddenly out of work and they didn’t know any other kind of work.” I nodded to indicate the dock we were approaching. “If you had a mortgage to pay and children to feed, do you think you might have chosen pot hauling to losing your home?”
“Maybe,” he said. “But not cocaine and crack hauling, which made some of those same guys even richer. Or, at least, I’d like to believe I wouldn’t.”
Joel had a point, but he’d oversimplified the dilemma fishing families had faced during two decades that had all but eliminated their working heritage. I knew from local gossip that pot hauling had turned ugly when smuggling cocaine became a more lucrative option. It brought professional criminals and crime syndicates into the area. It also got some of the locals and their children hooked on the product. Cocaine was the division line between ethical and unethical behavior in the minds of many fishermen and those who refused to do it were soon forced out of business.
As I explained this, the special prosecutor swung around to face me from the casting platform and was nodding before I’d finished. “I’m not making moral judgments. You want to know why I’m so interested?”
“Let me finish,” I said. “What I’m saying is, sometimes a new law can make criminals out of people who’ve never broken a law in their life. But my Uncle Jake wasn’t among them and I get the feeling you believe he was. Isn’t that why you keep asking about him? Half the population of Sulfur Wells was being investigated, you said. That’s only about a hundred people, not counting kids.”
Ransler shrugged in a way that suggested he was open to all possibilities. “It crossed my mind, but so what? Your uncle’s dead, plus the statute of limitations ran out years ago-on smuggling, at any rate.”
Had the special prosecutor just implied something?
To communicate disapproval, I cleared my throat before saying, “If you did background checks, you know Jake was a highly decorated detective, Tampa police force. Wounded while saving the lives of at least two other deputies, maybe more. If you’re asking questions because you suspect Jake of murdering Mr. Helms, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
Joel Ransler flexed his jaw and smiled at the same time, giving me his handsome Sundance Kid look. “No, you’re wrong. The reason I’m interested in your family is because”-he laced his hands together and flexed his jaw again-“well, there are a couple of reasons, and I’ll just be up front. You’re an unusual woman. I find you attractive, Hannah. Didn’t I already say that?”
“It wouldn’t matter if you had,” I replied, trying not to sound flustered. “I’m in a serious relationship. If that’s why you offered to hire me as an investigator, though-”
“Hold on a second,” he said. “I’m trying to explain something.” He stopped, reconsidered, then switched gears. “Does that mean you decided to take the job?”
“If someone’s trying to rob my mother and some of her friends, sure, I’d like the chance. But not if it’s because you’re interested in me personally.”
“Two entirely separate things,” he responded. “But I do like you. You’re not glib, you don’t chatter, and you don’t act like you have to prove yourself. Something in your background made you different. So I’m curious about the people who raised you-on a personal level. But my interest is professional, too. Is that so offensive?”
No, but neither could I respond sensibly, so I blocked the subject by asking, “Do you want to tie up or is this close enough?” I had swung my skiff parallel to the dock and shifted to neutral.
“Let’s get out and look around,” Ransler said, amused. “Want me to take the bowline?”
I seldom accept help docking but the man had proven he was competent, so I replied, “When you step out, watch that decking. It looks bad.”
JOEL WAS GOING through his briefcase while I roamed the dock, checking the shallows for fish, but also imagining the murder that had occurred here. As he searched folders, he surprised me by asking, “Are you mad at me for some reason? Something’s bothering you.”
I wasn’t going to bring up the crime scene photos, so I reminded him, “I was attacked by dogs and someone with an axe not a hundred yards from here. And Mrs. Helms died somewhere over there”-I motioned toward the trail-“a woman I knew my whole life. You can’t blame me for thinking the place is a little spooky.”
Ransler glanced around us, willing to be supportive. “Yeah… it is, isn’t it?” Then tested his heel on the dock but not hard because the planks were rotten. “And her husband died where we’re standing. Drug smuggling and violence. There is a weird vibe, I agree.”
“That’s another thing,” I said. “I still don’t know why you wanted to come here. Are you looking for new evidence about the murder? Or…” What I wanted to ask was Or a quiet place to drink margaritas, just the two of us? but didn’t. Couldn’t bring myself to be mean to a man who, thus far, had only been thoughtful and complimentary.
Joel was perceptive, though. He got the message and became more businesslike. “A twenty-year-old murder isn’t the reason. Not the main reason anyway. I wanted to confirm something.” He looked at the bay for emphasis. “You just proved that if your attacker came by boat, he has to be a local. And not just any local, he’s probably a commercial fisherman-or someone who learned the channel smuggling drugs. Make sense?”