“Something pretty damn big, sir,” Harrison finally responded. That must have taken all his mental capacity. “I think his boat struck something mighty large too. I got a call from the Coast Guard. It turns out they found a capsized boat in the lagoon. The propeller was all bent and bloody.”
Knowing that his detective buddy would wipe his tickets clean, Kane had plowed over critters and kept on going many a day. One time, Sneed had been in the boat with him when Kane ripped open the back of a manatee. That jackal laughed as he sped away. Hell, Sneed had laughed right along with him. They had owned the fucking lagoon.
Running his eyes over the headless body of Kane splayed out on the grass at his feet, Sneed sure knew otherwise now. Kane had struck an animal so big that it flipped his boat over. That didn’t explain how he got bit on the shoulder or how he lost his head to a surgically precise blow.
This couldn’t have been a coincidence, Sneed realized. The four previous victims of the head snatcher appeared random, but this time the killer took out the first man who had arrived on the murder scene. Kane was the first person who found the girl hiding in the mangroves. Did the killer know about her as well?
Sneed’s windpipe seized up as the foul stench of his friend’s innards and bile wafted through the salty air. Pressing his hand against his chest, he coaxed the air out of his lungs.
“The killer is hacking up anyone who could help us on this case,” Sneed told Harrison.
“So you’re saying…”
“The girl.” Sneed nodded. “By now, the killer realizes she got away. Kane here didn’t even see his face. This girl is the only one who has.”
“I’ll guard her, sir. He won’t get by me.”
Sneed gazed down at his friend’s body. Kane had been tough-as-nails. He told Sneed in the briefing following the Gomez murders that he wouldn’t set out on the water again without a shotgun hitching a ride with him. If the killer could bag a skilled shooter like Kane, no one should feel safe.
Sneed wondered what possessed him to place the most precious commodity they had in the hands of an officer with a limp trigger finger and a fruit rollup for a backbone. She couldn’t round up a rowdy middle-schooler.
“The girl is in Moni’s care for now, like it or not,” Sneed said. Finally unable to stomach looking at his friend’s mutilated body, he turned away and mashed his palm into his sweaty forehead. “This is one good man who wouldn’t have died if that girl had opened her mouth. If Moni doesn’t hurry the hell up, I guaran-damn-tee you there’ll be more mornings like these.”
A couple of days ago, Moni couldn’t imagine she’d have an eight-year-old girl sharing her home. After the hearing before the judge that morning made it official-at least temporarily-her unforeseen dream came true.
Even though she still couldn’t make her speak, Moni saw the sparks of life returning to Mariella. She studied the children’s books she bought her on the way home from the courthouse. Mariella copied the pictures and words almost exactly with her colored pencils. The girl didn’t make another mistake in the bathroom, although Moni couldn’t get her to fall asleep in her office. Mariella stayed awake all night and hardly seemed tired.
The girl appeared to be comfortable with Moni’s house, with the glaring exception of Tropic the red-haired cat. While she shot him a distrustful stare, he dashed under the bed at the first sight of the intruder.
Someone isn’t the baby of the house anymore. Sorry, fiery fur ball.
The officers who had swept Mariella’s former apartment gave her some of the girl’s old dolls, but Moni decided the girl should do without those for now. Anything associated with the life shattered a day ago could unleash the debilitating memories inside the girl’s head. Moni didn’t think she could handle them yet. Mariella should adjust to her new surroundings first.
A few minutes after entering the unfamiliar house, Mariella headed for the sliding glass door leading to the back porch. Moni had an elevated deck overlooking a creek that fed into the Indian River Lagoon. Despite her ordeal by the lagoon the day before, Mariella didn’t appear threatened by the creek. She’s getting over this already, Moni thought.
Sitting on her back porch under the mid-morning sun, Moni watched Mariella draw a long gray boat on the water.
“Nice boat,” Moni said. “Does it have a captain?”
Mariella shot Moni an obliging glance. She drew a stick figure. It wasn’t in the boat, though. It was under water. The girl had drawn a picture last night that looked similar, except it had a manatee too.
“It looks even better this time,” Moni said.
Mariella nodded and reached for Moni’s hand, where she held a folded letter. Moni hadn’t let go of it since pulling it off her front door.
“Oh this? It’s nothing, baby,” Moni said. “If you want, I’ll get you some clean paper to draw another pretty picture on. This one is a little dirty.”
Mariella shook her head and made an opening motion with her hands. Ain’t it something that the silent witness insists that the police officer doesn’t keep secrets, Moni thought.
“Alright. Alright,” Moni opened the letter.
Before she even saw Darren’s handwriting, she knew he had left it. In this day of e-mail and text messages, only he would pin thug mail to her door with a stick of gum. It’s not that he didn’t use computers-his wannabe hip hop act made its own ring tone-Darren made sure that Moni knew he wasn’t done showing up at her door. Telling him, “Get the hell out of my life,” couldn’t chase him away after seven years.
Moni unfolded the letter halfway and read the first few lines. They sounded like the deep growl of his voice inside her head:
You made a big mistake ignoring me. You’re my girl. Next time I call, you answer me.
This is my house. You better give me the new key. Maybe I’ll find my own way in.
He should have written her an apology after she caught him banging that ho doggy style in the back seat of a purple Cadillac on her late night sweep a couple months back. Darren had just assumed she’d forgive him, like she had the times she’d caught him flirting around in clubs. But not that time. Not after she saw him groaning uncontrollably as he yanked on the girl’s spiky hair while he laid it to her.
Moni crumpled up the letter, tossed it on her grill and lit it up. The paper crackled in the fire. The words were burned away as if they never existed.
If only she could banish the real Darren so easily. She loved his laugh and his take-no-shit attitude. With arms of black steel and tribal tattoos, Darren made sure no one messed with her, especially her father. With a deranged killer lurking out there, Moni could use some extra muscle by her side. Too bad she didn’t hit the weights more before volunteering as a foster parent.
She rested her hand on Mariella’s shoulder as the girl stared at the gas flames consuming the letter.
“Don’t worry. That’s not what’s for lunch today,” Moni said. “I’m just sending somebody up in smoke.”
The girl nodded. Returning to her seat with an easy gait, she seemed happy that Moni had burned the letter, even though she couldn’t have seen what had been on it. When Moni’s cell phone rang with the Dueling Banjoes tone for Sneed’s caller ID, they both frowned. Moni thought she had the day off so she could make Mariella feel comfortable in her home and, Sneed hoped, wring some information out of her. Surprise, surprise, the big man didn’t trust her to make it to noon.
“Mariella has been making some progress,” Moni said as she answered the phone. “Just a few minutes ago she…”
“Can it. You’re too late, girl,” Sneed said. “The killer has struck again-Matt Kane. He was the guy who found the girl first. He left a wife and kids-a damn good fella.”
Moni pressed the phone against her thigh so Sneed wouldn’t hear her whimper. She went black for a second, as if she were taking a plunge inside a powerless elevator. A man had died because of her. She sat on her porch nurturing this girl instead of using her to thwart another murder. The so-called sworn officer had failed to protect him.