“We need to go for a ride. I want you to take a look at something.”
“Are you taking me up on my offer?”
“We can discuss that in the car.”
They headed for the door, and she pulled her car keys out.
“I’ll drive,” she said.
“What exactly are you taking me to see?”
“A body.”
Chapter 16
With Beth, it was all about being in control. She insisted on driving, even though she was unfamiliar with the area. Arguing with her was usually a losing proposition, and he strapped himself into the passenger seat of her vehicle.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“A little town called Tarpon Springs. Are you familiar with it?”
“Yeah. Although I haven’t been there since I was a kid.”
She drove west until she reached US 19 and headed north. US 19 was an ugly eight-lane highway with long uninterrupted stretches. Driving on it felt like NASCAR.
“Whose body do you want me to look at?”
“We’re not sure. It got hauled up in a fishing boat’s nets early this morning. It’s a white male approximately six feet tall and a hundred sixty pounds with a bullet hole in his back. He wasn’t carrying any ID. I need you to take a look, and see if you think it’s the driver from last night that you shot at.”
“It doesn’t sound like a match.”
“How can you say that without looking at him?”
“I shot at that bastard twice.”
“Maybe one of your bullets missed.”
In the navy, he’d shot over ten thousand rounds of ammo from a variety of different weapons and had won medals for his marksmanship.
“I don’t miss at close range,” he said.
“Take a look anyway,” she said.
“You’re the boss. Have you made a decision on my offer?”
“Let’s talk about it over lunch. I have a proposition for you.”
They came to a busy intersection, and Daniels turned onto Tarpon Avenue. The scenery dramatically changed, and she drove down a narrow cobblestone street lined with stately Victorian houses with gabled roofs. It led to the historic downtown, which had gone through a transformation, the dusty antique and consignment shops he remembered as a kid replaced by trendy eateries with outdoor seating and a microbrewery.
Soon they were at the sponge docks, and she looked for parking. Sponges had once been Florida’s biggest industry, and Tarpon Springs had been its capital. The divers who risked their lives every day needed to eat, and the main drag was filled with restaurants that had sprung up to serve them and continued to thrive.
She parked in a gravel lot. Across the street was a waterfront restaurant called Rusty Bellies that also had a seafood store. Three police cruisers were parked in front of the restaurant with their lights flashing. Next to the cruisers was an unmarked van that he guessed was a CSI team.
They had to walk up a flight of stairs to enter the restaurant. A group of waiters sat at a long table, talking among themselves. Otherwise, the place was empty due to the crime scene out back.
They passed through a pair of doors to a balcony that overlooked the Anclote River. Down below was a dock where two commercial fishing boats were moored. A body covered in a bright-orange tarp lay on the dock. There was a breeze, and the tarp was waving like a flag. The cops stood around the body, talking in low voices.
They went down a short flight of stairs, and Daniels identified herself.
“Who’s in charge?” Daniels asked.
“That would be me,” the female officer said.
“Where’s the crew that found the body?”
“I had them go inside the fish store,” the female officer said.
“Do you know these men?”
“I do. My kids go to school with their kids. They’re good people.”
“I need to ask you a question, and I want a straight answer. Do you think one of them might have removed a wallet from the dead man’s pocket? Be straight with me.”
The female officer hemmed and hawed.
“I don’t see any of them doing a thing like that,” she finally said.
Daniels wasn’t convinced. To Lancaster she said, “I’ll be right back,” and she left with the female officer in tow. Beth was an aggressive interrogator, and he pitied the fishermen if they decided not to cooperate with her.
Kneeling, he lifted the tarp. The dead man lay on his stomach. He had stringy hair and a nasty tattoo of a snake on his neck. A body thrown into the ocean sank to the bottom as its lungs filled with water, and stayed submerged until bacteria in the gut produced enough gas to bring it to the surface, which usually took a day or so. The corpse on the dock hadn’t been dead very long.
But was it the same guy he’d shot in the fleeing car outside the Jayhawk? The stiff’s T-shirt had a bullet hole right between the shoulder blades. With his fingertips, he gently opened the tear for a closer look. The wound was larger than normal. That decided it. Daniels returned a few minutes later.
“Any luck?” he asked.
“The fishermen are telling the truth. They didn’t steal the dead guy’s wallet,” she said. “How about you?”
“It’s him,” he said.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“I thought you said you shot him twice.”
“I did shoot him twice. Both bullets entered through the same hole in his back. That’s why the wound is larger than normal.”
“Come on, that’s not possible.”
“See for yourself.”
They both knelt down, and he lifted the tarp and showed her the enlarged wound.
“If you don’t believe me, ask the pathologist after the autopsy is performed. They’re going to find two slugs in the same hole.” He stood up and dusted off his knees. This bastard had been an accessory to his brother’s murder, and he stared at the body long and hard. Rot in hell, he thought.
He offered Daniels his hand, and she rose as well.
“Where are you taking me to lunch?” he asked.
They took a walk down the street to Hellas. It was one of the first restaurants to serve the sponge divers, and was decorated with furniture and artwork that had been shipped over from Greece many years ago. The outdoor seating area was full, and Daniels asked the hostess for a secluded table inside.
The interior was deceptively large. Waiters wearing white shirts set fire to skillets of saganaki and shouted “Opa!” while diners gorged on octopus and souvlaki. In the back of the room was a garish blue neon bar that could have been a set in Pulp Fiction. The hostess seated them at a raised table, and handed them oversize menus.
“Your waiter will be right over.”
She departed. Daniels put her elbows on the table and looked him in the eye. Her face softened, and she gave him a rare smile. Beth could be charming when she wanted to be, and he told himself to be careful.
“I talked to my boss about your offer to join my team,” she said.
“What did he say?”
“He was against it, but said it was ultimately my call. I want you on board, provided you do as you’re told. Think you’re up to that?”
“What do I have to gain from disobeying you?”
“You want to pay Dexter Hudson back for murdering your brother. I saw it in your face last night. And don’t you dare tell me that isn’t true.”
FBI agents were trained in the art of reading facial expressions. He broke eye contact and stared at the table, which was covered in aqua-blue tiles.
“Look at me,” she said.
He lifted his gaze and saw the fire in her eyes.
“Dexter is our key to finding the victims,” she said. “If you kill him, which you’re perfectly capable of doing, we may never find them. I can’t let that happen.”