Shades of Remorse

By Charlie Hudson

Shades of Remorse by Charlie Hudson Chapter One

Bev Henderson nudged against Kyle’s shoulder to move his attention from the school of midnight parrotfish swimming by part of the ship’s wreckage. They were her favorite of the many varieties of parrotfish with their dark blue coloring, but the large green moray eel in the open during daylight was an extra treat. It was of course moving rapidly to find another tucked-in spot to stay in until nighttime when the reef ’s nocturnal inhabitants would emerge. Kyle nodded his appreciation as the eel disappeared through a hole. Bev checked her dive computer to see they had time for one more pass along what had been a steam cargo ship until colliding with another vessel during World War II. The two ships running under blackout conditions were among many that made the same destructive error. The only good news was when crews managed to survive the sinking. Decades of submersion in salt water and the impact of repeated storms meant it wasn’t recognizable from its original structure. It did serve as a thriving artificial reef though with growth of coral and sponges, fish of all sizes, turtles, rays, and the occasional hammerhead sharks that would cruise through the area.

Kyle tapped his dive computer to indicate it was time to return to the boat. They swam leisurely toward the mooring line, angling up, keeping watch for any last-minute sights. A large barracuda was under the bow, using the boat as cover. This was another behavior they’d become familiar with on their dives. Kyle motioned Bev forward when they surfaced, and he positioned behind her on the tag line tied to the orange float ball. There was little current and she quickly removed her fins, passed them to the mate, and climbed the ladder.

Danny Garza steadied her onto the bench to slide her tank into the holder. “Good dive?”

She removed the regulator from her mouth. “Oh yeah. Sixty feet of visibility and the turtle was exactly where you thought it might be.”

He slid her fins on top of her dive bag beneath the bench and pivoted to go back and assist Kyle. “The couple from Ohio saw a reef shark. Did y’all?”

“Just barely,” she said and unfastened her dive vest. “It wasn’t hanging around.”

“We saw - well Bev saw it first - a green moray going from one spot to another,” Kyle said taking his place next to Bev.

Danny grinned. “That’s always fun.”

Kyle stood, not yet unzipping his wetsuit. “Ready for towel and Diet Coke?”

She leaned down to remove her dive booties. “Thanks, yes.”

Captain Moira stepped in with Danny to assist the final three divers aboard, each chattering about what they’d seen. This was the second dive of the morning and time to head for the dock to turn the boat for the afternoon trip. Kyle held onto the cans of Diet Coke while she unzipped and peeled out of her wetsuit. “Scarlet Macaw for lunch or you want somewhere else?”

She took the towel draped over his forearm, rubbed her face briskly, then wrapped it around her waist and reached for the can. “I’m good with the Macaw. All those yellowtail snappers on the wreck have me thinking fish sandwich depending on what Steve has for specials.”

“Works for me,” Kyle said with a grin. “I’m thinking calamari even if we didn’t see squid.”

“Hey everybody, good dives and glad you’re with us,” Captain Moira said. “Quick roll call and we’ll be off.” She was the newest captain with Adventures Below and this was their third trip with her. She was an inch taller than Bev, maybe in her early thirties, her naturally curly black hair cut short for easy care. She was lean and muscled, reminding Bev of competitors when she ran track. Comparatively speaking, she had few tattoos - a mermaid on the outside of her right leg and the Celtic band on her upper left arm was covered by her tee shirt. She’d come to Verde Key from Jacksonville and Walt, owner of Adventures Below hired her immediately based on a recommendation from one of his former captains. Good captains were never unemployed for long and even though early April wasn’t peak dive season yet, he didn’t want to give another dive shop a chance at her. From what Bev heard, she must be good with equipment repair because Walt had turned some of the regular maintenance over to her when they didn’t have both boats on the water.

The World Below was the fourteen passenger Island Hopper and re-equipped with a new Cummins engine, and they were idling into the channel in just under thirty minutes. The trip back was the usual friendly exchanges among divers as they broke their gear down and hydrated, Danny circulating to ensure they were happy with the day, giving instructions to the trio who would be with them again for the afternoon. He was one of the first people Bev had met at Adventures Below years before during an investigation, before she’d really thought personally about diving. Now she couldn’t imagine why it had taken her so long to try and was glad it was one more sport Kyle enjoyed. They were able to go out once a month, more often if they were lucky with their schedules. They hadn’t made it beyond the Florida Keys for diving yet as vacation time was more theoretical than practical.

“I’ll take the wet stuff and start rinsing if you’ll get the dry bags,” Kyle said, pulling both sets of BCDs and regulators from the tanks. Bev nodded and side-stepped the couple from Ohio on her way to the dry box to the left of the captain’s chair. She lifted the new waterproof drawstring backpacks Kyle had surprised her with at Christmas - his in black, hers in blue. She pulled on her extra-large, green short-sleeve Adventures Below tee shirt and slung the damp towel over her shoulder. She held back a minute while Danny and Captain Moira hauled tanks off the boat. One of the advantages of Adventures Below as a dive shop was their location on the ocean side canal with dock space for two boats.

The concrete pad in front of the storage building was set up with two dark gray rinse tubs and an open outdoor shower was to the right of the building. The dockside tiki hut to the left covered two wooden picnic tables. A second, larger tiki hut was in a fenced in, graveled yard to the left of the dive shop. Three picnic tables and several scattered chairs, a grill and round fire pit had seen plenty of planned or impromptu parties.

Bev settled the dry bags on the bench of the closest picnic table when her cell phone in the outside pocket rang. Shit, it was the ringtone for Les Martin. He was on call today and wouldn’t be calling her if it wasn’t important. She put the phone to her ear and walked away from the hut. “Hey Les, what’s up?”

“Sorry to bother you,” he said with no preamble. “Kevin and Beau are at Palmetto Paradise. Got a body, well, I guess a skeleton. I’m at the emergency room with Pam. It’s her wrist and might be a hairline fracture. It’ll probably be another hour or so before they can finish with her and I can…”

“It’s okay,” Bev said quickly. “Kyle and I were heading to lunch. I’ve got a set of clothes at the office I can change into. Tell Kevin I should be there in about forty-five minutes.”

“Thanks, they’ve given her something for pain and she’s starting to get a bit loopy.”

“You take care of Pam. I’ll call you later after I know what’s going on.”

This wasn’t the first time a leisurely lunch with a couple of cold beers had to be put on hold and was why she kept a stash of protein bars and packages of trail mix in her desk. She turned and saw Kyle moving in her direction.

“I know that look,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Something Les can’t handle?”

“He’s at ER with Pam. She busted up her wrist and there’s an old body – or more like a skeleton he said – out at Palmetto Paradise.” She spread her hands in apology. “Sorry about the afternoon. If you run me by the office, I’ll take one of the cars.”

Kyle shrugged. “Part of the job. We can go to the Macaw for dinner if you feel up for it later. No telling how long you’ll be on this.”

“Just another reason why I love you,” she said and was glad again of marrying a man who understood her career. Although his move from the District Attorney’s office into private practice meant his schedule was more predictable, he knew finding a dead body would take time to process.

Less than an hour later, she slowly drove the final segment of graveled road into the still vacant former high-end fishing camp. The legal tangle of the property involved in a nasty estate settlement had apparently kept potential buyers away, but someone was maintaining the place well enough to be able to show it as a credible investment. The dark green metal gate was swung fully open, an ambulance and two patrol cars parked on either side of a pier sized for half a dozen boats. The once blue paint of the stucco marina office and store to the left and hexagon-shaped clubhouse to the right was faded and peeling, accordion hurricane shutters closed over the windows. The ones on the front doors were partially open, no doubt to give access when needed.

Bev suspected the dozen square cabins arrayed along a winding path behind the clubhouse were in similar shape. She exited the car and raised her hand to Kevin Blackwell, senior sergeant in the Department. He stood at the back of the ambulance with two first responders Bev didn’t recognize. Beau Wilson was taking notes from two men in shorts and tee shirts next to his patrol car. What was no doubt their Contender 28 T center console was the only boat tied up. Someone had already cordoned off the mound between the boat ramp and pier.

“Hi Detective,” Kevin said, stopping outside the yellow tape. “Sorry to screw up your Saturday. The new assistant medical examiner is on her way. Maybe another ten minutes until she gets here.” He pointed to the men with Beau. “Randy Tindell and Carlos Rivera. They were right outside the cove when Rivera snagged the body. Got it far enough up to see what it was. Both grew up near here and been fishing the area for years. Had a little current and weren’t sure it was safe to leave it in the water. Brought it in and called us.”

Bev ducked under the tape and stared at the mound lying in water puddled on the concrete. Much of the debris covered sail cloth was torn, revealing part of a skull and other bones. Heavy duty rope was wound the entire length of the bundle, overlapping in multiple spots. That was probably why the skeleton was mostly intact. “Somebody knew how to tie knots,” she said, crouching down, not touching it. She hadn’t met the new assistant ME and presumed she would want to see the remains as they were.

Kevin crouched next to her and pointed to the jagged end of the rope snaked across the concrete. “Guess whatever they used as weight finally gave way. We had that storm Thursday. Long as it looks like this has been down, that might have been enough to take it past the breaking point.”

“Makes sense,” Bev agreed and heard a car approaching. She and Kevin stood, waiting. A dark blue Ford Explorer pulled in and the woman who emerged was dressed in khaki-colored slacks, a royal blue polo shirt, and tan boots. A short lanyard was around her neck, the plastic badge holder no doubt identifying her. Luis Gonzalez, one of the Forensics photographers, was coming around from the passenger’s side.

Bev lifted the tape. “Donna Sweeny,” the woman said, thrusting her hand to Bev first. She was a couple of inches shorter, maybe midthirties, slender with a firm grip of lightly callused hands, toned forearms, skin the color of coffee with a dash of cream. Bev immediately thought of kayaker or canoeing. Her black hair was cut in a mini-Afro. The gaze from her brown eyes beneath sculpted brows were direct as she shifted to greet Kevin. Her voice was a bit husky, no discernible accent. “Detective Henderson and Sergeant Blackwell? And you know Mr. Gonzalez?”

“Yes, pleased to meet you.” Bev said and stepped to the side. “Sergeant Blackwell and Officer Wilson were first on the scene.”

“Luis, go ahead and get the initial shots,” Dr. Sweeny directed and motioned them to follow her to give him unobstructed access for the photographs. Bev noticed the woman positioned herself at an angle to be able to respond to the photographer if needed. “What do we know so far?”

Kevin gestured toward Beau. “Rivera, the one in the yellow shirt, called it into the station. They’re familiar with the place like most local people who are on the water a lot. It would have taken them nearly an hour to get back to their dock, which is why they brought the body in here. They gave us the exact coordinates of where Rivera snagged it. Tindell is an EMT and Rivera is a firefighter. They’re more used to dead bodies than skeletons though.”

“Okay, give me a few minutes to do my first visual. It appears most of the bones have been contained. We’ll get the kit, cut the rope and covering for those photographs, then do the transport.”

Bev and Kevin nodded and went to join Beau. He introduced Bev to the two men. He had their contact details in case there were questions later. “No surprise there’s nobody else in the area,” Beau said after they left. “The company that takes care of the place only sends a crew out about every six to eight weeks depending on the season. I was waiting to ask you before we call Thornton for the dive team.”

Bev thought for a moment. They were obviously dealing with a cold case. They had the coordinates of where the body was found and if Kevin was correct about the rope breaking loose, if whatever had been used to originally weight it was heavy enough, it might not have moved much. “Kevin, call and see how soon they can get here. Explain the situation. As far as I know, the weather is normal the next few days and I don’t think it will make much difference if we wait until morning. I’ll go with whatever Thornton thinks it best.”

Donna’s voice carried to them. “I’m ready for you, Detective.” Bev doubted much could be determined on site. Then again, the oldest body she’d ever seen was one unmarried man in his seventies who had a heart attack alone at home and lain undiscovered for a week before a neighbor became concerned and called the station. She wondered how old this victim was and if they would get lucky with something to identify him or her.