Page 4

CHAPTER 3

Dawson opened the back door of his patrol car. “All right, gentleman, let’s get you processed.” He helped James Huber out of the vehicle first. Then came Eliot Commings. Both men were from Miami and were partners in a dynamite distribution company. Both men claimed they were moving product for a client who lived in the Tampa area.

What a ridiculous story. As if any sane human would believe it.

“This is bullshit,” James said. “I showed you the purchase order to explain why we had the dynamite. It wouldn’t have been safe to leave it in my truck. We had no intention of using it out there during the hunt.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dawson sucked in a deep breath, choking on the humidity. “If I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut, remembering that everything you say can and will be used against you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Eliot asked.

Dawson wasn’t about to waste his breath explaining something experts should know. They had the necessary flameproof and moisture-proof tarpaulin protection in the truck. But why not make the delivery before the Python Challenge? And why was the amount so small? These questions had been asked, and the answers had sounded lame. The small construction company didn’t need them just yet and it wasn’t a big job.

Yeah, right.

“Listen, you’re lucky I’m only charging you with a misdemeanor,” Dawson said.

“What about our phone call?” Eliot said. “We know our rights.”

Dawson opened the door to the Calusa Cove Police Department, located in the heart of Calusa Cove and only two miles from Mitchell’s Marina. “Once we get the paperwork filed and get you fingerprinted, you can call whoever you want.” He despised guys like these two. Men who thought they could skirt the rules—and the laws.

They didn’t care about the Everglades. If they did, they wouldn’t be dropping sticks of dynamite in it to catch damn snakes or possible gators for a fast buck and a picture to show off to their buddies.

Anna, his secretary, greeted them at the entrance. “Hey, Chief,” she said with a smile. “I got the booking room all set up.”

“Thanks.” He held both men by the elbows. “The evidence is in my trunk. Mind collecting and processing it while I deal with these two?”

“You’re the boss.”

“Also, fax the arrest paperwork to the judge. Call him and get me the bond paperwork.”

“Sure thing,” Anna said.

He brought them past the front desk, which also housed a small kitchen area, and down the short corridor. The station wasn’t very big. It had three offices. One for him. One for Remy, his second. And the third was shared by the two deputies.

The station had one interrogation room, which was barely used. Across from that was an open area referred to as the booking room. And finally, three holding cells. Those didn’t get much use, either. They were occupied mainly by the drunk and disorderly and, usually, the same people.

Something like this was a rare occurrence for the quiet town, and it would become the chatter around every water cooler and, of course, Massey’s Pub. The story would grow from a couple of bundles of dynamite to barrels because this town liked to weave a good yarn.

Dawson would have to sit back and let people talk. He’d correct where he could and laugh at the way some embellished, especially those who’d watched him and Remy slap the cuffs on.

The joys of small-town life.

And they were joys.

“Have a seat, Eliot.” Dawson gave the man a little nudge toward one of the metal chairs in the hallway.

“How about you take these cuffs off,” Eliot said.

Dawson ignored the man. However, he removed James’s handcuffs and went about fingerprinting and taking the man’s picture before putting the cuffs back on and repeating the process with Eliot. Once he was done with that, he allowed each of them to make their phone call.

He tucked them into the cell, which had been lonely the last four days since old man Jenkins had been on his best behavior. All that meant was he hadn’t shot his mouth off and threatened to shoot Ed Cooney’s roosters.

Talk about small-town problems. Only Dawson knew that, given the chance, Jenkins would absolutely blow the heads off those roosters.

“You can’t keep us here,” James said. “That’s what my lawyer said. He’s on his way here now.”

“Good.” Dawson rubbed his temple. “When he gets here, I’ll go over the paperwork and release you to him, but you boys are facing possible jail time, so until your lawyer gets here, you’re not going anywhere. Might as well get comfortable.”

“This is an utter abuse of power,” Eliot said. “We have a federal license to have dynamite. We’ll have your badge for this.”

Dawson wasn’t going to get into a pissing contest with these assholes. He’d grown up with idiots like them—rich trust fund types who thought their shit didn’t stink. They thought that money could solve their problems, and maybe, sometimes it did.

“Take it up with the judge.” Dawson turned and marched himself down to the small kitchenette behind the main desk and made a cup of coffee. Flashes of his childhood bombarded his brain. He’d been dirt poor as a child. He’d gotten picked on at school because his clothes had come from a secondhand store—or worse, his mom had brought them home from the rich family she’d worked for as a maid.

They’d paid her crap money and treated her worse.

His dad had been their groundskeeper, and his nana their cook. Everyone in his family had to work, and they’d still barely made it.

When his parents had died, things had gone from bad to worse. His nana hadn’t been very old, but she’d had health problems, and by the time Dawson was twelve, he’d handed all the money he’d earned from washing people’s high-end cars to his nana to help keep the lights on. He’d kept that business until he’d joined the Navy, but he’d also worked two other jobs in the summer, and in the winter, he’d worked at the local grocery store and plowed driveways.

He’d been working his entire life. He wasn’t bitter. Not at all. He was proud, and he knew his parents and Nana had been, too. He’d made something of himself. He’d done what everyone had told him was impossible. However, being around assholes like that brought him right back to his ten-year-old self and being beat up on the playground by Wendall with his stupid-looking fancy shoes.

“The evidence is all logged in,” Anna said. “The judge sent over the bail bond paperwork. Easy-peasy.”

He jumped. “Jesus, you scared me.” He turned, raising the mug to his lips. He blew and took a long, slow sip, savoring the bitter flavor. Best freaking coffee in town. It was always the simple things that got Dawson. He didn’t need much. A place to rest his head and hang his coat. He took being a minimalist a little too seriously, though he hadn’t done that on purpose. It had just happened, and he was content. “You have to be the quietest person I’ve ever met.”

“My husband says the same thing, except for when we’re?—”

“Too much information.” He shook his head. “How is Mo? I haven’t seen him around lately.”

“He went to visit his mom.” Anna snagged her chair and plopped down in it. “She’s not liking the new nursing home. However, she doesn’t know she’s in a nursing home. Doesn’t even know who Mo is anymore. She thinks he’s some old friend of hers from high school.”

“That’s sad. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s supposed to be the best nursing home on this coast, and it’s killing us to pay for it. I just wish it was closer to Calusa Cove. It’s only two hours away, but Mo hates going for just a few hours, and she had Covid last month, so he couldn’t go at all.”

“That’s rough.” Dawson often wished he had a parent to worry about. Losing them at such a young age had been hard. Sometimes, he could barely remember them. He often tried to conjure up their voices and failed. When his nana had died, he’d lost the last blood relative he had, and it often weighed heavily on his heart. “His mom is lucky to have you both.”

“Yeah, Mo’s a good egg,” Anna said. But her forehead crinkled. Stress lined every inch of her face. There was more to that story than she let on, but it was obvious she didn’t want to talk about it. He had to respect that. “So, what’s going to happen to those two idiots back there? This is about the most excitement we’ve had since Remy had to arrest his boss for smuggling drugs into Calusa Cove.”

“That had to have been a shock for this town.” That arrest hadn’t ever settled right in Dawson’s gut. Not because he didn’t believe that Trevor was guilty, because the man was guilty as the day was long. He also knew that Remy was a good cop. Dawson knew Remy and the rest of his deputies had had nothing to do with it, which was why they were still with the department.

However, Dawson didn’t believe that Trevor had acted alone. He wasn’t the mastermind. He was the guy who’d turned a blind eye. He’d allowed it to happen, maybe took a cut, but he hadn’t been the man in charge. However, no drugs had been found since. No chatter came from the DEA or any other law enforcement agency. And Dawson had been poking around. It was only a matter of time before someone tried it again.

“Was the town shocked? Yes and no,” Anna said. “But, you and me, we’ve had that conversation before.”

“Yeah, we have.” Dawson nodded. “You mentioned more than once that Trevor had dabbled in coke when he was a kid. That his old man knew about it and hadn’t busted him. Why had Trip done that? Everyone in this town loved Trip. Said he was a good cop. He was fair and reasonable but firm and didn’t let anyone get away with too much. So why let his son become a cop if he had a drug problem?”

“No offense, but you don’t have kids.” She arched a brow. “I’d do almost anything for mine, short of murder, and even then, I might consider it.”

“Don’t say stuff like that to me, and just because I don’t have kids doesn’t mean I don’t understand the bond. But Trip had a duty to this community. Trevor shouldn’t have been allowed to become a police officer in the first place if his dad knew he had?—”

“I worked for both men,” Anna said. “When Trevor went to the academy, he was clean. The only thing Trip was guilty of was not tossing the book at a seventeen-year-old child. Trip did, however, tell Trevor to either clean up his act or get out of town. Trevor left Calusa Cove for ten years.”

“Didn’t he leave about the same time as Paul Massey’s kid did?”

She frowned. “Why is that important?”

“Other than those two were best friends—and they both went to Miami—I suppose it’s not,” Dawson said.

“Well, Benson worked in real estate. He’s done pretty good for himself. Trevor took construction jobs and then a few security jobs. According to Trip, he cleaned himself up, so Trip welcomed him home.”

“What about Ken and Benson?” Dawson asked.

She jerked her head and narrowed her stare. “There’s nothing to tell there. I mean, Ken worked for Benson’s old man for a short time, but that’s it.”

Dawson arched a brow. “You know Ken was one of my best friends. I know he and Benson had a fight. I just don’t know what that fight was about.” He’d learned when he first took this job that Anna was the eyes and ears of the station. She saw what came in and what went out. Remy had told him that her loyalty to Trip was strong. However, Remy also told him that in the last few months since they had moved her mother-in-law to a better facility, her work had taken a bit of a back seat.

Well, Dawson understood that. He wished he could have been a better grandson.

She shrugged. “I have no idea. Not sure anyone does. I didn’t see it happen, but it could’ve had something to do with Audra. Unfortunately, if Ken was involved, it was always about that girl.”

Dawson believed that statement, but only because Ken hadn’t liked to talk about Audra or Calusa Cove. Time to move on. “I barely even know Paul’s son. He slinks into town unnoticed half the time. Why is that?”

“He was always a quiet kid—and smart. It was strange that he and Trevor were as close as they were, considering Trevor was always getting into trouble. But even I thought Trevor had turned over a new leaf when he came back. When Trip died, Trevor won over the hearts of this town, much to Remy’s dismay. Poor guy has been passed over now twice for chief. First time because of the family connection and the fact that Trevor was a damn good salesman. And the second time because we, as a collective, wanted an outsider.”

“Fletcher’s not really an outsider, and he’s the one who recommended me for the job.” Dawson decided to drop the Benson topic. No one in this town, not even Anna, seemed to believe that man could do wrong. Dawson would press later.

Anna laughed. “Fletcher might not have been a Goody Two-Shoes growing up, but he didn’t skirt the big laws. The ones this town cares about. Anyone who came back with him was going to be the better choice, but now we’re going down a different rabbit hole.” She waved her hand toward the holding cells. “I want to know about those two back there.”

“Not much to tell,” Dawson said. “They’ve been charged. If I could’ve booked them with a felony and made it stick, I would have, but a good lawyer would plead it out anyway, making me look like a two-bit, small-town cop trying to make a name for himself. They have no priors. They’ve done the Python Challenge twice before. There’s no reason to believe there was any intent other than to use the dynamite to stir up more snakes and maybe gators. The most they will get is a fine, probation instead of jail time, and community service. They might lose their license to distribute dynamite for a few years.” Dawson shrugged. “But that’s completely in the hands of the court system now.”

“You enjoyed that arrest, didn’t you?”

“You bet I did.” He smiled. “Besides the insanity of blowing up dynamite to kill snakes and gators and what that would do to the ecosystem, they could’ve hurt someone. Plus, I don’t like their shoes.”

“Oh, I saw their fancy footwear.” Anna chuckled. “They’re all the rage these days. Hell, I bet some of those guys Trinity hangs out with are wearing them.”

“Well, they won’t be on my feet.”

“Right, because all you wear are boots, sneakers, and flip-flops.”

“Those are the only types of shoes that are even necessary in life.” Dawson downed the last of his coffee, rinsed his cup out in the sink, and gathered up the courage for his next batch of questions. “What can you tell me about Audra McCain, her father Victor, and even Ken Mitchell?”

“I heard she was back in town.” Anna turned, pulling a file off her desk. “I took the liberty of pulling Victor’s case file, but before I get into what I know or don’t know, wasn’t Ken a buddy of yours? Wouldn’t he have told you all about Audra and her dad?”

“Ken was one of my best friends.” He folded his arms and sighed. “But Ken didn’t discuss Calusa Cove, much less his high school sweetheart.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” She waved the paperwork in his direction. “What you have here are the official forms Trip filed.”

“You make it sound like I should be looking somewhere else for information on what happened.” He leaned across the space and took the folder.

“People have postulated for years as to what happened. The story has gotten bigger, and everyone likes to speculate about Audra wanting to be a Stigini.”

“What is up with that Owl Witch crap?”

“It’s one of the legends of the Everglades. But it gets all tangled up in the fact her mom was part Native American and her grandmother was a gypsy-hippie, who practiced some kind of ritualistic spiritual stuff that some believed was witchcraft. They had a deep belief in a connection to the earth, and some really believed they taught Audra how to be a Stigini. It’s stupid. Add in the fight that Audra and her dad had the day he disappeared, and everyone decided it became physical, which never happened. Well, Audra didn’t stand a chance in this town. There were even rumors that Audra was pregnant, and Ken and her father were making her have an abortion.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dawson said. “All Ken ever wanted was to be a father, and he was a great one. He and his wife had two kids. Cutest little buggers you ever saw.”

Anna held up her hand. “I’m telling you what the town vibe was when Audra slinked out of here like a snake in the middle of the night.”

“Okay.” He waved the folder. “You worked here when Victor went missing, right?”

She nodded. “I’ll never forget that morning,” she said. “Silas found Audra floating about a mile from Mitchell’s docks. She was blubbering something awful.”

“You were there?”

“No,” Anna said, “but Mo was. He was heading out to go fishing with some buddies. He said she was exhausted, dazed, and confused. She wasn’t making much sense either. People misconstrued that she was speaking in tongues. Her clothes were covered in blood.” Anna lowered her chin. “Both hers and Victor’s blood. That’s why everyone in this town believes he’s dead, not missing.”

“But this file was sent to the FBI’s missing person division. Why?”

“No body. The evidence was circumstantial against Audra, and to be honest, Trip never believed she did it and wanted to drive that point home to everyone. He wanted to protect her. However, he wasn’t sold it was an accident, and there was a lot of pressure on him from this town to arrest someone, which was odd because, in general, most thought Victor was a fly who needed swatting. Sending that file to the Feds was his way of shutting the town up and getting help, but it went nowhere. They shipped it right back to us,” she said. “It added fuel to the fire when it came to Audra.”

“Because the Feds believed she did it or because the town wanted blood?”

“The FBI didn’t really give much of an opinion, but the town certainly has one. When you look at that file, it’s hard not to think Audra either did it or knows something.” Anna shrugged. “But again, there wasn’t enough evidence for Trip to make an arrest, and one evening, Audra waltzed into this station and asked him what would happen if she left town.”

“Jesus. What did he say?”

“He told her it would be a stupid idea. That it would make her look guilty as hell, but that he was filing it as an accident with a note that, technically, Victor was a missing person.”

Dawson flipped open the file and lifted the top page. “This report is only a few pages long.”

“I’m well aware since I printed it out for you.” She laughed. “It has our one-page report, a forensic report with the blood analysis, a two-page report regarding Audra and her wounds, the damage assessment of the boat, and the final note about it being an accident.”

Dawson rubbed his neck. “I’m really confused here. If Trip thought something nefarious happened out there, why the hell did he button this up, and who were his suspects?”

“Anyone and everyone in this town could’ve been a suspect. Even those who considered Victor a friend had a beef with the man, but nothing strong enough to scream murder. As to the second part of that question…well, Trip cared about Audra and wanted her to have peace in this town. The investigation might be bad police work, but this is a small town, and sometimes, we do things backward. Besides, Trip looked into it every chance he got,” Anna said. “He thought Victor was off his rocker, and to be honest, Victor drove Trip crazy with his conspiracy theories, right down to the one where there were pirates in the swamp. But Trip was a good man. He went out there looking for them, and you know what?”

“He never found them.”

“That’s right.” Anna nodded. “What you have to understand about Victor was the man was crazy. Harmless, but a loon. I always felt bad for Audra. I used to babysit her, especially after her mom died. That’s when Victor really started to go off the rails. Audra was always more like her dad than her mom.” Anna raised her hand. “I don’t mean crazy, not like Victor, but that girl was full of piss and vinegar and always trying to prove herself. She wrestled gators and snakes. Did crazy shit. Anyway, once she ran off like she was guilty, Trip wanted to clear her name—in case she ever came back—and bless his soul, he tried.”

“Dumb question here,” Dawson said. “If he looked into all this, why didn’t he keep a file on it somewhere?”

“Oh, he did. And not just about Victor’s case, but about other issues this town faced.” She leaned closer. “And people. Trip was weird like that. He preferred to keep a notebook full of personal sidenotes. Things that he couldn’t put in an official file.”

“Jesus. Where the fuck is it? I want to see that.”

“No idea,” Anna admitted. “When Trevor took office, it was after his father passed, and trust me, I looked for his father’s personal files. Near the end, there was tension between Trip and his son. I don’t think Trip would’ve wanted Trevor to have his notebook, but that’s me being my normal suspicious self.”

“Do you think his son would’ve destroyed it for some reason?” Dawson scanned the words on the page, which were few—just your standard cop write-up of events—and nothing jumped out at him.

“I wouldn’t put anything past Trevor.”

“Could Trevor have had anything to do with Victor going missing? Were they enemies? Have any run-ins?”

“Everyone had run-ins with Victor. He was a cross between Jenkins and Cooney, only Victor didn’t wave weapons around. He didn’t threaten to hurt anyone. But he would get in your face if he thought you were doing something wrong or if he believed you crossed him. Victor believed a lot of people in this town had done him wrong at one point or another. He was more talk than action and more concerned about his conspiracies than anything else. As far as Trevor goes, he wasn’t a cop when Victor disappeared, but he didn’t like the old man, and he didn’t like Audra.”

“Why not?”

“Because she stood up for herself. She might have been younger, but she showed him up more than once, and Trevor always believed a woman’s place is behind her man, not out in the swamp.”

“Sexist asshole,” Dawson muttered. “I can’t stand men like that.”

“Anyway, Trevor absolutely believed Audra killed him. I once heard him discussing it with Trip, telling his dad he should arrest her and then find the evidence.”

Dawson had more questions now than when he’d first learned of Victor and his sexy, redheaded daughter. There were so many questions that there was no way he could let this drop.

The front door flew open, and Paul Massey strolled in.

“Hello, Dawson.” Paul planted his hands on his hips. He wore dirty jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt, and he smelled like the swamp. “You had to bring me in during the middle of the challenge.”

“I didn’t call you.” He handed the file to Anna, strolled around her desk, and leaned against the counter. “But I’m guessing the two guys I arrested did?”

“You illegally detained two men who, as of a half hour ago, obtained my services,” Paul said. “I want you to release them. Apologize. And drop all the charges.” He lowered his chin. “Save us both a lot of paperwork. Otherwise, they’re going to bring in some big fancy city law firm and chew you up and spit you out because they can.”

“Nothing illegal about what I did, Paul, and you know it.” Dawson turned, snagging the paperwork off Anna’s desk, who smiled wickedly. “I’ve charged your clients with a misdemeanor because they were loading the dynamite onto their boat?—”

“You’re seriously going to follow through with this bullshit?” Paul tapped his fingers on the counter.

“As I was saying, because your clients chose to move the dynamite from their vehicle to a boat they were about to use to hunt for pythons, a reasonable person would?—”

“You’re making a dangerous assumption.” Paul lifted the paperwork. “This is a bullshit charge that will be tossed out as fast as a city slicker lawyer will have your badge. I don’t think that’s what you want.”

Dawson hated it when he and Paul played this lawyer-cop dance. It had only happened twice before, but it was painful. He held out a file. “We’ve already spoken to the judge. Here’s the bail bond. Let’s just get this part over with.”

Paul took the file Dawson offered and signed the paper. He plucked a cashier’s check out of his pocket and pushed it across the counter.

Dawson found it interesting that he’d had it ready.

“Court date is in the paperwork,” Dawson said. “Please make your clients show up.”

“They won’t be my clients when that happens,” Paul said.

He handed Anna the paperwork to file. As soon as he got rid of the two assholes, he’d make a beeline for the Everglades. If he was lucky, he might be able to get out on one of the airboats before dark.

But not because he was interested in the redhead.