The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(28)

“Come here to have a look around?” she asks.

“Sort of. How long has it been empty?”

“Winston got rid of most of his stuff right before the bankruptcy. I think he worked something out with the owners, though. He still comes by and gets equipment.”

“Really?” My heart races. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Angie thinks for a moment. “A few weeks, I guess. Maybe more.”

“Oh.” I’d been hoping it was more recent than that—like this morning. Meaning there’s a chance that Winston isn’t dead like his daughter. “And Stacey?”

Angie’s face changes. “You heard?”

“Yeah.” I don’t tell her how. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“A couple of years. Winston mentioned her now and then, but I never saw her. Her boyfriend came around here sometimes with Winston. Raymond, I think?”

“Raul?”

“Yeah. Raul. Nice guy. Quiet.” She walks over to the padlock on the gate and produces a key from her pocket. “Have a look around, if you like.” She points up to the tall boat-storage building across the water near a skyscraper filled with condos. “Who knows how long before it all changes.”

“Thanks,” I reply as I step through the gate. Even more memories begin to surface.

“Just lock up,” she calls after me before walking away.

I walk across the cracked asphalt, trying to understand how the place could have shrunk over the years.

When I was ten, it seemed so much bigger. Of course, I was smaller, and there was a lot more going on here back then.

I walk over to the dock and give the rotten wood a wary glance. Stacey would sit here and feed her ducks pieces of bread as they quacked and jostled around her feet.

We thought Stacey a little odd. In retrospect, I can only imagine how lonely she must have been. Back then it seemed weird how she’d tag along with us and try to insert herself into our play.

I remember Harris teasing Robbie that Stacey was his girlfriend. In response, Stacey grabbed Robbie’s hand and grinned. She also liked telling us “secrets” to try to win our friendship. It was little-kid stuff. Like how her dad had a lady friend or how nobody was allowed in the secret building out back.

Harris claimed the building was a painting booth and had dangerous fumes. Stacey insisted otherwise.

We tried peeking in through a window once and saw only a bunch of tools. Winston caught us looking, grabbed Stacey by the arm, and dragged her around the corner and gave her a spanking.

We all felt guilty as she sobbed, but the moment her dad went back to the other warehouse, Stacey turned the tears off and went back to her annoying self.

The secret building . . . I hadn’t recalled it until now. I’d always assumed it was just a huge paint booth, like Harris said.

I walk to the back of the yard and spot the large metal building. The roll-up door and entrance remain as I remember them.

Out of curiosity, I try the door handle, and it opens. The morning sun streaks in through a window, the same one we peeked through long ago, illuminating part of the interior.

The acrid smell that hits my nostrils tells me that Harris wasn’t kidding about it being used for painting. But that doesn’t appear to be the only thing it was used for.

Rows of benches line the walls, and massive chains hang overhead. The kind you use to lift engine blocks. This workshop looks a lot like the other one in the yard.

Maybe this is where Winston fitted out drug boats?

The realization hits hard. Stacey was right about this being a secret.

I poke my light around the benches, looking for anything suspicious—not exactly sure what “suspicious” would look like, other than, well, suspicious.

I spot a wastebasket in the corner with some newspapers stuffed into it.

They’re from last year. Not exactly incriminating, but from after the time Winston was supposedly evicted.

At the bottom there’s a car magazine, AutoSport. Raul’s name is on the label, but the address isn’t the boatyard’s.

Interesting.





CHAPTER NINETEEN

SHORE LEAVE

Jackie steals a french fry from Run’s plate and dips it into my barbecue sauce. We’re sitting at a picnic table inside Tom Jenkins BBQ, a favorite of ours since Run and I were teenagers. It’s a small place with a line that frequently goes out the door.

I keep a wary eye on the entrance, studying every face that comes inside. Run notices this but doesn’t say anything. He can tell what’s going through my mind.

Meeting him and Jackie here felt like a horrible idea, but my daughter was starting to get worried, and we’re still trying to pretend everything is okay.

The story we told her is that I have a case requiring me to work odd hours. It feels wrong lying to her—especially when she could be vulnerable too—but there’s no easy way to explain to your kid that there are people out there that may want to kill her mother and go through her daughter if they have to.

For his part, Run’s been keeping a careful eye on Jackie. Two tables over sits Raymond Gunther, a friend of Run’s from way back. Run’s family hires him occasionally as security for their various businesses.

Gunther “conveniently” showed up at the restaurant, as far as Jackie’s concerned. He’s actually been shadowing Run and Jackie every time they leave the house, and he’ll be parked across the street when she goes to school on Monday.