The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(6)

“Where do archaeologists make most of their interesting finds?”

“Er, the ground?”

Chief Kate’s starting to make me question my own sanity.

“Yes, but where?”

“Trash piles. Midden heaps. That kind of thing.”

“Right,” she says eagerly. “The trash.” Her gaze flicks briefly to her plastic wastebasket.

It takes me a little longer to realize I should take a look. At first glance I don’t understand what she’s going on about, but then I see it: two empty Starbucks coffee cups.

The trash is taken out each night by Octavio, our custodian. We all get our coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts or Lester’s Diner—which means that the chief had at least two visitors before I got here . . . visitors who probably told her not to tell me why they were here. Which could mean they were anything from district attorneys to feds.

Knowing Chief Kate, she told them she’d do whatever she damned well pleased but settled for not offering up the information. Meaning, she wouldn’t lie to me if I asked.

So I ask. “Have any visitors?”

“Funny you should ask that,” she says with an eye roll. “I had two DEA agents up from Miami pay a visit. They asked a lot of questions about you.”

“And the murder?”

“Yes. Specifically, they wanted to know if you knew the woman.” She pauses for a beat, waiting for me to jump in.

“I was up all night asking that same question.” I leave out the part about keeping my gun under my pillow, worrying that every rock of my houseboat was the killer stepping on board to finish me off.

“And?”

I shrug. “Someone vaguely familiar, like a waitress you say hello to, then forget. DEA?” I add after thinking about that part. “Why is the Drug Enforcement Agency interested in the murder of a Jane Doe where there were no drugs on the scene?” I answer my own question: “Because they think it may have been drug related due to the way she was killed.” This sinks in. “So the DEA thinks this is some kind of drug hit? A hit man with a similar MO?”

“That’s the worrisome part, Sloan. They asked me about you for thirty minutes. The killer never came up.”

“Whoa.” My pulse starts to race. “They don’t think I did it?”

“I have no idea what they think other than they were suspicious about you being there at the exact time of the homicide.” Her voice trails off a bit, suggesting that she’s a little curious about that too.

“Well, I didn’t know I needed to coordinate my dives with narco-murder dumping schedules.” No laugh from the chief. “They really didn’t say anything about a killer?” I ask. This is hard for me to accept.

“Nope. I suspect that he may be a known person to them, or at least they have a strong suspicion of who he could be.”

I think this over. “So they’re wondering why a police diver was already in the same water.”

“Basically. I told them you were good people, all that. Which of course just made them suspicious of me.”

I throw a small shrug at the bullpen, where Carla’s still watching. “And her?”

“They talked to her too. I overheard them asking if you had any boyfriends or trips to exotic locations.”

“Don’t I wish,” I groan. “So now what?”

“If you are into something you shouldn’t be, now is the perfect time to skip the country with your Colombian drug-dealer boyfriend.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing. They’re chasing down leads—let them chase. It probably won’t go beyond them asking some more questions before they move on.”

“Still, though,” I say. “What about the killer?” I hesitate for a moment, weighing whether to tell Kate about the driver’s license. For some reason I feel ashamed about that, but after a moment of introspection, reason wins out over irrational guilt, and I fill her in on that tiny detail.

“Yikes,” she replies. “And I’m sure you’re mostly worried about Jackie.”

My stomach twists. “Yeah. I asked Run to take her for a few more days. I said I had some work stuff.”

She nods. I can tell she’s taking this seriously, because she doesn’t use the opportunity to give me a jab about Run, whom she jokingly refers to as “that trust-fund redneck of yours.”

“If it helps, Walter and I are happy to have her over. In the meantime, I’ll call over to Biscayne and BSO and make sure they send some patrols by the house and her school.”

I want to say that she doesn’t need to go to so much trouble, but the protective mother voice that appeared in my head the moment I first looked in Jackie’s eyes convinces me otherwise.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. We look out for our own. Speaking of which, you’re headed to Miami Beach, right?”

I’d nearly forgotten. It was in an email this morning. I’m supposed to do a dive for Miami-Dade police. Someone tossed a gun into the canal three days ago. Their divers couldn’t find it, and Chief Kate offered me out as a favor.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I need to get my gear.”

“Be careful. Watch out for mermen with bad intentions.”