Douglas Dorow - The Ninth District

“Bert.”

“Bert, you can catch that kid with this, right?”

Bert smiled and said, “Not a problem,” and turned the key. The motor started with a throaty roar.

“How am I supposed to get in?” Ross asked, waving his right arm in the sling like a broken wing.

Jack crouched and intertwined his fingers under the water. “Step here, like you’re getting on a horse.”

Ross held the boat with his left hand, stepped into the stirrup Jack had created, and swung his other leg into the boat without kicking Jack in the head. He climbed into the seat to the left of the driver.

Jack grabbed the side of the boat, pushed himself up and in as it rocked down, scrambled up to the front deck, and sat on the floor. “Let’s go!”

“Hang on,” Bert said. The nose of the boat rose into the air as the motor thrust drove the back end forward and the nose up.

Jack was thrown onto his back and struggled against gravity and momentum to right himself until the boat planed out. He scrambled to his knees and grabbed onto a rope as they raced across the smooth surface of the lake, following the wake of the Sheriff’s patrol boat in pursuit of the teen on the jet ski.

“Are you OK, Jack?” Ross asked.

“I’m fine. Can we catch him?” Jack yelled back.

Bert inched the throttle further ahead and the boat accelerated. “His top speed, if he’s gutsy enough to push it, is fifty or sixty. We’re faster. We’ll catch him.”

The teen was out in the middle of the lake with nowhere to hide, making a beeline for the other side of the lake. He was about three hundred yards ahead of the Sheriff. Bert steered to the left out of the Sheriff’s wake and passed him.

“Let’s swing out and cut him off. Show him he can’t outrun us.” Smiling, Jack turned and looked at Ross. “You OK, Junior?”

“I’m fine.”

Bert ran parallel to the teen. “Hey, kid!” Jack yelled. “Stop! We just want to talk to you!”

The kid veered to the right.

“He’s more maneuverable than we are,” Bert said.

Ross chimed in. “Let’s cut him off and make some waves. He has to slow down for the waves.”

Bert circled the boat to the right. Jack rocked left and grabbed onto the side.

“Hang on, Jack,” Ross yelled.

The bass boat was on the tail of the jet ski; it passed it on the right side and then turned left, making waves in front of the jet skier, forcing him back in the direction they had come from. The kid hit the waves, jumping the machine into the air. The jet ski motor groaned and screamed as it left the water and reentered.

Jack was on his knees on the front of the boat. “Come on, kid. We’re with the FBI and just want to talk. You aren’t going to lose us!”

The boy sat atop the idling machine as it bobbed in the water and looked at Jack, then over his shoulder at the Sheriff’s boat that was approaching.

“Turn it off and we’ll come over and talk,” Jack added.

The boy turned off the jet ski and the sound of the idling motor stopped. “Is she dead?” he asked.

“Let’s go talk to him,” said Jack.

Jack spoke slowly and quietly to control the emotion and to keep Junior focused on procedures and the job ahead of them.

“I think somebody killed her. You heard what the kid told us. She was on a big boat partying the last they saw her. We’ll know more by the end of day after the ME makes a ruling. If this was related, we need to keep doing our jobs and find the Governor.”

Jack opened and closed cupboard doors in the kitchen. “Where are your glasses, Junior? I need a drink of water.”

Ross walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and handed it to Jack. “We don’t know shit, do we?”

“Not yet, Junior, but we will.” Jack drank his glass of water, thinking about how to calm Ross down. “Junior, you get changed and then you and I are going to Mrs. Humphrey’s funeral to see if anybody shows up there that shouldn’t be there, besides us. Then we’re going to see what else we can find out about Sandy. The Sheriff will keep looking for the boat.”

In the kitchen, Jack pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and called the Sheriff. While the phone rang, he refilled his water glass, walked into the living room, and sat on the couch. Ross had an apartment typical of a new agent; small, sparsely decorated, used furniture, his road bike parked in the living room, and boxes lined up against the wall, still not unpacked.

“Chief, it’s agent Jack Miller. Find that boat yet or learn anything else new from the boys?”

“We’ve been checking landings, assuming he docked it. We’re moving out into the lake now to see if it’s anchored. Got a better description of the boat from the boys. That’s about it.”

“You’ll call me if you find something?” Jack asked.

“I got your number,” the Sheriff answered.

Ross walked into the living room.

“That was quick,” Jack said.

“We aren’t going to solve this case sitting here in my apartment. Let’s go.”

“I see you haven’t unpacked yet,” Jack said pointing to the boxes against the wall. “Have a good camera or binoculars in any of these?”

“No. Those just have crap in them I don’t need; winter clothes, books I don’t have time to read. Stuff like that.”

“OK, we’ll swing by my place. I’ll change clothes and grab some equipment we’ll need.” Jack stood up and put his water glass in the kitchen sink. “Let’s go, Junior. You’re right. We aren’t solving this case sitting here.”

Cars, vans, and pickups lined the edge of the narrow road that snaked through the cemetery. Each parked vehicle had two tires in the grass and two on the pavement. Jack drove slowly along the line while Ross pointed the video camera through the passenger window to capture the license plates of each of the cars. An analyst would review the tape later and identify the owner of each of the cars for them. At the end of the row of cars, Jack pulled onto the grass, angling the car so Ross would have a good view of the area around the funeral party and a good vantage point for capturing faces on film when they returned to their cars after the burial ceremony.

Jack checked his hair and tie in the mirror. “I’m glad I found my sunglasses, Junior. I wouldn’t have worn yours to a funeral.”

“You look good, Jack. Nice, but official. You’ll blend right in.”

“Thanks.” Jack handed Ross the camera with the long zoom lens. “You shouldn’t have any problem getting everybody’s picture with this. I’ll leave the car running with the AC on for you so you don’t die. Be polite. Don’t let anybody see you taking their picture.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be waiting for you right here,” Ross said.

The heat was almost unbearable. By the time Jack walked across the grass from the car to the gravesite, he was sweating. His shoes crunched through the dry grass, a sound amplified by the quiet of the cemetery. A couple of people glanced at him as he took up position at the back of the group of thirty or so people all facing the pastor preparing to perform the ceremony. Jack bowed his head while he waited for everyone’s attention to return to the pastor. Then he looked up and started his surveillance of the group in front of him.

Nobody appeared not to belong. Family, friends, and coworkers were here to provide support and pay their last respects. The pastor said something that got Jack’s attention. Take these persons into your kingdom? Jack shifted to his right and looked over the shoulder of the man in front of him. Two caskets, side by side, identical in every detail except for their size, sat supported over the holes in the ground into which they would be lowered. The mother and the baby. Jack felt a knot in his stomach. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sky. He wanted to swear, but not here. He controlled his anger and returned his attention to the service to pay his respects.