Heather Graham - Hurricane Bay

A soft leather sofa, matching love seat and two armchairs rounded out the grouping in front of the fireplace. The walls boasted some fine Audubon prints and interesting family photos.

“Want a beer?” Dane asked as they entered.

“Sure.”

Jesse followed Dane through the dining room. The antique claw-foot dining table held Dane’s computer and stacks of papers. They passed through the dining room to the kitchen, which fronted the house, along with the living and dining rooms. Way back when, his grandfather had figured people would want to be outside, so both the dining room and kitchen had large windows that could be opened up to the porch, where there were outside counters and rough wood tables. The back of the house faced both the dock and the little spit of man-made beach, so the floor plan made it easy to be outside most of the time.

Jesse leaned against the kitchen counter, looking out at the night and the water as Dane went into the refrigerator.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been out here,” Jesse said, accepting the can Dane handed him.

“Yeah?”

“Of course, you haven’t been back all that long.”

“Almost six months.”

Jesse didn’t comment. He knew what had brought Dane back. There was no need to talk about it.

“Okay, so what’s going on?” Jesse asked. “Do I have a stray tribal member harassing the tourists? Is some local all pissed off because he lost big at bingo or something?”

Dane shook his head, thinking that his second cousin’s dry expectations might have amused him at a different time.

“No, actually, I need to ask you about something.”

“Shoot.”

“A couple of months back, you found a strangling victim out in the Glades.”

Jesse frowned and nodded. “Yeah, I found the body,” he said. He studied his beer can. Then he looked at Dane again, his forehead still furrowed. “I’ve seen a hell of a lot, between Miami-Dade and just living out where fools can go astray. But…hell. That was bad.”

“Mind telling me about it?”

“I think I talked to you at the time.”

“You did, but I’d like to hear about it again.”

“You have a reason.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Are you planning on sharing it with me.”

“Soon. I just need a little time.”

“You haven’t found another body?”

“No.”

Jesse studied him for a long moment but accepted the fact that Dane would tell him everything when he was ready.

“I think it was just about three months ago now. The first body was found three months before that, up in Broward County.”

“And the Miami-Dade boys and Broward homicide think it was the same killer?”

Jesse inclined his head. “Looks like it. It’s a tough case. Both bodies were found in such a bad state of decomposition, it’s been a bitch for forensics.”

“That’s why it was so bad when you found the girl?”

“She’d been in the water almost two weeks, in a canal in the Everglades. I don’t really need to tell you what that means, but suffice it to say that nature takes its course.”

“So you think she was thrown into the canal by someone who knew the Everglades?”

“Not necessarily. There are a few pretty decent roads leading off of the Tamiami Trail. And the day I discovered her was…a Tuesday. Right after those torrential rains we had when it was supposed to be dry season. A Mack truck could have driven back there and the tire prints would have been washed out. Of course, a Mack truck would have sunk in the swamp, but you know what I mean. In that area, after heavy rains…you’re not going to find anything resembling a print or a track. And since the body was in the water, tangled up in some tree roots, there wasn’t even a way to tell exactly where it had gone in, since it might have traveled with the current.”

“From what you told me at the time, and what I read in the paper,” Dane said, “they knew she’d been strangled with a necktie, because it was still around her throat.”

“Right. And it was a tie manufactured by the thousands, available in any department store in any state.”

“Anything else?”

“She was naked, except for the tie. That’s about it.”

“Did you notice anything in particular when you found her?”

“Yeah, that she was dead. I didn’t need to feel for a pulse. And where I found her…it’s in an area that might be considered reservation land and might be counted as county. It’s not one of those places anyone really wants to fight over. I roped off the scene where I found her and called in the Miami-Dade homicide guys. Specialists. She wasn’t one of ours.”

“You knew that from seeing the body?”

“I couldn’t even have guaranteed you that she was a she from seeing the body,” Jesse said.

“Then…”

“I’d have known if we’d been missing anyone,” Jesse said. “We’re one damned small tribe out there, you know. Less than five hundred. They pretty well wiped out the big numbers during the Indian wars and relocation. Bingo and the casino have been our best revenge, you know.”

“They did identify her, right?”

“Cherie Madsen. Twenty-three, a dancer at a Miami strip club. She’d been a missing person at the time, and she was identified by her dental records.”

“And did the police have any leads?”

“Sure, they had leads, but no real suspects. They traced every name they could find for the night she disappeared, but lots of guys who go to strip clubs use cash and aren’t necessarily regulars. They talked to all her old boyfriends, same as they talked to everyone about the murder in Broward County. The first girl was found in a canal off I-595. Same thing—she was in the water at least a couple of weeks before she was discovered. Strangled, tie around her neck. There had been rain that time, too. The body had probably traveled. The girl was naked, and once again the tie could have been bought anywhere. No way to get any prints. The girl hadn’t scratched her attacker, so there were no skin cells beneath her nails, nothing. I have a friend in homicide at the Broward sheriff’s department, if you want to talk to him further about the case. And you know the guy handling the case for Miami-Dade. It’s Hector Hernandez.”

“Yes, I know him. I’ve known him for years. Big-time fisherman, down here a lot. He’s a good cop.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely a good cop. He can help you more than I can, since you’re apparently after something. I kept up with the case some, since I found one of the victims,” Jesse said quietly. “But not being Miami-Dade homicide anymore, I don’t have the same access to the experts. And it’s not my case anymore, anyway. You know how small the Miccosukee force is. Something like this, Miami-Dade comes in.”

“Did you hear anything about a psychological profile?”

Jesse nodded again, taking a long swallow from his can. “The cops in both counties got together and asked the FBI to give them a hand with the profiling, and they brought in an expert who has been pretty right on with each case he’s profiled that has been solved. White male, twenty-five to forty-five, has a day job, maybe a wife and family, maybe not. Even though the second girl was found out in the Everglades, the profiler is certain the killer is a white male. Someone who knows the area and may even know what happens to a body in the water. He probably looks decent, maybe he’s even good-looking, and he may have a certain charisma. He’s an organized killer. Nothing is left to chance. He’s smart enough to keep his prints off any traceable materials, use a condom and dump the bodies where nature will take care of the rest. There might be two different killers, one copycatting the other, but the homicide guys don’t think so. They kept a few details about the first body secret, and those same details were also consistent with the second victim.” Jesse shrugged, taking another long swallow from his beer can. “In private, of course, the homicide guys admit to having just about nothing to follow up on. Both girls were strippers. They’ve questioned every man they could get a lead on who was at either club the night the girl was last seen. They’ve questioned family and old boyfriends. They’ve looked for witnesses. They don’t have prints, fibers, tire tracks or anything else. They haven’t given up, but they’ve followed every lead they had, and the trail hasn’t gotten them very far. It would be bull to suggest they’re not hot on it because of what the girls did for a living. They’re just working with nothing.”