“He had unusual eyes, very black.”
The woman closed her eyes and shook her head, “I will not talk of him.”
Andre spoke to her in a soothing Creole voice for several minutes. She finally nodded and wiped her eyes, “He is the Captain, and an evil man. My husband was the first man to break out of the hold, and the Captain ordered his crew to throw him to the sharks.”
“He did what?”
“He had his men grab my husband and throw him overboard. Sharks were behind the ship. They were always behind the ship after our first day.”
“And you saw this?”
“They told me to stay on the deck and watch. I saw it. I saw all of it.”
Andre and Hunter looked at each other. Andre said to her, “Will you tell us about the journey?” She nodded as a tear slid down her cheek. “Leave nothing out,” Andre said. She didn’t.
***
Later, Andre and Hunter told the woman’s story to John, Randall, and two Lauderdale homicide detectives named Bustamante and Rahinsky. “Jesus Christ,” Rahinsky said.
Bustamante asked, “But she didn’t give his name, the Captain’s name? None of them did?”
“No,” Andre said.
John said, “There aren’t papers in the pilot house or anyplace else we looked.”
Randall said, “The ship has registration in Panama, for Caribe International. The Caribe International office is in Miami.”
“One more jurisdiction issue, then.” Bustamante said.
John said, “We know some of those folks, since Randall and I both started down in Miami. We could introduce you if you need it, either officially or unofficially.”
Rahinsky said, “That would help.”
Randall said, “How about an off-duty intro, so we can all be at ease.”
“Sure.”
“I know the perfect place.”
Bustamante said, “Where are you thinking?”
“Lo-Deen’s Bar, on South Beach. The Hawaiian Tropic ladies are down there for the next two days shooting calendar layouts.”
Rahinsky said, “You’re one crackerjack detective, Ishtee. Set it up.”
***
At Lo-Deen’s, they sat so everyone had to look across Ocean Drive at the models. Hunter was between Randall and John, sipping Maker’s Mark on the rocks. The Hawaiian Tropic models were having a good time, and the shoot was energetic, with some good music drifting all the way to their table. A little Katy Perry, a little Adele. Bustamante said, “Hunter, you could be over there. You look as good as they do.”
“Thanks, but I like carrying a gun and shooting people.”
The youngest of the Miami homicide detectives, Jason Hale, said, “They’re thin, you’re not. You’ve got that lean, strong thing going on.”
Hunter said, “I attribute it to steady alcohol intake.”
Hale peered at her a moment, “Aren’t you from West Texas, that place where the drug smugglers gunned down the sheriff?”
Hunter took a sip, “Yeah.”