“If it could have been tracked, why would they call and demand it as a ransom. This doesn't make any sense.”
"Are you sure this is where you buried it?" the sheriff asked.
"I'm positive."
"Even if they stole the briefcase, they’d have a hell of a time getting into it," I said. "They need Mercer's living fingerprint, which is going to be hard to come by."
“Maybe not so hard,” the sheriff replied.
My brow knitted with confusion. “What do you mean?”
"Somebody broke into the morgue and cut Mercer's hands off.”
My eyes rounded with surprise. "What!?"
“Savages."
"When did this happen?"
"Sometime between 3 and 5:00 AM this morning," the sheriff said.
"Why didn’t you say something earlier?"
He glared at me. "Because I've been pretty busy, putting out all kinds of fires today. Anytime you want to step up and do my job, you let me know. I'll be happy to go fishing."
After a few moments of wallowing in our own defeat, we headed back across the field. We made our way through the underbrush to the beach. JD and the sheriff climbed aboard the patrol boat. Jack weighed anchor, and I pushed thevessel back into the surf, then pulled myself over the gunwale.
The sheriff took the helm and fired up the engines. We were about to head back to Coconut Key when another boat approached.
"Hold up," I said. "Let's see what this is about.”
I moved from the wheelhouse to get a better look. With my hand on the grip of my pistol, I was ready for anything. After everything I'd been through, I was a little on edge.
45
It was a 25-foot center console with a hardtop and twin Mercury's. The guy was alone. He navigated the boat into the bay and anchored in the shallows. He gave us a friendly wave, grabbed some gear, and hopped out of the boat. He lugged a backpack and a metal detector up the beach toward the tree line.
I jumped over the gunwale, into the surf, and splashed up to the sand and jogged toward him. "Excuse me," I shouted, flashing my shiny gold badge.
He stopped and gave me a confused look. "Is there some kind of problem, Officer?"
He was a pudgy guy in his late 30s with curly dark hair, a trimmed goatee, and a day's worth of stubble. He wore a baseball cap and a T-shirt that hugged his beer belly.
"No problem, just a few questions for you. Planning on doing a little treasure hunting today?”
"That's not illegal, is it?”
I flashed a disarming smile. "No.”
"I'm not trespassing or anything. This is public land.”
"Looking for anything in particular?”
He shrugged. "You never know what you might find out here." With an excited smile, he said, "You wouldn't believe what I found the last few days.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.”
“It's like a goldmine out here. People bury all kinds of stuff. I found coins, empty artillery shells?—“
