Krewe of Hunters 7 The Unspoken (6 page)

“I can hack it just fine,” she snapped. “You forget I’m a doctor—a certified medical examiner and forensic pathologist. I’ve studied all manner of deaths.”

“No, I didn’t forget,” he said. “I couldn’t possibly—you constantly remind me.”

He walked away so she could make her call.

Kat looked after him, frustrated, her temper soaring again. Then she flushed and turned away. Was she afraid she didn’t have control of the situation? Mental note:
quit reminding people that I’m an M.E.

Wincing, she made her call.

She told Logan that yes, it appeared that they should investigate, although she had nothing solid as yet. He promised that more team members would be there within twenty-four hours. “I’m assuming that you’ve met Agent Chan?” Logan asked.

“Oh, yes.”

“And he’s capable and professional?”

“All that,” Kat said drily.

“And what else?”

“He’s an ass,” Kat said. “He stomped all over the Chicago M.E. I try to speak first now to protect us from the wrath of local authorities.”

Logan chuckled softly. “I know Chan. I met him at our special units base in Arlington. He’s, shall we say, irreverent, but apparently excellent at what he does. He’s familiar with film, video and computer alteration, so he’ll be great with the film crew. And he dives, which is a major asset on this case. Are you going to see the
Jerry McGuen
soon?”

“If I know Chan, very soon,” Kat said, glancing over at her new colleague.

“Keep me posted on any developments,” Logan told her. “I should be there by midafternoon tomorrow.” Then he rang off and Kat returned the phone to her purse, signaling that the call was finished.

Chan approached her seconds later. “Ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

Their next stop was the harbor, where the police search and rescue boat that had brought in the body was docked.

The harbor and the lake were beautiful that day. Summer was still with them but would begin to fade in the next few weeks. Today, though, the water glistened under a benign sun.

They were able to see all four officers who’d been on the search and rescue boat. Officer Aldo Reynald had been in charge, and he seemed sincerely interested in their queries.

“When we got there, the woman was crying her eyes out…Amanda. Yeah, Amanda Channel. She was kneeling over the dead man. She said she’d done CPR, but she didn’t think it helped. She said we had to save her friend. The other guy, Jon Hunt, was walking around the dock, rubbing his chin, scratching his head. I tried CPR as we got him to shore. No luck. We have a state-of-the-art truck to deal with emergencies like this. You get a lot of divers who think they know their stuff and don’t, or divers who are used to the tropics and get into trouble in the lake. And naturally we have boating accidents, so…we’re prepared. We used every possible method of resuscitation on the way to the hospital, but…then we got there and they called it.” He shook his head glumly. “I’m assuming we’re going to have to be vigilant as this whole thing proceeds because diving a wreck is inherently dangerous, and a newly discovered one even more so.”

Reynald was lean and fit; he was obviously experienced, practical—and compassionate.

“But you believe he was dead when you arrived?” Kat asked.

He nodded grimly. “Dead as a cold mackerel, I’m afraid.”

“How long?” Will asked next.

“He couldn’t have been dead more than half an hour or so,” Reynald told them. “I’m not sure what I’m basing that on, other than that I’ve pulled more than a few bodies out of the lake. Like I said, he was declared DOA at the hospital.”

“Were there other boats near the dive spot?” Will asked.

“Boating on a good day on Lake Michigan? You bet.”

“Close to the dive site?” Kat continued for Will.

Reynald drew in a deep breath. “Yeah, near enough, I think. The other Preservation Center boat was there—as well as the one the dead man had been on. Oh, and the film crew has a snazzy research boat, too. There was a sailboat maybe two hundred feet away and others farther out….”

One of his fellow officers chimed in. “There were two motorboats nearby. One was a Cigarette—nice speedboat. I noticed that because I always wanted one. The other…a little cabin cruiser. Looked like the people aboard were fishing.”

“Fishing,” Kat echoed dubiously.

The officer grinned. “Not that long ago, Lake Michigan was so polluted you could die from eating fish you caught out there. But it’s cleaned up. You’ll find lots of people fishing in the lake now.”

“Did you notice anything else about the boat?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I didn’t.”

“Either have a dive flag up?” Will asked.

“Neither,” the second officer replied.

“We were called in on an accident, and rescue was our main objective,” Reynald told them. “I feel like a fool because we’re also law enforcement officers. Do you suspect it was more than an accident?”

Kat answered carefully. “We’re not sure yet. We’re just investigating at this point.”

“Well, we’re here anytime you need us,” Reynald said.

They thanked him. As they headed back to the car, Will seemed thoughtful. He glanced over at her. “You tired? You want to call it quits for the day?”

She scowled back at him. If she’d been falling off her feet, she’d never have admitted it to this man. “I’m fine. What do you have in mind?”

“Two quick stops—Landry Salvage and Simonton’s Sea Search. Neither may really help. Salvage companies don’t usually drive around in Cigarette speedboats, but…”

“And if someone else is searching for treasure, that person may not be involved with a salvage company at all,” Kat added.

He paused at the car door, looking over it. “True. But you have to know something about diving to get down there. You’d have to follow the research to find the ship—and you’d have to follow Brady Laurie out to the site…and gone after him right away.”

“Maybe it’s someone who works for a salvage company,” Kat suggested. “Not the company itself.”

“That would be my bet.” Will grinned as she joined him in the front seat. “Your choice—Landry or Simonton’s Sea Search first?”

“Simonton’s. I like the alliteration,” she said.

Simonton’s was just north of the pier. There was a massive vessel with all kinds of cranes and netting at the dock. The office itself was small and looked more like a sea shanty than a professional building. Inside, Kat was surprised to see that it was nicely outfitted with modern office furniture and file cabinets that occupied most of the wall space. The walls were decorated with old anchors, flags and other boating paraphernalia. A receptionist who introduced herself as Gina led them to a back room, where the walls were decorated with sea charts and maps, and the rear wall held the figurehead of a beautiful siren.

The man standing behind the desk was in a windbreaker, deck shoes and jeans. His desk was strewn with papers, despite the computer that took up at least half of it. “Hi. I’m Andy Simonton,” he greeted them. “What can I do for you?”

He was young, maybe thirty, with slightly shaggy blond hair and bright blue eyes. He swept out a hand to indicate the chairs in front of his messy desk. They sat.

“You’re with the FBI?” he asked curiously. He didn’t seem afraid or threatened in any way, but rather intrigued.

“We’re looking into the death of Brady Laurie,” Will said.

“Sad affair, that drowning,” Simonton murmured.

“This is your company?” Kat asked him.

Simonton nodded. “My father’s company, really. He wants to retire. I’ve been handling the business for about a year.”

“And what is your business, exactly?” Will asked.

Simonton looked confused. “Um, salvage.”

Will had the grace to laugh. “No, I’m sorry, what type of salvage? What are you working on now?”

“Oh!” Simonton said. “We’re conducting two recovery missions. A Florida boater underestimated the power of the lake and sank a sixty-foot sailboat, and we’re also working on recovering the cargo from the hold of the
Mystic Susan—
she’s a merchant vessel that went down with crates of high-fashion clothing,” Simonton explained.

“That does sound like work. Not terribly exciting,” Kat said sympathetically.

Simonton gave a nonchalant shrug. “It pays the bills, and quite nicely, too. Oh, and Mrs. Ciskel—she’s the wife of the Florida boater—is furious because she had a lot of jewelry aboard when their boat went down. I’d like to find that cache myself. To return to her, of course. She’s promised a massive bonus if we get back all her jewels.” He frowned. “Now, what’s this all about?”

“We were wondering if you’d ever had any plans to explore and salvage the
Jerry McGuen,
”
Will said.

“We were invited to the reception put on by the Egyptian Sand Diggers.”

Kat glanced at Will. “The Egyptian Sand Diggers?” he repeated. “Who are they?”

Simonton waved one hand in the air. “They’re a local service club—and they’re just a little nutty, you know? In love with all things ancient Egyptian. Some of them are true scholars, while the rest are more what you’d call armchair historians. They held a reception about six months ago, and they shared all sorts of current information on expeditions into the Valley of the Kings, the closing of the Great Pyramids for maintenance, stuff like that. And they had an exhibit on Gregory Hudson—he’s the guy who discovered the Amun Mopat tomb way back—and the
Jerry McGuen.
They were trying to encourage local salvage companies to search for her. Unfortunately, I don’t have the time or money to go on a wild-goose chase, although I wish I
had
gone on that goose chase. I suppose the location is pretty well-known by now and anyone might have found her after she shifted on the seabed. See, it was wide open. The State of Illinois gets everything recovered in this area of Lake Michigan, but the salvage company that finds it does get certain rights. The original company went bust soon after the sinking of the
Jerry McGuen
and the passengers’ families were paid off with what was left, so any descendants aren’t really a factor. Now, as far as the salvage goes, the State of Illinois would probably return most of it to the Egyptians.”

“Do you know of anyone else who was planning to go after the ship?” Kat asked.

“Landry,” he said. “He and my dad were always competitive. Maybe he wanted to find it just to rub in my dad’s face—or my face now. He was at the reception, by the way.”

“How many boats do you have, Mr. Simonton?” Will asked.

“I have a little Mako for my own pleasure,” Simonton said. “You can go see her if you want. She’s sitting right outside.”

“This looks like a good operation.” Kat smiled. “And obviously a successful one.”

“I’m all about paying the bills,” Simonton said. He tapped a pencil on his desk. “Can I do anything else for you? I’m sorry, but I’m kind of busy and…well, honestly, I’m not really sure what you’re after.”

“We think someone helped Brady Laurie drown,” Will said bluntly.

Simonton gaped at him. “Wow. Well, I can’t see how that could have happened. I mean, his own people were right behind him and they’re the ones who found him.” He sat back, staring at them, still not threatened, just surprised. “Um, you’re welcome to search anything we own or, uh, whatever.”

“Thanks. If we need to search, we’ll get back to you,” Kat said. “What we
could
use is information on the Egyptian Sand Diggers.”

“Oh, sure!” He started rummaging through his desk. “That invitation is in here somewhere…. They used nice stationery and calligraphy on it.”

He gave up with a sigh and stood, heading out to the receptionist’s desk. “Gina, can you find me that invitation from the Egyptian Sand Diggers?”

Simonton stood by the door as Gina searched for the invitation. Kat leaned over and whispered to Will. “Why don’t you just call the
Tribune
and announce that we’re looking for a murderer? We’re not even sure of it ourselves!”

He shrugged. “What? You think people will believe the FBI is involved because we want to dive a wreck?”

She gritted her teeth again, but before she could respond, Simonton returned with the invitation. “Here you go. Their address is right there, where it says RSVP.”

“Thank you,” Kat said, accepting it. She smiled. “You were really helpful. I hope we can count on you in the future, if we need to.”

He gave her a warm smile in return. “Oh, you bet!”

“You did a lovely job. Maybe I should let you do
all
the talking,” Will muttered as they left the office.

“What?”

He turned to her. “Mr. Simonton was quite…taken with you. That’s good. He’ll help us.”

“Agent Chan, that is hardly—”

“Professional? Sorry. But you were being all nicey-nice, and in this case, it seemed to work. I say we go with it.”

“I say it’s better than you offending M.E.s and cops!”

“McFarland needed to know that he’d make a fool of himself if he crossed Laurie off as an accidental death. Now he knows, and he won’t do it. And I was perfectly polite with the cops. I don’t blame them. This is a tough town, and when they can close the books on a situation, they have to do it. I honestly don’t think it occurred to most people working the drowning that it
might
have been an
assisted
drowning—or murder. Now, they’ll think about.”

“Are we going out to talk to Landry or the Egyptian Sand Diggers?” Kat asked. She decided to let his previous remarks—a backhanded compliment if ever there was one—slide.

“Let’s check out Landry first,” Will said.

Kat agreed, getting out her phone.

Will glanced over at her. “Are you getting someone to look up the Sand Diggers?”

She nodded.

“Good idea.”

After a brief conversation, Logan promised that he’d learn whatever he could about the avid amateur Egyptologists. By the time she’d finished, they were pulling into a lot by the glass-and-chrome offices of Landry Salvage.

“They seem to be doing a bit better here, don’t you think?” he asked Kat.

“Either that, or they’re more impressed with appearances.”