Page 68 of Off the Hook

Slinking back into my seat, I sipped my coffee and pondered what could have prompted Agent Flannigan’s urgent meeting. There was no point in conjecture, but we were both praying for closure.

After traversing the final seven of the eighteen mile stretch with barely a word, the light at the end of the tunnelappeared alongside West Palm Drive. I barely recognized the iconic fruit stand that my mother brought me religiously to buy our fruit for the week. She told me the story of how it started… when the farmer’s son set out a table on the side of the road to sell his father’s crop long before she was born. By the time I was a little girl, it had expanded to a small hut containing several tables full of the biggest, freshest fruit around. They’d added smoothies to their menu and there was always a crowd. I wasn’t exactly sure why or when we had stopped going there. Maybe driving half an hour to Homestead for papaya stopped making sense…? I longed now for those days, and the moments shared on that drive, when I was a little girl without a care in the world.

Being with Coulter had actually made me miss my mom more. Not only because he’d lost his mother, which did make me appreciate her more. But I also really wanted my mother to meet him, and to share in my joy, in person. It wasn’t the same over the phone with a couple thousand miles between us.

I blinked back my nostalgia, astounded by the transformation of the business since my last visit as we turned into the large paved lot that was gravel back then. The original thatched-roof hut still stood, now alongside a sprawling structure with a green metal roof. Raised wooden bins of exotic fruits spilled out under the awning. “Wow, it’s changed a lot even in five years.”

“Progress ruins everything quaint,” Oscar grumbled. “No sign of Agent Flannigan,” he said, typing on his phone with his thumbs.

“Not that we know what he looks like,” I said, even though I figured that two detectives could pick out an FBI agent fromthe crowd of tourists lined up at the window. “I’ll go order our drinks.”

“Good, it’s on you,” Oscar said with a wink.

The prices had doubled in five years, but the menu was the same. I sucked on the wide straw, sipping the fruity concoction from the giant styrofoam cup on my way back to the Charger when I saw a black Suburban waiting to turn left into the lot. Oscar stepped out of the car as it pulled up alongside. The tinted window lowered halfway, revealing a clean cut blonde man in his forties wearing a navy blue suit and shades as dark as the windows. “Detectives,” he nodded. “Get in.”

Oscar gave me a look before heading around to the passenger side of the oversized SUV. For a second, I felt like I was in a bad cop movie and was about to be whisked away to some secret location. I shook my head at the silly thought as I hugged the two cups to my chest while I opened the back door and awkwardly shimmied into the back seat.

I scooted to the center, handing Oscar his nine-hundred-calorie shake before I offered Agent Flannigan my hand. “Detective Faith Pierce,” I said, “Nice to finally meet you.”

He pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his head. “Agent James Flannigan. Nice to meet you, too, Faith. Call me Jim,” he said while shaking my hand firmly. “Thank you both for coming on such short notice. I wanted to loop you in.”

“Did you convict the bastard?” Oscar asked gruffly before sucking on his straw.

“Not yet. We’re still building the bigger case.” The agent's eyes traveled from one tall styrofoam cup to the other. “No shake for me?”

“I’ll get you one, if you tell me why you called us up here,” I grinned as I sucked on my straw.

“Deal,” he said with a smile. “Although I’m limited in what I can share, and this is entirely off the record...” He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

I scooted further forward, waiting for what seemed like forever for him to continue.

“The perp is part of a case we’ve been trying to crack for years. The reason I called you, though, is that in reviewing the transcripts from the initial interrogation, before I got involved, he made a passing comment that you may find relevant.”

“Relevant to the Kylie Bennett murder, you mean?” I asked from the back.

“Not exactly,” the agent turned in his seat to look me in the eye. “He may have implicated himself in other murders in your area.”

“What other murders?” Oscar said from the passenger seat with a rising tone.

“A rookie agent started questioning him before we had him in the interrogation room. When they asked him about a body found floating in a canal in the Keys, he asked, ‘Which one?’”

“Well, what did you get out of him afterward?” Oscar insisted.

Unfortunately, instead of pressing him on it, the rookie–who is now off the case– said the location and date of your victim’s murder, and told him we had DNA evidenceconnecting him to the crime. All before he was in the interrogation room.”

“You’re shitting me?” I fumed that the supposed pros we’d turned the investigation over to, acted like amateurs.

“I wish I was,” Jim said with a sympathetic look.

I was shocked that he was admitting their major misstep. Oscar was pissed.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Oscar shouted, slamming his milkshake into the cupholder on the console. “That goes beyond a rookie mistake.”

“Agreed,” Jim said matter-of-factly. “Which is why he’s off the case. I wanted you guys to know, though, in case there are other mysterious deaths by drowning on your books. I’ll do what I can to help to get any more info from the witness regarding those cases, should they arise.”

“Have you established a connection to the victim?” I asked, scooting forward on the seat.

“I can’t say,” Agent Flanigan replied with an apologetic scowl.

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