Page 72 of Wild Tempest

We returned to the marina and stopped in Diver Down to chat with Teagan. We took a seat at the bar, and she greeted us with a warm smile. "What kind of trouble are you boys into today?”

"A little of this, a little of that," Jack said.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm good.”

"I take it you were with him when he lost the boat," Jack said.

"Unfortunately, and I may still be traumatized."

We perused the menus, and Jack ordered the lobster roll, and I went with a cheeseburger.

We chowed down and filled our bellies, then headed to the station and borrowed the sheriff's patrol boat. I piloted it back to the marina at Diver Down, and we loaded it with dive gear, the side scan sonar, and a few other goodies. We packed plenty of bottled water and snacks, then headed out for Whistler Cay.

When we reached the island, Jack deployed the towfish. It looked like a yellow torpedo. Tethered to the boat, we pulled it around the island in circles, scanning the bottom, looking for any anomalies that might look like a clump of bodies.

We kept circling the island, moving farther and farther away with each pass, each revolution taking a little longer than the previous. I figured it was too shallow here to dump a body, but it got deeper quickly.

It wasn't too long before a small anomaly appeared on the screen. I pointed it out to Jack. "What do you think?"

Jack shrugged. "Could be anything. But worth a look."

It’s about 50 feet here. After the storm, visibility wasn't great. There was a lot of disturbed sediment in the water. I couldn’t see the bottom.

Surely Martin would have dumped the bodies somewhere deeper than this. But sometimes, in a rush, people don't think clearly. I'm sure his first order of business was getting rid of the evidence. He probably figured that once they were in the water, any trace evidence would be destroyed. It would be hard to tie him to the remains. But there are a million ways to leave clues behind, and most people aren’t smart enough to think of all the gotchas. It doesn't matter how smart you are. There's always something.

I grabbed a mask and fins, then plunged into the water. I cleared my mask, filled my lungs, then pulled myself below to get a better look.

My legs kicked, and I swam to the murky depths. I swallowed, equalizing the pressure in my ears.

Soon, the bottom came into view.

43

It was just a clump of rocks.

False alarm.

I finned back to the surface, broke through the water, and filled my lungs.

Jack looked on with eager eyes.

I shook my head and swam to the boat. I climbed aboard, pulled off my fins and mask, then toweled off.

Jack took the helm, fired up the engines, and we continued to pull the towfish around the island in ever-widening circles. Each pass took a little longer than the previous. Soon, Whistler Cay was a speck on the horizon.

We stumbled across a few more false alarms by the time the sun dipped over the horizon, but didn’t find any bodies. We did, however, stumble across the documentary crew’s boat. Someone had scuttled it offshore.

I called the sheriff and let him know. The harbor patrol would try to recover it and impound it as evidence.

We decided to pack it in and head back home.

Jack took the helm, and the engines roared. We carved through the swells as the last rays of sunlight glimmered the water.

We returned to Diver Down, unloaded the gear, then took the sheriff’s patrol boat back to the station. We hopped into the Porsche and drove back to the marina.

I took Buddy out for a walk, then hopped into the shower.