Page 76 of Wild Tempest

"Look, if that punk gets shanked in the pod, it's one less scumbag on the streets.”

"And a murderer goes free, and you still don't get your cartel boss.”

"Look, it's out of my hands. Why are we even having this discussion? I can't do anything about it. Talk to the AUSA.”

"I’m asking you to do me a favor and push for a deal for the kid, pending the cooperation of my informant.”

"You're out of your mind."

"I've been told."

"Sorry. It’s out of my hands. There’s nothing I can do.”

"Thanks. I appreciate the cooperation," I said before ending the call.

I broke the bad news to my cartel friend when he called the next day. There were a few things about the case he didn’t realize.

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Florida has a mandatory minimum of 15 years. But this was a federal case. Enrique was looking at a minimum of 5. Daniels had talked to the AUSA, and prosecutors agreed to a plea agreement of 24 months with substantial assistance. It allowed them to depart from the minimum sentencing.

My cartel friend wasn't familiar with the nuance of the law. When I told him a deal was on the table for 24 months, he was ecstatic.

"I knew you'd come through," he said.

"Now you have to come through,” I said. “Where can I find the bodies?”

My friend gave me the coordinates.

"And you saw Martin dump the remains there with your own eyes?"

"I wouldn't be able to give you this information otherwise."

"It would really be helpful if you agreed to testify.”

"I ain't no snitch.”

He clearly was, but that was a mental hoop that he just couldn't jump through.

"If we don't find anything at that location, there's no deal for Enrique. You realize that?”

"That is abundantly clear. You'll find what you're looking for. I guarantee it.”

I informed the sheriff, and he joined us as we took the patrol boat out to the coordinates. We pulled the towfish along. Sure enough, the side-scan sonar indicated an anomaly on the seafloor. The depth was about 75 feet.

I went through the safety checks, then donned the scuba gear and plunged into the water. I cleared my mask, then finned below. The water was still a little murky from the storms. We’d had a few more showers in the interim.

When I reached the bottom, the horrific sight came into view. The bodies of the three college students were tied up with chains and anchored to the bottom with two heavy anchors. The wrapped-up tarp containing Chelsea’s remains was with them.

The corpses were pale and lifeless, and the critters of the deep had nibbled here and there. Normally, two anchors of this weight wouldn't have been enough to keep these bodies submerged, but Martin had filled all the corpses full of stab wounds. The punctures had helped vent decomposition gases, keeping the bodies from rising to the surface.

I returned to the boat and informed the sheriff. It wasn't long before the medical examiner and the dive team arrived, along with forensic investigators.

Over the next few hours, they recovered the remains and bagged the bodies.

Paris Delaney and her crew had arrived to capture the gruesome footage. It would be all over the news.

The chains and anchors were collected. It wouldn't be hard to track those back to Martin Harris. With any luck, the bodies still contained slugs from his pistol. That would be the slam dunk we needed.