The Detective Took My Coordinates Before She Took My Statement

Rosa closed the laptop halfway.

Cal Rusk stood on our rear deck. He had a boat hook in one hand, though there was nothing to pull closer.

"Boss wants the camera card."

"Boss can read his contract," Rosa said.

"I'm speaking to him."

I put the sewing tin away.

"We're leaving, Cal. Step back onto the pier."

He looked at the laptop. Then he looked toward the loading bay, where the other man had stopped dragging chain.

"Funny things happen to equipment," he said.

"You're standing under our deck camera," Rosa told him.

That camera had no sound, but Cal didn't know that. He stepped off.

We cleared the berth. Once we were beyond his reach, I called emergency services and gave our location, the footage time, and Graham Vale's name.

"He's underwater in a locked cage," I said. "He has breathing equipment. I don't know how much air is left."

The dispatcher kept me talking. Rosa steered toward an open landing where responders could reach us.

I called out the cage's position from our dive plot. It hadn't reached the harbor bottom. Its upper corner had caught on an old steel brace beneath the loading bay.

That mattered. Anyone searching the mud below would pass under him.

The dispatcher asked if I would meet the rescue team.

"Yes. Tell them the cage is hanging. The brace is damaged."

A woman in a dark jacket came down the landing before the first rescue truck stopped. She showed me her badge without making me reach for it.

"Detective Noemi Duarte. I'm handling Vale's missing-person case."

She was thirty-nine, Cape Verdean American, and shorter than I expected. Her dark hair was pinned back. Her shoes were already wet.

"Show me the last point where you saw him move," she said.

I turned the laptop.

She watched once. Her face changed, but her voice stayed level.

"How long ago?"

"About sixteen minutes."

She called someone, gave a sharp, short report, and put the phone away.

"The rescue crew is coming to this boat. Nobody waits for a statement."

I hadn't known how much I needed her to say that.

"Mercer will try to get the file," I told her.

"Where's the original?"

"In my pocket. There's this copy and another on the boat drive."

"Good. Keep the laptop open. Don't edit or rename anything. Our evidence officer will make a receipt for what we take."

"You believe me?"

"I believe there's a man in that cage. We can discuss your personality after we get him out."

Rosa gave a small, startled laugh.

Noemi looked at my gloves, lying beside the keyboard.

"Those repairs yours?"

"Yes."

"Then you can probably survive paperwork."

"Depends who's holding the pen."

"Fair concern."

The rescue supervisor, Etta Fenn, came aboard carrying a board with a harbor chart clipped to it. She asked me about depth, current, access, and the cage's weight.

I answered what I knew and said what I didn't.

"I can guide your diver to it," I said.

She studied our logs, checked my condition, and spoke with her crew. She put me on the team under her control, with Rosa staying topside to help identify the footage and plot.

Noemi didn't push her way into those decisions. She cleared space, sent officers toward Mercer's gate, and asked Etta what else she needed.

Mercer called while I was checking my gear.

I showed Noemi the screen.

"You can let it go," she said.

I did. A message followed.

Return my property and we can forget the money.

Noemi photographed the screen with my permission. She wrote the time in a small notebook.

"What property?" she asked.

"He means the recording."

"What does the contract say?"

I gave her section eight.

She read it twice.

"Your lawyer wrote that?"

"Rosa's sister. Cost me $650."

"She earned it."

An evidence officer arrived with numbered bags. I watched him seal the original card. He gave me a receipt listing the card, the device it came from, and the time of transfer.

My hand shook as I signed.

Noemi held the board still. She didn't mention the shaking.

Mercer's pier came back into view as the rescue boat carried us around. Police stood beside his locked gate. He had come out in his clean shoes and was pointing at someone with both hands.

Etta brought me back to work.

"Focus here, Yuniel."

I checked my cuff, then the six red stitches.

Below us, the harbor was green and dim. I followed the brace toward the shape caught against it.

The cage shifted once.

Then three weak taps sounded through the water.