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Grace agreed. The outboard engine roared, the bow rose, and they were suddenly speeding across the glasslike waters, throwing a wake that sent flamingos scattering. Twilight was upon them as they motored away from the mainland and headed north into slightly choppier waters. Andie’s long, dark hair whipped in the breeze as they sped past her favorite view of Miami’s famous cityscape, which sparkled with one brightly lit high-rise after another. A fleet of Caribbean-bound cruise ships lined the port like floating hotels. To the east was Miami Beach, which—as Andie had learned only after her transfer from Seattle—was actually a barrier island between the bay and the Atlantic Ocean, the mainland’s first defense to hurricanes and tropical storms. Their destination was beyond Venetian Islands, a chain of man-made islands that dotted the bay and connected the peninsula to Miami Beach like giant stepping-stones straight out ofGulliver’s Travels.
“That way,” Andie shouted over the noisy outboard. She was pointing to the flashing beacons from a circle of marine patrol boats ahead. Grace cut their speed to “no-wake” as they approached the floating crime scene.
An artificial island that never came to be, Isola di Lolando was supposed to be the next Venetian Island, expanding the availability of pricey waterfront properties in the bay. The seawall for the planned island was under construction when the Great Miami Hurricane of 1926 made landfall and left only destruction in its wake. The market crash of 1929 and the Great Depression that followed sealed the project’s fate, forever abandoned, leaving behind only the pilings, which were visible depending on the tide.
“Bizarre,” said Grace.
It was low tide. Andie and her partner had a full view of a no-longer-submerged body chained to a concrete piling.
“Even by Miami standards,” said Andie.
Darkness had fallen, but the scene was amply lit by forensic lights from a nearby marine patrol boat. Beneath the surface, an underwater recovery team was at work, the sweep of their dive lights setting the submerged half of the piling aglow. Andie kept the FBI’s boat on the perimeter, so as not to interfere, but she was close enough to absorb key details. The body was wet but fully clothed. Caucasian male. Probably in his twenties. Warm water hastened decomposition, making it harder to estimate a time of death. Even in the subtropics, however, it could take a week for the skin to peel away from underlying tissues and invite fish, crabs, and sea lice to nibble away at the flesh. Andie guessed it had been a day, at most two, since the killer had put his work on display.
Marine patrol motored up beside Andie’s boat and idled its engine. Detective Cruz was onboard. At the risk of sounding defensive, Andie spoke first.
“We may be outside the federal park,” said Andie, “but I wouldn’t be so quick to rule out FBI jurisdiction over this homicide.”
“I agree,” said Cruz.
The detective’s sudden shift in position caught her by surprise. “What changed?”
“The body has a message on the torso.”
“A message or a tattoo?”
“Definitely a message. From the killer, I suspect. It’s written in some kind of marker pen. The ink is partly washed away, which tells me the body has been here at least one tide cycle. But you can still read it.”
“What does it say?”
“Looks like ‘goodbye girl.’”
Andie glanced at the body, then back, confused. “On first look, I thought we had a male victim.”
“Definitely male.”
Andie quickly caught up to his thinking. “So, is he gay or trans?”
“Don’t have an ID yet, so can’t say for sure. But given his killer’s message...”
“You’re thinking federal hate crime based on sexual orientation or gender identity,” said Andie, filling in the blank.
“About the size of it,” said Cruz.
Andie was on the same page. “Looking forward to working with you, Detective.”
“I look forward to working with you, as well,” said Cruz, and his boat pulled away.
“No, you don’t,” Andie said quietly. Then she and her partner exchanged glances.
“What do you make of it?” asked Grace.
“Hard to say. A lot depends on whether the victim was chained to the piling alive and left to drown with the rising tide, or if the murder took place somewhere else and the body was brought here purely for display.”
“Either way, we’re dealing with one sick fuck.”
Andie’s gaze drifted back to the victim. “You got that right.”
Chapter 1
