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I frowned. “The salvage boat captain? She towed the shipping container with those bodies inside to the wharf.”
“Yeah, that’s her. We need her to raise Chui’s sunken yacht and bring it into Rosebud Wharf.”
“And . . . what do I need to do?”
“You need to protect her.”
“Protect her from who?”
“From the bastards who are trying to get their hands on whatever is on that yacht.”
I frowned, trying to understand why Aria didn’t tell me that herself. “Seems simple enough.”
“Yes, except our defensive Border Force boats are out of action or unable to support you, and I can’t spare any other officers. It’s critical that we keep this under wraps, Kingsley. Just Aria and us two know about the plan.”
Was that because he didn’t trust everyone in our cop station?
“Reason?”
“Chui had his tentacles into a lot of people, and somebody still wants to get their hands on whatever is on that sunken yacht. The fewer people who know about this salvage, the better.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, it means you’ll be flying solo. We’re banking on Indiana getting the wreck into Rosebud Wharf before anyone knows what’s happening.”
“Why don’t you wait until the border force team can help?”
He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles bulged. “Because this whole damn mess is connected, and when Chui died, we’d thought it would put an end to this bullshit. But the crimes connected to him still keep coming. Someone else is running the show, and we have no fucking idea who. We’re hoping whatever is on that yacht is the key we’ve been looking for.”
“I’m sensing there’s more to it.”
“Yeah. Indiana Smith.”
“What about her?”
“She hates cops.” He gave a curt nod. “See you at the station.”
He climbed into his patrol car and shut the door.
I got into my car and followed Watts down the potholed driveway.
Indiana Smith wasn’t the first person I’d had to protect who hated cops, and she wouldn’t be the last. What I wasn’t impressed with was being taken off the abandoned orphanage case. Then again, if all I was doing was shadowing Indiana while we were on her boat, then I could take my laptop and notes with me. I could do my research anywhere, including out on the ocean.
I started my drive back to Rosebud Police Station with Bach’s Orchestral Suite no 3. blaring from my speakers much louder than I needed. My mother introduced me to classical music when I was an angry teenager. Mom was a primary school teacher, and in every class she taught, classical music played in the background. I often wondered if those kids hated it as much as I did in the beginning, but I grew to appreciate how therapeutic classical music could be.
Once I’d had my Bach fix, I turned off the music and set my phone to dictate. During the following ninety minutes, I dictated my report on what had been found at the orphanage and drafted a press release that Watts could potentially use.
As I stepped into the musty air of the police station, I waved to the officer at the front desk. “Hey, Lacey.”
“Hi, Tyler. How did you go at the orphanage?”
I shook my head. “They’d already found six bodies before I left.”
“Jesus. Are you beginning to regret being posted to Rosebud?”
“Nope. Are you?”
“No way. I’d rather be busy any day.”
I frowned at her. Maybe she also had a past she was running from. Lacey and I had both started at this station in the same week. Our posting followed the incarceration of two cops who’d been arrested for their corrupt dealings with Chui. Following in a bad cop’s footsteps was good and bad. On the one hand, it wasn’t hard to look good. On the other hand, getting our co-workers to trust us was hard work.
I pushed through the doorway with the intention of heading straight to my desk, but my focus was hijacked by the ruckus coming from the holding cells, a clattering symphony of metal and fury.
