Free Someone's Watching by Sharon Potts

“What happened?” she asked over the roaring of the helicopter.
    “Don’t know,” he shouted. “Just got here. But there are divers.”
    Robbie pushed through the crowd. Divers, she thought. Could be a car. Or a body. Whose body? But her mind didn’t want to go there.
    The water reeked of decaying vegetation, and sprouted mangrove bushes with large, tangled roots. She could see better now.There were people standing on the footbridge that crossed a narrow expanse of the creek. Yellow crime-scene tape marked large areas on both sides of the waterway, which appeared to have been closed to boat traffic. A tent had been set up just beyond the creek bed on a flat grassy area. What was that about? People loitered up to the edge of the tape, many filming the activity with their cell phones or cameras. They were smiling, having a good time. South Beach—fun and games any time, day or night.
    And then she saw him in the crowd. Her father. Amongst the tank tops, T-shirts, and shorts, her dad stood out in his white oxford shirt and navy slacks. He stared at the water, his face expressionless. And she remembered him looking out at the river that night so many years ago.
There’s nothing I can do. Absolutely nothing
.
    What had they found in the water? Kate? Dear God—let it not be Kate. But it couldn’t be her half sister, she reasoned. Her father wouldn’t be here if Kate had been found. Then what was going on in the tent?
    Robbie got closer to the crime-scene tape. Marked and unmarked police cars were parked helter-skelter in the street and on the grass. She saw uniformed cops, crime-scene technicians. A diver was talking to a woman wearing denim Capri pants and a light blue short-sleeved shirt. Lieber, out of her customary detective clothes, as though called here from off duty.
    Robbie stared at the detective, willing Lieber to look in Robbie’s direction. She was desperate to know what had happened. The diver adjusted his gear and headed back toward the water. “Detective Lieber,” Robbie called out, not sure she could be heard over the helicopter noise.
    But Lieber turned to Robbie’s voice, held up her hand to indicate she’d be right with her, then went over to a couple of uniformed cops.
    Robbie waited, trying to calm her breathing. Her father wasstill looking into the water, as though he could see down to its murky bottom.
There’s nothing I can do
.
    “Robbie,” Lieber called. “Can you step over here? I just have a minute.”
    Robbie joined Lieber under a shady ficus tree a short distance from the crime scene area. The helicopter cast a shadow over the water. It was difficult to hear anything with its noise all around them.
    “What’s happened?” Robbie said. “My father’s here. Did something happen to Kate?”
    Lieber shook her head. “No. Not Kate.” Her hair was clipped back, a strand of grayish brown escaping over her eye. She pushed it back. She looked haggard.
    “Tell me. Please.” Sweat was dripping beneath Robbie’s T-shirt and shorts.
    “We got a call early this morning,” Lieber said. “The body of a teenage girl was found in the creek, tangled in some mangrove roots.”
    Robbie let out a gasp.
    “It’s Joanne Sparks.”
    “Oh, no.” Robbie covered her mouth with her hands. She remembered the photo of the girl on the “Missing” flyer—the narrow face and large nose that now would never mature into adulthood.
    “Her parents came down from Deland a couple of days ago to search for her. They’ve identified Joanne’s body.” Lieber glanced back at the tent.
    “Oh God. Joanne’s in the tent?”
    “The ME is still examining the body.”
    “And Joanne’s parents? They’re in there?”
    Lieber shook her head. “They went back to their hotel. Joanne’s mother needed to be sedated.”
    Joanne’s parents. Imagine identifying your eighteen-year-old dead daughter’s body. Eighteen. Her mom and dad should have beenpreparing for their daughter’s high school graduation,