He also found reports of two separate anonymous phone calls to the police department, claiming that Lopez’s fishing guide business was a cover for a drug-dealing operation. The first call had come in four months earlier, not long after Lopez had moved to the area. The tipster claimed that Lopez was a “known” dealer, whose apparent financial resources far exceeded any reasonable income from his one-boat tourism outfit. The information lacked the kind of specifics that police generally look for in deciding whether to pursue an investigation, and no action was taken. More intriguingly, a second anonymous call came in only four days before Lopez’s girlfriend reported him missing. This time, the informant claimed to be a heroin user who had bought drugs from Lopez multiple times. Believing that Lopez had shorted her in their two most recent transactions, the user decided to “blow the whistle” on Lopez’s illegal side hustle. “He gets his product from a guy he used to fish salmon with up in Alaska.”

Unlike the first tipster, the second caller had provided details about the source of her information, claiming to be a direct participant in drug transactions. Her mention of Lopez’s prior work and its location also suggested inside information. The tip had been passed on to the Suffolk County Police Department’s drug investigation unit but, according to detectives there, not yet assigned for follow-up before Lopez’s disappearance. “If you find him,” the sergeant had said, “let us know, and we’ll check him out.”

All of this was more detail than Lisa Robbins needed. “A few whispers that he might have been involved in the drug trade,” he said, “but nothing concrete.”

“For what it’s worth, someone posted a one-star Yelp review on Sunday, saying he stood them up for a charter reservation that day and wasn’t answering his phone, so he was probably dead or missing by then.”

“Look at you being all sleuthy.”

“You’re the investigator. I just keep the water safe—or try to, at least. This will be our third drowning this summer, and it’s only June.”

Carter said nothing.

“You look dubious. There’s some reason you think it’s not a drowning, isn’t there? Something about it seems . . . fishy?”

She looked proud of herself, and Carter wondered if he’d made a mistake, cutting short that second date.

“Too soon to tell,” he said. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something in the back of his mind was tugging at him. He pushed the nagging feeling away, knowing his job would be a whole lot easier if Alex Lopez was just another drowning victim.

15
Monday, June 21, 5:38 p.m.

Ellie had just stepped out of the precinct when her cell phone rang. The screen read Uncle Steve. Steve Thompson, her father’s former partner.