by Tripp Ellis
"I mean, she's not here,” Madison said. Her voice filtered through the tiny speaker on JD’s phone. “I had to run some errands, and when I got back, she was gone. Alejandro said he saw her get into a silver Honda and leave. She had a bag packed."
JD grimaced.
"Maybe she's just going to see a friend, or taking a change of clothes to go out after work? But I don't think she's working today,” Madison said. "I feel terrible. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on her."
"I'll try calling her,” JD said.
"I called a dozen times, and she hasn't answered,” Madison said, frantic. “She won't respond to my texts."
JD tried to play it cool, but I could see that he was worried. "Let me know if you hear anything from her.”
"I will. I'm so sorry, Jack."
JD hung up the phone.
"Scarlett?" I asked.
"That little miscreant has chosen the perfect time to go AWOL," Jack said. "I swear to God if she gets herself in more trouble…"
He just shook his head.
"I'm sure she’ll be okay," I said, trying to put a positive spin on it.
"She's got a court date in less than a month for possession. If she falls off the wagon and gets picked up again she's on her own."
JD looked like he was about to explode. “That just chaps my hide. She knows better. She is on lockdown, and she knows the only time that she is supposed to leave the house is to go to work. And she’s supposed to come straight home. No screwing around. No drinking. No going out to clubs. I know she’s got a fake ID. Hell, she’s had one since she was 14. You would not believe the collection I have taken from her over the years.”
"Who's Scarlett?” Carolyn asked.
"I'm beginning to wonder that myself," JD sighed.
JD gave Carolyn the backstory.
“Why don’t you head back to the States,” I said. “I can take care of things here.”
“No,” JD said. “Scarlett’s an adult. If she wants to screw up her life, that’s her choice.”
“Maybe she’s just going to visit a friend?” Carolyn suggested.
“All of her friends are little delinquents too.”
Carolyn frowned.
There was a long moment of silence as JD processed the situation.
“I’m going to go back to my hotel room and look over my notes,” Carolyn said. The tension in the room was thick, and it made her uncomfortable. “I'll see if there’s anything I missed. I’ll let you know if I turn up anything.”
“I don’t think it’s safe for you to be wandering around by yourself right now,” I said.
“Don’t worry about me,” Carolyn replied with a grin. She pulled a small subcompact pistol from her purse.
My eyes widened. “You know how to use that thing?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why do I find this so concerning?” I asked with a healthy dose of sarcasm.
She rolled her eyes. “Just because Bree had a restraining order against me doesn’t mean that I’m crazy.”
JD arched a curious eyebrow. “It doesn’t?”
Her wild eyes narrowed at him.
JD raised his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say. You’ve got the gun.”
She tucked it back into her purse.
“I don’t suppose you have a local license for that?” I asked.
“No. Are you going to turn me in?” she asked in a sassy tone.
“I’m just saying… If you get caught with that, you will be in big trouble.”
“I’d rather be in trouble than dead,” she said.
She had a point.
After Carolyn left the hotel room, JD muttered, “She’s cute, but goddamn, that girl scares me.”
23
JD fidgeted nervously. It was easy to see he had one thing on his mind—Scarlett.
The pain meds had long since worn off, and the day’s activity had caught up with him. He fumbled for the bottle of pain pills, emptied several into his palm, and tossed them down the hatch, followed by a gulp of whiskey.
“Where the hell did I go wrong?” He groaned. “I’ve been a good dad. I provided a good environment. I put a roof over her head, food on the table, and tried to be a good role model. I’m not perfect, but who the hell is?”
“It’s not your fault, JD. Kids experiment. Sometimes they take it too far. And these days, the consequences seem a little more intense. Life isn’t as simple as it was when we were younger. And certainly not when you were younger.”
His eyes narrowed at me.
“I mean, the only thing you had to worry about was not getting eaten by dinosaurs.”
“Funny,” he said flatly.
JD eased into a chair by the window. “When these pain pills kick in, we’re going to get something to eat. I’m starving.”
The sun was setting, and I figured it was time for a cocktail as well. I poured myself a drink and relaxed for a moment.
JD seemed to calm down after a few minutes.
I’d seen another Italian restaurant a few blocks over that looked interesting. We left the hotel and headed toward Bella Luna. It was an upscale casual eatery that overlooked the harbor. The mâtre d’ seated us, and we ordered a round of drinks while we perused the menu.
I ordered the linguini with clam sauce, and JD ordered the lasagna. When they brought the steaming plates out, I regretted my decision. The linguine was awesome, don't get me wrong, but that lasagna looked, and smelled, amazing! The sauce, the meat, the gooey cheese… mmm.
JD didn’t say much. His mind was back in Coconut Key. ”I think I probably should head back home. That girl is going to be the death of me."
"I think that's a good call. You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you stay here."
"I hate to leave you."
"I'm fine. Besides, I'm not the one who got shot."
"That was just bad luck."
We were halfway through the meal when I got a text from Carolyn. [I have what we need].
It was another cryptic message.
I texted: [What do you have?]
[You know I don't like sending sensitive information over text].
She had every reason to be paranoid. I knew exactly how fragile the average person's privacy was. Cobra Company violated it on a daily basis. So did the US government. Hell, there was a keyword searchable database of every phone conversation, text message, and email ever sent.
There was more data than the spooks knew what to do with.
But in the era of machine learning, threats and terrorist networks were more easily detected.
The thing that always frightened me about signals intelligence was that the government relied solely on externally developed software. There was no telling what backdoors were hidden in the code, or who had access?
[Meet me at my hotel room].
[Okay. We're just finishing dinner].
[Hurry. This is important].
I showed the text to JD who regarded it with a healthy dose of skepticism. “I’m telling you, that girl frightens me. What if she snaps and goes bat-shit crazy?”
"What is she going to go crazy about? I don't have a restraining order against her."
His eyes narrowed at me. "What if she fixates on you?"
"I don't think I'm her type."
JD scoffed. “Please, I’ve seen how well you do with the ladies. The rest of us are invisible when you’re around. You could make a nun break her vows.”
I modestly dismissed his comment.
We settled our tab and left the restaurant. We headed down Rue Grimaldi, then veered onto Avenue d’Ostend and made our way to the Château Magnifique.
It was a luxury five-star hotel that was a few minutes walk from the casino and Larvotto Beach.
Carolyn was loaded.
She had been living on a trust fund since her early 20s. With too much money, and too much time on her hands, and a compulsive personality, I began to see how she could fixate her attention on things of interest. She didn't
have a job, didn't want for money, and until this point, had occupied her mind with the life of Bree Taylor.
The lobby was ornately decorated. There were marble floors, and a pianist tickled the keys of the grand piano. The furniture was elegant, and an interior waterfall trickled, making the lobby feel like a meditation chamber.
The gold crest of the hotel’s CM logo was emblazoned on the black elevator doors. I pressed the call button, the doors slid open, and we stepped aboard the lift. At the fourth floor, I took a left down the hallway and knocked on room #415.
There was no answer.
I knocked again. "Carolyn. It's me. Tyson."
Still nothing.
I put my ear to the door and listened. The muffled sound of the TV barely filtered through the door.
I exchanged a wary glance with JD.
I knocked again. "Carolyn. Are you in there?"
24
JD stayed at the door while I ran down the hall, bursting into the stairwell and spiraling down to the lobby. I rushed to the desk clerk. "I'm concerned about my friend in #415. She won't answer."
"Maybe she stepped out," the clerk said with a thick French accent. "Or maybe she just doesn’t want to see you."
"She just invited me over," I said, glaring at the man. "Can you open her door? I’d like to do a wellness check."
The clerk lifted a perturbed eyebrow. "Hold on. I will get the manager."
After wasting time explaining the scenario to him, he agreed. He escorted me up to the room, assuring me that everything was fine, and I was probably overreacting. He slid the card key into the lock, and the access light flashed green. He pressed the handle and pushed into the room and gasped at what he saw.
I rushed in through the open door to see Carolyn sprawled out on the bed. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were fixed at the ceiling. She had no color in her lips.
I felt for a pulse on her wrist, but she didn't have one. Her skin was cold.
That sick feeling twisted my stomach. I should never have left her on her own.
She had a band tied around her left arm, and an empty syringe was on the bed—next to a spoon and a lighter.
I immediately started chest compressions, though I knew it was far too late. "Call emergency services! We need some narcan.”
Narcan (Naloxone) was a drug that counteracted the effects of opiates.
The manager hesitated for a moment, dazed by the situation. Then he darted to the phone and called an ambulance.
I spent the next several minutes trying to revive Carolyn, pumping her chest to no avail. When the EMTs arrived, they took over and quickly pronounced her deceased.
JD and I looked around the hotel room, without disturbing anything. I knew that once the police arrived, we wouldn't have access to the scene any longer. From what I could tell, Carolyn's notebook was missing—the one with all of her notes and information she had gathered about Bree’s murder.
Inspector Géroux arrived within a few minutes, and he wasn't particularly happy to see us. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips. "Why is it every time someone dies you are in close proximity?"
"I guess I'm just bad luck,” I said.
He looked over the scene, and a forensics photographer snapped pictures.
“Was she a friend of yours?" Géroux asked.
"Something to that effect."
"I'm glad that you and I are not friends,” he quipped, dryly. "It seems your friend has overdosed.”
"I think that's what someone would like us to believe," I said.
"And who is this mysterious someone?"
I shrugged.
"What are you doing here?"
"She invited me to come over."
"Were you two lovers?"
I sneered at him. "No. We've been discussing Bree's death. I think she might have gained some insight into the crime. I believe that’s why she was murdered.”
The inspector stopped just short of an eye roll. “This is not a homicide, yet.” He paused. “Tell me your theory."
I explained to him all the reasons why I thought Liam Gordon had motive, means, and opportunity to kill Bree.
"An interesting and creative theory, but impossible."
My face twisted with confusion. "Why impossible?"
"Liam has a solid alibi."
"No he doesn't. His wife told me she lied to cover for him."
"I know. He wasn't with his wife. He was with another woman during the time of Bree's murder."
"Who?" I asked.
"I am not in the business of keeping the gossip magazines supplied with dirt. I'm afraid that information will remain confidential. Suffice it to say, I checked his alibi, and I am satisfied with it."
"What about Vincent’s murder?"
“Liam was in Cannes at the time. There are witnesses."
"And where is he now?" I asked, incredulous.
"That, I do not know.” He paused. “It is not for me to decide, but I consider this to be an accidental overdose."
"I saw nothing to indicate that Carolyn was a user,” I said.
"And how well did you know her?"
I didn't answer.
I didn’t know her well at all.
"How much time have you spent with her?" Géroux asked.
"A few hours,” I conceded, in a low mumble.
"And that is enough time to know a person's deep dark secrets?"
I said nothing and frowned.
"She could have been clean for months or years, then relapsed,” Géroux said. “Stress can push some people over their limits. I see it happen all the time."
I couldn't argue with what he was saying. But I didn't like it. And I didn't buy it.
"We will know more once we have a full report from the medical examiner. Feel free to contact me if you would like additional information. In the meantime, I will politely ask you to leave while we continue our investigation." Inspector Géroux motioned for the door, and JD and I exited the suite.
I muttered to him in the hallway. "She didn't have any tracks on her arm."
"You never know. People get creative about places they shoot up."
I shook my head. "She hadn’t been using."
JD shrugged. “How do you know that?”
"You don't seriously think she OD’d?” I asked, incredulous.
"No. I don't. But I’ve known people who've been pretty good at hiding their habits. And like the man said. You didn’t know her very well.“
“She didn’t exhibit any signs of using.”
We made our way back down to the lobby and exited the hotel. Blue lights flickered across the building from two parked police cars.
We caught a cab back to the Hôtel Impérial. As I climbed out of the car and stepped to the curb, a woman exited the cab behind us and approached. It took me a moment to place her face. Then I recognized her from the marina.
It was Bianca.
“Mr. Wild,” she said, timidly. Her eyes gave a cautious glance around. “I need to speak with you. I was supposed to meet Carolyn at her hotel. But when I saw the police out front, I thought something dreadful had happened. She’s not answering her phone. Then I saw you, and I followed you here.”
A look of terror filled her eyes when I told her Carolyn was dead.
25
"Let's talk about this inside," I suggested.
In light of our previous attack, I didn't think discussing such matters on the street would be prudent.
Bianca readily agreed.
My eyes scanned for threats as we strolled back to our hotel room. I unlocked the door, made sure the room was clear, then invited Bianca in.
She looked dazed by the news of Carolyn's passing. "I can't believe she's gone. I just spoke with her.”
“About Bree?”
“I told her the truth,” Bianca admitted.
"So, you saw the murder?”
She nodded. “Yes, and I have it on video."
My eyes widened with surprise. I exchanged a glance with JD.
> Bianca dug into her purse. "I recorded the whole thing on my phone."
She pulled out a smart phone and handed it to me after she unlocked the screen with her passcode. "The videos are in the photos app."
I scrolled through her phone and launched the video.
"I saw them that night. I'm almost embarrassed to admit it, but I was a little starstruck. That's why I took the video. I didn't have any idea what would happen next."
"And you told Carolyn you were bringing this to her?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Why not just go to the police?"
"No. No police. I don't want to get involved. That's why I didn't want to talk to you in the first place. I'll give you the video and you can do what you want with it. Then I'll delete it from my phone. I don't want to have anything to do with this."
Judging by the way people turned up dead, I didn't blame her.
I pressed play on the video, and what I saw threw me for a loop.
In crystal clear, ultra high definition footage, I watched Bree lean on the railing at the bow of her mega-yacht. Liam approached, and the two got into a heated discussion.
"I want my money back,” Bree demanded. “All of it. Now."
Liam looked like he was in physical pain at the sound of the request. "I can't get it back now. I don't have it."
"Find it. You’re a smart guy. Steal it from somebody else. But I want every last penny back."
"It's going to take time.”
"Time is something you don't have. I'll go public with this. You'll be ruined."
A grim look washed over Liam's face. "You can't do that!”
"I can, and I will." Bree scowled at him. "I trusted you. I considered you a friend. How could you do this to me?"
Liam made a half-assed apology. "I'm sorry. I have a problem. I'm an addict. I couldn't control myself. I saw an opportunity, and I took it."
Bree rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that victim bullshit. You’re a goddamn thief. Nothing more, nothing less."
Something off-screen drew their attention, and their heads turned.
Liam muttered, “I’ll get your money. We’ll discuss this later.”
Savannah stumbled into the frame. A champagne bottle dangled from her fingertips, which was mostly empty at this point.
