by Tripp Ellis
She ended the call.
That’s when I noticed a small Yorkshire Terrier sniffing around the van.
I cringed.
The bomb could detonate at any second, and the little guy was oblivious.
I shouted at the dog, but from two blocks away, it didn’t do any good. My voice barely carried that far.
I grabbed binoculars from a nearby deputy and took a closer look. The animal kept lingering around, hobbling. It had a bad hind leg.
It was stupid, but I handed the binoculars back to the deputy and took off running toward the dog.
“Damnit, Wild,” Hartman grumbled.
My legs drove me forward as I sprinted toward the van. My pulse pounded, and my body misted with sweat—more from adrenaline than anything else. I was close enough to get vaporized if the device exploded.
I didn’t want to antagonize the dog by trying to chase him away. Instead, I slowed as I approached and knelt down. In a soft voice, I called, “Here boy. Here...”
The dog barked at me incessantly, it’s shrill tone piercing my ears. The little guy bared his teeth like a ferocious beast. I think he could sense the tension.
“Come on, boy... I’m trying to help you out.”
The little yappy thing kept snapping.
“Work with me,” I groaned flatly.
The dog kept barking.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I said.
Finally, the dog had barked himself out. His head tilted with curiosity.
“That’s it, boy. Come on,” I beckoned.
The little guy hobbled toward me with caution. I let him draw near and sniff around. I petted him when he let me. I scratched his chin and behind his ears. When he was comfortable, I picked him up, spun around, and sprinted back toward safety.
I was almost to the end of the block when a thunderous boom echoed across the island, quaking the ground.
The device had detonated.
A moment later, the blast wave knocked me off my feet. It felt like I’d been hit in the back with a baseball bat. The force slammed me to the ground, and I shielded the little pooch. Shards of debris spidered in all directions. A plume of black smoke roiled into the sky. Bits of scalding shrapnel and debris rained down, bouncing off the concrete around me.
Car alarms across the island screeched.
The dog wiggled from my arms, and I staggered to my feet, my ears ringing. Still dazed, I surveyed myself for injuries, then picked up the dog and looked him over. By some miracle, we both escaped unscathed. The little dog trembled in my arms. I stroked him, trying to calm him down.
I glanced down the street to where the van had been. There was momentary disorientation among the deputies and first responders. It’s not every day you experience a blast like that in close proximity.
It was a good thing they had pushed back another block because there were bits of smoldering shrapnel well beyond the original perimeter. Half the courthouse had been blown away. The tattered edges of the brick looked like a giant creature had taken a bite. The air was cloudy with haze from the explosion, and the acrid stench drifted on the breeze. Papers fluttered with the wind, and fragmented splinters of furniture were strewn about.
There was a massive crater in the ground where the van had been. All the neighboring cars had been toppled and brushed aside like toys swept away by the hand of God. The building across the street was demolished. Bits of twisted metal and glass lined the roadway.
Fortunately, the area had been evacuated.
The helicopters circled above.
I ambled back to the perimeter, and Hartman just shook his head in disbelief. “You’re one lucky son-of-a-bitch, Wild.”
I shrugged.
My eyes found JD, and he gave me the thumbs up. Paris Delaney and the news crew were still filming. They’d captured the whole thing on video. She made a beeline for me with the cameraman in tow.
The girl never stopped.
Isabella called me back. I swiped the screen and put the phone to my ear.
“Looks like we might be able to hack that device,” Isabella said.
“Too late now,” I replied.
46
There were no casualties from the blast, but the property damage was immense. There was a solid case against Kyle and Kristin. I had no doubt they’d both go away for a long time, no matter which judge oversaw their case.
It would take months to rebuild the courthouse. But half of it was still functional, and the two bombers would have to make appearances in a building they had a hand in destroying.
I couldn’t quite chalk it up as a win, but it wasn’t a total loss either. We saved a lot of lives. The death toll could have been staggering if the courthouse had been full.
After wrapping up at the scene, JD drove me and my new friend to Diver Down and dropped us off. I was covered in dust and debris and needed a shower. I’m sure that dust wasn’t healthy to breathe either.
Buddy and Fluffy had a new, temporary companion. The visitor was met with curiosity and skepticism, but before long, Buddy accepted the little guy into the family. Fluffy remained indifferent as usual.
Cooper’s name, and his owner’s number, was on his collar. I called, and a young woman answered. She had a soothing voice. I introduced myself and explained the situation to her.
“Oh, my God!” Phoebe said. “I’ve been worried sick about him.”
“He’s unharmed, except for his leg from a previous injury.”
“Yeah, he tore his ACL chasing squirrels. The surgery is like super expensive, and there’s no guarantee he won’t tear it again. The little guy is getting old.”
I gave her directions to the marina, and she told me she’d be right over.
When Phoebe arrived, I decided I might have to make a career change and go into animal rescue. Cooper was cute. But Phoebe was way cuter. The perky brunette crossed the passerelle and sauntered across the aft deck wearing tight shorts and a bikini top that screamed for mercy as it tried to contain pert, all-natural curves.
The girl was take-your-breath-away gorgeous—plump lips, bright blue eyes, perfect skin.
She knocked on the sliding glass door, and the dogs barked. I held them back as I slid open the door and invited her in. She stepped into the salon and knelt down to greet Cooper with lots of love. She baby-talked him, “Mommy’s so happy to see you. You need to stop running away.”
After she’d showered Cooper with enough attention, she looked at Buddy. “And who are you?”
“That’s trouble,” I said. “Be careful. He’s a ladies’ man.”
“I can see,” she said as Buddy licked her gorgeous face.
She scooped Cooper from the deck and stood up. “I can’t thank you enough. Let me give you some type of reward. I think I have a little cash in my purse.”
I chuckled. “I don’t need a reward.”
She looked around. “I guess not. This is a really nice boat.”
“Thanks.”
“What do you do for a living, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I told her I was a deputy sheriff.
Her brow crinkled with skepticism. “Are you like a dirty cop? Because there is no way you can afford this on a cop’s salary. Sorry. I’m asking too many questions.” She cringed.
I laughed. “It’s okay.” I told her I had other business endeavors, and she seemed satisfied with that answer.
“Well, I guess I’ll get out of your hair. Sorry for the trouble.”
“Oh, no trouble.”
She took Cooper’s paw and waved it at me. “Say goodbye to Mr. Wild.”
“It’s Tyson.”
Phoebe smiled. “Goodbye, Tyson.”
I slid the door open for her as she stepped to the deck.
“Thank you again,” she said.
She snuggled Cooper, and I watched her cross the passerelle and saunter down the deck. She waved again before disappearing into the parking lot.
Meeting Phoebe was almost worth getting blown up. Almost
.
Over the next few days, we spoke with the five men who owned white imported pickup trucks on the island. Two were out of state at the time, and the other three had solid alibis. None of the trucks we looked at had a damaged bumper, but that could have been easily fixed between now and the time of Mindy’s murder.
When we came up empty-handed, Denise suggested one more owner that we had overlooked.
"You might want to check out Cindi Beth Johnson. She owns a white Toyoma truck. I didn't consider her at first, then I got to thinking she could have a boyfriend that borrowed the truck. And get this, she lives in Mangrove Bay."
JD and I exchanged a curious glance.
We headed to the marina, and JD parked the Porsche in the lot. We hustled down the dock to Cindi Beth’s boat, the Seaduction. We’d been there before, speaking with her boyfriend, Cody.
The dots were starting to connect.
Cindi Beth sat in the cockpit, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer as we approached.
When JD flashed his badge, Cindi Beth groaned. "What's he done this time?"
"Do you own a white truck, ma'am?"
"Did that dipshit get in another wreck?”
JD and I exchanged a subtle grin.
"How’d he wreck the car previously?"
“He backed into one of those bollards they put on the sidewalk to keep dumb-asses from driving into convenience stores. At least, that's what he said happened. Dented the right rear bumper."
“Did Cody borrow your truck Wednesday before last?" I asked.
She thought about it for a moment. “I think that was the day he dropped me off at the airport. My mom’s been sick, and I’ve been spending a lot of time up in Miami.”
I pulled up the picture of the lighter we found aboard Helen’s boat on my phone and showed it to Cindi Beth. "You recognize this lighter?”
"Looks like Cody’s. Why? What's this about?" she asked with a crinkled brow.
"Where is Cody now?" I asked.
"God only knows. He said he was going to run a few errands.”
I showed Cindi Beth pictures of Mindy. "Have you ever seen this girl before?"
She shook her head.
"We pulled her body from the water near Barracuda Key. Somebody had tied a rope around her and attached an anchor."
Cindi Beth’s face went long.
"She was last seen getting into a white truck with a dented bumper.”
Cindi Beth swallowed hard. "You think Cody had something to do with that?"
"Yes, ma'am. You mind if we take a look around your boat?"
She hesitated for a moment. At first, I thought she was going to demand we get a warrant.
"What are you looking for?" Cindi Beth asked.
"I'll know it when I see it."
She hesitated and eyed the two of us carefully. "I'll let you search on one condition.”
I lifted a curious eyebrow.
“You have to promise not to bust me if you find a little weed.”
I chuckled. “That’s not what we’re looking for.”
Cindi Beth invited us aboard, and we stepped into the cabin.
“Are you missing a small Danforth anchor by any chance?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t really checked.”
The boat had a day head to starboard and a small galley to port. There was a forward, queen-size berth as well as a small aft berth to starboard. We glanced around the cabin, then JD searched the aft cabin, while I took the forward compartment.
The boat was relatively neat despite the exterior looking shabby. There were little storage compartments all over. In a small compartment in the forward berth, I found nylon rope—double braided dock line that was dingy and worn from years of use. Not unusual on a boat. But I noticed deep rust-colored stains that looked an awful lot like blood.
In the dirty clothes hamper, I found a navy blue long-sleeve T-shirt.
I buzzed with excitement. I shouted to JD. "You might want to take a look at this."
I showed him the evidence when he joined me in the forward compartment.
JD’s eyes rounded. “I’m gonna say we found our guy.”
I stepped back into the main cabin, and Cindi Beth looked terrified. The color had drained from her skin. "I'm missing an anchor. Do you think Cody killed that girl?"
I nodded. “And your neighbor, Helen.”
Her eyes widened, and she clutched her chest. Her jaw dropped, speechless. A million thoughts ran through her brain. I could see it on her face. She was horrified at all the time she had spent alone with Cody—a man capable of brutal and despicable things.
"When do you expect him back?" I asked.
"I don't know. He didn't say. He runs off sometimes, and I don't see him for hours."
"How long have you two been living together?"
She shrugged. "A couple years now, maybe.”
"Has he ever gotten violent with you?"
She shook her head, still dazed. "No. He's the first guy I’ve been with that didn't raise his hand to me." Her eyes filled. "Are you sure about all this?" she asked, even though she knew the truth.
I nodded my head.
"What are you going to do now?"
"Wait for him to come back and arrest him."
I called Sheriff Daniels and told him what we found. I asked him to keep a patrol unit on standby in the area. I didn't want Cody to pull into the parking lot, see a patrol car, and get spooked.
The cell reception was breaking up, and I climbed up to the cockpit. I stepped onto the deck and looked down the dock.
Cody ambled toward the boat. As soon as he saw me, holding his shirt and the bloody rope with rubber gloves, his eyes widened. He paused, then spun around and ran to the parking lot.
I shouted at JD and chased after Cody. Still on the line with the sheriff, I told him the suspect was on the move before hanging up. I sprinted down the dock, my legs driving me forward.
JD followed.
Cody hopped into the truck and had it started by the time I reached the parking lot. He dropped it into gear, and the tires barked as he sped away.
I ran to the Porsche and waited for JD. We hopped in, and he cranked up the engine. The beast roared, and he dropped the car into gear and peeled out of the lot.
Cody had a pretty good head start. I lost sight of the truck as Cody made a hard right on Bermuda Street.
JD weaved between the traffic, the wind swirling around the cabin, the engine rumbling. We took the corner hard, and the inertia thrust me against the seat bolster. The Porsche was glued to the ground.
JD gunned it down Bermuda. I caught sight of the truck on a side street as we flew by. I told JD to spin around, and when it was clear, he banked a u-turn. We turned onto Mackerel and pulled alongside the truck, which had been abandoned at the curb. The door was open, and Cody had taken off on foot.
47
The guy was like a ghost. He vanished into thin air. My eyes scanned in all directions, but I didn't see any sign of him.
We were in a residential neighborhood, and he could have sprinted up a driveway and disappeared into someone's backyard. From there, he could have hopped a few fences.
By the time Tango One circled overhead, Cody was long gone.
JD and I cruised around the streets in the area while the chopper thumped overhead. He drove slowly, and my eyes scanned driveways and bushes, looking for the hiding perp.
I called Cindi Beth. "Does Cody have any friends? Where would he go when he's in trouble?"
"He hangs out with Troy a lot. That's his best friend."
"Where does Troy live?"
"I can't think of his address off the top of my head, but he's got a little place on Fishburne Avenue."
She told me Troy’s last name, and I called Denise and had her look up the information. She gave me the address, and I looked it up on my phone.
I told JD, and he sped toward the residence. Troy only lived a few blocks over.
We screeched to the curb
at Troy's house and hopped out. I drew my weapon, and we advanced the walkway toward the front door. My eyes scanned the premises.
JD moved around to the rear of the house, and I banged on the front door. "Coconut County! Open up."
I waited for a few moments with no response.
Then the deadbolt unlatched, and a man pulled the door open. I had my badge ready, and my pistol dangled from my palm. "We believe you may be harboring a fugitive. Have you seen Cody Hammond?”
"No," Troy stammered, looking guilty as sin.
His wide eyes flicked to my badge, then to my gun, then back to my eyes.
“Are you sure? Keep in mind that if you lie to me, you will be charged with aiding and abetting a felon.”
Troy swallowed hard. "Okay, yeah, he was here. But he didn't tell me what the problem was. He just told me that he needed to borrow my car and my boat. He said he’d leave my car at the marina."
"Which marina?"
"Pelican Point."
"What's the name of your boat?"
“Pier Pressure.”
I shouted to JD, and he joined me around the front.
We climbed into the car, and I held on for dear life as JD sped to Pelican Point. He raced into the parking lot and pulled up to the dock. We hopped out of the Porsche and searched for Pier Pressure. Troy had told me where it was docked within the marina.
But we didn’t get there fast enough. We arrived at the slip just as Cody piloted the 40-foot sport yacht past the breakwater.
I grumbled under my breath and stomped the deck.
"What's the problem?" a man aboard a nearby boat asked.
There was a slight southern twang to his voice. He was a burly dude that looked like he liked to party. A beer, wrapped snug in a koozie, dangled from his hand.
48
“Hop aboard,” the burly dude said. “Let’s get that sum-bitch!”
He cranked up the engines, and we cast off the lines and climbed aboard his 40-foot racing boat.
It was sleek, elegant, and fast. The GTR was powered by three Mercury Racing 450s. The hardtop provided additional structural rigidity while allowing for an open view home station. The upholstery was second to none with soft-touch leather and diamond stitching. There was a seating area fore and aft, and multicolored LED lighting could be tailored to suit the mood. No party boat would be complete without a bumping stereo, and the GTR could crank out the tunes to deafening levels. The boat was ideal for adrenaline-filled escapades with bikini-clad beauties or chasing down bad guys.
