by Tripp Ellis
“I'm not picking it up anywhere. It's probably been turned off, and the battery removed."
"Thanks.” I let out a heavy sigh of frustration.
"Excuse me," a girl said. "I don't know if it's important, but there was a guy in a business suit making a call on the sidewalk. After he hung up the phone, he pulled out the battery and tossed it in the trash can. I thought it was kinda weird at the time."
My brow lifted and a thin smile tugged on my lips.
"Thank you, that's helpful."
The girl was maybe 20 years old. Dark hair, dark eyes. She had a laptop and a backpack. Probably a college student.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Akiko."
"Would you recognize the man if you saw him again?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Do you think you could describe him to a sketch artist?"
"Sure."
I called the station and had a sketch artist meet us at the coffee shop. Lana was a damn good artist. Akiko described the suspect, and Lana sketched out a few drawings until she had rendered an exact likeness.
Akiko pointed to one of the drawings. "That's him."
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Positive. 5’10”, dark hair, 160 pounds, dark eyes. A little bit of stubble."
I thanked Akiko for her time and got her contact information in case we had any more questions. I gave her my number and told her to call me if she remembered anything that might be useful.
We took the drawing and headed back to the pizzeria to show Tony. I was shocked by his response.
23
“I know that scumbag,” Tony growled.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
"Positive. That's one of Dmitry’s dipshit friends. These scumbags are going to pay!"
"Let us handle this. Don't do anything rash."
"I guarantee you this, if any harm has come to my daughter, they’re as good as dead."
"Where can we find this guy?" I asked.
"His name is Nikolay Stepanov."
"You know where he lives?"
"No. I've just seen him around Dmitry from time to time."
"Let me know if he calls back,” I said. “Go along with whatever he says. We're going to find his location, and stake him out."
“Get her back. Alive!”
“I will.”
We left Tony at the restaurant, and I called Denise to get current information on Nikolay. She pulled his file. He had a criminal record—assault, petty theft, grand theft auto. He was currently on probation.
I had Denise put me through to Sheriff Daniels, and I filled him in on the situation. "We are going to need a warrant. And you better ready the SWAT team.”
“And you’re just now telling me about this?”
“Trying not to overburden you,” I said, slyly.
He knew I was full of shit.
JD and I drove to Nikolay’s house. He lived on Seahorse Avenue in a modest three bedroom home in an average neighborhood—no doubt paid for by criminal activity.
We weren’t exactly inconspicuous sitting on the street in a red Porsche convertible. Then again, we didn't look like cops either.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the sky was a grayish-purple color that would soon give way to black. We sat on the house for a while, watching. When it was dark, I decided to do a little recon. I slipped out of the car and sneaked to the house. With my back flat against the building, I leaned around and peered in through a window.
Nikolay sat on the couch, playing video games on a large flatscreen TV.
I scanned the area, looking for signs of Violet, or anyone else.
Nikolay seemed to be alone.
I crept around the house, peering in through windows.
By that time, the SWAT team had arrived. They pulled to the curb a few houses down, and the team filed out of the tactical van. They were decked out in helmets, vests, and assault rifles.
JD buzzed my phone. "It's showtime."
I moved around the front of the house and rendezvoused with the SWAT team a few doors down. I apprised them of the situation, and we discussed our breaching tactic. Within moments, we were standing on Nikolay’s front porch, and I shouted, "County Sheriff! We have a warrant!”
The announcement was a mere formality. A battering ram slammed against the door, tearing it from the hinges. Wood splintered, and the tactical team tossed in flash bang grenades. The blasts were deafening, and the light blinding.
There was no doubt Nikolay’s ears were ringing.
The tactical team spilled into the home, weapons in the firing position. They moved through the smokey haze in a 2 x 2 cover formation, clearing rooms and shouting.
It was shock and awe.
Within moments, Nikolay was face down on the ground, an assault rifle at his back. A member of the tac-team zip tied his wrists, then yanked him to his feet.
"You’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Violet Scarpetti!" I barked.
His face crinkled. “Aw, come on, man! We were just fucking around.”
“Who’s we?”
“I ain’t saying shit.”
“You and Dmitry?”
He kept silent.
“Where is she?”
“It was a joke. We were just fucking with her old man.”
“There’s this we again?”
“Okay, yeah, Dmitry,” he conceded. "But it was just harmless fun. We weren’t going to take Tony’s money.”
“Right,” I muttered with a healthy dose of skepticism.
"I ain’t lying. We've got a treaty in place. That shit wouldn't go over."
I shoved my cell phone in his face, displaying the picture of Violet, bound and gagged. “What about this?”
“Come on. That’s an old photo Dmitry had.” He grinned. “The girl liked to be tied up.”
"Where is she?"
"How should I know? We don't have her. What part of practical joke do you not understand?"
"Some joke," I muttered.
The tactical team finished sweeping the house and returned to the living room. The shake of a head from a tactical officer signaled that Violet was nowhere to be found.
Somebody read Nikolay his rights, and the squad dragged him out of the house and stuffed him into the paddy wagon. The interrogation would continue down at the station.
Sweat misted on Nikolay’s face as he sat under the spotlight in the tiny interrogation room. It was easy to see he didn't like small spaces. "Look, I'm telling you, we didn't take her. I don't know what happened to her. We were just trying to mess with Tony."
"You were trying to extort $250,000 from him," I said.
"No. Wouldn't dream of it," he said, dryly.
I arched an incredulous eyebrow at him. “Did you have a good time in prison?”
“What do you think?”
"I think you were somebody's bitch, and you don't walk the same."
He snarled at me. "I ain't nobody’s bitch."
"Newsflash. You're facing some pretty serious charges. With your history, you're going back to the can. I’ll make sure you get a really tiny cell, and a painfully large cellmate."
Fear bathed his eyes.
“On my mother’s grave…” Nikolay swore.
I glared at him for a long moment, looking for signs of deception. "If you're lying to me, I promise, things are going to end badly for you."
"I swear to God, I'm telling you the truth."
Another patrol unit had picked up Dmitry at his club. He was waiting in the neighboring interrogation room.
I backed away from the table and moved to the door. Looking back over my shoulder, I said, "Last chance."
"Are you deaf? How many times do I have to say it?"
I pushed through the door and strolled down the hall to the next room. I spoke with Sheriff Daniels and JD just outside the door. "Nikolay is sticking to his story," I said.
"Dmitry is denying any involvement with anything," Daniels said.
&
nbsp; I peered into the interrogation room. Dmitry looked cool as a cucumber.
24
“I'm not saying anything without an attorney," Dmitry said as I entered the interrogation room.
I pulled up a chair and took a seat opposite him and leaned my elbows on the table. "Nikolay has already implicated your involvement."
Dmitry said nothing.
"No matter what, Big Tony will suspect your involvement. I'd hate to have a guy like that mad at me." I shook my head and sighed. "I mean, he's pretty pissed off. I'll try to talk some sense into him, but there's no telling what he's liable to do."
Dmitry just stared at me.
"Yeah, yeah, I know about your treaty. But we're talking about Big Tony's daughter. I don't think he cares what the higher-ups will do. He's out for blood."
"If you’re trying to scare me, it's not going to happen. Like I said, I requested an attorney. If I'm not mistaken, you have to cease your questioning once I ask.”
"Suit yourself," I said as I pushed back from the table. My chair screeched against the floor, making a hideous sound. I strolled to the door and pushed out of the interrogation room. I rejoined JD and Sheriff Daniels in the hallway. "He’s not talking."
JD peered in through the glass. "Look at that smug son-of-a-bitch. He knows he's going to get off."
"We don't have anything on him. Just the word of an accomplice with a criminal record," Daniels said. "I can hold him for 24 hours. Maybe give you guys some time to dig something up on him?"
"I think we should cut him loose," I said.
"What?" JD said, shocked.
"Cut him loose. We can tail him around and see if he leads us to Violet. Honestly, I think Nikolay is telling the truth. I don't think they kidnapped Violet."
"Then we’re back to square one," JD said. "You and I both know, if we cut him loose, he won't live to see sunrise. Something tells me Big Tony will arrange for an accident to happen."
"Let me talk to Tony. Calm him down," I said. "Let Dmitry sit under the lights for another hour or so. I'll get in touch with you after I’ve talked Tony off the ledge."
Sheriff Daniels agreed. "By the way, Brenda identified the girl from the beach."
“Gabriella Atkinson?" I guessed.
Sheriff Daniels nodded. "You think these two cases could be connected?"
"I hope not."
JD and I left the station and set out to find Big Tony. We caught up with him at the bar at the Seven Seas. When I first told him about the situation, his face flushed red, and the veins in his forehead pulsed. JD and I had to physically restrain him from storming out of the bar and taking matters into his own hands.
We managed to coax him back into his seat at the bar.
"I know you are upset, but just cool off for a minute," I said. “I don't think these assholes had anything to do with Violet’s disappearance. They were just trying to yank your chain. If you go off half cocked, it's not going to do any of us any good.”
Tony grumbled. "They're dead, I tell you."
"What's that going to accomplish?" I asked.
"Nothing. But it will make me feel good. I never liked that slime-ball."
"Sheriff Daniels is going to release Dmitry."
Tony's eyes widened.
"Just hang on. We're going to follow him around and see if he leads anywhere. Just in case. We don't have anything else to go on right now."
Tony tried to contain a snarl.
"If Dmitry does know something, and you take care of him, we may never find Violet," I said.
Tony grumbled to himself again, cursing under his breath.
"What about this Sandcastle nut-job?"
I tried to hide a grim face and shrugged. "We’re looking into that. We identified the first victim. Hopefully she’s the last."
"He could have my daughter chained up in a basement somewhere," Tony said.
I didn't know what to tell him.
"Look, if I needed to find my daughter, I’d go to Tyson,” JD said. “He's the best in the business. If anybody can find her, Tyson can. There's nothing more you can do. Just go home and get some rest."
"Fuck rest. I'm gonna sit here and drink until I can't walk."
"That works too," JD said.
We left the distraught man in the bar and strolled to the parking lot. We climbed into the red Porsche and made our way back to the station. When Daniels released Dmitry, he was picked up in a white SUV with tinted windows. We followed him to the Red Dragon. Dmitry hopped out of the vehicle and strutted inside.
I climbed out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk.
JD pulled into traffic and turned down an alley to cover the back exit. I took a seat at a table at a sidewalk café, catty corner to the club, and watched the front door.
JD called on my cell phone. "What the hell are we going to do, sit on this guy all night?"
"I don't know. You got a better idea?"
25
I guzzled several cups of coffee while I sat at the café, staking out Red Dragon. My pulse thumped in my ears, and a thin mist of sweat coated my body.
People strolled up and down the sidewalks, cars raced down the avenue, drunks staggered about. Pretty girls were everywhere you looked, flaunting their bodies with revealing attire. It was a typical night on the strip.
It was a good hunting ground for a serial killer. Lots of vulnerable women in a compromised state due to alcohol. Plenty of dark alleys, shady parking lots, and dim side streets.
I was getting ahead of myself, there had only been one death. But I knew more were coming. I could be looking right at the Sandcastle Killer. Just another face in the city of late night revelers.
Despite guzzling vast quantities of caffeine, I still found myself yawning, bored to tears. I watched the club until 2 AM. Drunk patrons began spilling out of the bar. They staggered into the street and hailed taxis and Uber's. Drunks peeled out of parking lots and roared down the strip. It was 3:30 AM before Dmitry emerged from the club with two leggy blondes, one on each arm. They were stunners, and each was taller than Dmitry. They nearly bobbled out of their tight, skimpy dresses. The white SUV picked up the listing trio at the curb.
I called JD. "Dmitry’s Oscar Mike." It was jargon for on the move.
A moment later, JD sped out of the alley and pulled to the curb. I hopped into the passenger seat and we followed the SUV as it left Oyster Avenue and twisted its way across the island to Dmitry’s condo. He lived in a luxury high-rise on the east side.
The SUV dropped them off out front, and he strolled with the ladies into the main lobby, kissing both of them along the way.
“Little punk,” JD grumbled, clearly jealous.
Just about any guy would be envious of the little runt at the moment.
We parked the car and made our way to the lobby. The main doors were locked, but a flash of our badges persuaded the concierge to open the door.
Dmitry had already disappeared with the girls into the elevator, and the doors slid shut. He lived in the penthouse apartment on the 27th floor, which his father paid for.
We took the next elevator.
JD pressed the button, and we launched skyward. The doors slid open on the top floor, and the giggles of Dmitry’s companions filtered down the hallway.
We hung back in the elevator out of sight while the rich playboy unlocked the door to his apartment, the keys jingling. The trio disappeared inside, and the door shut behind them.
JD and I stepped off the elevator and strolled down the hallway toward the penthouse suite. From his pocket, JD pulled out a thermal imaging attachment that he connected to his phone. He launched an app, and a moment later an image appeared on the screen, depicting three orange and red figures that represented Dmitry and the girls. Cooler areas were represented by various shades of blue and purple. A quick scan of the apartment revealed only three figures. There was no one else here. If Dmitry had, indeed, kidnapped Violet, she wasn't being held at this location.
JD's voyeuristic g
aze continued as he watched the orange figures embrace, locking lips. They made their way into the bedroom, disrobed, and were quickly horizontal.
It didn't take long for moans of pleasure to seep from the apartment.
While it was an entertaining show, we had better things to do. I tapped JD on the shoulder and motioned to the elevator.
His face soured. "Come on. This is getting good."
"It's 4 o'clock in the morning. This is a dead end."
As we walked back to the elevator, JD said, "I know a guy. Private investigator. Really good if you need dirt on your soon-to-be ex-wife."
"I don't have a soon-to-be-ex-wife."
"Not yet,” he muttered.
“When I get married, it will be the first and last time.”
JD scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I said too.”
I shot him a sour look.
“I can give Lazar a call. Have him follow Dmitry for a few days just in case."
"What's that going to cost?"
"We'll bill it back to the county," JD said optimistically.
I frowned. "When have they ever reimbursed us for anything?"
JD drove me back to the marina. In the morning, we planned to drive up to Key Largo and talk to the family of the first victim, Gabriella Atkinson.
It was 5 AM by the time I finished taking Buddy for a walk and crawled into bed. The sun would beam through the portholes in no time, but I was hoping to at least grab a few hours of sleep.
A few was all I would get.
My phone buzzed first thing in the morning. It vibrated on the nightstand next to the bed. I reached a hand for it, like a zombie arm coming out of the grave. My eyes peeled open in an attempt to see the caller ID. The screen looked blurry, and my eyes were glued shut.
It was my agent from California.
"Have you seen the numbers?" Joel said excitedly.
At first I didn't know what he was talking about. "What numbers?"
"Bree’s movie is a hit! It's broken the one day opening record at the box office. The projections have this thing out grossing Avengers."
"That's great," I said in monotone. "It's a fitting final performance for Bree."
"Do you know what this means?"
