by Tripp Ellis
"They'll make a sequel? Insert Bree’s character with CGI?"
"Probably, but that's not why I'm calling."
"Are you going to make me guess why you're calling?"
"Bree was a big star before this movie. She's an even bigger one now. She was absolutely captivating on screen. The whole world wants to see more of her. They want to learn what happened. The studio wants to fast-track your story. The last 24 hours in the life of Bree Taylor."
I groaned. I was so over Hollywood and all the bullshit. I certainly didn't want to make money off of Bree's demise. And I told Joel that.
"Donate the money to charity if you have some type of guilt complex,” Joel said. “But at least do Bree the honor of presenting her last moments in an accurate fashion. You can end all the tabloid speculation and gossip."
I thought about it from that perspective for a moment.
"If I agree to do this, I want final say over the project. What's it called…? Final—"
"Final cut. And only the most powerful directors with a lot of clout have the privilege."
"Well, they can take it or leave it."
Joel paused for a moment. "You know, that's what I like about you. You stick to your guns. I’ve got a good feeling about this. I'm going to make a fortune from you. And you can give it all to charity."
I rolled my eyes.
"I've got a meeting set up with the studio tomorrow."
"No can do."
Joel gasped. "Do you know how important this meeting is? Do you know how rare an opportunity this is? You can't put them off. If we wait too long, the deal could cool, and the whole thing could evaporate. I mean, what could you possibly be doing that’s more important?"
"I'm looking for a missing girl, and I have a potential serial killer on my hands."
"Oooh!" Joel cooed excitedly. "I like the sound of that. I think we should pitch the TV show around town. Two misfit detectives solving crimes in the Keys… we could call it… Wild… I don’t know—something."
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Never say never.” Joel paused. “I’m emailing you an itinerary. See you tomorrow. Oops, gotta go, Speilberg is calling. Chow.”
He hung up before I had a chance to protest.
26
"I'm looking for Tyson Wild," a voice crackled through the speaker on my phone. "My name’s Hank Parsons. I was hired by the Atkinson's to investigate their daughter's disappearance, now murder. I was hoping that we could exchange information?"
"Sure. I can only tell you things which have been cleared to be released to the public," I said.
I knew it wouldn't be unusual for a killer to call law-enforcement and poke around, asking questions. The thought floated around in the back of my head. I put the call on speakerphone and launched a web browser and searched for Hank’s credentials. I found a website for his investigative services. I read several reviews. They were mostly favorable. He seemed legit enough.
I told him as much as I thought he needed to know, then tried to pry information from him. "Now it's your turn."
"Well, I spoke with the family and her younger sister. By all accounts, Gabriella had a good home life. There were no major issues. She was home for the summer from college. She went to USC, majoring in film studies. Everyone I talked to seemed to like her. She didn't really have any enemies. Her boyfriend was real broken up about it. He broke down several times during our interview. I don't think he was faking it."
"Does her boyfriend live in Key Largo?"
"Yeah. He's back for the summer as well. They had been doing the long distance thing. He's at Princeton."
"What about the rideshare driver?"
"I spoke with him as well. He dropped Gabriella off on Oyster Avenue around 7 PM. The drive logs confirm this. He picked up another passenger coming back to Key Largo at 7:15 PM. I don't really think that gives him enough time to commit the crime. From what I’ve read about the condition of the body, this was a perpetrator who liked to take his time with his victims."
I agreed. "What about the friends she was supposedly meeting?"
"They say she never showed up. They were all friends from USC. They flew into Coconut Key on a Thursday. They flew out the following Monday. It was a girls' mini-vacation."
"And you spoke to each of them individually?"
"I did. After all the things I've seen, I wouldn't put anything past anyone. But these girls didn't seem like the type to murder their friend and decapitate her with a hacksaw."
"How do you know she was decapitated with a hacksaw?" I asked, knowing that information hadn’t been released to the public.
"I don't. But that would be the first thing I'd reach for. But hey, I'm not really in the business of cutting off heads."
There was a long pause.
"Great. You think I'm a suspect now?"
"I think everybody's a suspect."
"Good answer." Hank paused. "Listen, I appreciate your time. I'll call you if I find any additional information. I'm just trying to help the family get closure. They want justice served."
"You tell them I'll do my best to make sure we get this guy."
Hank hung up, and I crawled out of bed. If I could count on his information, it would save me a trip to Key Largo. I made a mental note to have Denise run a background check on Hank Parsons. I took a shower, got dressed, ate breakfast, and took Buddy for a walk.
A restaurant supply truck was around back. The cargo door was open, and two men loaded supplies into Diver Down. Madison supervised the operation, checking the list of items, making sure everything was delivered and in good order. The supply service was pretty good for the most part, but you had to keep on top of them and make sure you were getting foodstuff that wasn't past its expiration date.
I wasn't sure if Madison was still speaking to me.
She had a pen and clipboard in her hand, a ball cap on her head, and her ponytail was threaded through the opening in the back. She caught sight of me when I strolled by with Buddy. "Hey. I want to talk to you."
I cringed, but forced a smile.
I approached with caution. Madison had a pen in her hand, which could be used as a stabbing weapon. She could smack me with the clipboard. That could do serious damage in her rage filled hands.
I was ready to run, and I figured Buddy would defend me if need be.
"Listen, I just wanted to apologize for the way I responded the other night. I know you were just looking out for me, and I took my anger out on you."
My brow lifted with surprise. "Apology accepted."
"You were right. Ryan’s a scumbag. I called him out on his bullshit, and he admitted to fooling around."
"At least he told the truth."
"I can't stand liars," Madison said.
"So, I take it the relationship is over?"
"Yep. I am not signing on for a lifetime of that. Besides, I think he's getting back together with his wife." She raised her hands in surrender. "And I don't want to hear I told you so. I should have listened to you. You're always right about these types of things. You seem to be a much better judge of character than I am."
I shrugged, modestly, trying not to gloat. "Well, you know, reading people is kind of my bag."
She rolled her eyes. "You're eating this shit up, I know."
I scoffed, then said with exaggerated sincerity, "No. I wouldn't dream of reveling in your misery."
Her eyes narrowed at me.
"I love you, sis. I want the best for you."
She tilted her head and looked like she was about to tear up. She flung her arms around me.
"That's it, hug it out."
When she pulled away, tears were streaming down her face. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I've made such a mess of things. I'm totally not prepared for this single parent thing. What was I thinking?"
"You're going to be a great mom," I said, trying to comfort her. "You will pull this off, I have no doubt."
"How am I ever going to run this place and take c
are of a newborn at the same time?" she said in between jerking sobs.
"You'll figure it out. Take a deep breath. You're just a little overwhelmed right now. Don't worry about a thing. I'm here whenever you need me. Fuck that guy. You don't need him. Uncle Tyson will look out for you."
Despite her tears, a small chuckle escaped. “Uncle Tyson… That has an interesting ring to it. So, you're going to change poopy diapers?"
"If that's what it takes, I'm down." I held up my fist and prompted her to bump knuckles. "We got this. I've been trained to handle any and all situations," I boasted.
Madison arched an eyebrow at me. "I doubt you've been trained for anything like this."
"Pfft," I hissed. "This is going to be a cakewalk compared to some of the stuff I've done." I knew raising a child was one of the most difficult things a person could do, but I had to put on a good front. Keep up morale.
Madison hugged me again. Her delicate breath whispered in my ear, "I'm glad you came back."
I never thought I would hear those words come out of her mouth.
27
Reagan called when I got back to the boat. "I have a situation."
"What's the matter? You couldn't find enough dirt on me?"
"I received another coded note."
That hung there for a moment.
My jaw tightened. It probably meant that we could expect to find another body in the near future. I just hoped it wouldn't be Violet, for Tony’s sake. But whoever we found would be someone's daughter. "I'll stop by the TV station and pick it up. Please limit who has access to it."
"That's the problem. I didn't receive it at the station. It was mailed to my house." The pitch of her voice was elevated, and her speech trembled. She was no doubt panic stricken.
"It wouldn't be hard for someone to find your home address," I said.
"I don't care if it's hard or easy, it's freaking me the fuck out."
"Where are you now?"
"I'm at home. I don't need to be at the station for another few hours." She paused, then meekly asked, "Do you think you could come over?"
I sighed. "Sure. Text me your address."
"Thank you."
"Keep your doors locked and stay inside. I seriously doubt you have anything to worry about. You're his point of contact. His outlet to the world. He's not going to do anything to screw that up."
"I don't think he’d have any trouble getting his message out to the press. There are a dozen other reporters that would be happy to get these letters and use the exposure to build their career."
"Isn’t that what you're doing?"
"Absolutely. But it doesn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy at night. Especially now that the son-of-a-bitch knows where I live."
"Relax. I'll be there in a few."
I hung up the phone and put some food and water out for Buddy and Fluffy, then grabbed my helmet and gloves and jogged to the parking lot. Reagan didn't live that far away, and within a few minutes, I zipped my sport bike up to the curb in front of her house.
She lived in a nice bungalow off the beach. Small, but cozy. She must have heard my bike pull up, because she slid aside the curtains and peered through the window. She had the door open by the time I stepped onto the porch.
"Thanks for coming." She motioned for me to enter, then immediately closed the door behind me and flipped the deadbolt.
It latched with a clunk.
"Nice place you got here," I said, glancing around.
"Thanks. It's not much, but I'm working my way up the food chain."
It was well decorated. She had style. The house was clean and elegant, with a cozy little patio and a nice view of the ocean.
"When did you receive the note?"
"Right before I called you. I usually don't get to the station until late morning. I do all the legwork on my own, then I take a camera crew and a van on location to do my stand and deliver."
"Stand and deliver?"
"I stand in front of the camera and deliver the information." She paused. "Occasionally, I’m behind the anchor desk for special reports, but I'm mostly in the field."
"Like I said, I don't think you're in any real danger."
“Tell that to Gabriella Atkinson," she said with a dire look on her face.
"Assaulting a news reporter in her home doesn't fit the killer’s MO."
"He's only committed one murder. Not quite enough to establish an MO."
She had a point.
"One murder that we know of," I added.
A grim look washed over her face. She looked pale and queasy.
"Let's see the note."
She had sealed it in a Ziploc bag. I gave it a cursory glance. It was the same cryptic message. A series of multi-digit numbers. A crimson drop of blood stained the page, just like the first note.
I cringed, hoping it wasn't Violet’s.
"How did you crack the first letter so fast?" I asked.
"I gave it to Elijah. He's one of those geeky tech geniuses."
"Text him a copy. He cracked the code faster than our department did."
"Way ahead of you," she said with a saucy smile.
It was the first time I'd seen a smile curl her lips.
“Where’s the envelope it came in?”
“Right here.” She handed me another Ziplock containing a handwritten envelope.
No stamp.
My brow lifted. “He delivered this himself.”
“Why do you think I’m so freaked out?” Reagan exclaimed.
“When was the last time you checked the mail?”
“Yesterday around noon.”
“He could have delivered this anytime between now and then.”
I noticed that she didn't have a smart doorbell when I arrived. There was no video footage of the killer delivering the note. I planned on checking the nearby houses to see if they had smart doorbells installed.
"You know, we don't even know if this is an authentic note,” I suggested. “It could be a copycat, looking for 15 minutes."
"Seems pretty authentic to me. Looks like the same type of paper. Same format. Same drop of blood, same upside-down triangle signature. Its the alchemical symbol for water.”
"When do you plan on going to the station today?"
She shrugged. “Whenever. I need to talk to my boss, pitch some stories, then grab a camera crew and do a location shot.”
"If it makes you feel better, I'll follow you up to the station and make sure you get there all right."
She took a relieved breath, then exhaled. "Thank you. I would appreciate that."
"Do you have a gun?"
"No.” She thought for a moment. “Can you give me one?"
"I'm not going to loan you a gun."
"Why not?"
"For a whole host of reasons. Namely, I don't want you shooting someone with my gun."
"But a psycho killer is out there who may potentially want to do harm to me."
"Yeah, or you could get freaked out over nothing and accidentally shoot the neighbor's cat."
Her eyes narrowed at me. “Give me more credit than that.”
"I'll have a patrol officer keep an extra eye on the house."
A look of disappointment twisted her face. ”I don't know if I can sleep here by myself tonight."
"I'm certainly not going to sleep here with you," I said flatly.
She sneered at me. “I wasn’t offering!”
"I'm sure you have a friend, or a boyfriend, that can stay with you," I said.
I wasn't really fishing, but maybe I wanted to know if she was single. I mean, she wasn’t hard to look at.
Reagan scoffed. "I don't have time for a boyfriend. And I don't think any of my girlfriends are going to want to stay with me after I received a note from the killer."
I couldn't disagree with that.
"If you're really uncomfortable, you could check into a hotel under a pseudonym," I said. "You'd be more secure there. There would be people around."
Sh
e thought about it for a moment. "That's not a bad idea."
"I've been known to have good ideas on occasion."
"How rare are those occasions?" she asked in a saucy tone.
I scowled at her playfully.
Reagan's idea of packing light was vastly different from mine. She stuffed a rolling case with a few changes of clothes, an overnight kit, makeup, a hair dryer, curling iron, several pairs of shoes, unmentionables, a laptop, an iPad, and whatever else she could jam into the carry-on case. And she could barely get the thing zipped shut.
I swear the damn thing weighed 900 pounds!
She had decided to take up residence at the Seven Seas for a few days.
I grabbed her bag and rolled it to her car and heaved it into the trunk. It crashed with a clunk that compressed the rear shocks.
I pulled the trunk shut, then scanned the neighboring houses, looking for any homes with smart doorbells, but there were none.
Reagan climbed into her car, and I followed her on my bike to the TV station. She thanked me again and said she'd be in touch. I stayed in the parking lot and watched until she made it inside the building, then I eased out the clutch and twisted the throttle.
I swung by the Sheriff’s Office and gave the second note to the crime lab. I needed to get a sample of Violet’s DNA to cross check against the stain.
When I got back to the Wild Tide, I direct messaged Violet's acquaintance Mary again. I had sent several direct messages on social media, but hadn't received a response yet. I figured maybe it was worth a trip to Los Angeles to speak with her. Perhaps Violet did go out to the City of Angels to pursue her dreams? Maybe she was crashing on the couch with Mary and that's why Mary wasn't returning my messages?
I needed to make arrangements for the pets, so I jogged down the dock to Diver Down and asked Madison if she'd look after them for a day.
She agreed.
I checked my email, and Joel had sent the itinerary. The studio must really have been interested, because they were sending a private jet. I replied to Joel's email and told him that I would be in Los Angeles as planned.
I tidied up around the boat and packed a small bag. My roller case was much lighter than Reagan's.
Just the essentials.
