by Tripp Ellis
I checked in with Big Tony and told him that I was heading to the West Coast to follow up on a lead. He was a nervous wreck and still wanted to cause bodily harm to Dmitry.
I think I was able to talk some sense into him.
“Do you have a hair brush that belonged to Violet?”
“Yeah, there are plenty in her bathroom. Why?”
“I need a hair strand to check DNA."
"Oh God. Don't tell me…"
"No. It's nothing.”
“Did you find another body?"
"No. Another note."
"She's dead, isn't she?” Tony said, beginning to fall apart. He sounded like he was about to burst into tears.
”There is no reason to believe that. I need you to keep it together, okay?"
"I'm good," Tony said, trying to convince himself that.
"Text me your address. I'll swing by in a little bit and collect a sample of her hair. I'll give it to the lab, and I'll let you know as soon as they rule her out."
Tony had a small estate on the east side of the island. Private beach. Six bedroom home. Infinity pool that overlooked the ocean. Palm trees surrounded the property. There were marble statues out front that adorned the flowerbeds. A gargoyle over the entrance warded off evil spirits.
I rang the bell, and a few moments later, Tony pulled open the door with a grim look on his face. He invited me in, and I stepped into the foyer. Italian marble lined floors. There were more statues inside, and expensive works of art decorated the walls. The smell of pasta sauce filled the air, and I could hear something boiling on the stove.
"How long is it going to take you to get DNA back?" Tony asked.
I shrugged. "This is a high-priority case. The lab will put it at the top of the queue."
"How long?"
"Low priority cases can take months to years."
Tony's eyes widened. "But this isn’t low priority."
"Right, so, maybe several hours. A day or two tops?"
He scowled at me. "Then why didn't you just say so. Did you need to give me a heart attack?"
We stepped into the living room. A woman with dark curly hair was in the kitchen. Whatever she was cooking smelled damn good.
"This is my wife, Bianca. Bianca this is Tyson Wild."
She smiled and stepped out of the kitchen to greet me. She shook my hand and said, "Thank you so much for trying to get our Violet back. We both have the utmost faith in you."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'm doing everything I can to find her."
"We know. And we appreciate that." She flashed a grim smile. "Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat? I've got to keep busy or I'll go insane. Cooking takes my mind off of things."
"She makes a mean lasagna," Tony said.
It sounded good, but I declined.
"Seriously. Eat something," Tony said. It wasn’t an offer. It was a demand. "We’ve got more food around here than we can eat."
I smiled. "I'd love some lasagna."
Tony wasn’t lying. Bianca's lasagna was to die for. It had the perfect blend of seasoning, meat, pasta, and sauce. It was creamy and cheesy and gooey. I shoveled down the square, and could have eaten two.
"I'm not going to say if. I'm going to say when. So, when you find Violet, give her this." Bianca pulled a ring from her finger and handed it to me. "This belonged to her grandmother. I took it away from Violet when she began acting out. I was afraid she would sell it and spend the money on drugs. I'm going to believe that Violet is safe and sound and she just ran away. Maybe, when you find her, it will convince her to come home. Please tell her that we love her dearly."
I took the emerald ring and slipped it into my pocket. "I'll find her."
Afterward, I collected a few strands of hair with a pair of tweezers from a brush in Violet’s bathroom. I placed them into an evidence bag and sealed it.
I thanked Bianca and Tony for the meal, then showed myself out.
Tony followed along. "Call me the minute you hear something."
"I will."
I pulled my helmet on, straddled my bike, and rode to the station. I dropped the sample off at the lab. With any luck, I'd hear something before I left for Los Angeles.
By the early afternoon, Reagan called. Her techno geek had deciphered the note—well before the crime lab did.
28
I’m so glad I picked you. I will make you famous. Good things are yet to come. Stay tuned.
The killer’s note was vague, but unsettling. It had a casualness and familiarity about it that spooked Reagan to the core.
"Am I supposed to be excited that he's killing people?” Reagan asked, her frazzled voice filtering through the speaker on my phone. “Good things are yet to come? This guy is a real sicko."
"What clued you into that? Was it the decapitated girl?" I asked in a sardonic tone.
I don't think Reagan appreciated my dry humor. She was silent for a long moment.
"What about the bloodstain?" Reagan finally asked.
"I'm working on it."
"I've had way too much coffee, and I'm pacing around the studio like a freak show."
"Try to relax."
"Got any Xanax?"
I think she was serious.
"Why don't you meditate? Slow, deep breaths."
"Fuck meditation,” she snapped. “I want medication." Something distracted her. "Listen, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later."
I decided to take Buddy on a run around the island. I needed to burn off the lasagna and get a good sweat on. My heart pounded, and my chest heaved for breath. Buddy kept up with me like I was standing still. The afternoon sun beat down, and the breeze blew through my hair. I peeled off my shirt and ran through the streets, soaking up the last rays of sunshine. Girls in cars drove by and honked and whistled.
I was so offended.
Yeah, right.
I found myself on Oyster Avenue, and I strolled down the sidewalk, catching my breath, taking in the sights and sounds. It was early, but there was always a crowd. Happy hour typically ran from 4 to 7 PM. The hard-core party crowd came out from 10 to 2 AM. Of course, the restaurants were packed during prime dining hours.
I grabbed a bottle of water from a convenience store and rehydrated. I twisted the top and guzzled the water down. When I'd had my fill, I gave the rest to Buddy in a plastic cup and let him lap it up.
"Oh, he's so cute!" a girl said, passing on the sidewalk. "What's his name?"
I told her.
She knelt down and petted him. Buddy enjoyed the attention.
So did I.
She was a cute blonde in shorts and a bikini top.
"I'm Tyson."
"I'm Erin," she said, looking up at me with a smile, scratching Buddy's chin.
We shook hands, and I tried not to notice her enticing cleavage.
"You visiting the island?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said as she stood up. "I'm here with a few girlfriends. There at Jetties. I had to run and get my ID from the hotel. You should join us. I'm sure they'd love to meet Buddy."
It sounded like an offer I couldn't refuse.
I couldn't help but think about the killer lurking in the shadows, and what easy hunting grounds this must be for him. This girl didn't know me from Adam, and yet she was inviting me to have a drink because I had a cute dog. If the killer had any kind of social skills, Oyster Avenue would be like an all-you-can-eat buffet.
I pulled on my shirt before I entered the bar, and Erin frowned. "Aw, I was enjoying the view."
I smiled and scooped up Buddy, carrying him in my arms into the bar.
Erin's head swiveled as she scanned the crowd for her friends. She saw them at a table, and I followed her through the bar.
She had a nice sway to her hips.
Very nice.
Her friends were sitting at a hightop table, and she introduced us. The girls went gaga over Buddy. They gathered around me, petting him.
These girls were gorgeous. There were two brunettes and a re
dhead with Erin. All wearing skimpy tops and shorts.
Maybe JD was right? Maybe we should bring Buddy down to Oyster Avenue more often?
I told the ladies that I could only stay for one drink, but one drink turned into several. Three pitchers of strawberry daiquiris later, and we were all having a damn good time. I learned that they were from Texas. They had all recently graduated from UT Austin. This was their last blow out before entering the real world.
In my experience, Texas women were some of the prettiest in the world. I think it had something to do with their friendly disposition, their slight southern drawl, and their incessant use of the words y'all, and fix’n to.
Nothing like a sweet country girl.
Tomorrow would be a long day. I planned to fly into Los Angeles in the morning, and back to Coconut Key in the evening. It was probably best to call this one an early night. I told the girls I needed to get Buddy home, and the word of my impending departure was met with frowns all around.
Erin and I exchanged numbers.
"We'll be in town all week. We should hook up again?" Erin said with a sparkle in her eyes.
"I'd like that," I said. "You girls be safe tonight."
I gave Erin a hug, and she held on long enough to let me know that there was more where that came from. I felt like a fool for leaving so early, but I could tell these girls were in the mood to party all night, and I had no desire to board a plane with a raging hangover in the wee hours of the morning.
I caught a cab back to Diver Down. I was in no condition to jog a few miles, and Buddy didn't seem too enthusiastic about the prospect either. It was a little after 10 PM by the time I stumbled back to the boat.
I had a surprise waiting for me.
29
A note taped to the hatch read: Meet me at Diver Down.
The note wasn't signed, and I had no idea who it was from. I wondered what I was walking into.
I let Buddy into the salon, then made my way down the dock to the restaurant. When I pushed inside, I saw Reagan at the bar, drinking a cocktail. Her roller case, which had the mass of a small planet, sat beside her.
She was engaged in conversation with Madison, and the two looked like they were hitting it off rather well.
I strolled to the bar and took a seat beside Reagan.
"There you are," Reagan said. "Where have you been?"
"What are you, my mother?"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't get defensive. It was just a question."
"I went for a jog, then I had a few drinks with friends."
"I didn't know you two knew each other," Madison said.
"We just met. The Sandcastle case," I said.
Madison cringed. "Ew. That creeps me out."
"You and me both, sister," Reagan said.
"How did you find me?" I asked Reagan.
"I wouldn't be a very good investigative journalist if I couldn't track down a local deputy."
I agreed. "So, what happened to the hotel?"
"Well, I’d still be alone. And, by the looks of your boat, I see you have a few guestrooms."
I arched an eyebrow at her. "So, you think you're going to stay on my boat?"
"It's not really your boat, is it?" Madison said.
I shot her a look.
"It's just for a few days," Reagan said.
"She could stay with me, but I don't have an extra bed," Madison said. "I told her you wouldn't mind."
"Besides, it will allow us to work more closely on this case," Reagan added.
I pondered the situation for a moment, my eyes flicking between the two of them. They seemed to be in cahoots. "I usually don't have a problem with female overnight guests but…"
"Don't even think it,” Reagan snapped. “I am not trading my ass for a place to stay.”
"Please," I scoffed. "I am so not interested in you."
Madison rolled her eyes.
“The only reason I'm here is because you have a gun, and I'm pretty sure you know how to use it," Reagan said.
“I know how to use it,” I assured. There was a double entendre in there somewhere, but I didn't play it up.
"Don't pay any attention to him," Madison said. "You're gorgeous. He's totally into you. And if he tries anything, I'll smack him upside the head."
Reagan smiled. "So, it's settled!"
"You can take the VIP suite,” I said. “I have a three day rule with guests. Anymore than three days becomes a roommate. And roommates pay rent. Keep the place clean. Don't touch my guns. Do not bring random dudes home. If you’re going to eat my food, then you’ve got to go grocery shopping and keep the fridge stocked."
"Anything else, your highness?" she quipped.
"Breakfast would be nice." I smiled.
She burst into laughter. "I don't even cook for guys I’m fucking. And you want breakfast?"
"How about guys who keep you from getting decapitated and dumped on the beach?"
Her face went grim. "I might be able to make an exception for that."
30
I lugged Reagan's heavy suitcase toward the boat, the wheels clanking against the slats in the deck. I hoisted it into the cockpit, climbed aboard, then offered a hand to the lady. I helped her into the cockpit, then opened the hatch to the salon.
She glanced around, taking in the luxurious appointments. "This is some fishing boat. How does JD afford this on a cop's salary?" Her tone implicated something a little bit more than standard curiosity.
"JD invested well."
"It would appear so."
Buddy greeted her with excitement, barking and bouncing.
Reagan knelt down and petted him. "Who's this?"
"That's my first mate."
She loved on him for a moment, then I gave her a tour of the boat. I hauled her bags down the stairs, then pulled the roller case down the companionway to the VIP suite. I pushed open the hatch and set the luggage inside. "It's got a queen birth, en suite, flatscreen TV, all the comforts of home."
She softened. "This is really nice. Thank you. Forgive me for imposing, but I feel much safer here."
"I need to step out for a bit tomorrow, but I should be back by the evening," I said. There was no need to go into detail about my trip to Los Angeles.
She looked surprised. "Oh. Okay.”
I pointed down the companionway. "I'm just down the hall, if you need anything. Make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa."
"Thanks again. This is really kind of you. I know I can be a little pushy sometimes. You'll have to forgive me. It comes with my line of work."
"You? Pushy? Nooooo!" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
She stepped into the guest suite and closed the hatch.
I took Buddy and Fluffy to Diver Down and put them in the loving care of Madison. I petted the little guy and told him goodbye. Fluffy couldn’t care less whether I lived or died.
I made my way back to the boat, descended below deck, and ambled down the companionway to the master suite. I brushed my teeth, set my alarm, and fell into bed. Everything was packed and ready to go for the morning. I set my alarm for 4 AM. That would give me enough time to get up, take a shower, eat, and catch a cab to the airport for the 6:30 AM flight.
I called JD and caught him up to speed on everything. I told him we had a house guest, and not to be surprised if he came by and stumbled into Reagan.
"Houseguest, eh?" he muttered in a skeptical tone. "Sure."
"I'm telling you. There's nothing going on.”
"Give it time."
I chuckled. "No. I don't think so. She's a handful."
"Or two.”
He gave me an ear full for not calling him to join in the fun with Erin and her friends.
"Sorry, I got sidetracked."
"I bet you did. Some kind of friend you are."
"Don't worry. We will hook up again. I'll make sure you get invited."
"I'm not a charity case," he growled.
"Whatever."
"I told you that lit
tle Jack Russell is a natural born pickup artist."
I couldn't disagree.
"So, when you meet with the studio execs tomorrow, pitch the TV show. And make sure we get casting approval. I don't want some fat, dumpy, old guy playing me."
"So you don't want an accurate portrayal?" I said, giving him shit.
He growled at me. "I am not fat. I’m all muscle with a little insulation."
"Okay, so you’re just old," I teased.
"Alright, smart-ass. You'll get here before you know it."
I laughed and told him I'd give him a shout when I got back.
I crashed out, and the alarm on my phone blared in the wee hours of the morning. It was pitch black in the cabin. The sun hadn’t risen yet. I peeled open my eyes and stopped the annoying sound. I noticed that I had missed a text from Erin at 1:45 AM. She was looking to hook up.
This trip better be worth it.
I climbed out of bed, took a shower, grabbed something to eat, and carted my bag to the parking lot where I slipped into an Uber. The driver whisked me to the airport where a Gulfstream G-650 waited on the tarmac.
It was all mine.
I was greeted by the flight crew. "Mr. Wild, I am Captain Walker. I'll be your pilot today."
We shook hands.
"Let's get you to Los Angeles. I understand you have an important meeting."
I nodded and climbed the access stairs. The plane was sleek and aggressive. The interior was opulent. Plush leather seating, walnut trim, surround sound stereo system, large flatscreen display, and two lovely flight attendants at my beck and call.
"Can I get you anything to drink, Mr. Wild?” a brunette with straight hair that shined like something from a shampoo commercial asked. Her tight uniform hugged her perfect form, and her black silk stockings accentuated her lovely legs.
This was going to be a hell of a flight.
I could certainly get spoiled by this kind of thing.
"Just a bottle of water for now," I said.
It was way, way too early to start drinking the hard stuff.
She promptly handed me my beverage and a small package of peanuts. "Would you like breakfast during the flight?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Call me Mya." She smiled. "It's all pre-made, but I have omelettes, scrambled eggs, hash browns, French toast, waffles, and an assortment of muffins."
