by BIBA PEARCE
Afterburn
A Kenzie Gilmore Thriller
Biba Pearce
Liquid Mind Publishing
Copyright © 2021 by Biba Pearce. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
Liquid Mind Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Also by Biba Pearce
The Kenzie Gilmore Series
After Burn
Dead Heat
Detective Rob Miller Mysteries
The Thames Path Killer
The West London Murders
The Bisley Wood Murders
The Box Hill Killer
Want to stay up to date and to read the latest news from Biba Pearce? Sign up here:
https://links.withoutwarrant.ink/Biba-Pearce1
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Also by Biba Pearce
Dead Heat: Chapter 1
Dead Heat: Chapter 2
Dead Heat: Chapter 3
Also By Without Warrant
About the Author
1
It was the yellow dress that caught his eye. It was so out of place amongst the murky greens and muddy browns of the swamp. A daffodil amongst the reeds. Reid Garrett angled his airboat towards it and accelerated. He flew over the sawgrass, the sudden wind providing a welcome relief to the immense heat of the day. He’d been out here for hours, watching, waiting, hoping to catch a glimpse of the killer dumping bodies in the Glades.
So far, nothing—until now.
He didn’t want it to be another one, but as he got closer, there was no denying it. It was a human form. Female, long legs, dark hair entangled in the reeds.
Shit.
He cut the engine and the airboat glided to a stop. The sudden silence that followed the loud jet engine was deafening. Water lapped against the hull as he peered over the side. She’d been mutilated by alligators or the elements, or both. An arm missing, along with a chunk of her leg. No blood though. The decomp and the water had seen to that.
Nothing lasted long out here. The heat and humidity got to work almost instantly. He guessed three or four days, by the looks of her.
A relatively short time compared to the others.
The first body, found by a park ranger, had been unrecognizable. At first, he’d thought it was an animal. A deer or large raccoon maybe, unlucky enough to wander into the path of a hungry gator. He was still talking about it four months later, to anyone who would listen. Her name was Sarah Randall, an 18-year-old student from Tallahassee. She’d been in South Beach for spring break. Her friends had reported her missing when she didn’t come back after a night out.
She’d met a man at the bar. He seemed nice. No, they didn’t get a good look at him. Dark hair, though, and a good physique. Or so they thought. They were pretty drunk at the time.
The second victim, a few months later, was a real estate agent from Orlando. She was here on a girls’ weekend. Some fun in the Miami sun before starting her new job. Her name was Miranda. Pretty, nice smile. People wanted to buy houses from her. It had taken them a week to ID her, she was so badly decomposed. Her dental records had been most helpful in the end. That smile had been expensive.
Reid had both their names and faces burned into his memory. He looked down at the slender figure floating amongst the sawgrass. Now he had another girl to add to the ghosts in his head.
Someone was dumping bodies in his backyard, and he didn’t appreciate it. He’d moved out here to forget, but he only seemed to be remembering.
There was a rustle in the vegetation behind him and a silver flash of a tail. The gators weren’t done with her yet. If they didn’t get her out of the water soon, there wouldn’t be anything left to look at.
He reached for his cell phone and dialed 911.
This part of the Everglades was so remote that recovering the body would be difficult. As expected, it took police divers three hours to get there, wading through the murky water, accompanied by sharp-shooters armed with AR-15s to ward off lethal predators. The gators weren’t the only thing that could kill you around here.
The CSI guys didn’t even try. “No point,” said the police diver in charge. “She was probably dumped somewhere else anyway.”
Reid watched them turn her over and load her onto a stretcher. Once they got her to firmer ground, they’d bag her and take her to the morgue. He stared at her face, swollen and disfigured. They all looked like that afterwards, the ones found in the water, anyway. Sometimes it was so bad their own family members couldn’t recognize them.
He’d snapped a couple of shots of her lying in the water before they’d pulled her out. The “After” photo.
The “Before” photo was usually taken from the victim’s social media account. Happy, carefree pictures. Reckless smiles, unguarded expressions. No idea of what was coming.
He used to put both up on the board in the incident room. A reminder of who they used to be. A person, not a victim. That was someone else's job now.
Reid was lying in his hammock on the deck when the two detectives arrived. Jonny Silva and a female officer he hadn’t met.
“How are you doing, Reid?” Jonny didn’t quite look him in the eye. After what had happened last year, Reid didn’t blame him. He could barely look himself in the eye.
“I’m good,” he lied. “How are things at Miami PD?”
“Not so good. This freaking drug war’s got everyone on edge. We’re short staffed, the case load is piling up, and now we’ve got this crazy lunatic raping and dumping young women in the Glades.”
“Not much has changed, then?”
“Pretty much.” He waved a hand around. “Nice place you got here. I haven’t been out this way before.”
“I like it.”
It was an airboat tour company that went bust. The rustic wooden cabin was built on decking that extended over the water. There were two adjoining huts, one he’d converted into a bedroom, the other a bathroom, but the biggest alteration had been knocking out the front wall and installing glass sliding doors to the deck. He kept them wide open most days to let in the breeze.
He was close enough to civilizati
on to have electricity and running water, but that was about it. There was no air conditioning, no Wi-Fi, the thatched roof leaked, and in the rainy months he was inundated with mosquitos. The nearest grocery store was in Homestead, a couple miles away, but there was a bar close by called Smiley Jim’s, next to the low budget Gator Inn, and a fishing store that sold bait and tackle.
“Don’t you get lonely out here by yourself?” asked the female detective. She was young, early twenties, with a fresh-faced enthusiasm and wide eyes that took in everything. Hard to believe he used to be like that, once upon a time.
“This is Detective Ryan,” said Jonny, hastily. “Joined homicide after you left.”
Reid nodded a greeting. “I enjoy the solitude.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Sergeant Garrett. I’ve heard about you.” She flushed. “I mean, the guys on the team talk.”
“I’m not a sergeant anymore.” But he acknowledged her compliment with a small inclination of his head. He’d had a good run at Miami PD before it had all gone to hell. If he hadn’t left, if the undercover operation hadn’t imploded like it did, he’d have made Lieutenant by now. But there was no point in lamenting over the past. What was done was done, and he couldn’t go back. No matter how much he wished it. For him, it was over, but most of his team were still there, scattered around the department.
“Who’s running the investigation?” he asked.
“Ortega, if you can call it running. The team’s split down the middle. We’re too busy doing damage control from last week’s gang shooting to concentrate on this. The captain’s on the warpath.” He shook his head. “To be honest, Reid, we miss having you around.”
It sounded like mayhem.
“What do you want from me?” He honed in on why they were here. The last thing he needed was a stroll down memory lane—or to be reminded of the politics in the force. The city had to be cleaned up, the gangs brought under control. Residents were looking to the authorities to restore order, and happy residents meant more votes at election time. The women found out in the Glades were not a priority.
“The Lieutenant thought you might have some insight into the dead girl.”
He couldn’t resist a grin. Lieutenant Pérez knew him too well. He’d known Reid wouldn’t leave this alone. Not when the victims were popping up in his neck of the woods.
“Perhaps you could start with how you came to discover the body?” Detective Ryan asked.
“I was out on my boat,” he said. He’d bought the airboat from the tourist operator along with the property. It was the best way to explore the waterways, especially the more remote parts. “I go out most mornings, weather permitting. I thought I’d check out the cypress swamps, and there she was. Floating face down, in that yellow dress.” He shook his head at the memory. “I knew it was another one of his victims.”
“The Swamp Strangler,” muttered Ryan.
Reid clenched his jaw. Damn reporters and their catchy titles. All they cared about was selling newspapers. He doubted they even paused to consider the effect their words might have on the victims or their families.
“You’re right about that,” Jonny piped up. “This one was strangled like the others. From what we can see, it’s the same MO.”
“Was she also sexually assaulted?” Reid narrowed his eyes.
“We don’t know yet. The autopsy is scheduled for this afternoon.” Jonny gave him a hard look. “But if it’s the same guy, then yeah.”
The previous two victims had been brutally raped before being strangled. Reid closed his eyes, unable to think about what the poor woman had been through before he’d found her.
“What kind of man does this?” whispered Ryan, hollow-eyed.
It was a question he’d asked himself a thousand times.
“One that’s not right in the head,” Jonny retorted.
“Or someone who’s got something against women,” Reid said. “A deep-seated hatred born out of abuse or mistreatment, or an earlier trauma.”
“I can’t even imagine—” she began.
“It’s best not to,” cut in Reid.
Her phone rang. She turned away to answer it. “Detective Ryan.”
Jonny walked onto the deck and gazed out over the water. The sun had set, taking the heat of the day with it. A welcome breeze blew off the wetlands, rustling the long grass. There was a splash as something slid into the water, the snap of a breaking twig.
“How are we going to catch this guy, Reid?” He turned to look at his former boss. “We have no DNA, no fibers, no nothing.”
“Have you looked for a link between the girls?” Reid thought back to what he’d do, how he’d handle it. “How is he targeting them?”
“They don’t appear to have anything in common,” Jonny said. “Other than they were both from out of town. Sarah was from Tallahassee, Miranda was from Orlando. They didn’t know each other … their families didn’t know each other … they stayed at different hotels.” He shrugged helplessly.
“You’re kidding me!” Ryan’s high-pitched voice made them turn around.
“Oh, my God.” She flushed pink with excitement.
Jonny mouthed, “What?”
Ryan ended the call, her eyes gleaming. “We’ve just got an ID on the third victim. You’re never going to believe this. It’s Natalia Cruz.”
Both men stared at her.
“You know, the reality TV star. Her father owns half the state of Florida. She’s married to DJ Snake.”
More blank stares.
“God, you two are hopeless.” She threw her hands in the air. “Natalia is a celebrity. Her wedding was the society event of the year. It was in all the papers.”
“The pharmaceutical billionaire?” Reid seemed to remember reading something about a high society wedding.
“Yes, that’s Rhys Arnold. Natalia is his daughter. She took her mother’s name after the divorce.”
“Rhys Arnold. Sweet Jesus.” Jonny ran a hand through his hair. “That means the press will be all over this. The Captain is going to go ape-shit.”
Reid knew he was worried about the pressure that was sure to rain down from above. The case nobody cared about had suddenly become mainstream news. From what he’d read, Rhys Arnold wasn’t the type of man you ignored. He wouldn’t let this lie.
“The killer signed his own death warrant when he killed Natalia Cruz,” he said grimly. “Whether he knew who she was or not, he’s about to become the most hunted man in Florida.”
2
“Holy crap, Keith, it’s Natalia Cruz.” Kenzie barged into her editor’s office at the Miami Herald without knocking.
“Who is?” He gave her a blank stare. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”
“The girl they pulled out of the swamp yesterday. It’s Natalia Freakin’ Cruz.”
His eyes widened. “You’re shitting me.”
“I swear. I just got off the phone with my police contact.” She sank down in the chair opposite his desk. “Keith, this is huge. Do you know who her father is?”
He gave her a look. What newsman worth his salt didn’t know who Rhys Arnold was?
“Apparently he plays golf with the Chief of Police and the case has been made a top priority. My source said they’re forming a special task force to find this guy.”
“Money talks,” murmured Keith.
“I want it, Keith,” she stated. “I’ve got an in at Miami PD and I’ve met the victim. I did a piece on her husband, DJ Snake, when I first joined the Herald.”
“That was eons ago, and you’re on the news blog until Congressman Leonard’s lawsuit against us is over.”
“To hell with the blog, this is a serial killer case. They don’t come along every day. This is what I do best, Keith. You know that.”
He was already shaking his head. “You should have thought of that before you accused Ray Leonard of cavorting with prostitutes and taking drugs on Salvatore Del Gatto’s super-yacht.”
“He was.” She gave him a
hard look.
“That’s not the point.” He sighed. “You’re lucky you still have a job. If he’d had it his way, you’d have been fired on the spot.”
“For telling the truth?” She gave an unladylike snort. “I thought that’s what we’re supposed to do, Keith? Or has that concept somehow gotten lost amongst the bullshit?”
“We can’t operate if we’re bankrupt, Kenzie. It’s as simple as that. This lawsuit is costing a goddamn fortune. He’s suing for—and I quote—'character assassination.’ According to him, your article was a politically motivated plot to destroy his reputation.”
“He didn’t need me to do that,” she muttered with a thin smile. “But it wasn’t politically motivated. You know I don’t give a damn about politics.”
He sighed. “I know. I kinda wish you did, then you might be more sensitive to it. You’re a great reporter, Kenzie, one of the best, but you’re a loose cannon. You’re off the crime beat until you can prove you won’t cause havoc.”
“I promise I won’t insult any more politicians,” she said. “Besides, it was you who put me on that case to begin with. Did you really expect me to sugarcoat it?”
