Wild Ocean

by Tripp Ellis

  “I don’t think this one fell far at all,” JD said.

  “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but we found microscopic particles of a titanium nitride coating from the murder weapon in the first victim,” Sheriff Daniels said.

  We tried to act like it was the first time we heard the information.

  “Dan had the same brand of fillet knife,” Sheriff Daniels continued. “I recalled seeing it when I was out here the other day. I was planning on paying him a visit today, then your call came in.”

  “Still think this was a robbery gone wrong?” Jack asked in a sardonic tone.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “I think we need to talk to Dan’s first mate, Luke…” I didn’t know his last name.

  “Luke Meyer. He’s been with Dan for a few years. But I can guarantee you he didn’t do this.”

  “How can you be so certain?” I asked.

  “Because we picked him up last night on a DUI. He’s still in the tank.”

  I deflated. It didn’t seem like we had any other leads.

  “We can talk to his other deck hands,” the sheriff added.

  My eyes perked up. “Deckhands?”

  “Garrett Hardin and Troy Larson.”

  “We only met his first mate Luke the other day,” I said.

  Sheriff Daniels thought for a moment. “Come to think of it… Troy Larson matches the description of your assailant. He’s about 6’1”, 220 pounds.”

  “I never saw his face. But I heard his voice.”

  “Think you’d recognize it if you heard it again?” the sheriff asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t think that’s enough to make anything stick. A defense attorney would tear it apart. But at least we’d know if we were looking in the right direction,” the sheriff said. “I guess I can let you two tag along when I go talk to Mr. Larson since you might be able to identify the suspect.”

  JD and I grinned.

  We followed the sheriff to his patrol car where he looked up Mr. Larson’s address on his computer. His eyes lit up when Larson’s criminal history appeared on the screen. “Would you look at that? It seems Mr. Larson has outstanding warrants for parking tickets. Let’s go pay him a visit.”

  We followed the sheriff to the Largo Vista Estates apartment complex. Deputy Perkins followed as well. The complex was a nice place with an attached marina. There were 50 units total. The grounds were well maintained.

  We approached Troy’s unit, apartment #29. Deputy Perkins went around back, in case Troy tried to run out the back door.

  The Sheriff banged on the door. He kept his hand on the grip of his holstered pistol. “Coconut County Sheriff. Open up!”

  JD and I stood ready to draw our weapons if need be.

  To my surprise, Troy pulled open the door. He squinted from the light and wiped the sleep from his eyes. His hair was tousled—we had clearly rousted him out of bed. Or, at least that was the impression he wanted to give us. “What’s going on, Sheriff?”

  “Are you supposed to work on Dan Baker’s boat today?”

  “Yeah. We’ve got an afternoon charter. I’m glad you knocked on the door, I almost overslept. I need to start getting ready.”

  “You don’t need to get ready. Your charter has been canceled.”

  His face twisted. “Why? What happened?”

  “Dan Baker’s been killed.”

  “What? How?”

  “I can’t talk about the specifics,” the sheriff said. “But I do need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Sure. Anything to help.”

  Sheriff Daniels glanced to me. I nodded. I was pretty sure this was the guy who attacked me. The voice sounded the same, though a little softer. He was the right build.

  25

  “Where were you this morning?” the sheriff asked.

  “I've been here, sleeping,” Troy said. “We had a late one last night. A few too many tequila shots.”

  “You got anybody that can verify that?”

  “My girlfriend.”

  “Where can we find her?” the sheriff asked.

  “Am I a suspect?”

  “These are just routine questions. I gotta ask everybody.”

  His suspicious eyes narrowed at the sheriff. “I’m feeling like a suspect.”

  “What makes you feel that way?”

  Troy called into the apartment. “Hey, babe. Can you come here and tell these gentlemen where I’ve been all morning?”

  His girlfriend sauntered to the door wearing a T-shirt and cotton men’s boxers. She had no makeup and her hair was disheveled. She wasn’t much of a looker, but she was a good catch for Troy. “He’s been here with me. What’s this about?” Then she cautioned Troy, “Don’t say anything.”

  “I want to talk to a lawyer,” Troy said.

  Those were the words that every cop hated to hear. It meant you had to stop interrogating them.

  “I’m going to need you to come down to the station.”

  “Are you arresting me? What for?”

  “I’ve got a warrant for outstanding parking tickets. I need you to step out of the house and put your hands against the wall.”

  “I’m calling a lawyer,” the girlfriend said. “Troy, don’t say anything to these fucking pigs.”

  Troy didn’t put up a fight. He stepped onto the porch and Sheriff Daniels ratcheted the cuffs around his wrists in no time.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Troy protested.

  “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” the sheriff said.

  Wayne read Troy his rights, then radioed to Deputy Perkins that he had the suspect in custody. They put him into the back of a patrol car, and Perkins drove him down to the station.

  “You are a bunch of fucking assholes,” the girlfriend shouted from the doorway.

  “I don’t suppose you’d let us come in and look around?”

  “Get fucked!” she slammed the door.

  The sheriff grinned.

  “Can you get a warrant to search his place?” JD asked the sheriff.

  “I’ll try, but I’ve got nothing to go on. Unless he slips up and says something incriminating, we don’t have enough probable cause. And it’s not like this one is going to cooperate,” he said, pointing to the apartment.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I said.

  The sheriff cringed. “Do I want to know?”

  “Probably not,” I replied.

  “Just tell me what you’ve got in mind, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.”

  “Right now, his girlfriend is getting dressed, putting on makeup, and counting how much cash they have on hand. She’s going to show up at the station and pay his outstanding fines. Since you don’t have enough to charge him in the death of Dan Baker, he’s gonna walk away, and that’s the end of it.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re going to suggest something illegal?” the sheriff asked.

  I smiled. “I’m not going to suggest anything illegal. But I think you should park a patrol car in front of the apartment. When she leaves to bail him out, I’m sure she’ll forget to signal when she turns onto the highway. I would imagine you can find probable cause to search the car and the trunk. Might find a tire iron in there, but he’d be a fool to keep a murder weapon around. Might want to have divers search the marina around Dan’s boat.”

  “Good idea,” Daniels said.

  “I would imagine there would be all kinds of delays in processing someone out of your jail if the computer system went down,” I suggested.

  The Sheriff’s eyes brightened. He seemed to like the idea. “You know, I’m not very tech savvy. When that system goes down, it can take 24 to 48 hours to process someone out of the jail.”

  “That might give you enough time to turn up additional evidence,” I said. “While the girlfriend is gone to bail him out, there will be no one at home.”

  “This is where I need to stop listening,” the sheriff said. He knew exactly what we were going to do.


  It took an hour and a half for Troy’s girlfriend to pull herself together and head to the station. Sheriff Daniels followed as she pulled out of the apartment complex. She had a broken tail light. Sheriff Daniels didn’t even have to make up an excuse to pull her over.

  JD and I moved around to the back patio. The sliding glass door was locked, but the nearby window was open slightly. I popped off the screen and climbed in, then let JD in through the sliding door.

  We had plenty of time to search the apartment. None of it would be admissible in a court of law. But if we found something incriminating, maybe we could figure out a way to get the evidence legally. I needed to know beyond a shadow of a doubt if this was the man who attacked me and threatened Madison. I didn’t want to take justice into my own hands, but I would if necessary.

  26

  I figured we had at least several hours to search this place. Probably more. Troy’s girlfriend wasn’t going to get through the maze of paperwork anytime soon.

  We searched high and low, turning the place upside down. We put everything back as we found it. I looked in all the places you would normally hide things—under mattresses, in air ducts, under furniture. I even looked for hidden floorboards and removable baseboards.

  The murder weapon didn’t turn up.

  But we did find something of interest.

  Troy had a freezer full of fish. They were wrapped in white butcher paper, and clearly labeled—Marlin, Swordfish, Tuna, Mahi-Mahi. Nothing unusual for someone who worked on a charter fishing boat. I grabbed one of the packages. It didn’t feel like frozen fish.

  It felt like a brick.

  I unwrapped the butcher paper and found a kilo of cocaine.

  JD’s eyes widened. “It’s party time.”

  If everything labeled fish in the freezer was cocaine, there were at least 50 keys.

  “At least we know what he’s into,” I said.

  “I’d say that’s about $4 million worth of cocaine wholesale in Miami,” JD said.

  “That’s a lot of product,” I said. “Where would the front money come from?”

  JD shrugged. “Maybe Dan was in on it. He fronted the money. Troy gets greedy. Who knows?”

  I shook my head. “Dan didn’t have that kind of money. He just got divorced. He said everything he had was tied up in the boat. I think they got fronted this on consignment.”

  “That’s a lot of product to sell on consignment,” JD said.

  I shook my head. “Not really. If they moved a few small loads successfully, built up a little credibility, it’s not a stretch at all. Everybody knows what happens when you screw over the Colombians, so people don’t often steal from them.”

  A devious idea popped into my head.

  “Oh no,” JD said. “I know that look.”

  “It would be a shame for all this cocaine to go missing. Troy would have to answer a lot of questions. He’d have to deal with some really angry people.”

  I grabbed a rolling suitcase from the hall closet and loaded it full of the packages of fish. I left a few kilos behind just to rub it in. And more than enough for him to go away for a long time if Sheriff Daniels got a warrant.

  JD hid a few of his small wireless cameras around the apartment. They were smaller than a shirt button. With an adhesive back, he stuck one on the frame of the TV by the logo, another on the coffee maker in the kitchen, and one on the TV in the bedroom. They provided a high definition, wide-angle view, with audio.

  JD was able to access the feed from his cell phone. We could watch the surveillance footage from anywhere with an Internet connection.

  None of that would be usable in court, but when Troy got back home and realized how much trouble he was in, there were going to be more than a few heated conversations about it. And hopefully, we learned the details about his operation.

  With any luck, maybe the Colombians would take care of my problem for me?

  I rolled the suitcase full of cocaine behind me and stepped onto the patio. JD locked the door, then climbed out the open window and replaced the screen. Each patio was separated by a fence, but there was an open view of the marina through a wrought-iron gate.

  “What exactly do you plan on doing with that?” JD asked, eyeing the suitcase.

  “I’ve got a place in mind for it.”

  “You realize that stuff is illegal, and if we get caught with it, we’re going down for a long time.”

  “We better not get caught.”

  JD tensed. “There goes my car, my boat, my house.”

  I thought about it for a moment. I knelt down and pried a heavy stone from the ground that rimmed the flower bed. I shoved it into the suitcase to weight it down, then strolled through the gate, onto the dock. The wheels of the case rattled against the wood plank as I pulled it to the end of the marina. I swung the roll-case into the air, and it splashed into the water. The case floated for a few moments, then filled with water and sunk to the bottom of the channel.

  “$4 million,” JD muttered.

  “Troy is in a whole lot of trouble.” I smiled.

  We made our way back to the parking lot, and JD drove me back to the marina at Diver Down. He had to run a few errands and took off.

  I stepped inside the bar to check on Alejandro. Things were running smoothly. I grabbed a bite to eat, then strolled down the dock to the Slick’n Salty. I was quite surprised at what I found.

  27

  “I thought you had a flight to catch,” I said, pleasantly surprised.

  Aria sat in the cockpit with a beaming smile. She shrugged. “I told my friends to go back without me. I’ll catch up in a few days. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I smiled, glad to see her. “No. I don’t mind at all."

  “It’s almost happy hour. What do you say we grab a drink, maybe some dinner? Who knows, if you play your cards right, you might get lucky.”

  That sounded damn fine to me. “I’ve got to warn you though, I’m pretty good at cards.”

  “I know.” Her sultry eyes sparkled.

  We caught a cab over to Oyster Avenue. It was a popular tourist destination, lined with bars and restaurants. Live music, overpriced drinks, and large crowds. There was everything from the casual dive bar to the upscale swanky eatery. You could catch a local blues band at Jimmy Ray’s, or dance to techno music at Starfish.

  We grabbed a few drinks at Reefers—reggae music and Caribbean cuisine. All the waitresses wore skimpy bikini tops and jean shorts. It was a common theme on the island. We sat at a cocktail table close to the bar.

  A familiar voice tickled my ear. “Funny seeing you here, stranger.”

  I was surprised to see Scarlett’s smiling face. “I didn’t know you worked here?”

  “I pick up a few shifts here and there. It’s just temporary.”

  I introduced Jack’s daughter to Aria.

  “Oh my God, you’re Aria,” Scarlett said, star-struck. “Like, THE Aria.”

  Aria smiled shyly.

  “I’ve been following you for years. Your lifestyle seems so glamorous.”

  “I can’t lie. It is a lot of fun.”

  Scarlett surveyed the two of us. “So, are you two like a thing?”

  She enjoyed putting us on the spot.

  I fumbled for words, then decided it was best to let Aria answer that question.

  “Um, we are seeing where this thing goes,” Aria said with a lustful glimmer in her eyes.

  “Well, he’s definitely a keeper,” Scarlett added.

  Aria and I both knew this was probably just a vacation romance. She was going back to New York in the near future. Neither one of us had any illusions about the reality of it and how ill-fated it probably was. But we were both enjoying ourselves.

  “Can I start you off with anything? Cocktails, appetizers?”

  “Cocktails for sure,” Aria said.

  “The daiquiris are really great here. Not that I would know,” she added, having clearly indulged in them.

  “Two strawberry daiq
uiris it is,” Aria said.

  Usually I stayed away from the fruity drinks and stuck with the professional stuff—whiskey, vodka, aged rum—but a daiquiri sounded pretty tasty, and I didn’t want to disappoint the lady.

  “Coming right up,” Scarlett said. She spun around and sauntered toward the bar.

  “That’s Jack’s daughter?” Aria asked, stunned.

  “I know, right?”

  “She’s gorgeous. She’s wasting her talent here. She could make a killing modeling.”

  “Maybe you can give her some pointers?” I said.

  Aria smiled. “I’d be happy to.”

  Scarlet returned a few moments later with strawberry daiquiris so cold they’d give you an ice headache if you drank them too fast. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few minutes?”

  “Give us a few minutes,” I said.

  “Just holler when you need me.” She trotted away attended to the next table—a bunch of drunk bikers. They were loud, obnoxious, inappropriate, and a little handsy. Scarlett kept her distance from the table, and I could tell she didn’t like serving them.

  When Scarlett returned to take our order, I asked, “Are those guys giving you any trouble?”

  She glanced over to the bikers. “Who? Those guys? Nothing I can’t handle. This place is usually cool, but now and then the creepers come in.”

  They saw us looking and clearly knew we were discussing them. A burly redheaded guy with a beard wearing a denim biker jacket scowled at me, as if I was supposed to be afraid.

  I wasn’t looking for trouble and just wanted to have a nice afternoon, so I ignored them.

  “We’re going to have to do a complete evaluation of your social media presence,” Aria said to Scarlett. “You’re going to become my pet project. Do what I say, and you’ll have a million followers within the next six months.”

  Scarlett’s eyes brightened, filled with dreams of Internet stardom. “Oh, my God, thank you. That would be so amazing. You really think that I can do what you do?”

  “Absolutely, girl. You got it going on.”