by Tripp Ellis
Smooth downtempo music filtered through speakers, forks clinked against plates, and the murmur of conversation filled the air.
“Your server will be with you shortly,” the hostess said before darting away. “Enjoy your meal.”
We perused the menu, and a server brought glasses of water. We were greeted by a cute waitress a few moments later. She had straight golden-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. The girl had tawny eyes, full lips, and classic features. She flashed a bright smile. "How are you gentlemen this afternoon?"
"Fine, thank you," JD said.
"My name is Amber. I'll be your server today. If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask. Are you gentlemen with ETC?”
“No, we’re locals,” I said.
“Even better. But don’t tell anyone, and I’ll give you the ETC discount.”
JD smiled. “We like discounts.”
ETC was the annual Energy Technology Conference. Thousands of energy professionals from across the globe would flock to the island for a week of conferences, cocktail parties, and expensive dinners. Vendors would showcase new technology, software, and hardware. Discussions would take place about the current state of the industry and future trends. Movers and shakers would no doubt collude to manipulate markets.
For the last few years, the Seven Seas had been home to the event. Along with the convention came an influx of companions for hire. You could find them loitering around the bar or lounging poolside. It was a lucrative event, and the convention attendees had plenty of disposable income. Some of the wives had caught on and made sure to attend the otherwise boring conference every year. But for many, the week in Coconut Key was like a week in Vegas. What happened at the Seven Seas stayed at the Seven Seas.
“We have some wonderful specials today,” Amber continued. “We have a 7-ounce Western Australian lobster tail topped with shrimp scampi, served with grilled asparagus and roasted potatoes. We also have an 8-ounce center cut filet mignon topped with lump crab meat and béarnaise sauce, served with sautéed mushrooms and roasted potatoes."
Jack smiled. "Sounds delish. I'll take the lobster tail."
"I'll take the filet," I said. “Medium rare.”
"Excellent choices. You won't be disappointed. Can I start you off with an appetizer? Calamari, charred octopus, jumbo shrimp?"
"Calamari," JD said.
“A cup of lobster bisque for me.”
We bypassed our usual serving of whiskey due to the circumstances.
The waitress collected the menus and scampered away.
"What do you make of this whole scenario?" JD asked.
I shrugged.
"Why no ransom demand yet?"
"Maybe they're trying to figure out how much to ask for. The guy is worth 67 billion, with a B. I would imagine he could easily put his hands on tens of millions by the end of the day. Do you ask for a reasonable number that he’s inclined to pay quickly? Or do you ask for $1 billion or more?"
"That is a difficult question. I mean, if you ask for a million and he pays it right away, you might feel like a chump, thinking you missed out."
"They also want to control the narrative. They’ll make Nolan sweat. Soften him up."
“I think he’s already pretty softened up,” JD said. "Think she’s still alive?"
"She is their insurance policy. Without her, they don't get any money. I'm sure he'll get proof of life along with the ransom demand soon. They’ll probably give him a crypto wallet address to make the payment to, and that might be the last he hears from them until she’s released."
"Do you really think they'll let her go if he pays?"
"I think that comes down to whether or not she can identify them. If she can’t, there's no reason to hang on to her once they get the money. But then again, people often get paranoid in these situations. They're looking at a life sentence either way if they get caught. Murder doesn't add much to the charge."
JD frowned.
Our waitress brought out the calamari, and we snacked until our entrées arrived. The bisque was creamy and smooth with lumps of fresh lobster. Just after we devoured the starters, Amber set our entrées down in front of us. The presentation was beautiful, and it smelled divine.
Amber asked me to cut into my steak to make sure it was cooked to my liking. I sliced through the tender meat with a serrated steak knife, revealing a juicy reddish-pink center cooked to perfection.
"Is there anything else I can get for you?"
"No, thank you," Jack said.
"Enjoy your meal."
Amber darted away, and I sliced off a piece and shoveled it into my mouth. Garlic butter and lemon pepper swirled. It was definitely one of the best steaks on the island.
JD seemed to enjoy his lobster.
We chowed down and filled our bellies. Amber brought the check when we were ready, and JD paid the tab. Without liquor and with the ETC discount, we managed to keep the bill under $200—an impressive feat at this place.
Jack stuffed a wad of cash in the leather folio, and we rolled ourselves out of the restaurant.
It was back to reality.
I figured it was time to track down Callum Anders. He didn't really fit the profile, but it was worth rattling his cage. I called Denise at the Sheriff's Department and she gave me his information.
We found the Porsche, climbed in, and headed across the island.
12
“What do you want?” Callum asked when he pulled open the door to his apartment.
His annoyed eyes flicked between the two of us from behind thick, black-framed glasses. He lived on the third floor of the Shearwater Apartments. A nice complex, but nothing too fancy. Callum was a short, round guy with a chubby face and bushy brown hair. He was in his late 20s, had a couple days’ worth of stubble, and his chin seemed to disappear into his neck. He wore shorts and a T-shirt, and I detected the distinct odor of marijuana wafting from his apartment.
I gazed beyond him down the entrance foyer into the living room. Sounds from the TV spilled down the corridor. From what I could tell, he’d been sitting around all morning playing video games.
"We’d like to talk to you about Eva Orton," I said.
Callum groaned. "Why are you guys still hassling me about that? I wasn’t trespassing. It was a business meeting."
"A business meeting that you didn't have an appointment for."
He shook his head dismissively. "Whatever. You gotta be bold if you want to get anywhere in life. I took my shot. It didn't work out. The guy is a dick for pressing charges."
"Sounds like you're pretty pissed off about that."
"No. I'm ecstatic about having criminal charges on my record," he said flatly.
"What do you know about Eva Orton?"
"I know the bitch is hot. I'll tell you that."
"Did you see her the day that you were trespassing?"
"I wasn't trespassing. I was trying to pitch Nolan an idea that could make us both a lot of money."
"He said you were looking for a job."
"I'm not looking for a job. I got a job. I'm looking to make some serious bank."
"What's your idea?"
"I'm not telling you."
I rolled my eyes.
"I'm ahead of the curve on this. All I need to do is execute. It's a guaranteed success. I just need the startup capital."
"How much capital?"
His eyes narrowed at me. "Why? Are you looking to invest?"
"Just curious."
"$150 million ought to do it."
"Is that all?" JD asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.
Callum glared at him.
"I'll get back to my question," I said. "Did you see Eva the day you were at the Orton residence?"
Callum hesitated and shifted uncomfortably. "Why?"
"Just curious."
"You're not going to hit me with additional charges, are you?"
"Did you do something that would warrant additional charges?"
Hi
s face crinkled. "No!"
"So why are you acting sketchy?"
"I'm not acting sketchy." His eyes flicked between the two of us. "Okay, look. Yeah, I saw her that day. But I'm not some kind of creepy stalker. So get that out of your head right now."
We both looked at him, waiting for him to continue the story.
"The gate was unlocked, so I just walked into the courtyard. How can you trespass when the gate isn’t locked? Anyway, I went to the front porch and knocked on the door… Nobody answered. So I walked around the side of the house to the backyard, and I saw the pool. Nice pool," he muttered aside. "Then I heard these noises, right? Like, you know…"
"What kind of noises?"
He bit his bottom lip, sneered his upper lip, made two fists, and pumped the air with his crotch like he was in a bad ‘70s porno. I could almost hear the bad soundtrack.
"Those kinds of noises,” Callum said. “They were coming from the guesthouse near the pool, so I decided to investigate," he said in air quotes.
I frowned at him.
"Anyway, I looked through the window, not because I’m a peeper or anything. I just wanted to make sure that this was a consensual act between adults. That's when I saw Mrs. Orton bent over the kitchen counter getting pounded by some dude that wasn't Mr. Orton."
"Liam Nash," I said.
"I don't know the guy’s name."
"6 foot tall, brown hair, blue eyes, good-looking?"
"Yeah, I guess. I wasn’t paying attention to him, dude."
"How long did you watch?"
His eyes flicked between the two of us again. "Once I ascertained that this was a consensual act, I went about my business. I walked around the pool and peered through the windows into the living room of the main house. I didn't see anybody, so I went back around to the front of the house, and that's when Nolan and his security team arrived. They pulled into the driveway through the gate. His goons hopped out with guns drawn, shouting at me.” He paused, attempting to look wounded. “I'm traumatized. I should sue him for emotional distress."
"I don't think it works that way."
"It should. I'm scarred for life."
"Have you seen Mrs. Orton since then?”
His face crinkled. "No. But I'd like to," he said with a sly grin. "What's with the questions?"
"Where were you yesterday?"
"Why?"
"Just tell us where you were between 3 and 4 PM?"
"Did something happen?"
I didn't say anything.
Panic began to wash over him. "I haven't been back to their house since that day. I swear. I haven't even tried to contact him since then, even though I think he'd be perfect for this project. I left Silicon Valley to follow the company out here."
"Sounds a little obsessive."
"I like to call it focus and determination."
"So, where were you yesterday afternoon?"
"I was here, working."
"What kind of work do you do?"
"I provide technical support over the phone to idiots who don't know how to use their computers.”
“Can anyone verify your whereabouts?”
"You can check the call logs. Everything is recorded on the computer and uploaded to the system.”
“You have voice recordings of all the calls?”
“Yeah, for quality assurance,” he said in air quotes again. “Did somebody break into their home?"
"It's more serious than that."
His brow lifted with curiosity. "So, what happened?"
"You mind if we look around your apartment?"
He stammered, growing uncomfortable. "Yeah, I mind."
"I'm not gonna bust you for the weed."
"What weed?"
I gave him a look.
"Why do you want to look around my apartment?"
"To rule you out as a suspect."
His eyes widened. "I'm a suspect?"
"I can come back with a warrant," I said, knowing that we really didn't have probable cause to search for anything but weed.
"I’ve got nothing to hide."
“Then put your money where your mouth is.”
He hesitated a moment, then stepped aside and motioned us into the apartment. “Fine. Go ahead.”
We walked into the foyer and moved into the living room. There was a bong on the coffee table, a tray of weed, and a remote game controller along with a laptop and a headset. There were several entrepreneurial magazines with Nolan on the cover.
Sliding glass doors opened to a balcony that offered a stunning view of a neighboring apartment complex. There was a first-person shooter game on the 65-inch flatscreen display. The main character was stagnant, but the game continued.
"Is this your office?" I asked facetiously.
"Yeah. I just sit around and play video games all day and talk people through their tech support issues. It all comes through on the laptop, and everything is logged. He grabbed the computer, scrolled through the app, and showed us the activity from yesterday. According to the log, he was on a call from 2:42 to 3:15 PM, then again from 3:21 to 3:43 PM.
“Can I listen to these calls?”
“Just click the play icon next to the entry.”
I did, and Callum’s voice filtered through the laptop speakers.
That pretty much ruled him out as a suspect.
"Want to tell me what's going on?"
"Eva Orton is missing."
His brow lifted again. "Missing?"
I nodded.
He thought for a moment. "Maybe she ran off with the dude she was banging in the guest house?"
"We considered that."
We searched the rest of the apartment, checking the master bedroom, the bathroom, the closets, the guest bathroom, and a storage closet.
Eva wasn’t here, and there were no kidnapping paraphernalia—no duct tape, rope, ski masks, or any other weapons.
Callum hovered as we looked around. "We’re talking about kidnapping, right?"
I nodded again.
"You don't think I had anything to do with that, do you?"
"That's why we’re here to rule you out as a person of interest."
Callum swallowed hard.
13
“I can help you,” Callum said. “I know everything there is to know about Nolan Orton and Flutter.”
"But you're not obsessed," I said dryly.
He sneered at me. “It's called due diligence."
"If you know everything about Nolan Orton, who had a motive to kidnap his wife?"
“Duh, anybody who wanted $67 billion."
"That's tremendously helpful," I said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
"Okay. I see how it is. Dismiss my expertise. It's okay. Everyone does. But you'll see. I will soon be on top of the world, and everyone will recognize my genius.”
“Modest, too,” I snarked.
“You want my help or not?”
I gave him my card. "Contact me if you think of anything that might be helpful."
He studied my card for a moment. "If I give you clues that lead to the kidnappers, you think you can get the trespassing charges dropped?"
"I'm sure if you can provide information that leads to the safe recovery of Eva Orton, Nolan will be most appreciative."
Callum smiled. "Looks like I'm gonna put on my detective hat."
I forced a courteous smile.
We left the apartment and ambled down the hallway to the elevator bank. JD pressed the call button, and we waited for the lift.
"Interesting character," Jack said. "I don't think he's our guy."
"He doesn't strike me as the type, and call logs verify his whereabouts. Unless he fudged the timestamps. I don't think he has the funds to hire somebody else to kidnap her, but I could be wrong."
The bell rang, and the elevator doors slid open. We stepped aboard and plummeted down to the lobby, then made our way out to the Porsche. The sun hung high in the sky, baking the island.
I called Isabella and
gave her Weston Prescott’s number. She pulled up his information and tracked his phone.
"Well, he's got a good alibi.”
“Do tell.”
“He's not in the country. Hasn't been for a few days."
"Where's he at?”
"Monaco."
“That’s a convenient excuse,” I said.
"Think he could have hired somebody to do it and left town to avoid suspicion?”
“I think we’re grasping at straws at this point,” I said.
“I’ll sift through the data and see if I can make any connections."
"Thank you. What can you tell me about Callum Anders?"
I gave her Callum’s phone number. Isabella’s fingers clacked against a keyboard. "Looks like his cellular device was at his apartment all day yesterday."
"What about Evan Voigt?"
Her fingers stroked the keys again. A few minutes later, she said, “This is odd. I don't see any cellular data for him yesterday afternoon. His device may have been switched off or outside of the cellular network."
I lifted an intrigued eyebrow. "We're about to track him down. I'm interested to hear what he has to say."
"If he's currently where his cell phone is, you'll find him at home in the Platinum Dunes Estates."
“Good to know. I’ll be in touch. By the way, have you been able to confirm the whereabouts of Elias Fink yet?”
"I'm working on that. I'm telling you, Tyson… Be careful. Don't let your desire to get that guy cloud your judgment. He's dangerous, and so is Sophia Breslin. Don't let her cloud your judgment either."
"I would never allow myself to be compromised like that," I said, trying to keep a straight face.
She laughed. "Anything with a short enough skirt can compromise you.”
I feigned offense. “That's a cruel and unfair characterization."
"Please, save it for someone who doesn't know you better."
"She seemed like a really nice girl when I first met her,” I said, trying to sound sincere.
Isabella scoffed again. "I'll talk to you later."
I ended the call, and JD cranked up the engine. We headed across the island toward the Platinum Dunes Estates.
