by Tripp Ellis
"You boys don't mind if I join you, do you?" Archer said as she slipped into the booth beside JD. The hostess left another laminated menu and sauntered back to her stand.
"Go right ahead," I said.
She smiled. "We didn't really get to meet on the beach. “Jen Archer," she said, extending her hand across the table.
I shook her delicate hand. "Tyson Wild."
Her hand was soft, and she had a nice manicure. She didn't wear any rings, on either hand.
"This is Jack Donovan,” I added.
"Pleasure to meet you both. And your involvement in the case is…?"
"Deputy Sheriff," JD said with a boastful tone. He was enjoying the badge way too much.
I wanted to roll my eyes.
"And how long have you been working with the sheriff?”
I looked at my watch. "Oh, about 30 minutes now."
Her eyes narrowed at me. "Sheriff must have a great deal of faith in you."
I smiled. "Let's just say I have a certain set of skills."
"Really? What’s your background?"
“What's your background?" I asked with a slightly sassy tone.
"I asked you first.” She grinned.
"What you'll be able to find out about me will largely depend on your security clearance. Even then, you’ll probably come up with nothing."
"One of those, are you?"
"Could be." I had no doubt that she was going to run my background. It would only leave her with more questions.
She turned her attention to JD. "What about you? Karaoke DJ?"
JD smiled. "Not me. I'm retired. Former Spec-War Operator. Did a little time with the company. Now I live a life of leisure."
"Let me guess,” Archer mused. “You two knew each other in the service. Ran a few ops together. You look like you may have been a company man.” Her eyes narrowed. “But, then you stepped out on your own for more lucrative offers. Am I close?"
"You do have a fascinating imagination,” I said.
She smiled a cocksure grin, knowing she was right. She was good. I had to give her that.
"So, I’ve got a couple of real cowboys here."
"I always preferred the term outlaw myself," JD said.
Archer's smile faded. "Let's get one thing straight. I don’t know why Sheriff Daniels deputized you, and I don’t care. But you better play this one by the rules. If you run across anything that you think I might need to know about, you tell me. I have an active investigation going on, and the last thing I need is you two outlaws fucking this up. Lives are at stake. Are we clear?"
"Now, sugar, we wouldn't dream of screwing up your little investigation," JD said.
“I’d like a heads up before you make any moves. Just a professional courtesy."
"I'll see what we can do,” I said.
Our waitress returned with our breakfast. She clanked the plates across the table. "Ma'am, would you like to order?"
"No, thank you. I was just leaving." Archer slid out of the booth.
"Can I get you gentlemen anything else?" the waitress asked.
4
“She’s a little spitfire, isn’t she?” JD said.
“I get the impression she didn’t like us very much,” I replied.
“What’s not to like?” He shoveled in another mouthful.
“I’m sure she could come up with a list.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. Sheriff Daniels. I took the call, and the sheriff’s voice crackled through the speaker. He didn’t bother to say hello. Just stated the facts. “The ME puts time of death around three weeks ago, give or take. Some kind of larva growing in the corpse. I don't know how that stuff works. His girlfriend filed a missing persons report a week and a half ago. Claire Hopkins. Why don't you guys go talk to her, see where it leads?"
"Right on it."
I hung up the phone and relayed the information to JD. I looked at my watch. "Finish that up and run me by the boat. Maybe I can catch Aria just as she's waking up."
JD shook his head. "What is with you two?”
I shrugged.
"What am I supposed to do? Wait in the car while you get in a little quickie?"
"Basically."
"How about we take care of our business first?”
"I'll be able to think much clearer this way,” I assured.
"This is starting to sound serious. I think you need counseling."
"What? She's hot. Young. Easy to be around. No drama."
JD scoffed.
"Don't hate.”
"Have you registered yet? Should I buy you a toaster oven?"
"Fuuuck you,” I said, playfully.
“I should start charging you for double occupancy on the boat.”
"Just because you haven't found the next ex-Mrs. Donovan yet doesn't mean you have to spoil it for the rest of us."
“Oh, no. This is far more problematic than I thought. You think this woman could eventually be your ex-wife?"
I crinkled my brow at him. "No. I didn't say anything like that."
"But you're thinking it. Somewhere in the back of that twisted little head of yours, you’re thinking she could be the one."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not talking about this anymore."
There was a moment of silence before I had to defend myself.
"Look. I like her. What's the big deal?"
"That's how it starts. Like is a gateway word. Pretty soon you'll be using the other L word. And before you know it, you'll be depressed, alone, and she'll take half of everything you own."
"I don't own anything so, technically, that won’t be a problem."
JD sighed. "You’re farther gone than I thought. This is going to require an intervention."
"An intervention?" I asked with an arched eyebrow.
"Yes. Before it's too late."
JD shoveled the last bits of his omelette in his mouth, and I threw a wad of cash on the table to cover the tab and a healthy tip. I still had fat stacks of cash left over from my poker winnings.
"Let's go talk to this Claire Hopkins, then I'll swing you by the boat. I've got a meeting noon, so I'm on a little bit of a timetable."
I sighed. "Fine."
We left the diner and strolled through the parking lot. The air had the heavy smell of rain. Gray clouds gathered overhead. I climbed into JD's car and held on for dear life as we raced to Scott Kingston's home.
Claire Hopkins was living there. It was a luxurious place right on the beach. It had a mid-century modern feel to it with sleek, minimalist architecture and appointments. Claire pulled open the door after a few knocks, wearing a string bikini that struggled to contain pert assets. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and tan skin. She looked like she belonged in the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated.
JD flashed his gold badge. He puffed out his chest and said, "Deputy Sheriff. Mind if we ask you a few questions."
A worried look washed over her face. “Is this about Scott?"
“I'm afraid so,” I said.
She broke down in tears when we told her what happened. Her response seemed to be genuine. She invited us in, and we took a seat on the couch in the living room. From where I sat, I could see the beach, and the crashing waves of the ocean.
It was a nice place. No doubt about it.
Scott Kingston had done very well for himself in the boating business. The house was open and full of light. There were several pieces of art on the walls that had to set him back at least seven figures.
Once initial shock wore off, Claire was open to a few questions.
“You waited nearly a week and a half to report this? Why so long?" I asked.
"Scott was always disappearing for a few days here and there. It wasn't unusual. Sometimes he’d take a boat up to Fort Lauderdale for a client, stay a few days, pick up another one and bring it back. I started to get really worried after week, then finally made the call."
"How long have you two been together?" I asked
.
"A little over a year. But, together is kind of a loose term."
"What do you mean?" JD asked.
"I mean, let's be honest. Scott wasn't exactly a one-woman kind of guy."
"So, he was having an affair?" JD asked.
She laughed. "Please. Scott couldn’t keep it in his pants."
“And that didn't bother you?" I asked.
"I'm not one of those girls who thinks they can actually change their man into something he’s not. I liked Scott. We had fun together. And, he kept me in the lifestyle that I'm accustomed to. Besides, I had my own fun from time to time."
"And he was okay with that?" I asked.
"I didn't feel the need to broadcast it to him. We had an understanding." She hesitated. "We just didn't talk about it that much."
“Can you think of anyone who may have wanted him dead?” I continued.
“Where do you want me to start?”
5
“Scott was acting funny lately,” Claire said. “He was nervous about something. But he wouldn’t tell me what.”
My phone buzzed again. This time it was Isabella. I didn’t have time to take the call. She was my former handler at Cobra Company—a clandestine agency that did contract work for the CIA, and other three letter agencies. More often than not, when Isabella called it was not good. That was a life I was trying to put behind me.
“If you had to guess?” JD said.
“I know Scott was worried about Carlos. He just got released from prison. Did a nickel in Raiford.”
“Why was he worried about Carlos?” I asked.
“He totally screwed the guy over! When Carlos got popped, Scott repossessed his boat. I don’t know the ins and outs of the transaction, I just know that Carlos got the short end of the stick. Drug dealers don’t like to keep assets in their name. Scott leases them the boat, so it can’t be confiscated by the authorities when they’re arrested. Sometimes Scott had to jump through hoops to protest the confiscation, but most of the time he came out on top.”
Federal and local governments had been stealing property for years under the civil forfeiture laws. If a piece of property was used in the commission of a crime, it was fair game. Drinking and driving? Some municipalities would take your car. Pick up a hooker in a back alley? Some municipalities would take your car. Especially if they thought you didn’t have the money to fight it. Until 2000, even if the owner had no knowledge of the criminal activity, the authorities could take the property and there was little or no recourse. The Supreme Court even upheld the decision. But in 2000, Congress passed the Civil Asset Forfeiture Reform Act—owners who did not consent to the illegal activity, nor had any knowledge of it, were protected.
It was debatable whether Scott knew the illegal activity of his clients, but with him as the owner of the property, he was usually able to avoid forfeiture.
“So you think Carlos may have killed him?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Like I said. I don’t know how his business really worked. Or who he owed money to.”
“Do you know Carlos’s last name?”
She thought for a moment. “No. Sorry.” She paused. “There was another guy. Got into it with him at a party last month. Scott fucked his girlfriend. The guy wasn’t too happy about that. He threatened to kill Scott. There were a bunch of witnesses. I figured it was all drunk bravado. But maybe not.”
“Who was the guy?” I asked.
“Travis Wilkes.” She nearly gagged as she said the words. “I hate that guy.”
"You know where we can find him?" I asked.
"He lives on the island. You’re cops. You can probably figure it out." She slumped. “So, we weren’t married or anything. What's going to happen to me? Am I gonna get kicked out of this house?" Her worried eyes flicked between JD and me.
"That's probably a question for your attorney,” JD said.
"I don't have one."
"You might want to get one,” I said. “It depends if Scott had a will, and if you were common law married." I paused. "Either way, you might want to start making other arrangements."
She burst into tears again.
JD and I exchanged a glance.
“Do you mind if we look around?” JD asked.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
There was a bedroom on either side of the living room. JD took one side of the house, and I took the other. I'm not really sure what we were looking for—anything that might shed some light on the situation. A cell phone, or laptop, could prove invaluable. I figured his cell phone was likely at the bottom of the ocean, but I did find a laptop in the bedroom. I took it and stepped back into the living room. "Is this Scott's laptop, or yours?"
"It's Scott's. I don't have a computer. I just use my phone and my tablet."
"You mind if I borrow this for a few days. I swear I'll bring it back."
"Sure. If you think it will help?”
"Do you know the password?"
"No. Scott never told me any of his passwords. He kept his business to himself."
JD stepped back into the living room.
"Thanks for your help," I said as I left my number on the coffee table. "If you can think of anything else, let me know. And if you change residences, keep us informed. We might have more questions."
"I'm totally fucked,” she cried. “I’ve got no place else to go. The only money I have is what's in our bank account, and a little bit of cash he’s got stashed away around here."
“I’ll see if I can put you in touch with an attorney," I said, feeling sorry for.
We left the residence, and JD drove toward the Marina.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"I think her meal ticket just ran out." He thought about it for a moment. "But I don't think she killed him. Doesn't look like she had anything to gain by it. I’ll see what I can find out about this Carlos guy. There can’t be too many people that recently got released from Raiford with the name Carlos.”
JD pulled a set of keys from his pocket. They weren’t his. He had a devilish grin on his face.
"What's that?"
"Scott Kingston's keys."
"You can't take those," I admonished.
"Whoops. Too late. Now we can take a look around his office without having to break in."
“We’re supposed to be playing by the rules now.”
“Do you want to find out who killed Scott Kingston, or don’t you?” Jack asked. “And I know a great little analyst that can probably hack that computer in no time.”
Jack whisked us across town to his friend’s house. It was a small bungalow not far from the beach. We parked the car on the circular drive and strolled to the door. He gave me a warning before we knocked. "She's really smart, cute as a button, and totally off-limits. I mean it. I don’t want to screw up this contact.”
I raised my hands, innocently. “I’m not the one who hits on everything that walks.”
Jack knocked on the door and this cute little redhead with pigtails answered. She had a headset on and a game controller in her hand. She wore jean shorts and a tube top. She was totally geeky hot. "What do you want? I’m live-streaming right now."
"I need a favor," Jack said.
“Live-streaming?" I asked.
She looked at me like I was a moron. "I'm playing Assassin’s Code."
"She's really good at it,” JD added. “People pay to watch."
"Really?"
"Yes, really,” Ashley said in an annoyed tone. “And I don't get tips when I'm not playing. So make it snappy."
"We need you to get into this computer, look around for account information, ledgers, surveillance footage," JD said.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked, eying me curiously.
“He’s good people,” JD said. “Ashley, Tyson. Tyson, Ashley.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow and said nothing. Then, without even considering it, ”I don't really have time for this."
"Make t
ime," JD said. "For me. Pretty please?"
She huffed and folded her arms. "Fine. But I'm billing you for lost revenue."
JD grumbled. "Deal." Then he added, "I need a receipt."
"Then I'm not giving you a cash discount,” Ashly snottily replied.
“At least charge me friend prices?” JD pleaded.
She groaned.
“Hey, who bailed you out when you got busted for weed?”
“Okay, okay. Friend prices.”
JD nodded to me, and I handed Ashley the computer. She closed the door in our faces as soon as she took the device.
"We need that ASAP," JD shouted through the door.
My eyes narrowed at Jack. "So, we just handed over our best piece of evidence to a gamer girl?"
"I'm telling you, she's the best hacker I know. She can get into any system, pull data from a wiped hard drive, you name it. She’s impressive."
"How old is she?"
"19."
"Have you worked with her before?"
"The girl’s done work for the CIA, NSA, Cobra Company, the Israelis, and Lord knows who else."
"And you trust her?"
“Implicitly. I’ve known her since she was a kid—a friend of Scarlett's."
"How long does she usually take?"
JD shrugged. "Depends on what kind of encryption Kingston has on that computer. She'll bypass the system password in no time. But if he's used an advanced encryption algorithm for any of his data, which he probably has, could be a day, a week, a month. Who know?”
We left Ashley’s and JD dropped me off at Diver Down. "I'll call you after my lunch meeting."
"Lunch? What's her name?"
“Belinda.” He cupped his hands in front of his chest, exaggerating the size of her assets. “Sweet girl.
"After all the grief you gave me about Aria?”
"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."
"How old is she?"
"23," he beamed with pride.
I shook my head. The girl was half his age.
Jack shrugged. He dropped the car into gear and sped away.
I sauntered down the dock toward the Slick’n Salty. It was turning out to be a nice day. The squawk of gulls echoed across the Marina and the boats gently rocked. I scaled the transom of the Slick’n Salty and pushed into the salon. I was hoping to peel off my clothes and get back in bed with Aria, but it was a little late for that.
