by Tripp Ellis
"Porter was picked up in a stolen car,” Jack said. “Daniels has him in a holding cell."
"So, what's the urgency?" I asked. "We've got more than enough evidence to make a case."
"I'm not so sure about that."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll let you talk to him and see for yourself."
"His prints were on the door," I exclaimed. “If that’s not damning evidence—”
"I'm not saying he wasn't there. I just think this guy might walk, and we may need to be looking at other suspects."
I sighed. "I'll be on a plane this afternoon."
"How's things with the miscreant?"
"She's all settled. Do you want to talk to her? She's right here."
I handed my phone to Scarlett.
"Hey Jack," Scarlett said.
I could barely hear JD's voice crackle through the tiny speaker.
"Yeah. The apartment’s great. Everything's fine."
Jack mumbled something.
"Yes, I'm behaving myself." Scarlett glanced to me and pressed her fingers to her full lips, urging me to keep my mouth shut.
They chitchatted for a few minutes, then Scarlett handed the phone back to me. JD had already hung up, so I slipped the phone in my pocket.
"Are you really going back today?" Scarlett asked.
I nodded.
"But… But…" She made a pouty face. "I'm gonna be all alone."
"Goes with the territory."
Scarlett frowned. It was just starting to hit her that, for the first time in her life, she was on her own. Mostly.
Her eyes misted, and she gave me a hug. "Thanks for taking me out here. I'm going to miss you and Jack."
"We'll miss you too."
She sneered at me. "No, you won't."
"I'm sure I'll be back before too long with this movie stuff."
She smiled. "Yay!"
I made arrangements for the private jet, packed my bags, called Zaven, and said my final goodbyes. Scarlett's eyes misted again.
"The next time I see you, you’re going to have a part in a movie, or a TV show."
She wiped her eyes and smiled. "Damn straight!"
I lugged my bag down the steps to the parking lot, and Zaven threw it in the trunk of the limousine. I slipped into the back, and he zipped me to the FBO at the Burbank airport.
I was back in Coconut Key just as the sun vanished over the horizon.
Jack picked me up in the lizard green Porsche, and I stuffed my roller case under the hood (since the engine was in the rear). It barely fit. It wasn't a car designed for excess storage, and unlike his older cabriolet, this speedster didn't have a backseat. There was no practicality to the car. It had one purpose, and one purpose only.
“We have a little problem," Jack shouted over the roar of the engine as we zipped out of the airport.
The night air ruffled my hair, and the breeze was cool.
"Our power couple, Brad and Brandi, are on video, trying to break into a pet grooming salon from 9 to 10 PM. Brenda is adamant that Warren’s death occurred within that window."
"So? Brad goes over to the house sometime beforehand, beats Warren. The old man lay helpless on the floor for a few hours, then finally dies. I don't think that video exonerates them."
The development irritated me. I was pretty sure we had our suspect, now that theory was on shaky ground.
“Why? Why try to rob a pet store after killing Warren?”
“Maybe Brad didn’t find any money in the house? They needed a fix. They attempted to rob a pet store.”
Jack drove to the Sheriff’s Office.
I ripped into Brad Porter in an interrogation room. He sat at a table, handcuffed. The overhead florescent lights flickered and buzzed. "Just do us all a favor. Tell me the truth."
"I am telling you the truth," Porter growled.
"Bullshit."
"I'm telling you, man. I didn't kill the guy!” Brad exclaimed. “I mean, you got me on video for B&E. What more do you want?"
"I want you to tell me that you beat a helpless old man and he died."
Porter sighed. "Okay, fine. It wasn't one of my better moments. But I'm telling you, I didn't kill him. Yes, I went over to that house to get some money. Brandi told me the old man always kept cash around. Didn't trust banks. She said the guy had money stuck in coat pockets, sock drawers, old shoes. But I'll tell you... I didn't find shit, and I tore through everything."
"And that's when you killed him?"
Porter shook his head. "No, man! Get the dog shit out of your ears. I punched the guy once. Once! That was it. He fell down, but he was conscious when I left."
I glared at the scumbag. "You hit a 92-year-old man! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I got a problem. Okay. I admit it. Are you happy now?"
I scowled at the dirtbag. My fists clenched, and I wanted to beat him to a pulp, but I restrained myself.
"I was broke, and I needed money for drugs. Is that what you want me to say?"
"Just because he was breathing when you left him, doesn't mean that the damage you inflicted didn't kill him."
"No. No way! I didn't hit him that hard."
"He was 92!" I shouted. “You didn’t have to hit him that hard.”
"You not pinning murder on me, pal."
"I'm not your pal," I barked.
My face twisted with disgust. I left the interrogation room before my emotions got the better of me. I joined JD, Sheriff Daniels, and Brenda in the hallway. "He's sticking with the story that he just hit Warren once."
"The guy’s a scumbag, but I don't think he's our killer," Daniels said. “The pharmacist at the drug store says he saw Warren in there about 8:30 PM on the night of his death. The security footage corroborates this. The pharmacist said Warren had a bruise on his face and a laceration on his cheek. He bought butterfly strips to close the wound. Warren said he had fallen. The pharmacist urged him to go to the hospital to get checked out, but Warren refused. Said he was fine."
I clenched my jaw and grumbled to myself.
"I feel the same way you do,” Daniels said. “I wanted this to be the guy. But it's not. So go find out who is."
17
Despite being Wednesday night, there was a decent crowd and lots of eye-candy sauntering around. JD and I reclined on lounge chairs by the pool, watching wet fabric cling to curvaceous bodies. Fit, beautiful people frolicked around the water. We had stopped by to see Jack's favorite waitress, Harper, at the outdoor bar at Tide Pool.
Jack hadn’t mentioned anything about Scarlett yet, but I could tell it was on his mind. He was midway through his drink when he finally asked, "How do you think Scarlett is adjusting?"
"I think she's adjusting fine."
"That almost worries me. I just don't want her to fall in with the wrong crowd and revert to her old ways."
I shared the same concerns. "There comes a time where everybody has to stand or fall on their own."
Jack sighed, then took a sip of his whiskey. His eyes took in the smorgasbord of visual delights. Toned girls in barely there bikinis sauntered around the pool, jiggling in the most sublime of ways. Drinks flowed, and music boomed.
"It looks like we're back to square one," Jack said. "Any ideas?"
"Mrs. Grant said Warren volunteered at a nursing home. I think we should pay a visit tomorrow. Ask around."
Jack looked at me like I was crazy. "What? Do you think somebody at the nursing home beat him to death?"
"No, but it might give us more insight into his daily life."
"He was probably diddling a few of those old ladies,” Jack said. “Seemed like Warren got around."
"Maybe a jealous husband decided to put a stop to his philandering?" I suggested.
Jack rolled his eyes. "You think one of those old men at the nursing home really went after Warren?” he asked in an incredulous tone. “Beat him senseless?"
"I guess we'll see, won't we?"
Jack dismissed the notion entir
ely. "That's a pretty heavy beating for a senior citizen to administer, don't you think?"
“You’ve got an AARP card, don’t you?” I couldn’t resist the urge to give him shit.
“Fuck you!” Jack sneered at me. “And I might give you a beat down if you’re not careful.”
We spent the rest of the evening lounging at Tide Pool, taking in the sights. The next day, we headed over to the Coconut Key Assisted Living Facility. It was both a skilled nursing facility and an assisted living complex. There were two distinct wings, depending on the need of care. It overlooked the water and had a private beach. The receptionist at the front desk greeted us with a smile. "How can I help you gentlemen?"
Audrey had dark curly hair, a round face, and square glasses.
JD flashed his badge. "We'd like to talk to you about Warren Russell."
A grim look washed over her face. "I heard about what happened. That's just terrible!"
"We were told that he volunteered around the facility," I said.
Audrey nodded. "I think he was here almost every day. When he didn't show up, I thought the worst.”
"Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to do Warren harm?" I asked.
"Oh, God no! Everybody loved Warren."
"I heard he was quite the ladies’ man," JD said.
"He certainly was a charmer," the receptionist said with a grin.
"Do you think his charm could have caused issues for him?" I asked.
She looked surprised. "Oh, I think I know what you mean." She paused a moment, then looked around the lobby before speaking. In a hushed tone, she said, "I don't like to gossip, but… there were more than a few angry husbands."
I glanced to JD with a cocky grin on my face.
He rolled his eyes.
"Anybody make any threats?" I asked.
“Eugene confronted him one day. Right in the lounge area. He took his cane and swung it at Warren, and damn near fell over in the process. One of the nurses broke it up before things got out of hand."
"Do you think Eugene could have been responsible for Warren's death?"
"No. No way. He's just not physically capable."
"He could have hired somebody," I said.
"Eugene’s all talk. He would never do something like that."
"Is he around?" I asked. Do you think we might be able to talk to him?"
Audrey hesitated. "Sure. Let me call Todd. He can show you to Eugene’s unit."
She picked up the phone and dialed an extension. "Todd, can you come to the front desk? There are two gentlemen here with the County Sheriff's Department. They’d like to speak with Eugene.” She paused, listening. “Okay, great. I'll tell them." She hung up the phone. "Todd will be with you shortly."
“Can you give me a list of the women that Warren had relationships with?" I asked.
"Well, I don't think that information is protected by HIPAA." Her eyes shifted, and her face scrunched, as she thought about it. "Well, there was Rosemary, Deborah, Betty, Kathryn, Maggie, Margaret, Shanice, Elizabeth, Hilda, Judy…"
JD and I exchanged a glance.
"I can make a full list if you want me to. He was pretty popular."
"I see," JD said.
About that time, Todd strolled around the corner. He was a tall, thin guy with a salesman's smile and short brown hair. He wore a suit and tie and was clearly part of administration. He extended his hand and introduced himself. "I'm the owner and general manager of C-KALF, as we like to call it.” He muttered aside, “It can get a little slow around here sometimes, so we call it Decaf, if you get my drift. I can take you to Eugene’s unit. He's currently in the assisted living section of our facility. He's a little mobility challenged at the moment."
"What happened?"
"Just had a knee replacement."
"When?" I asked.
"Last week, I think. I can get the exact date for you, if you need it."
We followed Todd down the hallway which smelled like moth balls, cleaning supplies, urine, and stale baloney. It all swirled around and mixed together, creating a unique aroma.
The facility looked clean and well-maintained, but the pale green walls and overhead florescent lights made it feel more like a hospital than a place you’d want to spend your golden years. The whole thing gave me the willies. Watching frail people shuffle down the hallways, clinging to creaky walkers—with bright yellow tennis balls on the legs—was hard to swallow. It brought me face to face with my own mortality.
I did NOT want to end up in one of these places. I kept reassuring myself that I wouldn’t last that long. Somewhere out there was a bullet with my name on it. I was sure of it. Maybe that would be my salvation from old age?
We reached Eugene’s room near the end of the hallway. His door was open, and the TV flickered, mounted on the wall. Eugene was at the edge of his bed, gripping his walker, preparing to stand.
Todd rushed to his aid. "Now, you know better than this, Eugene. You’re a fall risk, and you're supposed to have supervision when you're moving about the room."
"Your mother’s a fall risk,” Eugene quipped. “I gotta take a leak."
"It's for your own safety," Todd said.
"I can make it to the bathroom on my own!" Eugene insisted.
"I'm sure you can. I'll call for the nurse, just to be on the safe side."
Eugene grumbled to himself.
"You have some visitors,” Todd said in a cheery voice. “They'd like to ask you a few questions."
Eugene glanced toward us as we hovered in the doorway. A scowl twisted on his face. "Who the fuck are they?"
Todd smiled. "They’re deputies with the Sheriff's Department."
"Oh, good. I'd like to make a complaint about this asshole," Eugene said, pointing to Todd.
Todd forced an awkward smile. "I don't think Eugene likes some of my rules."
"I don’t like you.” Eugene didn’t mince words. He was at that age where he just didn't care. If he ever had a filter, it had worn out. “And I don't like some of the food you serve around here. Tuesday is hamburger day. And I don't know where they get those patties from, but I have a sneaking suspicion it ain't hamburger. And some of those young harlots are cheating on bingo. I guarantee it."
"Nobody's cheating on bingo,” Todd assured. “And the hamburger is indeed 100%, Grade A beef."
"Well, they taste like dog turds."
"Mr. Whittaker, we can discuss all this later,” Todd said. “But these deputies have much more important things to talk about, and their time is valuable."
JD muttered in my ear, "Still think this guy did it?"
"Mr. Whittaker, do you know Warren Russell?" I asked.
His face twisted, and he groaned. "You tell that slimy son-of-a-bitch that next time I see him, I'm gonna shove this walker up his ass."
"I’d tell him, but he's dead."
Eugene lifted his brow. "You don't say?"
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about his demise, would you?" I asked.
"Can't say that I do.”
"Seems like you were pretty upset with him," I said. "I heard that you threatened to kill him."
"Goddamn right I did! He was sticking his pickle where it didn't belong. I don't know where you come from, son, but in my world, that's grounds for an ass-whooping."
“So, he was having an affair with your wife?“ I asked.
Eugene glowered at me. “What did I just say?“
“Did you do anything about it?” I asked.
“I tried, but they broke it up just as I was about to put a hurting on him."
"Ever think about hiring someone to do the job?" JD asked.
Eugene’s face crinkled up. "Hell no. That's chickenshit. If a man can't take care of his own business, that’s on him.” He paused. "As soon as my knee was healed, I was going to go beat his ass."
A doctor entered the room wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck. He had short dark hair, brown eyes, tan skin, and a square jaw. Dr. Gardne
r looked to be in his late 30s and had a bright, perfect smile. “And how are we doing this morning, Mr. Whitaker?”
“I’m still alive.”
“That’s better than the alternative,” the handsome young doctor said.
“If you say so.”
“Have you been working on your range of motion?” Gardner asked.
“I do what they tell me to do in PT.”
“Let’s have a look.”
“If you bend my knee in a direction it doesn’t want to go, I will kick your ass.”
Gardner chuckled. “Careful now. I study mixed martial arts and Brazilian jujitsu.”
Eugene scowled at him. “Yeah, well I was a helluva boxer in my day.”
The good doctor smiled. “I bet you were. Now lets have a look at that knee.”
JD muttered in my ear, "Come on. Let's go track down more octogenarian suspects."
I frowned at him.
We stepped into the hallway with Todd.
"Mr. Whitaker can be a handful at times, but I don't think he's who you are looking for," Todd said. “It's really tragic what happened to Warren Russell, but I don’t think any of our residents are responsible. But I am happy to let you speak to as many as you need."
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Whitaker’s wife,”
Todd cringed. “Mrs. Whitaker passed away a year ago. Sometimes Eugene forgets that.“
We talked to a few of Warren’s companions, and they all pretty much said the same thing. They raved about how kind he was, and how they would miss him. Each woman had their own theory as to who committed the crime. Most were preposterous theories, cribbed from detective shows. One woman even suggested a government conspiracy.
We thanked Todd for showing us around.
"My pleasure," he said. "If there's anything else you need, or have additional questions, please don't hesitate to contact me. I really do hope you find the person responsible. Something like this is truly unsettling."
We strolled out of the retirement home into the parking lot. It felt like we had escaped. I couldn't imagine having to live there full time.
"Mrs. Grant said Warren volunteered as a crossing guard. Maybe we should head to the middle school, talk to a few teachers and the principal?" I suggested.
JD's face twisted. "Oh, so now you think some 6th-grader beat him to death?"
