by Tripp Ellis
"Yeah."
"She probably knows as much as anybody." Jaco put a friendly hand on my shoulder. "Look around. Have a good time. Do what you gotta do. Drinks are on the house. You gotta pay for the girls, though. I wish I could be more helpful."
"Thanks, Jaco," JD said.
Jaco turned away and headed back toward the bar.
"Oh, hey, Jaco. One more thing," I said. "Do you know anything about this website? The one that facilitates introductions?"
Jaco leaned in and muttered. "I got nothing to do with that website, if that's what you're asking. I run a legitimate business here. If the girls want to provide extra services, that's between them and the client. I make money off the door and the drinks."
"They don't have to tip out to the house?" I asked.
"They pay a flat fee to come in and work. And there's a mandatory tip out to the house on earnings above that. From there, I dispense a portion of that to the bar and waitstaff." He paused. "I am not a pimp. How they make their money is solely up to them. And I don’t want to know how they do it."
"Relax, Jaco,” JD said. “Nobody's coming after you."
"Just so we're on the same page," Jaco said.
"We're on the same page," JD assured.
"Do you know how hard it is to run a business like this and keep everything aboveboard?" Jaco asked. "I got people coming in and leaning on me all the time. The fire marshal. The city health inspector. Vice cops. The mob. Everybody's got their fucking hand out."
"Not us, Jaco," I said.
A sly grin curled on his lips. "And that's why I like you two." His grin turned into a full smile. "Like I said, drinks are on the house. And please, don't connect this establishment with that sicko out there. That's not good for business. I’m just now rebounding from the last incident here."
A gorgeous girl strutted toward me and draped her luscious form around me. Her sultry voice tickled my ear. “Hey, cutie. I’m mad at you!”
She frowned and turned out her bottom lip.
Jaco chuckled. “I’ll leave you to your investigation.”
7
I stared at the gorgeous brunette, wondering what I had done to draw her anger. She had flawless skin like porcelain, green eyes, sculpted cheekbones, and red lips that could entice a man to commit murder.
"I gave you my number, and you never called," she pouted.
I had no recollection of her whatsoever. And with a face like that, I would remember. I fumbled for an answer. "I must have misplaced it."
"A likely story," she said, doubtful. Her green eyes smoldered. "You don't even remember me, do you?"
"No. I totally remember you."
"What's my name?"
"Your real name, or your stage name?"
"I only tell my real name to men I like."
JD watched the exchange with amusement.
I tried to hide my inner turmoil as I racked my brain, trying to remember the stunning beauty. Had I killed that many brain cells? Was this early onset dementia? Hell, I was barely into my 30s.
I stalled for time. "I bet you don't even remember my name."
Her eyes narrowed at me. She knew exactly what I was doing. "I guess I just wasn't that memorable."
She spun around and pretended to walk away.
I grabbed her hand. "Not so fast.”
A sassy smirk curled on her full lips.
It was the moment of truth. I had to at least make a guess. You miss 100% of the shots you don't take. I stammered, "Your name is…" I thought of something outrageous. "Griselda. "
She arched a curious eyebrow. "Do I look like a Griselda?"
"Gertrude?"
Her face twisted.
"Hildegard?"
"Okay, smart ass."
"I have no idea what your name is, sorry."
She chuckled. "It's okay, I'm just messing with you. We never met. I thought you were cute and wanted to harass you."
"Feel free to harass me anytime," I said.
"So, how about a dance?" she asked.
"I see. It's all about the Benjamins."
"A girl’s gotta make a living."
"I guess I could make a donation to your college fund," I said.
She laughed again and took my hand and led me to a secluded chair. I glanced back at JD who gave me the thumbs up.
$100 later, and I still didn't know her real name.
She was a good entrepreneur. I had to give her that. But she left me all wound up with nowhere to go.
We weren't getting much police work done, so JD and I left the club. We stepped onto the sidewalk, and the harsh sunlight turned my eyes into tiny slits. It took a moment to adjust to the wash of light.
I decided it was time to call Isabella and ask for another favor. She was my former handler at the most powerful clandestine agency in the world. Cobra Company. A completely independent and unaccountable entity that did the dirty work the three letter agencies didn't want to do.
"What is it this time, Tyson?" Isabella asked.
"I got Cartwright off the books for you. That ought to count for something?"
"It does, which is why I am entertaining your request."
"I need you to hack into a website."
"Where is the server located, and what is the security level?"
"Unknown." I gave her the URL. "I need all the private messages from a specific profile. The victim may have had contact with the Sandcastle Killer."
"You're chasing down serial killers now?"
"Always in the pursuit of truth and justice."
Isabella chuckled. "What's the username?"
"I don't know. I'm sure she used a false identity. Her real name was Abigail Monroe. I can send you an image. Perhaps you can do a facial recognition search with the user profiles and get a user ID."
I texted her a picture of Abigail after we hung up. Isabella said she’d let me know as soon as she had something.
We strolled down the sidewalk and climbed into JD's Porsche. He grumbled about a parking ticket that fluttered in the breeze underneath the wiper blade, pinched against the glass. He grabbed it and crumpled it up. "Now that's some bullshit. We are five minutes past the timer!"
"Just go down to the courthouse, flash your badge, and use your charm. We were here on official County business."
We climbed into the car, and JD cranked up the flat six. The engine howled as he revved it. He dropped it into gear and pulled away from the curb, launching into traffic.
With the music blaring, we raced across town to Diver Down.
“What will it be, boys,” Madison asked as we strolled to the bar.
We took a seat next to Harlan.
JD and I each ordered a beer, and we bought one for Harlan.
Madison drew a bottle opener from her back pocket, spun it around, and popped the tops off three long necks faster than a hummingbird in action. The amber bottles hissed, and she slid them across the counter, dripping with condensation.
Harlan lifted the bottle and tipped the neck and said, "Much obliged, gentlemen."
The salty old Marine was a regular at Diver Down.
"I saw Reagan's report on the news," Madison said with concerned eyes. "Were you able to ID the victim?"
I nodded.
"How worried should I be? This whole thing has me freaked out."
"Just relax. I don't think you're in the killer’s target demographic."
"What do you mean?"
"He's targeting a specific group of girls. They're all about the same age and have the same appearance."
"Yeah, they're all young and hot," JD muttered.
Madison's eyes narrowed at him. "I'm young and hot."
"Well, the young train is leaving the station," JD muttered under his breath.
Madison's eyes narrowed at him. "I'm 25, dick!"
"That's like 72 in bikini model years," JD teased.
Madison smacked him with a wet washcloth she'd been using to mop up the bar.
He tried to shield the blo
w. "Hey, easy there!"
"If I'm old, you're a fossil," Madison barked.
"Age is all in the mind. I identify as a 22-year-old."
Madison rolled her eyes. "You're as old as dinosaur bones. I'm going to start calling you DB."
JD's face twisted. "That's awfully close to douche bag."
Madison shrugged. "If the shoe fits…"
JD frowned at her.
"Seriously, though," Madison said to me. "How worried should I be?"
"Well, I think you should maintain good situational awareness. You shouldn't work the bar alone. You need to always have someone with you when you take the trash out or go to the parking lot. And I think you need to be armed."
"Believe me, I'm packing." She pulled a compact 9mm from underneath the bar and brandished the weapon.
"I think that will take care of you," I said.
She stowed the weapon away. "I hate that I have to even think about this stuff. This is crazy. What happened to this island? It used to be so safe. What has gotten into people? I mean, what kind of wires have to get crossed for somebody to enjoy hacking up someone?"
"It's a sick world," JD muttered.
"This isn't public knowledge, so keep it between us," I said. "The victim was a sex worker. She used a certain website to arrange liaisons. There's a possibility that's how the killer is acquiring his victims."
"What website?" Madison asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
I told her the URL. "I shouldn't really be saying anything yet."
"Mums the word," Madison said, zipping her lips.
I took another sip of my beer, then my phone rang. It was Sheriff Daniels. "What's up, boss?"
His grim voice crackled through the tiny speaker on my phone. "We have another situation."
8
“We’ve got another missing person,” Daniels said.
I grimaced. "Let me guess… College-age? Attractive? Female?"
"Natalie Watson. 21. Blonde hair, blue eyes. 5’2”.
"When was the last time anyone saw her?"
"Last night. Her friends say she left a bar with a guy, and they haven't seen or heard from her since."
"Maybe they're still shacked up? We're not even talking 24 hours yet?"
"Yeah, well, in light of the current circumstances, her family is really spooked. The sooner we can get on this, the better. If she miraculously shows up, then no harm, no foul."
"Roger that," I said. "Do we know who this guy is that she left the bar with?"
"Her mother is down here at the station, along with the two girls that were with her last night. I've got an artist working on a sketch of the guy. You two need to get down here ASAP."
"Copy that."
JD paid the tab, and we zipped over to the station. We were there in less than 10 minutes.
Sheriff Daniels scowled at us as we strolled into the lobby. His nose twisted as we got close to him. "You two smell like beer and cheap perfume. What the hell have you been doing?"
"Investigating," JD said.
Sheriff Daniels pulled a pack of gum from his pocket and offered each of us a stick.
I snatched a piece and peeled off the foil wrapper. Minty flavor filled my mouth.
"Try not to drink on the job," Daniels said.
"We were off duty," JD replied, innocently.
Daniels shook his head.
He led us down the hallway. We greeted Natalie's mother, Gail, and Natalie’s two friends, Tonya and Casey, in the conference room.
Daniels introduced us.
Lana, a sketch artist, drew on an iPad, taking notes from the two girls. She had a matte screen protector on the tablet which gave the digital pencil a nice feel as she dragged it across the screen. She made it look effortless.
Gail trembled, and her nervous eyes darted about as she fidgeted. "Please tell me my daughter is going to be okay? Tell me that sick bastard doesn't have her?"
“She could just be out and about and not checking in,” I suggested.
"Natalie usually calls me every day. She’s not picking up her phone. It goes straight to voicemail. This is not like her."
"I understand, and we will do everything in our power to see your daughter’s safe return," I said. "It's still early. And the more we know, the better chance we have of finding her before something happens."
The color drained from Gail's face.
Lana displayed the sketch to the girls. "Is this him?"
"Make his nose a little thinner. And his lips a little fuller," Tonya said.
“No, his nose was fatter,” Casey protested.
Tonya was a bottle blond with brown eyes, and a serious tan. Her French manicure was in desperate need of a touch up. Casey had auburn hair, light blue eyes, and heavy liner.
Lana spun the pad back around and made a few adjustments. "How's this?"
Tonya and Casey exchanged a look.
"That's him," Tonya said.
Casey's face crinkled. "You think?"
“That’s totally him.”
Casey shook her head. Then sighed. “I mean, maybe.”
“Bitch, you need to get your eyes checked."
Casey scowled at her.
"Do you know his name?" I asked.
The girls consulted one another.
"It started with a D, didn't it?" Casey said. Then she waffled. “I'm not sure.”
"No, it started with a C. Or maybe a K," Tonya said.
"No. I'm pretty sure it started with a D. Like Deke, or Derek, or…"
"No. That doesn't sound right at all," Tonya said.
The two girls bickered amongst themselves for a moment, then Casey looked at me. "I don't know. We were pretty shit-faced."
Casey's eyes flicked to Gail. "Sorry, Ms. W."
If they couldn't remember the man's name, I wondered how accurate their description of him was. "What can you tell me about this guy who remains nameless?"
"He was hot!" Tonya said.
"He was okay," Casey countered.
"I would have…” Tonya started in a lustful tone. Then she caught herself “Never mind.”
Her sheepish eyes flicked to Gail.
"Had you ever seen this guy before?” I asked. “Did Natalie know him?"
Both girls shook their heads.
"Natalie just met him that night," Casey said.
"Where were you at?"
"We started at Reefers. Then we bounced to Bahama Jack's. And we ended up at Bob’s Barnacle, where we met psycho-boy."
"How old would you say this guy is?" I asked.
"28, 29?" Tonya said.
"No way. He was 31, maybe 32," Casey countered again.
"No, he wasn't that old."
JD and I exchanged a glance. I'd be surprised if these girls could tell me what day of the week it was.
"Okay. So, he was between 28 and 32 years old. How tall?" I asked.
"5’9”," Casey said.
"6‘2”," Tonya overrode.
The two girls glared at each other.
This went on ad nauseam with just about every detail regarding the man's appearance. They couldn't agree on anything. I thanked them for their time, took their contact information, and assured Gail we would do everything possible to find her daughter.
Lana sent the sketch of the man to my phone.
It wasn't much to go on, but it was better than nothing.
"Let's go have some chow, then head over to Bob's Barnacle and see if any of the bar staff remembers seeing that guy," JD said.
We left the station and drove to Oyster Avenue.
We stopped at Snorkel for a bite to eat. The walls were embedded with large aquariums. Colorful fish swam around fake coral reefs. Caustic light patterns were projected on the ceiling, giving the restaurant an underwater vibe. As you can imagine, they served fresh fish and seafood.
We ordered the fried calamari to start. Then decided on a seafood platter to nibble on—stuffed shrimp, stuffed crab, fried fish. We washed it all down with a beer, then headed ove
r to Bob’s Barnicle.
The Barnicle was a laid-back beach bar that served beer, wine, and spirits, along with crawfish, crab, and fried fish entrées. The walls were decorated to look like the hull of a wooden boat. There were large barnacles everywhere, and life preservers hung from the walls. The deck outside was home to a second bar and a small stage for live bands. You could expect to hear everything from reggae to rock'n roll. But the night was young, and the band hadn't taken the stage yet. The crowd was pretty thin at this point.
There were several flatscreen TVs around the establishment. It was a good place to grab a beer and watch a game.
JD and I strolled toward the bar, hoping to find someone who remembered seeing Natalie Watson and the man she left with.
What I saw on the TV behind the bar disturbed me. My blood boiled. Someone was going to get a stern talking to.
9
"The body of a local woman has been identified as Abigail Monroe. Her remains were discovered earlier today near Surfside Beach, and she is believed to be a victim of the Sandcastle Killer," Reagan said. "Sources close to the investigation say the woman was a sex worker and used an online service to facilitate illicit relationships. Police believe that the killer may be using this website to select victims."
The URL flashed on the screen.
"Caution is advised for anyone currently using the site."
I clenched my jaw as Reagan continued her mini exposé.
JD gave me an I told you so glance. "You've got nobody to blame but yourself. Should have kept your mouth shut."
"I thought Madison knew better," I said.
"Maybe Reagan got her information elsewhere?" Jack said with a shrug. "You know that woman has sources everywhere."
I tried to contain my anger.
We leaned against the bar, and JD flagged down the bartender. He flashed his shiny gold badge. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."
I pulled out my phone and showed him the sketch Lana had created. "Do you recognize this man? He was here last night. Left the club with a petite blonde girl."
