Wild Killer

by Tripp Ellis

  "Thank you, Emma," Reagan said. "The Sandcastle Killer has been communicating with me for weeks now through encrypted messages. Today, he called me directly. I urged him to stop this reign of terror. Unfortunately, I was too late to save Natalie Watson from a grim fate. The killer directed law enforcement to the remains of her body. Natalie is the latest victim in a slew of killings by this evil man. Natalie was last seen at a bar on Oyster Avenue, Bob's Barnicle. She was seen leaving the club with this man."

  The sketch flashed on the screen.

  "If anyone recognizes this individual, please contact the Coconut Key County Sheriff's Department."

  The number to the Sheriff's office flashed on the screen.

  "The conversation you are about to hear does not reflect the views of the station, or our parent network. The caller will most likely be modulating his voice, making himself unrecognizable. But if anyone recognizes his speech patterns or phrases, please contact the Sheriff's office."

  Reagan placed her cell phone on the anchor desk before her. Then she looked at her watch. "I was told I would receive a call at 9:05 PM local time."

  There was a long moment of silence. The tension in the studio was thick. No one said a word.

  9:05 came and went.

  Then 9:06.

  Then 9:07…

  I don't think Emma Steele liked being upstaged. There was a slight look of satisfaction on her face as the silence continued. "Maybe he lost your number?"

  Reagan's eyes narrowed at her for a moment, then she brought her baby blues back to the camera lens.

  The long-standing rule of television was that there should never be dead air. There should never be silence. That rule was getting broken.

  "Maybe he got cold feet?" Emma said.

  The phone rang a moment after that.

  Reagan swiped the screen and put the call on speakerphone. There was a microphone on the anchor desk nearby that picked up the caller's voice.

  "Hello," Reagan said. "Who am I speaking with?"

  A distorted voice filtered through the speaker phone. "The one you are all afraid of."

  "Let me start this conversation off by urging you to turn yourself in. Enough harm has already been caused."

  The killer laughed. "Where's the fun in that? They will have to catch me, if they can."

  "So, this is a game to you?"

  "Isn't everything a game?"

  "You think ending someone's life is sport?"

  "It is the greatest sport of all."

  "Is that why you are doing this?"

  "I could give you my reasons for doing this, but that would be boring. I don't ever want to be boring."

  "I don't think anyone will ever accuse you of that," Reagan said. "You seem like an intelligent individual. You’re methodical, calculating. Surely you have to realize the pain and suffering you are inflicting not only on your victims, but their loved ones?"

  "Pain and suffering existed long before I came along."

  "But you don't have to contribute to it."

  "There is no pleasure without pain. No light without dark. No good without evil."

  "Spare me the fortune cookie philosophy."

  The voice chuckled. "I like this tough, sassy side of you. Carrying the torch for journalistic integrity. There's so little of that these days."

  "What are you hoping to get out of all this?"

  "What are you hoping to get?"

  "You behind bars."

  The killer laughed. "Give it your best shot."

  The line went dead.

  There was a momentary pause, then Emma Steele took over. "Well, that was riveting! Stay tuned. We'll be back after the commercial break with an expert panel of analysts to dissect every word of that conversation."

  Emma smiled for the camera.

  Reagan looked unsettled, then forced a smile.

  "And, we’re out to commercial," the production manager shouted.

  Reagan pushed away from the anchor desk, took off her microphone that was pinned to her blouse, and set the wireless unit on the desk. She strode across the stage toward me as production assistants scampered about.

  She didn't look happy.

  "I'm not sure if that was a good idea, or a bad idea," Reagan said as she stepped to me.

  I shrugged. “We can take the recording of the call and analyze the background noise. Maybe we can hear something that might giveaway the killer’s location."

  "I think all I did was give that asshole a platform."

  "I think you made the right decision," I said. "Maybe somebody will recognize his speech pattern? Maybe we’ll get a lead from the sketch?"

  She looked at me curiously. "Since when are you on my side?"

  "Just offering words of encouragement."

  "You just want to get into my pants," she said, dryly.

  "My encouragement was genuine and unmotivated by any personal desires."

  She arched a skeptical eyebrow at me. "Well, buy me a drink, and play your cards right, and you just might get lucky."

  21

  Reagan's cell phone had been blowing up from the minute she stepped away from the anchor desk. It incessantly dinged with texts and social media notifications. She put her phone on silent and ignored it.

  I could hear the damn thing buzzing in her purse, vibrating the table.

  "To catching that son-of-a-bitch," Reagan said, making a toast.

  “Here, here,” I said.

  We clinked glasses, and I sipped the smooth whiskey.

  We sat at a high-top table at Beach Bums. It was a party bar with an assortment of beer, liquor, and fruity drinks. Murals of the beach and crashing waves were painted on the walls. They usually had a Best Bum competition on the weekends, where one lucky lady was awarded a grand prize for having the fairest fanny.

  The strip was relatively calm tonight. I'm not sure if it was just a slow evening, or if the shadow of the Sandcastle Killer was darkening people's enthusiasm for nightlife.

  I scanned the crowd, then looked for security cameras. There were none. This was just the type of place that our killer liked to hunt—pretty girls, and a relaxed atmosphere.

  "He's working the strip," I said.

  "What can you do?" Reagan asked. "Can you stake the place out?"

  "Sheriff Daniels has already doubled the patrols in this area. There's way too many bars to keep an eye on, and too much activity to follow."

  "You don't have much else to go on right now."

  "I know." I thought for a moment. "He's getting more cautious. He had taken pretty big risks dumping the first two bodies. This one would have been easy. Pull up to the reef in the middle of the night, toss the body over the gunwale, and slip away into the darkness."

  "At least you know he's got a boat," Reagan said.

  "Or access to one."

  "Maybe you can cross reference registered boat owners with a list of violent offenders?"

  "That's not a bad idea. But I have a feeling our guy doesn't have a criminal record. And I don't think this is the first time he's done this. He's too confident. Too slick."

  "Can you look at a broader database, see if there are other killings with the same MO?"

  "You're just full of good ideas tonight, aren't you?"

  Reagan smiled. "I've been known to have them on occasion."

  Her phone kept buzzing, and curiosity got the best of her. She reached into her purse.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you," I said.

  "I know." She hesitated, then decided against it. "You're right, I'm just going to let everything go. I don't even want to know what they're saying about me on social media."

  Reagan smiled at me, and her blue eyes sparkled. "I've been so stressed out. I just want to have a little fun. Is that too much to ask?"

  "Hey, aren't you that reporter girl?" a girl asked as she passed by the table and recognized Reagan.

  Reagan tried to hide a cringe. She put on a bright smile. "Yes, I am."

  "I think it's absolutel
y disgusting what you did!"

  Reagan's brow lifted.

  "Don't you understand you’re giving him exactly what he wants? That loser just wants to be famous. And you're helping him do that."

  "I'm not helping him do anything."

  "You're as monstrous as he is," the girl said, sneering at Reagan. "And you look fat on TV."

  Reagan’s face crinkled with shock.

  The girl spun around and sauntered away.

  “Can you believe that?” Reagan asked in disbelief.

  “People have lost all manners.”

  "I expected the interview to be controversial, but… What do you say we get out of here before someone else decides to give me an earful?” Then she added with a flirty glint in her eyes, “Maybe we can pick up where we left off last night?"

  She didn't have to ask me twice. "I'll pay the tab."

  I flagged down the waitress and gave her a wad of cash. Then I escorted Reagan out of the bar and we strolled down the sidewalk to her car. I helped her inside and told her I would meet her back at the boat. I had parked my bike a block away.

  Reagan pulled away from the curb, and I strolled down the sidewalk to my X6. I pulled on my gloves and my helmet, then cranked up the beast. The roar of the engine echoed off the buildings on the strip as I let out the clutch and darted into traffic.

  My mind filled with lustful thoughts, and my heart beat with anticipation. I was back at the marina in no time, hoping there wouldn't be any interruptions.

  22

  Reagan just couldn't resist. By the time I made it back to the Wild Tide, and stepped into the salon, Reagan's head was buried in her cell phone.

  "You are not going to believe this!"

  "At this point, nothing would surprise me," I said.

  "My follower count is going up, and I have thousands and thousands of messages. They just keep coming. My phone is going off nonstop. Here, listen to this. These are some of the comments:

  “You're so pretty.

  “You're so brave, I hope you catch the killer.

  “You're just another ho looking for fame.

  “I've flushed things that were better looking than you.

  “You automatically assume the killer is a man. He could have easily been a woman. You're so sexist.

  “Watching the show gave me hemorrhoids."

  I took the phone out of her hand, shut it off, and placed it on the settee beside her. I stared deep into her blue eyes. "No more phones. No more Internet. No more Sandcastle Killer. At least for the next hour."

  A sultry glimmer flickered in her eyes. "You better last longer than an hour."

  She leaned in, and our lips were on a collision course. We collided with an explosion of passion. And I finally got to taste those sweet, full lips that I had been lusting after.

  I pulled her from the settee, placed my hand on the small of her back, and pulled her body against mine. My hands traced the delicate curves of her luscious form. Our hips mashed together, and I grabbed bountiful handfuls of her pert assets.

  Buddy watched curiously.

  I tried to get him to go below deck, but he wasn't listening, and I was far too distracted to really care.

  Reagan's warm body felt like heaven. Our tongues danced, and our bodies melted into one another. I don't think we made it out of the salon until round two. The boat rocked, and moans of ecstasy filtered across the marina. Needless to say, Reagan got her full two hours worth—and then some.

  We finally made our way below deck, and when we had worn ourselves out, I collapsed beside her in my bunk, a sweaty mess.

  With my arm around her, she curled up next to me and stroked my chest.

  "You're pretty good at that," Reagan said.

  "Everybody has a gift," I said with a cocky grin.

  She laughed. "I think, maybe, we should have done that sooner."

  "You think?"

  "We should probably do it again sometime soon," she said with a devious grin. “Just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.”

  "That can be arranged."

  My whole body felt warm and tingly. I had forgotten about all the drama, all the killings, all the death and torment. The moment was pure bliss. I fell asleep with Reagan in my arms, and I slept like a baby.

  I woke the next morning with rays of sunlight beaming through the portholes and the smell of bacon and fresh coffee in the air.

  I crawled out of bed and staggered up to the salon.

  "Morning, sunshine," Reagan said with a delightful sparkle in her eyes.

  "Look at you being all domestic."

  "I'm a lot nicer of a person when I get laid."

  I chuckled. "I'll make sure you're in a good mood all the time."

  Reagan pampered me and served me breakfast. She wasn't usually like this, and it caught me off guard. She sat across the table from me with a glowing smile. Her skin looked radiant. "See, I can be kind and caring at times."

  "I see that."

  Reagan was a passionate woman. When you were in her good graces, she clearly treated you like a king. But get on her bad side, and you'd feel her wrath. I was sure of that.

  After breakfast, we decided to start the day off with a little exercise. We both worked up a healthy sweat, trying to break the mattress. We spent most of the morning frolicking in bed, and by 11 AM, it was time to stop fooling around and get on with the day. I climbed out of bed, took a shower, and put on some clothes.

  Reagan slipped into the en suite after I was finished. While she was in the shower, Denise called.

  "Hey, I have an idea."

  "I'm listening."

  "How about I create a fake profile on that website? I could set up dates with potential clients, and you and JD could be waiting in the wings ready to pounce. Maybe we can lure this guy out?"

  My face crinkled. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

  "Yeah. I mean, I don't want to do this, but I think it's necessary."

  "I really don't want to put you in that kind of situation again," I said.

  "I don't care what you want. It's not your choice."

  My brow lifted, surprised. "Well, aren't you sassy?"

  "As much as last time was uncomfortable, in the end, it did some good. I don't want to see anymore girls killed in Coconut Key. I feel obligated to do everything I can."

  I paused for a moment. "Okay. Let's do it."

  "I already have all the sexy pictures from last time." Then she asked shyly, "Do you still have those on your phone?"

  I stammered. "Strictly for law enforcement purposes."

  "Yeah, right! Perv!"

  "I'll text you a few to use for your profile images."

  "Great! I'll let you know when everything is set up."

  I hung up the phone just as Reagan stepped out of the en suite. She had a towel wrapped around her torso, and another towel twisted around her hair. The water beaded on her smooth shoulders. Damn, she looked good. I wanted to rip the towel off and get dirty again, but I figured I should actually get something accomplished today.

  "Who was that?" Reagan asked.

  "Denise," I said, hesitantly.

  Reagan tried to pretend she wasn't jealous. "Who's Denise?"

  She tried to make the question sound casual. Too casual.

  "You know Denise."

  "Oh, the hot redhead at the department?"

  "I don't know if I'd call her hot."

  Reagan rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm straight, and I'd fuck that girl."

  A lightbulb of possibilities flashed in my mind. "That could be arranged, I'm sure."

  Reagan's eyes narrowed at me. "I was kidding."

  "Right," I said, trying not to envision a threesome.

  Reagan moved close. "I know you've had more ass than a toilet seat, so I'm not going to get too possessive over you." She gave me a quick kiss. "Besides, I know you'll want more of this."

  She smiled, stood tall, spun around, and dropped the towel as she stepped into the hallway, giving me a glimpse of her firm ba
ckside. It was a little teaser to keep me on the string.

  She had me hook, line, and sinker.

  Reagan got dressed and sauntered back to my room with her head buried in her phone again. It was the first time she had turned it on since I powered it off last night. She stared at the display with wide eyes. "I’m trending on social media. I've got a dozen messages from Harold. I've got to get down to the station. I guess I'll see you this evening?"

  I smiled. "I guess so."

  She marched up the stairs, and her high heels clacked against the deck.

  I was already looking forward to her return.

  23

  "Oh, my God," Denise said. "I've had this profile up for less than two hours, and I already have 73 requests for a date."

  "That's good," I said.

  I had gone to the department to discuss our plan. Deputies buzzed about, desk jockeys did paperwork, patrol units brought in perps for processing. Phones rang, keyboards clacked, and the coffee machine percolated on the counter.

  "It's creepy. That's what it is. One of the guys that wants to hook up is a friend of my dad's."

  "I thought you used a fake name?"

  "I did. I guess he saw my picture and messaged me. Who knows how long he's been using the site. Ew!"

  "Is he rich?" I asked, teasingly.

  She smacked me in the arm. "He's married. I know his wife. I've known him since I was a kid. It's weird."

  "Are you going to tell your dad?"

  "I don't know. If I did, I'd have to explain what I was doing on a prostitution site in the first place, and I don't think he needs to know that. He doesn’t like me doing this job as it is."

  We hovered over her computer terminal, perusing the possible suitors.

  "Look for someone who resembles the sketch," I said.

  "I don't think that sketch is very accurate."

  "Me neither. But it's the best we've got to go on."

  "What the hell are you two doing?" Daniels grumbled from across the room. He strolled to Denise's desk with a disapproving glare on his face.

  I explained our sting operation to him. He paused for a long moment as he contemplated the situation. He scratched his chin. "I like it. Go with it. Way to take initiative, Denise."