Wild Killer

by Tripp Ellis

  I nodded. "I'll show you."

  He climbed out of his chair and ambled around the counter. He seemed eager to get up and do something—anything to break up the monotony.

  "You friends of Erik’s?”

  JD flashed his badge.

  The man's eyes widened with concern. "He's not in any kind of trouble, is he?"

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  "We just need to ask him a few questions," I said.

  "The name’s Buck," the man said.

  We introduced ourselves.

  “What the hell happened to your face?” Buck asked.

  "He got in a fight with a baseball bat and lost," JD said.

  "What happened? Did you piss off your girlfriend?"

  “No,” I said. “Nothing like that."

  "My wife came at me with a baseball bat once," Buck said.

  My eyes widened. "What happened?"

  "Lost these two teeth.” He pulled his cheek back and smiled wide, displaying the gap where his molars should have been.

  “What did you do?" JD asked.

  “Her sister,” Buck said with a grin.

  “Was it worth it?” JD asked.

  “Well, this was after we were divorced, mind you. See, I caught her cheating on me with my best friend. I had to get a little payback. So, yeah, I guess it was worth it—just to see the look on her face.”

  Buck shuffled down the dock to Erik’s slip—it was empty.

  "Have any idea where he might be?" I asked.

  Buck shrugged. "I'm not the nosy sort."

  "What can you tell me about Erik?” I asked.

  "Great guy. Do anything for you. Pays his rent on time. Doesn't cause trouble. What did you say this was about again?"

  I smiled. "Just routine."

  Buck's suspicious eyes narrowed. "That means he done something. Or, you think he done something."

  "Have you noticed anything odd about his behavior?" I asked.

  "Like I said, I try not to notice my tenants."

  "Thanks, Buck."

  We shook hands, and the old man strolled back to the office.

  "Call your buddy at the Coast Guard," I said to JD. "We'll sit and wait for Erik to come back. The Coast Guard can search his boat."

  The Coast Guard could search a boat on the water for any reason, or no reason at all. Under the guise of national security, there was no Fourth Amendment on the water.

  JD made a few phone calls, and a small patrol boat showed up within half an hour. It was a 25 foot Defender class boat with an aluminum hull and an orange foam-filled floatation collar. There was a crew of three.

  Lieutenant Commander Henley stepped off the boat and greeted us on the dock. "I was told you boys need a little assistance?"

  "We're looking at a suspect in the Sandcastle killings,” I said.

  The lieutenant commander's eyes widened. "Really?"

  I nodded. "We were hoping you could board the suspect’s boat and search for anything incriminating?"

  "No problem. Where's the boat?"

  "That's the problem. We don't know when, or if, he's coming back. But I don't think he knows we’re on to him.”

  "We're happy to help,” Henley said.

  “It may be a while."

  “If I get an emergency call, we gotta take it."

  "Understood," I said.

  "Where do you want us?" the lieutenant commander asked. "We could stay here, but if your suspect pulls in to the marina and sees us, he might get spooked."

  "Agreed."

  "I'm sure we can find a place to hide not far from here, then pull him over on the water."

  I told him the name of Erik’s boat. Henley gave me his cell phone number, and asked me to call him if we had visual contact with On the Hook.

  The only thing we could do now was sit back and wait.

  45

  I drank cup after cup of coffee in the office, pacing back and forth. I couldn't sit still. My head throbbed and swelled like a pumpkin. But it was nothing compared to the anger that swelled in my heart. I wanted to catch this son-of-a-bitch and rip him from limb to limb.

  The morning sun crested the horizon, glimmering across the water. The harbor looked picturesque. Boats gently swayed with the swells. Gulls squawked in the air. It was always hard to fathom how such grim things could happen in this paradise.

  Isabella answered when I called. "I'm guessing you need another favor?"

  "I need you to track another phone."

  "Tyson, when are you going to give me something challenging?"

  "Challenging? You couldn’t track the last phone I gave you.”

  “Whatever,” she groaned. “That was a special circumstance. I’ll find this one.”

  I gave her Erik’s cell phone number that the hospital had on file.

  Isabella hung up and called me back 20 minutes later. "Okay, maybe I spoke too soon. I can't find it. The phone is probably off. It's not pinging the cell towers."

  I clenched my jaw, then winced from the pain. "Can you give me the location history from that cell phone?"

  "That's a little trickier," Isabella said. "I’d need direct access to the phone. Or, I can send a text message to the target device. The user would then have to click a link which would download an app. Most people know not to do that."

  "Can you mask the number?"

  "Sure. But there're no guarantees. Depends on how savvy the person is and how security conscious."

  "They're savvy."

  "Can you get access to the device?"

  "If I could access the device, would I be calling you to track it?"

  She huffed. "No need to get sassy." She paused. "I'll call you if the device shows up on the network."

  "Thank you."

  She hung up, and I slipped my phone into my pocket.

  "I'm guessing this isn't about unpaid parking tickets," Buck said.

  "No, it's a little more serious than that," I said.

  It was 10:33 AM when Erik’s boat pulled into the marina. The Coast Guard Defender entered behind him.

  Erik pulled On the Hook into the slip and tied off the boat. The lieutenant commander shouted at him through a bullhorn. "United States Coast Guard. Prepare to be boarded for routine inspection!"

  Erik looked at them like they were crazy.

  JD and I sprinted out of the office and jogged down the dock. We arrived at the On the Hook about the time Henley boarded the boat with another officer.

  "I'm in port," Erik protested. "You can't come on my boat without a warrant?"

  "I'm afraid we can," Henley said.

  A third officer kept his assault rifle shouldered and aimed at Erik.

  The two officers pushed into the salon and rooted around.

  Erik stood in the cockpit with his hands in the air. We stood on the dock and watched the whole thing go down. Erik’s curious eyes glanced to us, wondering what the hell was going on.

  JD flashed his badge. "Coconut County Sheriff. We’d like to have a few words with you."

  "You want to tell me what this is about?" he growled.

  "Where have you been?" Jack asked.

  "That's none of your goddamn business."

  "Oh, I'd say it is."

  "Where were you last night?" I asked.

  "Am I under arrest?"

  "Got something!" Henley shouted from within the cabin.

  He emerged a moment later wearing latex gloves, holding a bloody rope, a hunting knife, and a roll of duct tape.

  "You are now," I said, drawing my weapon.

  "What for?"

  "Murder, kidnapping… I'm sure I'll think of a few other things," I said. "Step off the boat and get down on the ground. Facedown, hands upon your head."

  Erik scowled at me, then reluctantly complied. "This is bullshit. I'm gonna sue the department for wrongful imprisonment."

  "Give it your best shot, cupcake," JD said as I latched the cuffs around Erik’s wrists.

  I wasn't nice about it. I slapped them agai
nst the bone as hard as I could, then ratcheted them tight.

  The other Coast Guard officer stepped into the cockpit with a box of hypodermic needles. “Found these?”

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  “Definitely log those as evidence," I said.

  JD and I yanked Erik from the dock. He was a big boy—6’1”, 220 lbs. Thick with muscle.

  The Coast Guard collected the evidence, then transferred the items into the custody of the Coconut County Sheriff's Department after all the paperwork was done.

  I called Sheriff Daniels, and he met us at the marina in the patrol car. We stuffed Erik in the back, then followed Daniels back to the station.

  The sheriff knew better than to leave me alone in an interrogation room with the perp. Erik was smart enough to keep his mouth shut, and if I had been alone with him, I would have beat a confession out of him. As it stood, Erik sat in the tiny room with a smug grin on his face.

  "Where is Reagan MacKenzie?" I asked.

  "I'll be happy to answer any of your questions in the presence of my attorney. Until that time, I am asserting my Fifth Amendment privilege.” He smiled.

  My hands balled into fists, and rage boiled under my skin. It was all I could do not to bust his nose or break his jaw.

  I owed him some payback.

  Daniels shut down the session as soon as Erik asked for an attorney. We regrouped in the hallway.

  "We confiscated all of his personal belongings during processing," Daniels said. "I've got the tech team making a disk image of the hard drive from his cell phone. Nothing we get off that will be admissible, but it might point us in the direction of Reagan MacKenzie. I've also got them analyzing the bloodstains on the rope. Hopefully we can figure out who that belongs to and link it to one of the victims."

  "A case of whiskey says I can get into that phone in less than five minutes," I said.

  Sheriff Daniels looked skeptical. After a moment, he said, "You're on."

  46

  I didn’t specify how I’d get the data. My method was certainly going to piss Daniels off.

  I stormed into the interrogation room with the cell phone.

  Erik sat there with that smug grin on his face, waiting for his attorney. "I'm still not talking to you."

  I cocked my fist back and swung as hard as I could. My knuckles slammed against his cheekbone, twisting his head to the side. The smack echoed off the tiny walls, and blood sprayed from his lips.

  It felt good to hit the bastard.

  I’d probably pay for it later, but the momentary satisfaction was worth it.

  While Erik was disoriented, I grabbed his finger and placed it on the biometric scanner on the phone. The screen unlocked, and I immediately went into the settings and turned off the password protection.

  Erik growled at me. "You can't do that!"

  "I just did."

  I stormed out of the interrogation room, and Sheriff Daniels glared at me in the hallway.

  I handed him the device. "I'll take a case of Roses & Thorns single barrel.”

  The sheriff’s eyes narrowed at me.

  “Have the crime lab pull the location history of this device and search it for anything that might coincide with body dump sites, the television station, Reagan's house, etc. Look for texts, pictures, emails, anything that may be able to tie him to one of the victims. "

  "That son-of-a-bitch is gonna sue the department over what you just did," Daniels growled.

  I shrugged, innocently. "What? I just gave him a chiropractic neck adjustment."

  The veins in the sheriff’s temples throbbed.

  "He fell during the initial arrest," JD said. "That's how he sustained his injuries."

  I smiled "What he said."

  "This better lead to something," Daniels said.

  We waited around for the tech guys to pull the data and analyze it. I continued to load up on coffee and stuff donuts into my mouth, pacing around the office. I kept popping ibuprofen like it was candy. I was a crazed zombie, staggering around the office, sleep deprived, sore, and pissed off.

  "Try to relax," JD said. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

  "I can't sleep!"

  "I'm sure she's okay," JD said. He could see the concern in my eyes.

  "I think Reagan is far from okay."

  "His pattern has been to hang onto his victims. I don't think she's…" He didn't want to finish the sentence.

  I took a deep breath.

  "We'll find her," he assured.

  I felt completely helpless. There was nothing I could do.

  "As long as we have that bastard in custody," JD said, "we know there's still hope."

  "I just hope we find something that ties him definitively to these murders. Otherwise he's going to walk."

  It wasn't long after that when Sheriff Daniels approached with the bad news. "You're not gonna like this."

  My jaw tensed.

  "The location history on the cell phone is a bust. The data doesn't correlate to any of the sites where we found victim remains. It mostly places Erik at the hospital, or in the marina. There are a lot of gaps in the data where he apparently shut the phone off. I think it's safe to say our suspect is smart enough not to leave his cell phone on when he's committing heinous acts."

  "What about the rope and the knife?" I asked.

  "The blood on the rope doesn't match any of the victims. It seems to be his blood."

  I grumbled under my breath.

  "His attorney is here and is pitching a fit. We’ve got nothing on this guy."

  "Everything about him fits the profile," I said. "Hell, he had syringes on his boat."

  "Which he claims he uses for testosterone replacement therapy." Daniels said. "There were no traces of propofol in any of the syringes, and none found on his boat. He's got a prescription for TRT. So, he juices a little? I can’t arrest him for that."

  Anger boiled within me.

  "Until we have something concrete, I have to cut him loose,” Daniels said. “But stay on top of him. Follow him around. He'll know you're watching, and my guess is he won't step out of line."

  My stomach twisted. It was bad news for Reagan. "If Reagan is still alive, and he has her stashed somewhere, he won't risk going back to the site while we have him under surveillance. She'll die out there."

  "So you better find her before she does," Daniels said.

  Erik’s attorney escorted him through the station. The handcuffs had carved deep grooves into his skin, and the scumbag rubbed his wrists. He flashed a cocky smile at JD and I as he passed.

  "Your officers assaulted my client," the attorney growled. "He'd like to press charges."

  The sheriff's jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. "I can assure you, my officers would never use unnecessary force. It's not uncommon for suspects to fall and injure themselves while in handcuffs. They have no way to brace themselves against a fall. Can lead to some pretty nasty cuts and bruises on the face."

  The attorney knew better. He'd heard the story several times before. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You illegally searched his mobile device.”

  "If you want to file frivolous charges, that is your prerogative," Daniels said.

  The attorney exchanged a glance with his client.

  Erik smiled. "I don't think charges are necessary at this time. The officers were just doing their job. I'm actually glad they're so zealous. We need to keep the streets of Coconut Key clean."

  Erik flashed a smug grin, then strolled out the front door with his attorney. He was a free man, for now.

  47

  We tailed Erik around for the rest of the day, then I had to concede the fact that I was, indeed, mortal.

  I needed sleep.

  Daniels sent two deputies to take over our surveillance operation, and JD dropped me off at Reagan's house. I secured the premises, made an ice pack, and crawled into her bed. Her sweet perfume lingered on the pillow. I breathed her in, and the pit of my stomach twisted. A mix of rage and sadness swi
rled within me. I had to acknowledge the possibility that I might never see her again.

  But I didn't entertain that thought for too long.

  My mind raced, and my body vibrated with adrenaline. I was overtired, and I found it hard to settle down. When I finally nodded off, the morning came all too soon. The sun blasted through the blinds. The entire night had passed, and I hadn't moved so much as a muscle. My bladder was about to explode.

  When I sat up, I was reminded just how stiff and sore I was. The bathroom mirror gave me a grim picture of myself. The black and blue bruises had blossomed into shades of green, yellow, and purple. I looked like something out of a horror movie.

  In the kitchen, I fumbled through the fridge, looking for something to eat. There wasn't much—sour milk and eggs, way past their expiration date.

  I got dressed, grabbed my helmet and gloves, and was about to hop on the bike and head to the Driftwood diner when Sheriff Daniels called. "Get down to the station, ASAP!”

  "What's going on?"

  "Two guys fishing near Barracuda Key picked up a young girl in the water, clinging to a shipping pallet. I think she may be one of the Sandcastle's intended victims."

  "I'm on my way."

  I hopped on the bike and zipped across town.

  JD met me at the station.

  We raced down the dock and boarded the sheriff's patrol boat and headed out to sea to rendezvous with the fishing boat. An ocean rescue paramedic team followed us. We skimmed across the surface, spraying mists of saltwater. The engines roared, and the boat bounced across the swells.

  "What do we know?" I shouted over the engines.

  "Not much,” Daniels said. “It looks like she'd been at sea for several days, drifting."

  We found the fishermen not far from Barracuda Key island. They were in a 35 foot MegaMarine sport-fish.

  We pulled alongside and boarded the boat, and the paramedics went to work evaluating the girl.

  She sat in the salon, wrapped in a blanket. Her blonde hair was tangled and matted from several days in the ocean. Her once fair skin was now red and peeling from the sun. She looked like a burn victim.

  The paramedics checked her vitals and started IV fluids.

  The girl was severely dehydrated.