by Tripp Ellis
"Did she ever mention anything concerning?” I asked. “Perhaps an infatuated client? She was a beautiful woman."
"She was definitely a heartbreaker,” Kinley said.
"Did she ever mention anyone in particular?" I pressed.
Kinley hesitated. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. It's not like she's going to get in trouble." She took a deep breath. “Nina told me that she had a client that was scaring her. He became fixated and got upset when she declined his advances. She had to stop treating him and referred him to another therapist."
“How upset?”
“She didn’t go into details. She just mentioned it frightened her.”
“Who did she refer him to?”
"A colleague of hers. Lillian Hughes. I like her. She's spunky and has a really great, dry sense of humor."
"You know the name of this client?" I asked.
"No. She wouldn’t tell me."
"Do you know if this client ever made threats or assaulted her physically?"
“Again, she didn’t go into specifics. But I think he showed up at her boat a few times. She may have called you guys on him, now that I think about it."
I exchanged a glance with JD. We could look up the records and see if Nina had made any complaints.
"What time frame was this happening?" I asked.
"I think this was about three or four months ago. She hadn’t mentioned it lately, so I assumed that the harassment just went away. Honestly, I didn't think of it until I started talking to you."
"Nina had a pretty large merchandising empire," I said. "Was she doing that by herself? Surely she had business partners."
Kinley made a face. "Lloyd." She rolled her eyes. "We both knew Lloyd from the adult film days. He gave us our first break in the business. Don't get me wrong, Lloyd is… well, Lloyd. Kind of a sleaze-ball. I'm not really sure why she partnered with him, other than the fact that he does have a lot of connections in the industry. He was able to get the novelty items up and running quickly with very minimal effort on Nina's part. She didn't really want to deal with that side of it, but it was a no-brainer to sell the merchandise as her popularity grew."
Do you have contact information for Lloyd?"
"I do. I can send it to you if you’d like."
"Please. And Lillian Hughes, if you have it."
She grabbed her phone, and her nimble fingers shared the contact information. My phone buzzed with a text from her a moment later.
"Do you think Lloyd would have any incentive to kill Nina?” I asked.
Kinley thought about it for a second. "I don't think so. Nina was the face of the brand. I would imagine her death is only hurting sales."
"Can you tell me where you were Wednesday evening?"
She tucked her chin and lifted an eyebrow, clearly offended. "You're asking me where I was?"
"Just being thorough, ma'am."
"I was online, camming with my fans. There were 3,000 guys in an online chat room, watching me do naughty things. I can assure you, I had no involvement in Nina's death.” She paused. "If you want proof, you can become a subscriber to my website and get access to my archives of online videos and cam sessions, which are time-stamped."
Kinley was an entrepreneur. No doubt about it.
18
The makeup artist banged on the hatch and called into the compartment. "Kinley… Peter is ready for you."
"I'll be out in just a minute," she said. Kinley smiled at us. "Duty calls."
“Do you know where we can find Shane?” I asked.
“That loser bartends at Blackbeards.”
I gave her my card and asked her to contact me if she could think of anything else. I could tell JD wanted to hang around and watch the rest of the shoot, but we had business to take care of.
Teagan finally texted me back. [Yes, we are still on.]
[What time?]
[Whatever works for you guys?]
I consulted with JD.
“Let's do it now, then grab lunch,” he said. “We can follow up on these leads in the afternoon.”
I texted Teagan back, and I told her to meet us at Bull’s-Eye in 20 minutes.
She replied: [Great, I’ll reserve a lane.]
We left Daydreams just as Kinley disrobed in front of the camera. JD nearly tripped over himself, craning his neck to look as we stumbled out of the salon.
We crossed the aft deck and traversed the passerelle to the dock. I called Denise and asked her to get information on Shane Brown, as well as any complaints from Nina Harlow over the last 6 months.
We hopped into the Porsche and cruised across the island to the indoor range. Bull’s-Eye was the premier firearms facility on the island. It offered 24 state-of-the-art indoor lanes. There was a live-action virtual simulator, an on-site gunsmith, gun rentals, a retail store, and a VIP lounge. It was an oasis for gun owners. You could rent lanes by the hour or purchase monthly subscriptions. All first-time firearms users were required to take an on-site safety course which covered basic operation, safety, and loading and unloading procedures. Teagan had already completed the basic course days earlier. She waited for us in the retail area.
The muffled sounds of the firing lanes were barely audible through the soundproofing. There were T-shirts, holsters, ammunition, and a host of other gun-related accessories for sale.
Teagan greeted us with a wide smile. “You guys ready to do this?”
“You know it,” JD said.
We donned our eye and ear protection and spoke with the range safety officer. Steel and aluminum cased rounds were prohibited. Only brass and nickel were allowed. Our ammunition was thoroughly inspected by the safety officer before entering the range. We had to fill out assumption of risk forms and indemnity waivers. Once all the I’s were dotted and the T’s crossed, the range safety officer gave us the clear to enter.
Bull’s-Eye was a continuous live-fire range, and shooting would only be stopped for emergencies. There were cameras on every lane. If shooters needed assistance, all they had to do was wave. If they broke a rule, the safety officer would be on top of it quickly.
There were no hand-to-hand transfers allowed and no lane-to-lane transfers. Weapons had to be placed on the bench.
Teagan placed her gun case on the bench, unzipped it, pulled out the weapon, and placed it on the bench as instructed.
I clipped on a zombie target and sent it downrange 15 feet. Most handgun battles occur within confined quarters at short ranges—even then, the hit percentage is small.
I gave Teagan pointers on stance, grip, aiming, and trigger discipline. I told her to aim center mass and to double tap for good measure. The recoil would lift the barrel slightly, putting one round into the chest and another into the head.
If you’re going to shoot. Shoot to kill.
Teagan took aim, held her breath, and squeezed the trigger twice.
Muzzle flash flickered from the barrel, and the report echoed amidst the cacophony of sound. The sharp smell of gunpowder filled the lane, and smoke wafted from the barrel.
I looked downrange to the target—she had put one round dead center in the chest and another right between the eyes.
I chuckled. "I don't think you need lessons. You’re a natural."
Teagan smiled and took aim again. She squeezed the trigger twice again, repeating her performance. She was dead solid perfect. It wasn’t a fluke.
19
We went through several boxes of ammunition, and I was pretty sure Teagan's hand would be sore in the morning. It didn't matter—she had a beaming smile on her face as we left Bull’s-Eye.
"I gotta say, I'm impressed," JD said.
"I owe it all to my instructors," she said graciously. "I just hope I never have to use it."
"Better to be prepared," JD said.
“I certainly wouldn’t want to be on the business end of that pistol of yours,” I added.
We hopped into the Porsche, and Teagan followed us to Eddie’s Grill.
De
nise had called and left a voicemail while we were at the range. She followed it up with a text. [Looks like Nina called the department a few months ago to make a trespassing complaint against a guy named Royce Lane. She ultimately declined to press charges. Might be someone to look at.]
I texted back. [Thank you. Anything on Shane Brown?]
[Just the expired restraining order, an assault charge, and a misdemeanor trespassing charge.]
[He assaulted Nina?]
[No. Bar fight. Case was dismissed.]
She sent another text with Royce’s information. I was a little surprised by his address.
Eddie’s was a little hole in the wall in a strip center. At first glance, you wouldn't expect much from the place, but Eddie cooked a damn good burger. He was quite entertaining about it, too, flipping patties in the air, tossing slices of cheese atop them like he was dealing cards. The grill was behind the bar counter in plain view of the customers.
It was a small mom-and-pop operation, and Eddie’s wife ran the register. It had that old-school diner vibe. There was a jukebox in the corner and vintage memorabilia on the walls. There were pictures of big convertible Cadillacs with flared wings and tail lights that looked like rockets. There were road signs from across the country, as well as license plates and old gas station logos.
Eddie had immigrated from Russia and loved classic Americana. His personal Daphne Blue ’57 Chevy was parked out front. Eddie’s real name was Vladimir, but he didn't think Vladimir's Grill would be a good name for a burger joint.
Eddie had a thick Russian accent, and he loved to crack one liners as he hovered over the grill. If you caught him between the lunch and dinner rush, he’d tell you stories about the old days in the former Soviet Union. He had a hard face and a nose that looked like it had been hit with a cast iron skillet more than once. He was a stocky guy and stood about 6’2”. From some of the stories he told, I gathered he had intelligence experience. One thing was for certain—he loved America, and he loved freedom.
Teagan celebrated her newfound skills by indulging in a greasy cheeseburger and washing it down with a rootbeer float. Not like it would have any effect on her flat waistline.
After lunch, I gave Teagan a hug and congratulated her again.
"So, when are we doing that again?" she asked. "I think I'm addicted."
"You're welcome to go anytime we do," I said. "It's a perishable skill, and you need to stay on top of it."
She smiled and hugged me one last time before saying goodbye. And I didn't mind the hug at all.
We left Eddie's and drove to Shane Brown’s apartment on the northeast side of the island. Denise had texted me the address. JD parked in the visitors' lot, and we gained access to the lobby. We took the elevator to the third floor and banged on apartment #312.
A few minutes later, a groggy voice shouted through the door. "Who is it?"
"Coconut County," JD said. "We’d like to ask you a few questions."
The peephole flickered as Shane peered through it. An instant later, the deadbolt unlatched, and Shane pulled the door open. It was midday, but as a bartender, Shane wasn’t an early riser. I had hoped we'd catch him off-guard, and it looked like we did.
Shane had strong features—a square jaw, blue eyes, and brown hair that was a little shaggy and tousled. He was 6’1”, had an athletic build, and was in his late 30s. He seemed like he did okay with the ladies, and there was certainly something about him that Nina found compelling.
“Is this about Nina?" he asked.
"Yes,” I said. “Do you mind if we come inside and chat?”
"Uh, yeah, sure. I guess," he said, then stepped aside.
We entered the apartment and walked down the foyer into the living room. It was a studio apartment, and Shane slept on a futon that was unfolded, taking up most of the small room. The bedsheets were rumpled, and a dying fern in the corner with shriveled, brown leaves attempted to give the place life.
In front of the futon were a flatscreen display and entertainment system. The small kitchen was messy, with dishes piling up in the sink. There were a few empty beer bottles lingering around, and the place smelled like dirty clothes. The balcony opened to a stunning view of the... neighboring apartment complex.
Perhaps Nina thought of Shane as a fixer-upper. He was a far cry from a wealthy guy like Sebastian Simonton.
"You guys have any leads?" Shane asked.
"A few," I said.
"I'm just devastated," he said. “I heard about Nina's death on the news, and I just lost it. I started shaking. I couldn't finish work last night. I had to get somebody to cover my shift. I came home and probably had too much to drink."
JD and I exchanged a glance. He seemed genuinely shaken by Nina’s passing.
"When was the last time you saw Nina?" I asked.
“A week ago Sunday."
I lifted a curious eyebrow. "Where at?"
"We went out for sushi at Blowfish, then went back to her boat."
I stared at him, surprised. "So, you went on a date with Nina?”
"Yeah. We'd gone on a couple recently.”
"Really?"
"We were sort of on the path to getting back together. At least, that’s where I hoped it was heading.”
"How did that come about? I thought you weren’t her favorite person."
"We had our difficulties in the past. But I've done a lot of work on myself. I made some changes. I apologized for the mistakes I made. Fate brought us together. We happened to bump into each other one night about a month ago at Keys and just reconnected. It was like magic. All the past evaporated, and that spark was there again. I ended up going home with her that night."
"Did anyone else know about your relationship?"
"I don't know. I didn't tell anyone. I didn’t want to jump the gun. I didn’t really know where it was going. My friends would think I was crazy if I said we were back together.”
"Did you know that Nina was seeing Sebastian Simonton?" I asked.
Shane frowned. "No. I didn’t. Not until I saw it on the news."
"How’d that make you feel?"
His face tightened. "How do you think it made me feel? What are you, my fucking therapist now?"
20
"Where were you Wednesday evening?" I asked.
Shane's face twisted into a scowl. "I was working. You don't seriously think I had something to do with this?"
"Well, you did have a tumultuous history with Nina," I said.
His jaw clenched. "I told you, we worked through our differences, and we were making progress. We had a real connection—the kind you only find once-in-a-lifetime. Nina had just given me a second chance. No way was I gonna screw that up."
"Even if you saw her with another man?”
His face reddened, and the veins in his neck swelled. "That's something I don't want to think about, but thanks for the visual."
“So, the idea of Nina with Sebastian made you mad?”
“When I heard she was with him at the time of her death, I was both angry and hurt.”
I paused. “You own a boat?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Nina was killed on the water near Eel Reef."
"And what, you think I followed her out there, snuck aboard her boat like some kind of Navy SEAL, and assassinated her and Sebastian?”
“It’s something to consider,” I said.
He scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Check with the bar. I was working that night. And I haven't had my boat out of the marina in over a month. It’s got a slight engine problem, and I don't have the funds to fix it right now."
"What marina?"
"Salt Point Harbor.”
"What type of boat?"
“A little 25-footer. Nothing special, but it gets me around. Or, at least, it used to."
“Does it have a name?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“I can check the registration and find out.”
“Nina.”
JD and I exchanged a subtle
glance.
“I know. It’s a little much, but she was everything to me. I wanted to honor her.”
"Do you own a gun?" I asked.
His brow crinkled dismissively. "No. I'm not a violent person."
“Except for the assault charge,” I muttered.
His eyes narrowed at me. “That was a stupid fight in a bar that I didn’t start.”
We stared at him for a long moment.
"I don’t like where this is going. I think it's time you gentlemen leave."
"We'll be in touch," I said in a slightly ominous tone before leaving the apartment.
We ambled down the hallway to the elevator. JD pressed the call button. “I’d say he’s a little obsessed.”
“What gave it away?” I asked with a healthy dose of sarcasm.
“The eyes, man. It’s in the eyes.”
We took the elevator down to the lobby and hustled out of the building to the Porsche. I figured we’d pay Royce Lane a visit, then check out Shane’s alibi at Blackbeard’s.
We headed across town and rolled through the posh neighborhood of Stingray Bay. The lawns were green, the hedgerows trimmed, and there were plenty of palm trees towering overhead. All the McMansions shared similar design elements, and they each backed up to a canal that was home to luxury watercraft. It must have been in the HOA bylaws that every resident had to own a black or white sport utility vehicle. They lined the driveways along with Bentleys, Porsches, Mercedes, and BMWs. It was the kind of neighborhood where you had to keep up with the Joneses—and the Joneses were pretty well off.
We pulled to the curb at 1216 Mako Way. We hopped out, marched up the walkway, and rang the video doorbell. JD held his badge in front of the lens.
A nervous voice answered. "Can I help you?"
"Royce Lane?" JD asked.
"Yeah."
"We’d like to talk to you for a moment about Nina Harlow."
He hesitated. "It's so devastating,” he broke down into sobs before completing the sentence.
There was a long pause as static crackled over the intercom.
Royce sniffled and pulled himself together. "I'm sorry. I'm just having a really hard time with it. That's all."
