by Tripp Ellis
"Can you come to the door?" I asked.
"Certainly."
The light on the video doorbell went off. A few moments later, through the frosted glass of the front door, I saw Royce's figure approach. He pulled open the door, wiping his eyes as he stepped aside. "Please, come inside."
We walked into the foyer, onto the Italian marble. An ornate staircase spiraled up to the second floor. There was a parlor to the left and a dining area to the right that connected to the kitchen. Straight ahead was the living area. It had high vaulted ceilings and large windows that offered a view of the canal and Royce’s yacht.
The place was decorated with modern leather furniture and expensive art on the walls. I noticed a large portrait that had an uncanny resemblance to Nina.
A glass coffee table was surrounded by a sofa and a pair of chairs. There was a large digital fireplace. You didn’t need a real one in Coconut Key.
Royce offered us a seat. "Can I get you anything to drink? Bottled water? Coffee?"
"No thank you,” I said.
I noticed a picture in a silver frame on the coffee table of Royce and Nina, arm in arm. I picked up the frame and examined it.
Royce noticed. He looked uncomfortable.
"When was this taken?" I asked, facing the picture toward him, though he already knew what the picture was.
He squirmed. “Actually, that's not exactly real."
I lifted a curious eyebrow.
"I photoshopped images of us together."
"Why?"
Royce was not a particularly attractive guy. He had a round face and thinning straight black hair. He was a little thick around the midsection but not overly so. He was maybe 5’6” with shoes on. The mid-30s geeky guy had brown eyes and wore thick glasses. The magnification bulged his eyes like an insect’s.
"I don't know," Royce said. "The power of positive visualization."
As I looked about the living room, there were multiple photographs of Royce and Nina. "Are these all fake images?"
His head tilted, and his eyes narrowed at me. "I wouldn't call them fake. They’re just not real."
"I see," I said dryly. "What do you do for a living, Royce?"
"I'm a software developer."
“What kind of software?”
“Mobile apps,” he said. "I offered to develop an app for Nina, but she declined."
"You work from home?"
He nodded.
"Looks like you do pretty well."
He nodded again.
"Seems like Nina was very important to you."
His eyes brightened for an instant, then he slumped. "Yeah,” he said in a heavy sigh. "She was the one."
"She was your therapist."
"She was the only person I felt like I could talk to."
"That's because you paid her to listen."
He shook his head. "No. It was much more than that. We had this connection. She just wouldn't allow herself to acknowledge it. I knew she felt the same way."
I exchanged a glance with JD. At this point, we were thinking Royce was a little off his rocker.
"I told her she could discontinue seeing me as a client, but she said something about that being illegal.”
“It’s a felony to discharge a patient strictly for the purpose of sexual activity.”
He slumped even further. "It wasn’t sexual. I mean, I’m not going to lie… I wanted that with her. But this was much more. It was spiritual. I thought maybe if enough time went by, we might be able to interact with each other as equals."
"Did you know she was dating Sebastian Simonton?" I asked.
His face tensed. "Yes, and he was no good for her. I know Sebastian, and believe me, he was just using her. He didn't care about her. Not like I did."
That piqued my curiosity. "So, you knew Sebastian personally?"
He nodded.
"How?"
Royce shrugged. “We met at a programming convention. He asked me to work on his project, Soulmate. I did a little work on it, and the asshole stole my code."
I exchanged another glance with JD. That was starting to sound like a motive.
21
"That must have made you pretty mad," I said.
"Sure," Royce said. "But I'm going to take half of that company. Just you watch. I've got a lawsuit pending, and I have email transactions, voicemails, and other evidence. Plus, I'm a little obsessive when it comes to documentation. So I can provide ample evidence of what lines of code are mine."
"How does Sebastian's death affect your lawsuit?"
He shrugged. “I don't know. He certainly won't be able to testify on his behalf, will he?”
"That seems like a benefit for you."
"It does."
"Reason enough to murder someone?"
His face tensed. "No. That's ridiculous. I would never do anything to harm Nina."
"Where were you Wednesday evening?”
"I was here, eating pizza and playing video games."
"By yourself?"
"Yes. I don't have a lot of friends in the real world. But I was gaming online with a user named Crusher667. It wouldn’t be too hard to figure out his IP and track him down."
“What were you playing?”
“Annihilator 2 in death-match mode.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a sci-fi game where you have different arenas, and you try to kill your opponent. And don’t give me that violent video game nonsense. Just because I like to play first-person shooters doesn’t mean I’m a crazed maniac.”
“Do you own a gun?”
“No.”
"What about the trespassing charge?"
He groaned. "That was a poor decision on my part. I'll admit it. Sometimes I can get a little… obsessive." He paused. "I'm hyper-focused on what I do—whether it's writing code, playing a video game, or pursuing an interest. Perhaps I took that a little too far? Regardless, the charges were dropped."
"It's my understanding that Nina referred you to another therapist. Are you currently seeing Lillian Hughes?"
"I don't see how my medical history is any of your business."
"What brought you to see Nina in the first place?" I asked.
"Again, I don't think it's any of your business." He paused. "Look, I don't have the best social skills in the world. I'm awkward with social interactions. Especially with women."
His statement was more than obvious. JD and I exchanged a subtle glance.
"I thought Nina might help me overcome my shyness and could teach me how to become more appealing to women. I don't have a lot of experience with certain things if you know what I mean."
I knew what he meant. "So, you've never been intimate with a woman?”
He nodded shyly. “That's not something I really like to admit."
Royce grabbed a laptop that rested on the sofa beside him. He flipped open the display and started clacking away on the keyboard. “I'll see if I can determine the identity of the user I was playing online games with Wednesday. I'm clearly a person of interest in your eyes, which is, on its face, preposterous."
His hands raced across the keyboard like a virtuoso pianist. His eyes flicked about the screen. Within a few moments, he unmasked the IP address of his gaming partner. “Crusher667 is most likely Nate Campbell.”
“How did you figure that out?” I asked.
“It’s amazing what you can find out on the dark web. That’s just the name the account is registered to. It could be anyone that has access to that network.” His fingers tapped the keys again. “Want the address and phone number?”
I nodded.
Royce told me Nate Campbell was located in New Jersey. I called the phone number Royce had given me, and it went straight to voicemail. I explained the situation and hoped I would hear back.
I texted the IP address to Isabella, my contact at Cobra Company. With the clandestine agency's vast resources, she would be able to verify the information Royce had given us. If he was accurate, his speed
was impressive. He could certainly have a career in intelligence. Though, it probably wouldn’t pay as well as his current endeavors.
Isabella texted me back a few minutes later and confirmed the information Royce had given us.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” Royce said. “I’d like the rest of my Saturday to myself. I’m still mourning.”
“Thanks for your cooperation,” I said.
We stood up, and Royce escorted us to the door.
“I’m sure we’ll be in touch,” I said as we stepped outside.
As soon as the door closed, JD said, “That guy’s got stalker written all over him. And all those photos. That’s a little creepy.”
My phone buzzed with a call from Denise as we walked to the car. “I did some digging on Lloyd Chapman. Have you spoken with him yet?”
“No. That’s our next stop.”
“Well, I’ve got something you should ask him about.”
22
Lloyd Chapman’s gravelly voice filtered through the speaker in my phone. “Hello?”
"Lloyd, this is Deputy Tyson Wild with Coconut County. I’d like to talk to you about Nina Harlow."
"Sure. It’s horrible what happened. I’m still in shock.”
"My condolences. Do you have time to meet briefly today?"
"You can stop by the warehouse. I'm here taking care of a few odds and ends."
"You work every Saturday?"
"I'm kind of a workaholic. Plus, it helps to keep my mind occupied. Nina was a dear friend."
He gave us the address to the warehouse before ending the call. JD and I drove across the island and pulled into the parking lot of an industrial row. It was a strip-center of warehouses, each with a loading dock, bay doors, and a small office/reception area. The industrial complex was a relatively new addition—the last 10 years or so. It was the newest part of the warehouse district, several blocks from JD’s practice studio.
The parking lot was empty on a Saturday. We pulled in front of the main office. The blackout glass had white lettering that read: Nina's Novelties. We climbed the steps, and the door chimed as we pulled it open. There was a small reception area with a desk. A hallway led to a few offices and restrooms. There were a few old chairs in the waiting area and a couple of product posters on the wall featuring Nina proudly displaying erotic items. But this wasn’t a place that saw customers. Mostly staff and delivery personnel. Everything was sold online.
I poked my nose down the hallway and shouted, "Lloyd?"
There was no response.
JD and I pushed past the reception desk, making our way down the corridor, beyond the offices and the break room, into the cavernous warehouse space. It was home to rows and rows of novelty items stacked high upon shelves—DVDs, Blu-rays, and unmentionable adult novelty items.
Against a wall, there were full-size, lifelike, silicone sex dolls. They were propped up with stands—their blank, expressionless faces staring into space.
JD’s eyes rounded at the voluptuous dolls. At first glance, they looked real. Their hair was inserted into the scalp by hand, one strand at a time, giving a natural look. Their makeup had been applied with silicone paint and looked like something from a fashion magazine—smokey eyes, long lashes, and glossy lips. The eyes were interchangeable and could be ordered in a variety of colors.
JD carefully examined one of the dolls and couldn't resist squeezing her breast—it was fully exposed and begging for attention. The supple silicone conformed to his hand as he kneaded it with curiosity. The boob bounced and jiggled when he let go.
Jack’s jaw dropped, astonished. “Feel that! It’s almost like the real thing."
"I'll take your word for it."
“Blindfolded, I’d be hard-pressed to tell the difference, except for the temperature.”
“They come in all shapes and sizes if you're interested," Lloyd said, emerging from an aisle. He ambled toward us.
Lloyd was 5’8”, 200 pounds, balding, with a mustache. He had puffy brown eyes, and he had a slight waddle to his walk. He wore a suit and looked part businessman, part gangster, part used car salesman.
“Everything is customizable,” he continued. “We can make them tall, short, curvy, slim. You can have B cups or triple Ds. We can make them trim and athletic or with a lot of junk in the trunk. It's totally your call. You can design your dream girl. Everything works just like it should and feels like the real thing.”
"Just out of curiosity, how much?" JD asked.
"Depends on the options. What you're looking at right there is $7,000."
Our jaws went slack.
“$7,000?” JD balked. “Who spends that kind of money on a sex doll?"
"You'd be surprised," Lloyd said. "I can't have the damn things made fast enough. Everything you see here is already sold. For a little extra, they come with a heater, keeping a core temperature at 98.6°. If you want to spend a little more,” he said with a smile, “we have a version with sensors in strategic locations, and the dolls will react based on stimulation. You can program their responses to be naughty or nice. It’s really state-of-the-art stuff. And the best part, when the romance ends, she doesn’t take half the assets.” He flashed another sleazy smile, then said in singsong, “I ship discreetly, all over the world."
"What’s your bestseller?" JD asked.
"The Nina signature model, of course.” He pointed to a doll a few rows down that looked exactly like Nina. It was freaky.
"Everything is anatomically correct on that doll. We actually took molds from Nina's body. If you can’t have Nina, that's the next best thing."
“You ever sell one of those to a guy named Royce Lane?" I asked.
Lloyd shrugged. "I can check the sales records."
"What does that mean for business now that Nina’s gone?" I asked.
"It's gonna be tough. She was the face of the brand. With her podcast and web show, she was always in the public eye. Let me tell you, that girl sold a lot of lube, condoms, and dildos.”
“Speaking of... Nina was assaulted in a way that would indicate a personal connection. Someone with a lot of animosity. Can you think of anyone who wanted to hurt her?”
“Nina was a sweetheart. A really genuine person. You don’t see a lot of that today. I think she was doing a good thing, helping couples speak openly and honestly about sex, enhancing intimacy, and creating a meaningful connection.” He gave a solemn pause. “There are not too many people I can think of that would want to hurt her, but one comes to mind. I’m sure you talked to that nut job ex-boyfriend of hers, Shane?”
“We did."
"My money's on that guy. He’s unstable.” Lloyd shook his head. “I don’t know what the attraction was.”
"Where were you Wednesday evening?" I asked.
He frowned. "I was waiting for you to get around to that. I was here. I'm always here. This is my life. I never really intended to be a purveyor of smut, but life happens."
"Can anyone verify your whereabouts?"
"Yeah. My girlfriend, Ophelia. She brought me dinner and hung out while I finished up some orders. Then we went back to my place."
"I'll need her number."
"Of course,” Lloyd said. "But I'll save you some trouble. I didn't kill Nina. She was the golden goose."
"I'm sure with an operation like this, you have insurance?”
His eyes narrowed at me. "I know where you're going with this. Look, this was Nina's brainchild. She incorporated the LLC in her name. She got the insurance policy, and we had a contract between us. I'm sure you boys have done your homework. Because of the past allegations against me, of which I am completely innocent, it's very difficult for me to get insurance. The premiums are exorbitant. For that reason, Nina handled the corporate structure. So, let me be perfectly clear… I stand to gain nothing by Nina's death."
Lloyd had been accused of arson and insurance fraud when a previous warehouse had gone up in flames. It had contained a host of valuables and antique cars.
>
Lloyd was smart. He had kept his mouth shut, and the case fell apart.
"If Nina was the sole owner of the company, what's the status of it now?" I asked.
"We had a joint bank account with right of survivorship going to me. There was a clause in our operating agreement that the company would pass to me in the event of her death and vice versa. I don't have any kids, neither did she.”
"Do you own a gun?”
His face crinkled like it was a ridiculous question. “Hell yes. This isn’t the greatest part of town, and sometimes I’m here late with no one around. I don’t usually carry a lot of cash around, but some of these punks will kill you over $0.50.”
"Can I see the weapon?”
"It's in the drawer in my office. Feel free to take a look.”
I nodded to JD, and he shuffled back toward the office.
Lloyd pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. He put it on speakerphone, and a woman answered with a sweet, baby doll voice. "Hey, baby."
Lloyd’s gruff tone softened. He'd gone from a pit bull to a poodle. "Hey, doll. Will you speak to this gentleman and tell him where I was Wednesday evening? This is Deputy Wild with Coconut County."
Lloyd handed me the phone.
"Hello, ma'am," I said.
"Is Lloyd in some kind of trouble?"
"No, ma'am. We're just trying to verify his whereabouts Wednesday night."
“Hmm… I brought him dinner around 7-ish. We ate together, and he finished up with a few orders. Then we went back to his place around 9:30 PM."
"Were you with him the entire night?"
"Yes."
"Thank you for your time,” I said, then handed the phone back to Lloyd.
"I'll call you later, Doll.”
“Love you, Babe.”
"I love you, too," Lloyd said in singsong. He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. The gravelly voice returned. "Satisfied?"
“She’s your girlfriend. What else is she going to say?”
Lloyd scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You fucking guys, I tell you."
23
