Wild Heart

by Tripp Ellis

  It was clear I wasn't going to get any answers from Lillian. "Thanks for your cooperation. If anything springs to mind, please feel free to contact me."

  "I will. And good luck, Deputy. Nina was a dear friend."

  I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket with frustration. I felt no closer to solving this thing than when we started.

  Phoebe was in the galley, cleaning up after breakfast. I started to help her.

  "Don't bother,” she said. “I’ve got this. I know it’s crazy, but I like tidying up. It's stress relief. I find it soothing."

  I laughed. “More power to you. I don't find it soothing at all."

  JD called. "I'm in the parking lot. Get your ass out here!”

  "I'm on my way." I hung up the phone and told Phoebe, “I gotta run."

  "Go. I'll tidy up around here before I leave. Is there anything you want done? Laundry? I could fix lunch or dinner and leave it in the refrigerator for you."

  I smiled. "No. I'm fine. But thank you."

  She lifted on her tiptoes and gave me a kiss. Her soft lips melted into mine.

  "I had fun last night," she said.

  "Me too."

  “There is plenty more where that came from,” she said with a deliciously devious grin.

  JD blew the horn, and it reverberated across the marina.

  I darted out of the galley and through the salon. I petted Buddy and told him to be a good boy before I left and jogged down the dock. I hopped into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. JD dropped the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot as I buckled my safety belt.

  "So, how'd it go last night?” he asked, looking for all the juicy details.

  26

  We found Eleanor Kensington in the cockpit of her sailboat, smoking a cigarette. It was docked at Mangrove Bay.

  Eleanor was an interesting lady. She was in her mid-60s and had short bottle-blonde hair. Eleanor had certainly been a looker back in her day, and she kept her figure reasonably well—but probably not as well as she would have liked. Over the years, the cigarettes had pickled her face, and her makeup looked like something Picasso might have done. The heavy makeup ended up looking like the dry, cracked flats in Death Valley.

  We stepped to the dock by the stern of her boat, and Eleanor smiled, blowing out a cloud of smoke through the side of her mouth. "Deputy Wild, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

  "I'm afraid this isn’t a social call, Mrs. Kensington."

  Her smile faded slightly. "Well, a girl can dream, can't she?”

  I flashed a courteous smile. "We’d like to talk to you about Nina Harlow."

  Her face soured. "That slut? Thank God she's gone!”

  “Well, tell me how you really feel," I muttered sarcastically.

  “She shouldn’t have been allowed on the airways, spouting that filth.”

  "So you were a fan of the show?" I said in jest.

  "Lord, no! But I did listen on a regular basis just to monitor what kind of depraved things she was saying. For Pete’s sake, some things need to remain private. I don't know if you ever listened to her show, but some of the things she talked about were just downright unnatural." Eleanor pointed to the sky. "He sees everything, and let me tell you, everybody gets what's coming to them. Sooner or later."

  "So you think Nina deserved to die?"

  She raised her hands innocently. Wisps of smoke drifted from the cigarette that was half gone. "I'm not one to judge. I'm just saying…"

  "You own a gun, don't you?”

  "I sure do."

  "A 9mm?"

  "I got a 9mm, a .45, a .38 special, and an AR 15 with extra magazines for when the shit really hits the fan."

  "You definitely seem prepared. Can you tell me where you were last Wednesday evening?"

  "I was right here."

  "What were you doing?"

  "I had dinner here on the boat with a gentleman caller. We had good conversation, a nice bottle of wine, and enjoyed a wonderful evening,” she said with a smile, straightening her posture, lifting her nose with pride.

  "And who is this lucky gentleman?"

  "It's none of your business."

  "We’re just trying to verify your whereabouts."

  She scoffed. "You don't really believe little old me sailed out on the water at night and crept aboard that whore’s boat and shot her, do you? I mean, you two must be getting pretty desperate if you're considering me as a suspect."

  "You've clearly expressed a disdain for the deceased," I said.

  "It's a free country. I can dislike whoever I want."

  “That is certainly your prerogative.”

  She hesitated, and her face crinkled. "If you must know, his name is Paul. But for God’s sake, don't harass the man. He's a fine gentleman. I don't need you two running him off."

  "I'll need his contact information."

  She gave it to me reluctantly.

  "I don't suppose we can see your 9mm?"

  She smiled. "Not without a warrant."

  "You know I can get the Coast Guard out here, and they don't need a warrant.”

  She huffed, tilted her head down, and looked over her sunglasses at me. “Call them.”

  "Mrs. Kensington, this would be a lot easier if you just cooperated."

  She stared me down for a long moment. "Fine. But only because you're cute, and I'm innocent."

  She disappeared into the cabin and returned a moment later with a small pistol case made of a high-impact polymer. She handed it to me. "It's loaded. Be careful. Try not to shoot yourself."

  I knelt down and set the case on the dock, flipped the dual latches, and opened the 11x8" case. A pristine 9mm was embedded in custom-cut foam along with an extra magazine filled with copper rounds.

  I pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, picked up the weapon, pressed the mag release button, and dropped the magazine into my palm. It was loaded with the same ammo as the extra magazine. I slid out a round and examined it. These were 115 grain 9mm full metal jackets. Different from the 124 grain jacketed hollow points used in Nina's murder. The barrel smelled like gun oil, and it didn't appear to have been fired recently. Of course, Eleanor could have cleaned it thoroughly and loaded it with different rounds, but I was reasonably certain that Eleanor wasn't responsible for the murders. I slammed the magazine back into the pistol, placed the pistol in the case, latched it, and handed it back to her. "Thank you."

  "Is there anything else?" she asked in a sassy tone.

  "I think that's all for now."

  "I enjoyed the visit, Deputy. Stop by anytime."

  "I would, but Paul might get jealous."

  A smile curled her lips. She dug into her purse and lit another cigarette as we strolled down the dock to the parking lot.

  “I think she’s got a thing for you,” JD said with a grin. “Maybe we should invite her to our next party?”

  “I don’t think she’d like us so much after that.”

  Denise texted me as we walked across the lot. [You’re going to love this…]

  27

  A picture of a buxom blonde centerfold from the late ‘70s appeared on my phone. The photo Denise sent was desaturated and slightly grainy compared to modern digital images. The girl was damn good looking with a classic hourglass figure and all-natural endowments. The pinup queen wore white go-go boots and nothing else.

  JD and I ogled the image.

  “I think we might have to invent a time machine,” JD muttered, practically drooling.

  [Guess who?] Denise texted.

  [No way.]

  [Yup.]

  [You’re sure?]

  [That’s Bebe Doll, a.k.a. Eleanor Kensington. What’s the saying? Those who live in glass houses…]

  I chuckled and showed the text to JD.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like Mrs. Kensington isn’t so innocent after all. You know she did some hard partying back in the day.”

  We hopped into the Porsche and left the marina. I called Pa
ul, and he confirmed Eleanor’s alibi. It sounded like he was definitely looking forward to another date with the former pinup queen.

  We were hoping to track down Joan Taylor and ask her about her veiled threats on social media. The lead was weak, but Eleanor was right. We were getting pretty desperate for answers.

  Sheriff Daniels called with a change of plans. "We have a situation. I need you two to get over to Guilty Pleasures, ASAP."

  "What's going on?"

  "Some nut job is in the store. He shot one person and has his girlfriend and the sales clerk held hostage."

  "We are on our way."

  I told JD, and he mashed the pedal to the floor. The engine roared, and the acceleration thrust me against the seat as we sped down the road. We twisted through the city and pulled to the curb near Guilty Pleasures. It was a few blocks from Oyster Avenue.

  Red and blue lights flickered atop patrol cars, and deputies had cordoned off the area. A crowd of onlookers gathered. We hopped out of the car and jogged toward the scene.

  Deputy Erickson greeted us, giving us the latest updates on the situation.

  Guilty Pleasures was an adult novelty store that sold sexy lingerie and erotic paraphernalia.

  “Has anybody talked to the hostage-taker?” I asked.

  "We called the store phone a few times. Nobody has picked up. A customer that was in the store managed to escape right as the assailant pulled out a gun. According to her, the perp shot a man and took a woman and the sales clerk hostage."

  "Where's the customer that escaped?"

  Erickson pointed to a frazzled woman who spoke with Deputy Mendoza. She was early 20s with a petite figure, brown hair, and panicked wide eyes. Her entire body trembled. JD and I approached her and introduced ourselves. She told me her name was Iris.

  "Do you know what condition the shooting victim is in?" I asked.

  "I don't know. This crazy guy just stormed into the store and started screaming and yelling at this couple that had been browsing through the lingerie. The next thing I knew, he pulled out a gun and shot the man in the belly, then aimed it at the woman. By what he was saying, I gathered she was his girlfriend. As soon as I saw the gun, I ran out the door. He fired another shot, and I heard it smack the glass as I pushed outside. I swear, I could feel the wind from the bullet as it zipped past my head. I'm so totally freaked out right now!”

  Erickson gave me the number to the store, and I dialed the line. It rang several times. A shaky, frail female voice answered, “Guilty Pleasures, how can I help you?”’

  It was an instinctual response.

  I identified myself and asked to speak with the assailant. She called to the shooter. "It's the police. They want to speak with you."

  "Tell them to back off!"

  "He says back off,” the clerk relayed.

  "What’s your name?" I asked.

  "Amara."

  "Can you tell me if the man that was shot is dead?"

  "No."

  "Hang up the phone now, or I'll blow your fucking head off!" the angry voice shouted.

  The line went dead.

  I called back and let it ring… and ring… and ring…

  The call went to voicemail.

  I dialed again.

  Finally, someone answered. The voice on the other end was tense and agitated. "What part of back the fuck off do you not understand?"

  "We'll stay back,” I said. “Nobody's storming into the store. I just want to talk."

  "I don't want to talk. I want you guys to pack up and go away."

  “You know we can’t do that. You sound upset and scared."

  "I'm not scared."

  "If you’re not scared, you must have balls of steel."

  "I do. So don’t fuck with me."

  "Is it safe to say you're having a bad day?"

  "You’re goddamn right I'm having a bad day."

  "My name is Tyson. What's yours?"

  "I'm not telling you my name. Are you crazy?”

  I wanted to make a snarky comment, but I thought better of it. I wasn’t the one holding hostages.

  “I have to call you something,” I said.

  “Bob. You can call me Bob.”

  It clearly wasn’t his real name.

  "Let me guess, Bob… you caught your girlfriend with another guy buying sexy lingerie. That can only mean one thing, right?"

  "She's a little whore, and she deserves to die."

  "I bet that's devastating."

  "You’re damn right it is."

  "Does the sales clerk deserve to die, too?”

  "I don't give a shit about her."

  "If you don't care about her, how about you let her go? A gesture of good faith. That you're willing to negotiate."

  "What is there to negotiate?"

  "Well, right now, you haven’t crossed the threshold."

  "What threshold?"

  "From what I understand, the man you shot is still alive. The minute he dies, you become a murderer. If you let me help you, maybe we can keep things from spiraling in a direction you don't want to go."

  He was silent for a long moment.

  "You probably think I'm the bad guy and that I'm trying to screw you over. That I'm trying to pull a fast one on you but I'm not. I'll be honest and fair with you, if you're honest and fair with me. That’s not unreasonable, is it?”

  He hesitated for a long moment. “No.”

  "Would it be totally outrageous to send in two paramedics to treat the wounded man and remove him from the store so that you don't get charged with murder?"

  There was another unbearable silence.

  "No, that's not unreasonable. But how do I know you're not going to send two cops disguised as paramedics?"

  "You have my word."

  "Who the fuck are you? Why should I trust you?"

  "The man you shot needs emergency medical attention. Attention that can only be given by qualified paramedics. I'm not gonna risk that man's life by sending in deputies in disguises and risk more people getting injured. I told you, I’ll play fair. We’ll work through this without another shot being fired. How does that sound?"

  "My girlfriend was screwing that dude. Why should I let you save him?"

  "It ain't about him. It's about saving yourself."

  28

  “I’ll allow two paramedics in,” the perp said. “That’s it. If you guys try anything, I swear it's going to be a bloodbath."

  "They're just going to help the victim," I assured.

  "No guns. If I see someone with a gun, I'll shoot them on the spot."

  "No guns," I assured.

  "I'm getting off the phone now."

  "I'll call you back when they're about to come in."

  He hung up.

  We found two paramedics with prior military experience. We rigged them up with small body cameras so we could get eyes and ears into the facility. We also had an extra camera in an equipment case that they could accidentally leave behind.

  Rotor blades thumped overhead as Tango One circled above. The crowd of gawkers on the sidewalks grew larger, and news vans had arrived. Paris Delaney showed up with her crew, and the ambitious blonde began broadcasting.

  When the medical team was ready, I called the store. Bob picked up the phone.

  "They're coming in now,” I said. “Let's keep everything nice and easy."

  "Okay."

  I gave the signal to the paramedics, and they rolled a yellow gurney along the sidewalk. One of them pulled open the door and held it while the other pushed the gurney inside. For the first time, we got eyes on the scene. The cameras wirelessly fed a monitor that we all huddled around.

  The hostage-taker looked about 25 years old. He had short brown hair and a slender build. He had his arm around his girlfriend's throat, standing behind her with his pistol to her temple. Her face was contorted with panic, her eyes wide, mascara streaming down her cheeks from tears.

  Bob had told the sales clerk to stand in the corner and face the wall.
She craned her neck over her shoulder to see the action. Paramedics attended to the gunshot victim and began to stabilize him.

  Abdominal wounds can be survivable depending on the extent of the damage, but infection is always a major concern.

  The paramedics transferred the victim to the gurney and rolled him out of the store. They pushed him along the sidewalk and hurried down the block to an ambulance that was waiting. They loaded him into the back, climbed inside, sealed the doors, and sped away. Sirens chirped, and lights flashed.

  "I lived up to my end of the deal," Bob said into the phone. "Now I want something from you?"

  "I'll see what I can do?"

  "No, fuck that. You will do!”

  "What do you want?”

  He was silent for a long moment. "I need time to think about it."

  He hung up.

  I texted Isabella and gave her the address of the store, and asked her to see if she could identify the cell phones that were at the location. She texted me back a few minutes later. [Cell phones are registered to Clarissa Wong, Julie McHenry, and Aiden Arthur.]

  I called the store back in a few minutes. When the perp answered, I asked, “Have you thought about what you want, Aiden?"

  "How the fuck do you know my name?"

  "You're playing in the big leagues now, Aiden. How about you call it a day? You've already shown good faith, I'm sure the courts will take that into consideration. Don't make it worse for yourself."

  "I want an armored vehicle fully gassed up and a speedboat waiting for me at the marina of my choosing.”

  "Where are you going to go, Aiden? Cuba? Good luck."

  "I'll kill everyone in the store right now if you don't meet my demands."

  I sighed. “I’ll make some phone calls and see what I can do. But it's not like I've got access to what you're asking for."

  "This is the big leagues, isn't it? Find a way."

  "That's a big ask. I was doing you a favor by taking the victim out of there. How about you do me a favor and send out the clerk? I’ll get an armored vehicle on site."

  "What about the boat?"

  "I told you, I'm not gonna lie to you, and I'm not going to make promises I can't keep. I'll make some phone calls and see if I can come up with a speedboat. But I can't just pull one out of my ass. In the meantime, are you hungry? I can send in a pizza and soft drinks."