by Tripp Ellis
"Maybe I'm seeing things. If it wasn't her, she's got a twin."
“Double trouble,” I said.
We stayed at Tide Pool for a couple hours, but Phoebe never reappeared. I kept my head on a swivel as we left, pushing through the main bar, exiting the building. We stepped onto the sidewalk, and I scanned the block.
"She's got you a little spooked," JD said with a chuckle.
"You didn't see the look in her eyes when I broke things off."
We made our way back to the car. The whole time I was dreading what we might find. JD’s car stuck out like a sore thumb. It was an easy target.
Fortunately, it hadn’t been vandalized, and no one was waiting for us. We hopped in, and JD zipped back to Diver Down. He dropped me off at the marina and cautioned, “Better lock your doors tonight."
He was thoroughly enjoying this.
I sneered at him.
He dropped the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot. I headed down the dock, keeping a wary eye, worried that I might be accosted any moment.
32
I had put my phone on do not disturb during the night, which is something I rarely do. When I woke up in the morning, there were 147 texts and an almost equal number of voicemails from Phoebe on my phone.
After reading the first few rage-filled texts calling me a son-of-a-bitch, among other colorful things, I deleted the thread and blocked her number.
I pulled myself out of bed, went through my morning routine, and fixed breakfast in the galley.
Denise called while I was cooking. "Hey, I found something curious in Knox Murphy’s bank records."
"You got a subpoena for the records?”
"Not exactly. But I have my contacts. You’re not the only one with resources."
"What did you find out?"
"Knox made a $100,000 cash withdrawal a few weeks ago."
“Is that an unusual transaction for him? The guy is a multi-millionaire.”
"I'm looking at his transactions over the last year, and there's nothing else of that magnitude. Do you think he could have used that money to hire a hitman to kill Sebastian?”
"It's a possibility to consider. But why? I mean the guy’s loaded. How much is enough? And without his partner, the business will suffer."
“You’re right. It's probably a stretch."
"It's worth looking into," I said. "Can you do me a favor and do a background check on someone?”
"Sure.”
"First name is Phoebe. Early 20s."
"Do you have a last name?"
"I don’t,” I said sheepishly.
Denise's fingers clacked against the keyboard as she looked up the information. "Phoebe Grant? 24, brunette, blue eyes, 5’3”?”
"That's her."
There was a momentary pause.
"Wow," Denise said, and not in a good way.
"What's her story?"
“She’s got a few misdemeanor trespassing charges. An online stalking and harassment charge. There are a few restraining orders against her that are still in effect. There’s a destruction of property charge—looks like she keyed someone's car. There are quite a few other things. You want me to list them all?”
My gut twisted. "No. That's enough."
"Who is she? Probable suspect?"
"Not really,” I said, cringing.
Denise hesitated. "You didn't bang her, did you?"
"No…" I said, thinly.
"Tyson!?”
"Hang on, you're breaking up. I can’t hear you," I said, pretending I had poor reception.
"Tyson, cut the shit."
"It's a long story.”
"The girl is troubled.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
“She filed a sexual harassment lawsuit against a former employer, and she made sexual assault allegations against two defendants. One was dismissed, and the other is ongoing. You need to watch yourself."
"I will. Thanks for looking that up."
“Where do you find these people?”
“I’m sorry, there’s just no one out there that compares to you, so I have to settle.”
She groaned, “Whatever.”
“Thanks for the info. I’ll talk to you later.”
I hung up the phone, and an uneasy sensation twisted in my gut.
I called JD and caught him up to speed. He picked me up half an hour later, and we drove to Knox's mansion in the Platinum Dunes Estates. It was a nice home, but not as opulent or as large as I had expected. It looked like all the other McMansions in the neighborhood—although with more exotic sports cars in the driveway. With the recent infusion of cash from the buyout, I'm sure Knox would be upgrading soon.
His wife pulled into the driveway as we arrived. She hopped out of her luxury sport-utility vehicle with personalized plates and carried several upscale bags across the lawn toward the front door.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Murphy," I said, flashing my badge as I jumped out of the Porsche. I advanced up the walkway. "Is your husband home? We have a few questions for him."
"I think you can find him at the country club playing golf."
The girl was a gorgeous blonde with long wavy hair and a slender figure that was decked out in designer attire—black suede knee-high boots, tight black skirt, fitted cream top, oversized Chanel sunglasses with gold accents. A Chanel purse dangled from her shoulder, and lots of diamonds sparkled around her neck, fingers, and ears. Just out of college, Makenna was living the life of a queen.
“Knox recently made a cash withdrawal of $100,000,” I said. "Does that seem unusual to you?"
"No, not really."
"That’s a lot of money to carry around in cash."
"Not really." She lifted her bags. "I mean, I just spent $72,000 at the mall."
"Impressive," I said.
"If you want to talk finances, you’ll need to speak with Knox. I don't have anything to do with that."
"So, he pays all the bills?”
"I have a credit card without a limit.” She smiled. “I do whatever I want with it."
"My point, exactly. Most of your purchases are with a credit card. I bet you rarely carry around more than a few hundred.”
“So? Maybe he took the cash out to buy me a Valentine's Day surprise and didn't want me to know about it."
"Do you ever look at the credit card bills when they come in?"
“No.”
“Then, why bother hiding it?”
She huffed. "Look, I don't know what you're getting at. But Knox didn't kill Sebastian. And he didn't pay anybody to do it either."
"Seems like you know exactly what I'm getting at."
"This conversation is over. Have a nice afternoon, Deputy."
She marched toward the front door, unlocked it, and slipped inside with her expensive bags.
“Guess she told us, didn’t she?" JD snarked.
My phone buzzed with another call from Denise. "Hey… Daniels wants you to get over to the Calliste Apartments.”
"What's going on?"
"You remember that missing person, Emmett Forrester? He's not missing anymore."
33
The atrocious smell wafting through the air curled my nose hairs and twisted my stomach. It could only be one thing. There was nothing else quite like the smell of a rotting corpse.
Erickson and Faulkner had the area cordoned off. There were a few onlookers in the parking garage of the Calliste Apartments, gawking with sour faces.
The trunk of Emmett’s Lexus was wide open, and flies buzzed about. Inside, Emmett’s decaying corpse. Maggots feasted, and the victim’s hazy eyes stared blankly into the abyss. There was a puddle of fresh vomit on the concrete nearby.
Cameras flashed as a crime scene photographer snapped photos of the body. Brenda examined the remains. There was bruising on the left cheek like he had taken the punch. At first glance, there weren't any obvious gunshot wounds or punctures.
Emmett’s friend, Brody, stood nearby, talking to Deputy Faulkner. I stepped
away from the trunk and spoke to him for a minute. His eyes were misty, and he looked traumatized. His face was red, and he was on the verge of losing it. He’d occasionally steal glimpses at the trunk, which soured his stomach and made him gag. The smell was enough to make anyone hurl, which I assumed he did upon discovering the body.
"I kept passing the car on the way to mine,” Brody said. “I’m parked two spaces down. I kept smelling something, but I couldn't place it. At first, I thought it was the dumpster," he said, pointing to the beat up green bin just outside the covered parking area. “The smell kept getting stronger. I went up to my apartment, got my spare key to Emmett's car, and popped the trunk. There he was. I tossed my cookies right away."
"Emmett gave you a spare key?" I asked.
"In case he lost his. He was always losing everything."
"How did we miss this?" JD muttered to me.
"I don't know," I grumbled.
I didn't pick up the scent when we previously examined the vehicle. There was a strong breeze that day gusting through the parking garage, and I thought the sour smell emanated from the dumpster.
I walked back to Brenda. She hovered over the body.
"Petechial hemorrhaging around the eyes. There seems to be some indication around the neck that he may have been choked. Judging by the angle of his head, I’d say his neck is broken. I’ll know more later."
JD stood beside me, observing the corpse with his face twisted from the stench.
"No wallet, keys, or cell phone," Brenda said.
"He comes home from the bar,” I postulated. “Somebody assaults him in the parking lot. There's some kind of scuffle. The assailant punches him, gets him in a headlock, snaps his neck. The perp takes Emmett’s keys, wallet, and phone, then stuffs him in the trunk."
"Looks that way," Brenda said.
"Let's go knock on doors and see if any residents remember seeing anything," I said to JD.
After the body was removed and taken to the morgue, we canvassed the building with Erickson and Faulkner. An hour of knocking on doors didn’t turn up any leads. Nobody recalled seeing a thing.
The forensics team had dusted the trunk for prints, and hopefully, Brenda could pull the assailant’s DNA from the body. Maybe a fiber or other trace evidence might give us a lead.
Jack was hungry, so we headed to Gators for lunch. My appetite was somewhat diminished by the ripe body we had found in the trunk. But Jack could easily displace such thoughts. The hostess seated us in a booth by the window and dealt us menus. We perused the offerings and discussed the case.
“Do you think someone was waiting for Emmett in the parking lot? Or did they follow him home from the club?" JD asked.
“Hard to say. We should go back to Turtles and ask around again.”
"These savages will kill you for a nickel,” JD said.
A cute waitress bounced to the table. "Afternoon, gentlemen! I’m Tammy.”
Tammy had blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and brown eyes. Her bangs hung to her brow. She had a cute smile.
"Well, good afternoon to you," JD said, enthralled.
"Are you ready to order, gentlemen?”
"I think we are," JD said.
He ordered the shrimp fettuccine Alfredo. I went with the chicken sandwich. We both ordered diet sodas.
Tammy scribbled our order in her notepad and smiled. "Coming right up!"
She spun around and sauntered to the kitchen to put in our order.
Jack’s phone rang. When he held the phone to his ear, an excited voice shrieked through the speaker. I couldn’t make out exactly what was said.
“Oh, my God!” Jack mocked. “I can’t believe you’re actually calling your old man.”
It was JD’s daughter in Los Angeles. It was a rare occasion, indeed. Scarlett wasn’t always the best about keeping in touch. Life in the fast lane. She caught him up to speed on the latest happenings. Then he handed the phone to me. “She wants to talk to you.”
Scarlett’s excited voice filled my ear. “We just started pre-production on Ultra Mega 2. I am officially going to be an action movie star!”
"Congratulations!"
"It's crazy. We're having a table read coming up where I'll get to meet the rest of the cast and crew."
"Try not to date your co-star this time."
She huffed and ignored me. "I have my own personal trainer who is putting me through two workouts a day—and let me tell you, they are intense. But I'm going to be buff! I have my own personal nutritionist, and I'm on this crazy diet, and I'm getting a crash course in martial arts training."
"Sounds exciting."
"It is. I don't have a moment to spare. Have you talked to Joel?"
He was our mutual agent.
"No, I haven't."
"The Bree Taylor project is still in post-production, but from what I hear, the studio is really happy with how the edit is coming along, and they're putting even more marketing money behind it."
“That's fantastic."
"And now that I’ve got a little cash coming in, I think I'm going to look for a new apartment."
“You’re moving up in the world."
"I am," she said proudly. “Gotta go. I just wanted to share the good news. You guys need to come see me soon.”
“We will,” I assured before hanging up the phone and handing it back to Jack.
Tammy returned a moment later and clanked down our entrées on the table.
“Is there anything else I can get you?”
We looked over the meal.
“I think we’re good for now,” I said.
Sheriff Daniels called as we were about to dig in. I thought about ignoring it, but then thought better of it. I swiped the screen and put the phone to my ear. “I want you guys to get over to the Platinum Dunes Estates."
"We just sat down for lunch?"
"I don't care."
"What is it now?"
34
JD shoveled a heaping scoop of fettuccine into his mouth, puffing his cheeks before digging into his pocket and tossing a wad of cash onto the table. There was no time to finish the meal. We slid out of the booth and rushed out of the restaurant, leaving a confused waitress. We jogged down the sidewalk to the Porsche.
I cringed when I saw Phoebe waiting by the car.
The look on her face was a mix of both sorrow and anger. I felt bad for her. I really did. But she was also starting to freak me out. The first thing I did was look to see if she was holding any weapons.
"I don't understand," she said. "Why won't you talk to me? I've called. I've left messages. You don't respond. Do you just not care anymore?"
"I'm sorry, I don't have time for this discussion right now. We're on our way to a crime scene."
"I know I said a few things in those messages that I shouldn't have, and I'm really sorry. Will you please at least talk to me?"
“I can't right now. We’ll discuss this later."
We climbed into the car, and JD cranked up the engine. JD pulled away from the curb, leaving Phoebe looking like a sad puppy dog.
JD cringed. "You're in trouble. The girl has definitely crossed over to the dark side.”
"147 texts she sent. And that was before I blocked her.”
"Maybe you should unblock her so you can keep tabs on her state of mind. The more intel you have, the better. She’s even scaring me, and I didn’t bang her.”
“I didn’t either.”
He shot a skeptical gaze in my direction.
“I mean, what was I supposed to do when she put her face in my lap?”
“Well, at least I hope you enjoyed it.”
“Dude, it was insane. Seriously. Top 5.”
JD contemplated it. “Well, maybe you guys can work things out. I mean, we’re all a little crazy.”
I frowned at him.
We made our way to 2207 Seascape Drive, not far from Knox Murphy’s house. One street over. Deputies Erickson and Faulkner had already arrived, and they were speaking to a
woman in her doorway. We parked at the curb, hopped out, and sprinted up the walkway.
The woman was mid-20s with long curly brown hair, olive skin, and brown eyes. Her full lips were even fuller than normal. She had taken a punch to the face that split her lips and puffed them out like she’d been injected with too much lip filler. Her left eye was dark with purple and blue circles. The sclera was filled with blood, and the rest of her cheek was swollen and had a sallow color to it. Tears streaked her mascara. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened. Though domestic abuse calls were rare in this neighborhood.
Erickson pulled me aside and muttered, "She won't talk. All I’ve been able to get out of her is that she lives here with her boyfriend, and they got into some type of altercation.”
"What's the boyfriend's name?"
"The home is owned by Armando Duarte. He doesn’t appear to be here. Now she doesn't want to press charges. I told her it's not up to her anymore. Her name is Shiloh. Why don't you talk to her and see if you can get anything out of her?"
“Call Daniels. Let’s put out a BOLO on the scumbag.”
Erickson nodded.
I stepped back to the porch. "Ma'am, do you mind if we come inside and talk for a moment?"
She sniffled and delicately wiped her eyes. "I'm fine now. Can't you just go?”
"I'm afraid we can’t do that."
“I’m gonna be in so much trouble," she said, still weeping.
“You're not in any trouble. The person who did this to you is in trouble."
"I've changed my mind. I don't want to press charges."
“That's up to the state now,” I said. “You got lucky this time. The next time, you might not get so lucky."
It’s pretty common for victims of domestic abuse to call the police in the heat of the moment. Then, when things settle down, they realize the gravity of the situation and want to change their mind. They want to drop the charges. And they fear retaliation from their significant other.
Shiloh hesitated for a long moment. "He doesn't mean to do it. He just…"
"Can't control himself?"
She gave a subtle nod.
“Has he ever hit you before?" I asked.
