by Tripp Ellis
"So it was just a casual thing?" I asked.
He leaned back, drying a glass with a rag. "Yeah, and one I would rather keep quiet. I don't think my girlfriend would appreciate that too much."
"Did you know that Heather had a boyfriend?"
“Yeah, I knew. He came up here a few times. Really insecure dude. Jealous. But, then again, he had reason to be."
"Did he know you were sleeping with his girlfriend?"
"Not that I know of. I don't think Heather would have told him."
"Do you know if she was hooking up with any other bar employees?"
"I don't know,” Chip said. “I didn't ask. It was none of my business. We just had fun together. Neither one of us were looking to get into a relationship."
“What about Brody?”
“I’m pretty sure they hooked up once. But he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Where’d he go?”
Chip shrugged. “Back to California, I think.”
“How long ago?”
“Last week.”
"What about Charlie Knox?" I asked.
"What about him?”
"Was he interested in Heather?"
"Heather was a good looking woman. A lot of guys were interested in her."
"Did she and Charlie ever hook up?"
"I think he wanted to, but from what I could tell, Heather wasn't interested."
"Is Charlie working tonight?" I asked.
"He should be in later," Chip said.
"We’d like to have a few words with him, but we would appreciate it if you didn't alert him to the fact.”
"Sure," Chip said, eyeing us suspiciously. "You don't think he had anything to do with her disappearance, do you? I mean, from what I hear on the news—”
"Forget the news."
"Do you really think somebody else besides the Seaside Stalker killed Heather?" Chip asked.
I shrugged. "On the night of her disappearance, after you closed the bar, where did you go?"
“Prohibition. It's an after-hours bar. Lots of industry people go there to wind down after a shift. You know the place?"
I nodded.
Prohibition was an old-school bar with mahogany wood panels on the walls. Black-and-white photos of old gangsters holding Tommy guns gave the place a vintage vibe. They were known for their selection of top-shelf whiskey and had a wide variety of beer on tap. Walking into the place felt like stepping into a bar in Chicago in the 1920s.
You had to know the password to get in. There was no signage, just a black door in an alleyway. There was an old red phone booth next to the door. To get in, you had to pick up the phone, and it would automatically dial the bar. The password rotated on a regular basis, so you had to be in the know. If you said the magic word, the door would open, and you could slip into the club.
For a fee, you could become a member and drink all night long. It was a gray area to skate around the law. It was one of those places that had been operating in that gray area of legality for just about as long as Coconut Key had been incorporated. Nobody ever did anything about it. The woman who owned the place was tight with all the local politicians. They didn't want their after-hours watering hole shut down. There were always pretty girls at Prohibition, and some of them could be had for a price. It was dark, discrete, and everyone knew that what happened in Prohibition stayed in Prohibition.
“You have someone who can verify your whereabouts on the night in question?” I asked.
His eyes narrowed at me, and he tucked his chin. “You don’t consider me a suspect, do you?”
I said nothing.
“Talk to the bartender at Prohibition. Lydia." He pointed across the bar to a brunette serving a hightop table. “You might also want to talk to Miranda. She was with me that night. She’ll vouch for me as well.”
“I thought you didn’t make a practice of hooking up with co-workers?”
“Like I said… Sometimes things happen.”
“It seems like things happen a lot around here,” JD said.
Chip scowled at him.
“What time did you say you expected Charlie Knox to come on shift this evening?"
"9 PM."
I took down Chip’s information, then JD and I spoke with Miranda. She confirmed his alibi.
We had several hours to kill before we'd have a chance to speak with Charlie Knox, so we decided to see if we could catch Dr. Miles at the community college.
I called Denise at the Sheriff’s Department to get some information on the good professor before we met with him. “I’m mad at you.”
She gasped. “Mad at me? What did I do?”
10
"You didn't come see me while I was in the hospital. I've been out for a few hours, and no phone call, no congratulatory message, nothing," I said in an overly dramatic fashion.
"Oh no, don't even lay that guilt trip on me. I tried to come by and see you, but they wouldn't allow me access. I texted you every day while you were in there. And I was planning on coming by and seeing you tonight after I got off my shift. So, don't try to make me feel bad!” She paused. "You're safe now, aren't you?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yes. I’m safe. I. Am. Not. Contagious. You should meet us for drinks later."
She paused for a moment. "Okay. When? Where?"
I was surprised she accepted my invitation. "We've got to stop by the community college. Then we're interviewing a person of interest at Hammerhead after 9 PM. How about we meet at Tide Pool at 7 PM?"
"Perfect."
"I need a favor."
"I knew that was coming."
"What can you find out about Dr. David Miles. Professor at the college.”
"Hang on, and I'll tell you." I heard her fingers clacking against the keyboard as she pulled up his information. "38 years old. Professor of biology at Coconut Community College. Married, two kids. Lives at 2133 Sea Lion Drive.”
"Interesting," I said. "He was having an affair with our victim."
Denise gasped. “Really?"
"That's what I hear. I'll let you know what we find out." Then I added, "Oh, hey, see what you can find out about Charlie Knox."
"Will do." Her fingers clacked against the keys. "Shit!"
"What's the matter?"
"The system went down. I'll have to call you back."
"Okay, thanks."
Before I hung up, Denise said, “Hey…" Then she stopped herself.
"What?"
"Never mind. We'll talk later."
My curiosity was piqued, but I figured I would find out soon enough.
The community college was located in what used to be the former high school. When the district built a new structure, the community college took over the campus. The college offered associate degrees in business, finance, marketing, communications, creative writing, filmmaking, marine biology, criminal justice, art and design, construction manufacturing, liberal arts, humanities, education, science and technology, and social and behavioral sciences. The course curriculum was designed to easily transfer into Vanden University.
We pulled into the parking lot and walked toward campus. The school building had been built in the '50s. It lacked the prestige and history of Vanden. There were no manicured hedgerows, no regal colonnades, no sprawling courtyards. There were a few student activities, but nothing like Vanden.
We found Dr. Miles's classroom in the science and technology building. He was teaching Biology 2357: Introduction to Forensic DNA Analysis.
JD and I hovered at the door and peered into the classroom. There were about 30 students paying varying degrees of attention to the professor's lecture.
Dr. Miles had longish light-brown hair and an athletic build. He had blue eyes and handsome features, and a few of his students gazed longingly at him. He wore thin wire-rimmed glasses that framed his face well.
The classroom hadn't changed much since the high school days. The teacher's desk was at the head of the class in front of the chalkboard. There was a pull-down pre
sentation screen. The students sat in chair-desk combos that had storage for books underneath the seats. There was a world map on the wall, and AV equipment stored at the rear of the classroom.
"I think that's all for today," Miles said. "Next class, we will begin statistical interpretation of DNA typing results, if you want to read ahead."
He dismissed the class, and the students flooded out of the room, except for a few girls that had burning questions they needed the professor to answer.
The good doctor noticed us lingering in the doorway. After he hustled the coeds out of the classroom, we entered. JD flashed his badge.
By the professor's expression, I could tell he was expecting us. It was only a matter of time before we showed up and started poking around, he must have figured. Miles took a seat on the edge of his desk. "I bet I can guess why you're here."
"I'm sure you can," I said.
"I'll take what happened to Heather Newman for a thousand," he said, mocking a game show.
"That's exactly what we were going to ask you," I said.
"I'm assuming you are aware of my relationship with Heather?"
I nodded.
"She was a consenting adult. There was nothing inappropriate about our relationship."
"Some might argue it could be a conflict of interest," I suggested.
"I treat all of my students fairly."
"Do you have affairs with all your students?" JD asked.
"Only the really good-looking ones," he flashed a cocky grin.
JD and I exchanged a glance.
"Look, the night Heather went missing, I was with my wife. You can verify that with her."
"Does your wife know about you and Heather?"
"I have a don't ask don't tell relationship with my wife."
JD arched a curious eyebrow. "And how does that work out?"
"My wife and I married young. We decided early on that we didn't want to limit each other in any way and that we didn't want to prevent each other from being happy. I'll admit, this lifestyle isn't for everybody, but it seems to work for us."
"I guess it doesn't bother you when your wife hooks up with the pool boy?" JD muttered.
The professor's cocky grin faded. "Like I said. I don't ask, and she doesn't tell."
"When was last time you saw Heather?"
"In class, the day before she went missing."
"And when was the last time you two hooked up?"
"After class in my office."
JD seemed impressed.
"Look, I think it's tragic what happened to Heather. She was a really sweet girl, and she was quite talented."
"Did Heather ever express a desire for anything more than a casual relationship with you?"
"Heather knew my situation. She knew that I loved my wife, and that nothing was going to make me leave her. Besides, I don't think that's what Heather was looking for, anyway. She wanted to have fun." He sighed. "I'm sickened that such a senseless crime happened to her."
"So you teach a class on forensic DNA analysis. What other classes do you teach?" I asked.
"Molecular cell biology. Genetics. Toxicology."
"That's convenient," JD said.
"I don't follow," Miles replied.
"You've got in-depth knowledge of DNA analysis. You know what the police are looking for. I would assume you’d know how to cover your tracks really well."
Dr. Miles's eyes narrowed at JD. "I resent the implication of that statement. I'll save you a lot of time and a lot of trouble. I didn't kill Heather Newman. I am not the Seaside Stalker."
He let that hang there for a moment.
"Please, verify my alibi with my wife. I will do anything in my power to help you bring Heather's killer to justice, but if you are going to continue to insinuate that I was somehow involved in her death, then you boys can speak to my lawyer."
11
"Maybe I should get a job teaching college," JD said. "I have plenty of wisdom to impart."
I rolled my eyes.
We walked across campus, heading back to the parking lot.
"Do you believe a word of what the professor said?" JD asked.
I shrugged. "Let's call his wife and see if his story checks out."
I dialed the number Miles had given me for his wife's cell phone. She answered the phone after a few rings. "Hello?"
"Rebecca Miles? This is Deputy Wild with the Coconut County Sheriff's Department. I'd like to ask you a few quick questions."
"What is this about?"
"One of your husband's students."
"Heather Newman?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me where you were last Tuesday night?"
She was silent a moment, then cleared her throat. "If I recall correctly, I went to yoga class, then afterward I met my husband for dinner. After that, we went home and watched a movie, and after that is none of your business."
"Where did you have dinner?" I asked.
"Blowfish."
"What did you have?"
"What does it matter?"
"Blowfish is one of my favorites. I like the salmon and the ootoro."
"I'm partial to the unagi, myself," she said.
"And you're sure you were with your husband the entire night?" I asked.
"I'm sure," she said, annoyed.
I gave a skeptical glance to JD, who listened to the conversation on speakerphone. He shrugged.
"Thank you, Mrs. Miles. I don't have any other questions at this time. We may be in touch in the future."
"You don't seriously consider my husband a suspect, do you?"
"We are pursuing all avenues, getting as much information as possible."
"Well, you're looking in the wrong place."
"Where should we be looking?"
"Not here."
I thanked her again and hung up.
"I think it's time we pay Heather's boyfriend a visit," JD said. "He lives at the Windward. We can stop by on our way to the practice studio. I need to drop some stuff off."
We left campus and drove to Colin’s apartment complex. It was a five-story structure a few blocks from the beach. It had seen damage from the last hurricane, and the north corner of the roof had been ripped off and still hadn’t been repaired. About half the units in the faded beige building were vacant. There was no covered parking, just the exposed lot. The rent was cheap, comparatively.
There was no security box, and we spiraled our way up the main staircase to the 4th Floor and banged on Colin’s door.
There was no answer.
JD made a phone call to Colin’s employer and found out that he hadn't been in all week. He was a barista at Key Bean.
We kept pounding on the door.
Finally, a muffled voice shouted, "What do you want?"
The voice was slow and sad.
"Coconut County Sheriff's Department. We'd like to talk to you about Heather Newman," I said.
The deadbolt unlatched, and Colin pulled open the door. He looked pale and sickly, like he hadn't been out of the house in a week. He had brown shaggy hair, brown eyes, and a slender build and face. He wasn't an ugly guy, but he wasn't particularly attractive either.
Heather Newman was well above his pay grade.
She was likely the hottest girl Colin would ever get, and maybe that's why he was willing to put up with her extracurricular activities?
"Can we come inside?" JD asked.
Colin said nothing. He just spun around and marched to the living room, leaving the door open.
We stepped into the dim apartment. All the shades had been pulled shut, and the place was like a cave. It had a funky smell to it, like dirty socks. Empty dishes filled the sink and littered the coffee table. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that Colin was in a deep depression.
Colin flopped into a recliner, and we took a seat on the couch.
There were pictures of Heather on the coffee table and on the walls. She looked gorgeous.
"I know this is a difficult time
for you," I said.
Colin stared into space, expressionless.
"When was last the time you saw Heather?" I asked.
He shrugged.
"Did you have any contact with her the day of her disappearance?"
He shrugged again and said nothing.
"We spoke with her roommate."
Colin remained almost catatonic.
"It's easy to see you cared a great deal about Heather. We really could use your assistance," I said.
He was silent for a long moment, then finally said, "We talked the day she went missing. Tuesday, I think. As far as I know, she was working that evening."
"How would you describe your relationship?"
Colin shrugged. "I loved her. But I don't think I was enough for her."
His sad eyes misted.
"Explain."
"What's there to explain about that? I'm not stupid, you know. Everybody thinks I didn't know, but I knew."
"Knew what?"
He shot me a look. "She was running around, doing her thing."
"How did you feel about that?" I asked.
"What are you, my shrink?"
I said nothing.
"I felt shitty about it, okay!? I put up with it for a long time. But I had enough. I told her if she wasn't going to be faithful, I couldn't do this anymore."
"When did you tell her that?"
"Tuesday."
"So, you two broke up on Tuesday?"
He sighed. "I don't really know. She responded in that vague way that she always did, basically denying everything. But I couldn't take the mind games anymore."
"Were you angry?"
"Yeah, I was angry. I was hurt. Who wouldn't be?"
"I'm sure you didn't want to see her with anybody else," I said.
"No. I didn't."
I glanced at JD. We were both thinking the same thing.
"Can you tell me where you were Tuesday night?" I asked.
"I worked at the coffee shop until 10 PM. Then I came home."
"You didn't go out after that?"
"No. I sent Heather a few texts, but she never responded. I wanted to know where we stood."
"So, no one can verify your whereabouts for the rest of the night?" I asked.
