Wild Tide

by Tripp Ellis

  I was out like a light, and the morning came way too soon.

  JD pounded on the hatch, rattling the bulkheads. I peeled a crusted eye open as he poked his head into the cabin.

  My temples throbbed, and my mouth felt like I’d swallowed paste.

  “Rise and shine,” JD trumpeted with an annoying grin.

  I gave him a sideways glance.

  He reveled in annoying me.

  "What happened to you? You look like you got hit by a train!”

  "I feel like I got hit by train."

  "Obviously you found some trouble to get into last night?”

  "Remember the developer?"

  JD's eyes widened. "No way!”

  "Yes, way."

  "Impressive."

  "She kicked me out afterward. I felt so violated," I said with a trace of sarcasm.

  JD laughed. "Come on, get your shit together. We have to get up to Miami and talk to Nick Phelps."

  It had completely slipped my mind.

  18

  The howl of JD's Porsche as we blasted down the highway was like music to my ears. Top down, wind in my hair, music pumping, sun on my face—it didn't feel like work at all.

  We were about halfway when my phone buzzed. Denise called telling me that, “The ballistics of Parker's gun doesn’t match."

  "Good to know," I said.

  "I can say, definitively, that Glenn Parker was not shot with his own pistol."

  "Thank you, I appreciate the call."

  "Anytime."

  "You think you can do me a small favor?"

  "Anything." There was a little something extra in her voice.

  "Can you run a background check on Ryan Johnson? Caucasian, 28, 6'1."

  JD gave me the side-eye.

  "Sure thing. Is he a suspect?”

  "No. Personal matter."

  "I'll call you as soon as I find something out," she said.

  I hung up and slid the phone back into my pocket.

  "You don't want to get into the middle of this," JD said. "All you're going to do is get Madison pissed off at you. People shoot the messenger, remember?"

  "I'm not gonna be a messenger. This is just for my own satisfaction. I want to know what kind of guy she's getting involved with, that's all."

  JD just shook his head.

  We reached Miami considerably faster than I had anticipated. JD had a pretty heavy foot, and I don't think the Porsche went much under 100MPH at any time.

  The registered address for Nick Phelps was the Montana Heights building on Brickell Bay Drive. It was a high-rise condo that offered stunning ocean views.

  JD pulled into the drive and tossed the keys to the valet. He flashed his badge, and they parked the car in a spot near the entrance instead of driving it to a garage or side street.

  We strolled into the main lobby. JD flashed a smile at the concierge as we made our way to the elevator banks.

  A leggy blonde in a skimpy white dress stepped off the elevator with a small poodle on a leash. It tried desperately to keep up with her long legs and stiletto heels. The woman wore oversized sunglasses and had exquisite bone structure.

  JD and I stepped onto the elevator after she exited, and her Chanel perfume lingered in the air.

  "I like this building already," JD said.

  We took the elevator up to the 36th floor and turned right down the hallway to apartment #3615.

  JD rapped on the door several times, but there was no answer.

  We waited a few moments, then knocked again.

  Still nothing.

  JD shrugged." Now what?"

  “It’s Sunday afternoon, and Phelps does own a boat. It’s docked at the Indigo Bay Marina," I said, checking my notes on my phone.

  It happened to be the same marina where Rory Tillman docked his boat. I didn't mention that fact to JD just yet.

  A short drive later, and we were strolling down the dock toward Nick Phelps’s boat, but it wasn't in the slip.

  It didn't take exceptional powers of deduction to determine that Nick was most likely on the water.

  "I guess we stay here and stake the place out until he returns?" JD said.

  I nodded. "Why don't you hang tight. I've got some business to take care of."

  "Business?"

  "The guy who purchased my parents boat from Kingston. Rory Tillman. His boat is docked here."

  JD raised his eyebrows. "Well, shit. Let's go talk to him."

  We strolled through the marina, looking for the Beeracuda—it had been renamed.

  When my eyes caught sight of the vessel, a chill ran down my spine, and a knot twisted my stomach. I swallowed hard with a lump in my throat, and my eyes brimmed. The boat looked exactly the same as I remembered. It had a new name and a few upgrades, but it was my parents’ boat. There was no doubt about it.

  My hands trembled slightly, and a thin mist of sweat formed in the small of my back. My cheeks felt flush.

  "Are you okay?" JD asked.

  "Yeah," I said, barely choking out the word. I took a deep breath. "Let's do this."

  We marched to the transom, and I called into the salon. I could hear somebody fumbling around inside. A few moments later a man pushed through the hatch and stepped into the cockpit. It was Rory Tillman, I assumed. A quizzical look twisted on his face. "Can I help you?"

  JD and I flashed our badges.

  "I’m Deputy Wild, this is Deputy Donovan. Coconut County Sheriff's Department. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your boat."

  "Is something wrong?"

  "No. Nothing like that. You're not in any trouble. I just want to talk to you about your acquisition of the vessel.”

  He surveyed the two of us and hesitated a moment. "I bought it down in Coconut Key from Scott Kingston."

  "Yes, I'm aware."

  "Actually, I've been meaning to talk to him. I'm thinking about upgrading to a new boat, and he always did have sweet deals.”

  "Kingston is dead," I said.

  That hung in the air for a moment.

  Tillman looked astonished. "What happened?"

  "He was murdered."

  Tillman grimaced. "I'm sorry to hear that." He paused a moment. "What does all this have to do with me?"

  "Did he ever mention anything about the previous owner of this boat?" I asked.

  "Not that I remember. He said it was a single owner, well maintained. He had all the records and maintenance history."

  They were likely all forged documents, I thought.

  “Have you noticed anything unusual about the boat? Did you find any evidence of prior damage?"

  His eyes narrowed curiously. "Now that you mention it, I did find a couple places that… well… that unsettled me. But I wasn't sure what to make of it."

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  "Don't tell me this boat was stolen?” Tillman said.

  I nodded.

  Tillman frowned. "Come aboard. I think I've got something you might be interested in seeing.”

  19

  JD stayed on the dock to keep an eye out for Phelps.

  I scaled the transom of the Beeracuda and stepped into the salon with Tillman.

  "I noticed a few places that looked like they had been repaired,” Tillman said. “They’d done a pretty good job, but there had clearly been some damage to the hull. I pulled this out of a bulkhead."

  He reached into a drawer in the galley and pulled out a twisted bullet that he had fished out of the fiberglass. He handed it to me.

  My blood boiled.

  I was holding in my hand a bullet that could have killed either of my parents.

  At least I had something to go on. I could take the bullet back to the crime lab where it could be analyzed and cross-referenced against the database. Maybe it would match something, maybe it wouldn't? But I felt like I was one step closer to finding out who had murdered my parents.

  "Thanks,” I said. “This is helpful. You mind if I hang on to this."

  "Keep it. It
's yours,” Tillman said. "Do you mind telling me what happened here?"

  "I don't think you want to know."

  Rory thought about it for a moment. "You're right. I probably don't."

  “If you find any more items like this, let me know.”

  I wrote my number down on a piece of paper for him, thanked him for his time, and rejoined JD on the dock.

  I turned back to Tillman. “You don't happen to know Nick Phelps, do you?"

  Tillman rolled his eyes. "He's out here every Saturday and Sunday.”

  “I take it you don’t think much of him?”

  “He's an abrasive personality. Let's just keep it at that."

  I thanked him again, and JD and I strolled down the dock. About an hour later, Phelps pulled into the marina.

  We approached as he tied off the lines.

  "Mr. Phelps," I said, holding my badge in the air. "I'm Deputy Wild, this is Deputy Donovan. Coconut County Sheriff's Department. We’d like to have a word with you."

  A sour look twisted on his face. "I've got nothing to say to you."

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  "Besides, aren't you two a little out of your jurisdiction?"

  "We just want to talk to you about Glenn Parker."

  His sour look turned even more so. "I don't have anything nice to say about that guy."

  "When was the last time you were in Coconut Key?" I asked.

  His gaze turned curious. "Why?"

  "Parker's dead."

  He chuckled. "Good."

  "When was the last time you saw Parker?"

  "Like I said, I don't have anything to say to you. Talk to my attorney."

  Theoretically, that's where our line of questioning had to end. I gritted my teeth, and JD frowned.

  "We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way," I said. "We can come back with a warrant."

  "Good luck with that. On what grounds?"

  At this point we didn't have any probable cause.

  "I know my rights,” Phelps barked. “And you two can go fuck yourselves!”

  Phelps locked up the cabin, stepped off the boat, and strolled away down the dock.

  JD leaned in and muttered to me. "Son-of-a-bitch doesn't know his rights. That boat is on the water, and the Coast Guard can board and search it any time without a warrant or without probable cause. Title 14, section 89 of the United States Code."

  JD grinned, slid his phone from his pocket, and called a buddy of his in the Coast Guard. Within an hour, a patrol boat arrived. A chief petty officer stood on the deck and shouted to us on the dock. “Which one of you is Jack Donovan?"

  Jack raised his hand and flashed his badge. "That would be me."

  “Commander Braxton said you needed some assistance."

  "Indeed. Would you mind boarding this vessel and taking a look around?"

  "Why?"

  "It belongs to a person of interest in a murder case."

  That seemed to be reason enough.

  The chief ordered two petty officers to board the vessel.

  "What are we looking for?" a petty officer asked as he stepped into the cockpit of the Fuelin Around.

  "Murder weapon. 9mm," I said.

  The petty officers kicked open the hatch to the salon and began tossing the boat.

  JD grinned with anticipation, rubbing his palms together. "I love this shit.”

  "How do you know Commander Braxton?" I asked.

  “Old fishing buddy,” JD said.

  After a 15 minute search, a petty officer emerged from the salon and stepped into the cockpit dangling a 9mm from his gloved fingers. "This what you're looking for?"

  "Could be," I said.

  The Coast Guard officially took custody of the item, then transferred it to the Coconut County Sheriff's Department.

  The second petty officer emerged from the salon with something a little more damning. "I'm guessing this isn’t baking soda?”

  He held up a brick of cocaine.

  That was enough to put things in motion. The Coast Guard contacted Miami-Dade, and a warrant was issued for Nick Phelps's arrest. They also got a judge to sign off on a warrant to search his condo.

  All in all, I'd say it was a productive afternoon.

  JD and I coordinated with the local PD, and they allowed us to tag along when they served the warrant. The look on Phelps's face was priceless when the tactical team kicked in his door.

  The tactical squad stormed into the condo, weapons drawn, shouting. It was pure chaos for a few moments until the area was secured.

  Phelps was face down on the ground with several assault weapons pointed at him. An officer slapped cuffs around his wrists and yanked him to his feet.

  “What the hell is this about?” Phelps growled.

  “You’re under arrest for possession of cocaine with intent to distribute,” an officer said.

  Phelps’s face tensed, and he glared at JD and me.

  It was hard not to grin as they dragged him away in cuffs.

  “You have the right to remain silent…” an officer began.

  “I want to speak with my attorney,” Phelps demanded.

  He was taken to the station, fingerprinted, and put in a holding cell until he could be transferred to the County Jail. Phelps was facing federal drug charges, and he wasn’t about to talk to anyone.

  Detective Murphy was in charge of the investigation and had some interesting information to share with us.

  20

  “I don’t know if this helps you out,” Detective Murphy said, “but we pulled credit card records as part of our warrant. It looks like he was in Coconut Key around the time your victim was murdered.”

  A thin smile tugged at my lips and I shared a glance with JD.

  “Think he’s your guy?” Detective Murphy asked.

  I shrugged. “It’s the best lead we’ve got so far.”

  “Let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”

  We shook hands with the detective and headed back toward Coconut Key. My stomach was rumbling, so we stopped to grab a bite to eat at a Cuban restaurant at the edge of town.

  Jack ordered the chicken quesadillas, and I got the Alambre de Pollo—chicken with refried beans, guacamole, mushrooms, onions, and flour tortillas.

  The meal was pretty damn good.

  We had skipped lunch, and my stomach had become a sour pit of acid, churning for a meal. The chicken hit the spot.

  The restaurant was a cool little joint, decorated in yellow and teal colors, with bright art on the walls. Latin music filtered through speakers in the ceiling. Close your eyes, and you could be in Havana.

  Denise called just as I was finishing. “Looks like your guy, Ryan, is clean. Nothing major. A few unpaid parking tickets. A misdemeanor public intoxication. He’s just your ordinary, average guy with a wife and two kids.”

  My jaw dropped.

  I was speechless for a moment, then I pulled myself together. “Thanks! That’s helpful.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  I hung up the phone and shared the information with JD.

  His eyes bulged, and he changed his tune. “Okay. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s good that you investigated this guy.”

  A proud grin crawled on my lips. I folded my arms and leaned back in the chair. “See. Trust your gut.”

  “I still think you shouldn’t get involved.”

  “I’m not getting involved.”

  “She’ll hate you if you ruin this.”

  “I didn’t ruin anything. Her boyfriend did.”

  JD raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying…”

  I gave his advice consideration. He was probably right. Madison would get mad at me for interfering in her affairs. She was a big girl, and she could make her own decisions.

  I decided I would leave it up to her. She would find out the truth, eventually. I just hoped it would be before this relationship progressed into something serious. I didn’t want to see her get
hurt.

  The amber rays of sunset blanketed the sky. We raced back to Coconut Key and stopped at the station to drop off the evidence. With any luck, the lab could match Phelps’s gun to the slugs pulled from Parker’s body. I had the lab analyze the bullet from the Beeracuda as well.

  It was 11 PM by the time JD dropped me off at the marina. I didn’t bother going into Diver Down. I figured I would see Ryan, and it would just piss me off.

  I strolled down the dock to the Wild Tide.

  Before I reached the boat, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Luciana. [Are you busy?]

  [Not really.]

  [I’m sending a car for you. I have needs.]

  [Ok.]

  I replied without hesitation. I figured I would let her use me again. There were worse things in life.

  I turned around and strolled back down the dock to the parking lot. Within a few moments, the familiar black Cadillac SUV pulled beside me. I climbed into the backseat and slid into the supple leather seats.

  Javier said nothing as I buckled my safety belt. He drove me to Luciana's house and didn't bother to get my door. I hopped out and strolled to the door and pushed into the entrance foyer.

  “It’s me, don’t shoot,” I said as I made my way into the living room, looking for the spicy brunette.

  Sensual music filtered through the house.

  "I'm upstairs," Luciana shouted. "Make yourself a drink and pour me one too."

  Whiskey crackled over the ice cubes as I poured two glasses. I took a sip and eagerly headed up stairs. I followed the sound of her voice to her bedroom where she greeted me with a passionate kiss.

  She was wearing a set of black lacy lingerie complete with a garter belt and stockings. She looked like something out of a Victoria's Secret commercial. Her delicate fingers took the glass of whiskey from my hand and she brought it to her full lips, once again leaving a luscious stain on the glass.

  She spun around and sauntered toward the bed like she was walking a catwalk. She had a mesmerizing sway to her hips. She crawled onto the bed like a cat stalking its prey and purred. With a curled finger she beckoned me closer.

  Who was I to say no?

  I had seen hide nor hair of the bodyguards, but I knew they were around. They would never be far. For the time being, I was her bodyguard, and I did my best to protect every supple curve.