Wild Rage

by Tripp Ellis

  8

  The security footage was disappointing. We watched from a bank of monitors behind the front desk. It showed a man wearing a bike helmet, sunglasses, and spandex shorts park his bike by the door, rush inside the lobby, and drop the package off at the desk. The helmet and sunglasses obscured his face, but his mustache was visible. The brim of the helmet, and his sunglasses, shielded his eyes. He kept his head down and angled away from the camera. Even zoomed in, it was impossible to read the logo on the messenger’s shirt. He darted out before the deputy at the desk really took notice of him.

  Deputy Hendrix couldn’t really give a detailed description, other than the messenger had a medium build, stood 5’10” to 6’, and was between 20 and 30 years of age.

  “Contact Speedy Shores,” Daniels said. “See if they’ve got a runner that matches the description. I want to know where that letter was shipped from and who paid for the delivery.”

  “I’m on it,” Denise said.

  “I don’t think the guy is dumb enough to pay for the service with a credit card,” I said.

  “Never underestimate people’s stupidity. Somebody had to see his face when he sent the package,” Daniels replied.

  “There you go again, assuming the bomber is a man,” Denise said before she headed to her desk.

  “Care to put a little wager on that?” I asked.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “$100.”

  “Too rich for my blood.”

  “What’s the matter? Do you lack the courage of your convictions?“

  “I’m just saying, you should keep an open mind,” she shouted as she sauntered away.

  “Chicken,” I taunted.

  She stopped, hesitated, then said, “Okay. You’re on.”

  I grinned. “Sucker.”

  She rolled her eyes and continued down the hallway.

  “I suppose we should tell the ATF about the letter,” the sheriff said.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Agent Blake. It rang a few times, then went to voicemail. “Agent Blake, it’s Deputy Wild. I have something you might be interested in.”

  Payton returned my call a moment later. "What have you got?”

  "You first," I said. "Tell me what you found out about the device.”

  "I'm not going to withhold information from you, Deputy Wild, so you can stop playing games."

  "I'm not playing games."

  She paused for a moment. "The device was pretty standard construction. The interior of the package was spray-painted with KryTech™ Quick Drying enamel paint. We think this was to cover up any DNA evidence like skin cells, eyelashes, hair, or anything else that could have found its way into the device. The wiring was 18-gauge copper that is available at several home improvement stores in the county. The device was bound with nails, which increased its lethality. As you suspected, it was detonated with a mercury switch. A 9V battery provided the charge. Fortunately, the lot number and production date of the battery was legible, and we are in the process of tracking that down. I should be able to determine exactly which store those batteries were shipped to. With any luck, we might be able to narrow down the purchase. The gunpowder was a smokeless brand with a nitroglycerin content of 18%. Again, it's commonly available at multiple gun shops in the county. So far, we've recovered no DNA, fingerprints, or fibers. The nature of the mercury switch means this device was almost certainly hand-delivered." She took a breath. "How's that for transparency?"

  "Excellent. Thank you."

  "Your turn, Deputy."

  "We just got a letter from the bomber. He described the bomb in exactly the same way that you just did. So either someone out there made a lucky guess, or this is our guy."

  "How did you come into possession of the letter?"

  “It was delivered to the station by messenger," I said. “We’re looking into it now.”

  “I’d like to take a look at the letter and have our lab examine it.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Great. I’ll stop by the department shortly.”

  I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket. I caught JD and Daniels up to speed with the ATF’s findings.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” Deputy Hendrix interrupted. “We just got a call about a deceased woman at Mangrove Bay. A patrol unit and EMTs are en route.”

  Daniels looked at us with commanding eyes.

  “We’re on our way,” I said.

  9

  The Mystic Seas was a 59’ houseboat that looked like a mobile home atop a barge. The flat-bottomed boat had an aluminum hull and was painted white with purple trim. A sign that hung from the railing read: Madam Zykov, Psychic.

  Brenda arrived at the same time we did, and we walked down the dock together with her team. Mangrove Bay was full of sailboats, sport-fishing boats, and motor-yachts.

  Deputy Mendoza spoke with a young girl on the foredeck of the Mystic Seas, which was nosed into the slip. Tears streaked mascara down her cheeks as she sobbed, sitting in a chair. The girl was in her early 20s. She had jet black, shoulder length hair, creamy skin, and wore heavy eyeshadow.

  An auburn-haired woman in her mid-40’s sat next to her with a hand on the girl’s shoulder, trying to console her.

  We boarded the boat, and Mendoza gave a subtle nod to the salon. I stepped to the sliding glass door and peered inside. The body of a lifeless woman lay on the deck. The victim appeared to be in her mid-50s. It was hard to tell from this angle, but she was about 5’3”, 140 pounds. She had short dark hair that was dyed. The unsettling odor of death filled my nostrils. She hadn’t been there for days, but this hadn’t just happened either. My guess was the night before.

  Inside, there was a helm station to starboard. Beyond that was a lounge area with a sofa, a small coffee table, and a flat screen TV mounted to the bulkhead. Beyond that was a galley with a refrigerator, cooktop, dishwasher, and all the amenities. There was a small breakfast table, and beyond that were the staterooms and the aft deck. There was another helm station on the sundeck.

  The accommodations looked indistinguishable from a land-based dwelling. The only difference was that you could change the scenery at will.

  A crime scene photographer snapped a few initial photos. Brenda pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and stepped into the salon.

  At this point, I didn’t know if we were dealing with a homicide or if the woman had suffered a heart attack or perished from other natural ailments. I moved to the sobbing girl on the foredeck and introduced myself. "Can you tell me what happened?"

  She wiped away the tears with her sleeve and looked up at me, still jerking with sobs. She sniffled, and her eyes were red and puffy. "I don't know. I came home and found her like that." She could barely finish the sentence before she burst into tears again and wailed.

  The woman beside her patted her on the back. “It’s gonna be okay, dear.”

  "Is the deceased your mother?" I asked after the girl pulled herself together.

  "No, it's my Aunt Helen."

  "What's her full name?"

  "Helen Carter.”

  “Who are you?”

  "Eventide Stone, but you can call me Evie."

  “I’m Sharon Jefferies,” the woman next to Evie said.

  "Who is Madam Zykov?” I asked.

  "That's Helen's alter ego,” Sharon said. “She does tarot card readings and psychic consultations. Did…” she corrected with a sorrowful face.

  I exchanged a glance with JD.

  “What time did you find Helen?” I asked Evie.

  "I guess it was an hour ago. She was on the floor like that. I called 911 right away.” She sniffled.

  "So, she was deceased when you arrived?"

  Evie nodded.

  "Did you feel for a pulse or check her vitals?"

  "I stepped into the salon, and I probably screamed. I moved to her and knelt beside her. When I touched her skin, she was cold. I freaked out. I called 911, then I stepped outside. I didn't know what
to do, so I ran down and found Sharon. Then the deputies showed up."

  “So, you live here with your aunt?"

  "Yes."

  "Where were you prior to discovering her?" I asked.

  "I was with my boyfriend. I spent the night at his house last night."

  "I'll need his name and contact information."

  Evie nodded. "I called him. He should be here soon."

  "Where is he right now?"

  "He's at band practice."

  "What band?" JD asked.

  “Drugs, Bitches, Repeat. You heard of them?"

  "Yeah, I know those guys," JD said, trying to hide his low opinion.

  "Is there anything missing in the home?" I asked.

  "I don't know. I really haven't looked. I’m too freaked out to go back in there."

  Brenda stepped to the sliding glass door and motioned for me.

  I excused myself and stepped into the salon. "What happened here?"

  Brenda spoke in a hushed tone. "There's some petechial hemorrhaging around the eyes. There are no ligature marks or bruising around the neck, but my preliminary evaluation suggests she was strangled. Sometimes when people are put into a chokehold, there is no obvious bruising."

  "How long has she been dead?"

  "I’d estimate the time of death between 8 and 10 PM last night, according to the body temperature. Depending on the environment, we're looking at a 1.5° temperature drop per hour."

  I glanced around the salon, looking for signs of a struggle. Everything seemed to be in its place.

  "There's also something odd,” Brenda continued. “The skin on her hands looks irritated, and they smell like bleach."

  I lifted a curious eyebrow.

  "I think whoever killed her scrubbed her hands down afterward. She may have fought back and gotten genetic material under her fingernails if she scratched the assailant. Looks like the perp may have been trying to destroy evidence. I'll know more when I get her back to the lab."

  I gave another glance around the salon—a shiny object on the deck caught my eye. I walked across the compartment and knelt down by the couch. Underneath was a brushed chrome lighter with the Ace of Spades emblazoned on the sides with a skull graphic in the center of the card. I brought it to the attention of the forensic guys. The photographer snapped a few photos before I pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and picked it up. I examined it carefully and dropped it into an evidence bag.

  There were faint traces of stale cigarette smoke in the compartment, but no ashtrays in view. I stepped outside and showed the lighter to Evie. "Is this your aunt's?"

  She shook her head. “Clients leave all kinds of stuff behind.”

  "Did your aunt smoke?"

  Evie groaned. "Yes, it drove me mad. We had a deal that she wouldn’t smoke inside, but I think she broke the rules when I wasn't around. I always made her go outside to smoke."

  "Where were you last night between 8 and 10 PM?" I asked.

  "Like I said, I was with my boyfriend."

  “Did your aunt get along with your boyfriend?”

  Evie’s face tensed.

  10

  "Yeah, they got along okay,” Evie said. “Why do you ask?"

  "Just curious," I said.

  “I mean, I don’t think Sterling is her favorite guy I’ve ever dated, but she was warming up to him.”

  “What didn’t she like about him?”

  Evie hesitated, then let out a heavy sigh. “It’s complicated.”

  “How so?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “I’m just trying to get an idea of Helen’s relationships with other people.”

  Evie paused another moment. “If you must know, I think Helen was upset that I still see Sterling after what happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “Ugh. He cheated on me, okay?”

  “You know what they say… once a cheater, always a cheater,” JD muttered.

  Evie groaned and rolled her eyes. “That’s what Aunt Helen always said.” She paused and teared up again, then wiped her eyes with her sleeves and continued. “Look, Sterling’s a really great guy. He just has a few… flaws. We all have flaws. I decided to give him a second chance, and we’re working through our issues. And that’s nobody else’s business but mine.”

  JD raised his hands in surrender.

  "And you lived with Helen here alone?" I asked.

  Evie nodded.

  "Was Helen seeing anyone?"

  "Sort of.”

  I lifted a curious brow.

  “She’d been dating Glenn for a while."

  "Were they serious?"

  Evie shrugged and shared a glance with Sharon. "I think for Glenn it was serious.”

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because he asked her to marry him,” Evie said.

  "And she declined?"

  "Yeah, she said she was never getting married again."

  "And, after Rex, who could blame her," Sharon added. "Sorry, but he's a real bastard."

  "She couldn’t have married Glenn even if she wanted to," Evie said.

  My brow knitted together. "Why not?"

  "She’d lose her alimony," Evie said.

  I exchanged another glance with JD. That was starting to sound like a motive.

  "How long has she been divorced from Rex?" I asked.

  Evie shrugged. "I don't know. Like, maybe, 10 years now."

  "And she was still getting alimony payments?" JD asked.

  Evie nodded. "For life. Or until she got remarried. The way she explained it to me was that she was disabled because of her COPD, and therefore, the judge awarded her special consideration since she was unable to hold down a real job."

  "What about the psychic business?" I asked.

  "In lieu of a fee, she asked for donations,” Evie said in air quotes.

  "I see. What can you tell me about the business?"

  "She mostly did Tarot readings and consultations, giving advice about people's love lives. That kind of thing."

  “What about you? Where do you work?"

  Her eyes filled with dread. "I worked with Aunt Helen. I don’t know what I'm going to do now."

  "Are you a psychic as well?" I asked with a healthy dose of skepticism.

  "No, but I know how to read the cards. And all Helen really did was just listen to people and offer words of encouragement." Evie paused for a moment. "The key is to just pay attention and pick up on areas they're concerned about."

  "Are you saying that Helen wasn't really psychic?” I said.

  "No, I mean, she was, totally. But it came and went. Helen said there were times in her life where it just flowed. But she’d been going through a little bit of a dry spell lately. She said that happened once before, and it took a couple years to get out of. It disappeared again last year."

  "I guess that kind of thing is not good for business," I said.

  “You find ways to work around it."

  "What kind of ways?" I pressed.

  Evie shifted uncomfortably. She exchanged a glance with Sharon. “Like I said, people love to talk about themselves. They will tell you everything you need to know if you just listen." She hesitated. “And people share way too much on social media. Sometimes, I’d get online and look at the clients’ profiles to get added insight."

  “Kind of sounds like cheating.”

  She glared at me. "It's not cheating. It’s client research."

  “Or fraud,” JD added.

  Evie’s eyes narrowed at him.

  “Helen told me her abilities were coming back,” Sharon chimed in. “She was starting to get premonitions.”

  “Premonitions?”

  "Helen said she kept having visions of a girl,” Sharon continued. “It really freaked her out."

  “Yeah,” Evie continued. “Aunt Helen had these dreams about this girl getting attacked, but she couldn’t see the attacker’s face."

  "Sounds like a nightmare," I said.

  "That's what I sa
id to her,” Evie replied. “But she was convinced it was a premonition." She paused. “I think she said the girl’s name was Mindy or something like that."

  "Just out of curiosity, is there a girl missing by that name?" Sharon asked.

  We’d recently handled a missing persons case involving a girl named Mandy Myers. It could have just been a coincidence. “I’d have to check our files.”

  “I bet you find something,” Sharon said with confidence. “When Helen was on, she was on.”

  “I’ll look into it,” I said, trying to appease her. “Did Helen’s ex-husband ever threaten her?”

  11

  "I’d bet everything I have that Rex had something to do with it,” Sharon said. “He's a real son-of-a-bitch."

  "I take it you and Helen were close?" I asked.

  "Ever since I moved into Mangrove Bay, Helen and I have been thick as thieves. We just hit it off right away.” Sharon looked at Evie. "And you know if you need anything, I'm just a few slips down."

  Evie nodded.

  "Don't you worry none. I'll look after you."

  "Thank you, Sharon."

  "Tell me more about Rex," I said.

  "He’d get drunk and harass Helen all the time," Sharon said. "You’d think after 10 years he’d let it go."

  "He hated making those alimony payments," Evie said.

  "Has he ever come to the marina?"

  “He showed up maybe a month ago,” Evie said. “He was drunk, and Helen called the Sheriff’s Department.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was arrested for trespassing.”

  "When was the last time he called?" I asked.

  "A couple days ago. Helen would just tell him to go fuck himself and hang up the phone."

  "Why didn't she just block his number?" I asked.

  "She did, but then he'd go get a new prepaid cellular and harass her until she blocked that number."

  "Sounds obsessed," JD said.

  "Slightly," Evie said, understatedly. “Aunt Helen had a restraining order against him at one point, but he hired a lawyer and got it reversed. It didn’t do any good anyway, and nobody ever seemed to do anything when she complained.”

  “Run me through your timeline last night," I said.