Afterburn: A Kenzie Gilmore Thriller

by BIBA PEARCE

  The attorney’s eyes narrowed.

  “That’s right,” Gabriella said.

  “We checked the footage at the gas station,” he said. “You did stop there on your way home.”

  “I told you so. I wasn’t lying about that.”

  “You left the gas station at eleven forty-seven, which means you still had time to drive back to the hotel and surprise Natalia.”

  “What are you getting at, Detective?” snapped her attorney. “What has this got to do with the fraudulent accounts?”

  “I’m trying to ascertain whether Ms. Vincent had anything to do with Natalia Cruz’s disappearance later that night.”

  “I told you, I didn’t,” she cried.

  “I know what you told me,” he said, “but now you’ve confessed to defrauding her, which gives you a motive.”

  She hung her head. “I was desperate. I was going to pay her back. I’m not a thief, and I’m definitely not a murderer.” A sob escaped her.

  Reid wanted to believe her, but he had to be sure. “What did you do when you got home?”

  “I had a shower and went to bed.” Her kohled eyes pleaded with him.

  He’d asked the forensic tech team to look up her phone location on the night in question. If that supported her story, she was in the clear.

  “Gabriella Vincent, I’m charging you with intentionally misleading Natalia Cruz with the intention of defrauding her.”

  “No!” She clawed at the table. “You can’t do this. Please. It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

  Her attorney put a steady hand on her arm.

  “What about Natalia’s disappearance?” Gabriella asked Reid.

  “We’re still looking into that,” he replied. “If we have any more questions, we’ll let you know.”

  Gabriella’s haunted eyes followed him as he left the room.

  16

  Amalfi was a beachfront bar that pumped out music from eight in the evening to two in the morning. It was in full swing when Kenzie arrived shortly after ten. She’d met a friend, who used to work for the Herald before he’d been poached by one of their rivals, for a catch up and a cocktail—it always helped to know what other people were working on—and thought she’d have a quick word with DJ Snake on her way home.

  This was his Thursday night gig. One of few regular appearances he still made since hitting the big time. He liked to keep his fans happy, and this was where he’d first been talent spotted, so it had a special meaning for him.

  Kenzie showed her press ID card at the door and told the bouncer Snake was expecting her. He wasn’t, but they wouldn't know that. They let her in, despite the groans of the impatient revelers waiting in the queue. Just in time too, as it started to rain.

  The pulsing beat assaulted her senses. Snake was in full swing. She glanced up at the podium on which he stood and marveled at the ease with which he whipped the crowd into a frenzy. She remembered watching him almost eight years ago at this exact place, thinking he was going to go places. He’d been younger then, his music rawer and less sophisticated, but his talent undeniable. She’d given him a glowing review in her entertainment column.

  A major music blog had picked up the article and run with it, and the crowds had flooded to Amalfi to hear the young prodigy play. More reviews followed, and the year after that, Snake had his first record deal.

  He spotted her standing to the side of the dance floor by the bar and lifted a hand in greeting. She beckoned to him, indicating that she wanted to talk. He held up a hand. Five minutes left of his set. Kenzie ordered a drink and sat down to wait.

  “Sorry to keep you.” He finally came over, drenched in sweat but glowing, the adrenalin still pumping. “It’s insane tonight.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re doing so well.” She eyed the gyrating crowd. A new DJ had stepped up to the decks, but he was nowhere near as good as Snake.

  “I love this gig.” He grinned. “I never want to give it up. Keeps it real, you know?”

  “I do.” In his industry, it was so easy to get swept along on the wave of fame and forget who your real fans were. She admired him for that.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to ask about Natalia’s investments,” she said. “Her father seemed to think she wasn’t capable of handling her own finances, and I wondered what you thought about that.”

  “Nats was very trusting,” he said. “It was one of the things I loved about her, but it did mean she was a soft target. I tried to advise her, but I think she wanted to prove to her old man that she could look after herself. It was important to her.”

  Kenzie could understand that. Hadn’t she been guilty of the same thing? She’d acted tough, done what she could, even joined the police academy to make him proud.

  “Did you know about AF Investments?” she asked.

  He frowned. “I don’t think I’ve heard that name before?”

  “Natalia invested two hundred and fifty thousand dollars with them.”

  “Holy shit, really?” He looked horrified.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t have let her do it if I’d have known. Not without checking them out first. Were they legit?”

  “Unfortunately not.” Kenzie grimaced. “They’re scammers operating some sort of Ponzi scheme. I don’t know the details, but I doubt you’ll ever see a cent of that investment.”

  He slammed his fist down on the bar.

  At her surprised look, he said, “I hated it when people took advantage of her.”

  “Did it happen often?” she asked.

  “More than it should have,” he confirmed. “Like I said, she was too trusting.”

  Kenzie patted his arm. “Thanks, Snake. I have to go, but I appreciate you talking to me.”

  “Are the police going after the scammer?” he asked.

  “I’m sure they will,” she replied. If they could find them.

  “Stay and have another drink.” He gestured to the barman. “I’m not on for another hour.”

  She was about to decline, but he waved a hand, dismissing her refusal. “Come on, babe. When did we last do shots together?”

  Oh, boy.

  It was very late by the time she got home.

  Kenzie woke with a start as her body vibrated.

  What the—?

  She turned over, but it didn’t stop. Then she realized she’d fallen asleep with her phone in her back pocket. She reached for it, groaning as a stab of pain shot through her temples. Tequila. Her worst enemy.

  They’d been joined by a bunch of Snake’s friends, and she’d stayed with them while he’d gone back up to play. How he knew what he was doing after three tequila shots, she had no idea.

  Then they’d hit the dance floor.

  “Hello?”

  What time was it? She glanced at the window, but the blackout blinds were down. At least she’d had the foresight to do that. The sun was blinding first thing in the morning.

  “Kenzie, it’s Reid. Did I wake you?”

  “No, um, yeah. What time is it?”

  “Six-thirty.”

  “Oh.” She struggled into a sitting position, scowling at the throbbing in her head. It must be important if he was calling so early. “What's up?”

  Water. There must be some here somewhere? She leaned over the side of the bed, looking for the bottle she kept on the floor. Water and a couple of Tylenol would sort her out.

  “It’s not good, Kenzie,” he said. He sounded tired, like he’d been up all night. “There’s been another murder.”

  17

  The report had come in from a swamper who’d found the body along a canal on a deserted loop road leading deep into the Everglades.

  It was quicker and easier to get there by boat, so Reid had gotten dressed, leaped off the deck onto his airboat, and headed into the darkened waterways. The nearest police department, Sweetwater, had dispatched a team of officers to contain the scene and coordinate with the crime scene i
nvestigators, but Reid wanted to see her before they pulled her from the water.

  He drove slowly, using a powerful handheld torch to illuminate the inky black water ahead. The swamp was a different place at night. The darkness seemed to close in, the air dense with the smell of mud and wet foliage. Visibility was limited. He could only see a few meters in front of him, and the tall sawgrass on either side seemed to curl inwards toward the boat.

  Reid glanced upwards at the night sky, strewn with stars. It would have been beautiful had he not been thinking about the dead girl entangled in the reeds at the side of the canal.

  The engine drowned out most of the night sounds, but he wouldn’t have heard them anyway. He was concentrating too hard. Twenty minutes later, he steered the boat into the canal where she was reported to have been found. Dispatch had given him the coordinates, which he’d entered into an app on his phone. Half a mile ahead.

  He saw lights waving in an arch and cut the engine. The airboat drifted to the side where a man was waiting. “She’s up ahead,” he said.

  “You alone?” Reid asked.

  The swamper nodded. “Nobody got here yet.”

  “They’re on their way.”

  The dirt road alongside the canal was narrow and filled with potholes. It would take the cavalcade of police cars and CSI vans at least 40 minutes to get here from Sweetwater.

  “I been waiting close to an hour,” he complained.

  “Thank you.” Reid tied his boat to a pole. “It’s good to know she’s not alone.”

  He gave a terse nod, slightly mollified. “This way.”

  Reid followed him down the road to where his car was parked. It was a hardy pickup truck, the kind that could easily transport a dead gator in the back.

  “What you doing out here this early?” Reid asked.

  “Snake hunting,” he replied, not meeting Reid’s gaze. “I like to get an early start.”

  Croc hunting, more like, but Reid let it slide. He wasn’t here to arrest the good Samaritan who’d called it in. They came to a stop and the swamper pointed toward the murky water.

  Reid aimed his flashlight and saw her. His heart skipped a beat. Her pale skin caught the light. Iridescent underneath the yellow-tinged swamp water. She was face-down, like the others, but her body was intact. He shone the flashlight over her arms and legs, all in one piece. The gators hadn’t had a chance to get to her yet.

  She was wearing a black dress. Tight and fitting, designed to entice. Her feet were bare, and her hair billowed out around her in a dark cloud.

  He took a few photographs with his phone, then he called dispatch to get an ETA for the CSI team and police officers. Fifteen minutes, he was told. He took the good Samaritan’s details and told him he could go home. “You might get a visit from us later today.”

  “No problem.” The guy got into his pickup and took off down the road, kicking up loose stones and dust behind him.

  In the east, the sun was poking its head above the tree line, sending orange lasers darting across the water’s mirror-like surface. The sky was lightening, giving way to the day.

  Reid stood by the side of the road, staring down at the girl. There was a splash downstream and a swishing sound. The predators were circling.

  Putting on a pair of forensic gloves, he bent down and pulled her out of the water. Turning her over, he lay her on the roadside. He couldn’t risk a gator taking a bite out of her and compromising any potential evidence. She hadn’t been in the water very long. Hours maybe, as opposed to days.

  This girl had been taken tonight.

  The shiver that ran down his spine had nothing to do with the fresh breeze coming off the water. It would warm up later, but for now it was pleasantly cool, like last night’s rain had washed the air clean.

  She was young. Early twenties. Pretty, with dark hair and long eyelashes. He could see the blush staining her cheeks. Pink smudges against her ashen complexion. Her eyes were closed, the terror of the last few hours blocked out. When she’d finally succumbed, it would have been a relief. Her dress had been pulled up around her thighs and he could see that her underwear was missing.

  Shit. She’d been sexually assaulted. This looked like the Strangler’s work. He pulled her dress down to preserve her dignity. Nobody needed to see her like that.

  Using his flashlight, he bent forward to inspect her neck. Thin, purple ligature marks were etched into her skin. A wire of some sort. He wondered if it was the same with the first two victims. Natalia had bruising too, but it wasn’t as narrow as this.

  Reid sat beside her and watched the sunrise. It had climbed above the trees, burning through the morning haze when he heard sirens. They were here.

  “What can you tell me?” Reid asked the medical examiner as the body was loaded into the waiting ambulance. The doc, who hadn’t had his morning cup of coffee, wasn’t in a sociable mood.

  “Not much.” He snapped off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. “She was killed maybe eight or nine hours ago. The water makes it hard to tell.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Strangulation. There’s petechial hemorrhaging caused by asphyxia, and she’s been sexually assaulted. There’s evidence of bruising and penetration, although I’m going to wait until I get her back to the lab before I explore that in more detail.”

  Reid nodded. “Anything else?”

  He pursed his lips. “There are bruises around her wrists, which tells me she was constrained. There are also defensive marks on her forearms and some residue underneath her fingernails. I can’t tell for sure whether it’s human, but I've bagged her hands and we’ll let you know once we’ve analyzed it.”

  A surge of adrenaline shot through him. “But it could be, right?” With a bit of luck, this victim had scratched her attacker and given them the DNA of their killer.

  “I wouldn’t put much stake in it yet,” the doctor warned. “It could just be mud from the swamp.” Reid desperately wanted to know whether this latest victim had managed to give the task force a lead. God knows they needed one.

  As the ambulance and police cars prepared for the drive back to civilization, Reid cast off and headed home. He’d have a quick shower and drive to the station. There were things he needed to do, resources he couldn't access at the cabin. Eyebrows would be raised when he walked in and commandeered a desk. Rumors would circulate, but it couldn't be helped. He had a killer to catch.

  18

  Kenzie raced out to the Glades, driving as fast as she dared in the early morning traffic. She gritted her teeth at the stop-start tempo and heaved a sigh of relief when she finally hit the dirt road to Garrett’s cabin.

  She wanted to be there when he got back. There wasn’t much time. Before long, news of the body would be all over the radio stations. The news networks would pick up the story and it would be in the afternoon editions. It was too late for the morning run.

  His car was there, parked beside the cabin. She pulled in beside him and jumped out of her car. “Reid?” she called.

  She thumped on the front door, but there was no answer. She tried the handle. It was locked. Where was he?

  Walking back to the car, she put her hand on the hood. It was stone cold. Puzzled, she looked around. Then she got it. He’d gone by boat. The body was in the swamp. His airboat would have been the quickest way of getting there.

  Slipping through the foliage, she made her way around the side of the cabin, like she had the first time she’d come here. Except, unlike that time when she'd found the half-naked Garrett hammering the deck, it was empty. He wasn’t back yet.

  Not a problem. She could wait.

  She took out her phone and frowned at the single bar. How did he live like this? No signal, no internet, no AC. Just the basics.

  Perhaps that was the idea. To be cut off from the rest of the world. His way of opting out. It made sense when she thought about it. He blamed himself for his colleague’s death. More than a colleague, he’d said. Had he been in love with h
er?

  She thought back to the article she’d written, oblivious to the impending consequences. How had her source gotten it so wrong? There’d been a miscommunication somewhere. A change of plan, but not everyone had been briefed. An administrative error with deadly consequences.

  She’d been the messenger, and she’d got it so wrong.

  Never again.

  She glanced up when she heard the distant drone of the airboat’s jet engine. The sun had risen now and warmed her skin. It was perfect, this time of day. Not too hot, but warm enough to make her feel cozy and relaxed. Except the reason she was here was anything but cozy.

  Straining her eyes, she stared over the river of grass. The white hull of Garrett’s airboat came into view. First a speck, getting bigger as he got nearer. The drone got louder until it was a hum and then a roar. He sat on the elevated seat, a stoic figure silhouetted against the fiery orange ball behind him.

  Kenzie stepped back as he slid alongside the deck. He tossed a rope to her. “Tie that around the mooring for me?”

  “Sure.” She picked it up, wet and heavy in her hands, and tied it as best she could around the wooden railing. What she knew about knots was dangerous.

  Reid climbed out, hopping over the railing and landing in front of her. His shirt was wet and there were muddy marks around his trouser legs.

  “Did you pull her out?” she asked.

  He looked down. “Yeah, didn’t want the gators to get her.”

  Kenzie shivered. “Is it another one of the Strangler’s victims?”

  “Looks like it.” He pulled out his phone, scrolled to the photographs he’d taken of her lying in the water, and passed it to her. “Here, take a look. I’m going to wash up. I’ll be right back.”

  Kenzie sat on one of the deck chairs and thumbed through the photographs. He’d taken several, from different angles.

  Face down. Dress hitched up to her thighs. Dark hair floating around her.

  She was barefoot, no noticeable jewelry. Kenzie couldn’t see her neck. The dress was telling, though. This girl had been dressed for a night on the town. Hitting the South Beach clubs? The Strangler’s suspected hunting ground.