Wild Spring

by Tripp Ellis

  The suspect kicked out the remaining fragments, then grabbed a gasoline can from the truck bed and entered the medical supply. Several minutes later, he emerged from the building, lit the flare, and tossed it inside.

  Flames erupted and quickly engulfed the building.

  The suspect climbed into his truck and hauled-ass out of the parking lot, leaving a streak of rubber on the asphalt.

  From the angle and distance of the cameras, there was no way to get an accurate description of the suspect or to pull the plates from the truck.

  Denise pulled up Jeremy's registration information from the DMV. He owned a midnight blue F-150.

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  "Let's go get that son-of-a-bitch," Jack said.

  Daniels put a BOLO out on the perp, and JD and I raced to Mangrove Bay. In the parking lot, we saw Jeremy’s midnight blue truck. I hopped out of the car and ran toward it. I looked in the truck bed, and there were two road flares.

  I called the forensics team as JD and I hustled down the dock.

  Jeremy’s slip was empty. The Prescription was nowhere in sight.

  I called Sheriff Daniels and told him to notify the Coast Guard.

  “That little bastard couldn’t have gotten far,” JD said.

  We raced back to the station while the forensics guys documented the evidence in the back of Jeremy's truck. They confiscated the flares and tagged them as evidence. They were in plain view. Hopefully the lab would be able to match the flares to the one used to start the fire.

  We rushed down the dock at the station and hopped into a patrol boat with Sheriff Daniels. We cast off the lines, and Daniels idled the patrol boat out of the marina, then throttled up, bringing the aluminum boat on plane. We carved through the swells, searching for the sport-yacht.

  Tango One pattered overhead, searching as well.

  It may have been a small island, but it was a big ocean. The Prescription could have been anywhere.

  Boats dotted the water, cruising and partying. The sun beamed down, glistening the sea. The bow of the patrol boat rose and fell with the swells, and mists of saltwater sprayed.

  I figured we were off on a wild goose chase, but it wasn’t long before I saw something on the horizon.

  "There!" I exclaimed, pointing at a sport-yacht racing across the water.

  The sheriff angled to port and throttled up. The engines howled and spat a frothy white wake. We plowed across the water, gaining ground on the sport-yacht. My heart beat with anticipation, and adrenaline filled my veins.

  The chase was always half the fun.

  My hopes were dashed as we drew closer. I realized it wasn't the Prescription. From a distance, the boat looked nearly identical.

  Daniels backed off the throttle, and we continued our search.

  Something told me this was going to be a long day.

  21

  We spent hours cruising the coastline, searching for the scumbag. We checked some of the outlying islands and lesser-known spots, but it was far too much area to cover.

  It was a good thing Sheriff Daniels was driving the boat because we passed plenty of luxury yachts with topless beauties sunbathing on foredecks. We’d wave, and they’d wave back. We’d lament what could have been.

  There were ample distractions on the water.

  The day wore on, and by this point, we were all frustrated and hungry. My eyes were tired from squinting across the shimmering water.

  "I don't know about you boys, but I'm calling this a wrap for now," Daniels said.

  We agreed and headed back to the station. Just as we did, we got a call from the helicopter unit. The pilot’s voice crackled over the radio, “I think I’ve spotted the target.”

  "Where at?" Daniels asked.

  "Heading north toward Pineapple Bay."

  The pilot gave Daniels the exact coordinates.

  “We’re not far from there,” Daniels said.

  The sheriff turned us around, throttled up, and we were off to the races. He alerted the Coast Guard and other patrol units in the area. We streaked across the water, the engines howling.

  The Coast Guard had boarded the Prescription by the time we arrived, and they had Jeremy in custody. Without much ado, they transferred him to us, and we headed back toward Coconut Key. I read Jeremy his rights again, just to be safe.

  We tried not to gloat too much.

  Another deputy piloted Jeremy’s boat back to be impounded at the station.

  “What the hell is this about?” Jeremy protested. “You can’t do this! You can’t yank me off my boat and take my property.”

  “Looks like we just did,” JD said.

  He glared at us.

  “You own a midnight blue truck?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Yeah. So?"

  "Were you aware that the medical supply burned down last night?"

  He lifted a surprised brow. "No. Really?"

  "Cut the crap,” JD grumbled. “We've got video footage of the whole thing."

  Jeremy swallowed hard.

  "It's time to start talking,” I said.

  He was silent for a long moment, and sweat began to mist his forehead. "This is bullshit, man. You can't prove anything."

  Innocent people deny their involvement. Guilty people say you can't prove it.

  "Let's see what happens when a jury looks at a video of a truck pulling into the parking lot of the medical supply. And that truck looks just like yours. And from the truck, a man hops out with a gas can and douses the inside of the building. Then that man, who has your build, tosses in a road flare, setting the place ablaze—a road flare just like the kind we found in the back of your truck. I’m no rocket scientist, but what conclusion do you think that jury will come to?”

  Jeremy stared at me, the muscles in his jaw flexing. The sweat on his brow increasing. He fidgeted nervously.

  "I think it's pretty obvious,” I continued. “I think Vivian caught you red-handed. When you couldn't convince her to keep her mouth shut, you killed her. Then, when we started poking around, you decided to cover up the evidence by burning the place down."

  "That's bullshit. I didn't kill Vivian, and I didn't set the place on fire."

  "How did you poison her?"

  His face crinkled. "I didn't poison anybody."

  "You went over to her place and gave her some type of poison."

  "No. I didn’t do that. I told you, I went to her place, and she wouldn’t let me in. That was it. If you think I poisoned her, what did I poison her with?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. But I’m going to find out. You work at a medical supply company. You had access to numerous medications."

  "I want a lawyer."

  "You’re gonna need one," I said.

  His face tightened.

  "Oh yeah… Did you know that Vivian was pregnant?"

  His eyes widened. "Are you serious?”

  I nodded.

  "You know whose it was?" he asked meekly.

  I shrugged. “You’re looking at a double homicide.”

  A grim look washed over his face. I tried to read his emotions. It was hard given the circumstances. The news seemed upsetting to him, but I couldn’t tell if that was because he was looking at two counts of murder or because Vivian’s baby had died along with her.

  When we returned to the station, Jeremy was printed and processed.

  Denise found us in the hallway. "Brenda found something interesting. Two small punctures on Vivian’s skin that she missed on her initial examination."

  "Punctures?"

  "From a syringe most likely."

  I exchanged a glance with JD.

  Denise continued. "Vivian's medical records indicate that she suffered from severe migraines, and she had a few prescriptions. But there were no traces of the prescribed medication in her system. Brenda thinks she could have been using something else to self medicate."

  "Where do we go from here?" I asked.

  "Brenda's gonna run more tests," Denise
said. "The lab also found pubic hair in the bed from three different people.”

  That raised a few eyebrows.

  “One, of course, belonged to Vivian,” Denise said. “The other two are unknown. But it's safe to say she was sleeping with more than one person."

  "Ex-boyfriend, maybe?" JD suggested.

  “Possibility,” I said, then looked at Denise. "Jeremy is in interrogation room one. See if he wants a soda or a bottle of water. He might be receptive to you.”

  A devious sparkle glimmered in her green eyes. “You want his DNA.”

  I smiled.

  “I’m on it,” she said with a smile before sauntering down the hallway.

  “I’d happily give her a sample of my DNA,” JD said, watching her hips sway.

  I called Vivian’s friend, Audrey Davis. She answered after a few rings.

  “Deputy Wild,” she said with a mix of surprise and anticipation. “I hope you’re calling with good news.”

  “Not really. Do you know if Vivian was seeing anyone else besides Jeremy?”

  She thought for a moment. “She didn’t say anything to me, but she could have hooked up with Trevor. They’d been broken up for a while, but I know they did get together occasionally. Usually when Viv had too much to drink. She always talked about how great the sex was.”

  “Do you know where we can find Trevor?”

  22

  Trevor worked at the Pipe Company. No, it wasn’t an industrial plumbing company.

  We flashed our badges to the cashier, and I shouted over the loud music spilling from the club. "I'm looking for Trevor."

  She gave me an annoyed look. "I just work the door. If you're looking for someone in particular, talk to Darla."

  "Who's Darla?"

  "Short, platinum-blonde hair. You can't miss her. She's always at the main bar."

  "Thanks."

  We stepped inside the club, and spotlights swirled around the stage.

  Trevor was an exotic male dancer.

  We were certainly out of our element at the Pipe Company.

  A buff dude on the main stage, wearing only tighty-whities, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat, pranced around like he was riding some kind of bucking bronco. His abs rippled, and his pecs flexed. His skin was slick with oil, and the spotlights glimmered.

  The women in the audience went bat-shit crazy.

  They were falling all over themselves to stuff bills in his underwear. They were practically fighting each other to get on stage with the half-naked cowboy.

  I’d never seen anything like it.

  Forbidden Fruit, the premiere gentlemen’s club on the island, was downright tame compared to this.

  Two women climbed onto the stage and sandwiched the cowboy. They were bumping and grinding, shimmying and shaking. One of them started to peel off her clothes.

  If a guy did that at Forbidden Fruit, he’d be kicked out and probably arrested. A little liquor and these ladies were roaring and ready to go.

  We ignored the rodeo on the stage and made our way to the bar.

  Darla surveyed her domain with a perpetual smirk on her face. She was a pretty woman, approaching 50. She had strong features and ice-blue eyes, blue eyeliner, and a petite figure.

  I flashed my badge. “I’m Deputy Wild, and this is Deputy Donovan.”

  She looked me up and down. "Take off your shirt.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Take off your shirt. Let’s see the goods.”

  "I'm looking for Trevor,” I stammered.

  "You and everybody else, sugar. Do you have a uniform?”

  “No.”

  “But you can get one, right? Women love a man in uniform.”

  “I’m not applying for a job.”

  “You can make a helluva lot more money here than you can at the department.”

  “I volunteer at the department.” I tried to steer things back on course. “Is Trevor in today?”

  “If you volunteer, you certainly need a job. Turn around.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Spin!” she commanded, twirling her finger.

  She had an authoritative voice. I had no choice but to comply.

  As soon as I turned, she let out a lecherous moan. "Mmm… That will do!” She grabbed my ass and squeezed. “Solid. I like it.”

  I spun around awkwardly, and JD laughed.

  “How big are you?” Darla asked.

  My face crinkled.

  “Don’t be shy. I bet you’re hung like a horse.” She proceeded to find out.

  I felt like a piece of meat.

  She groped and kneaded for a moment. “Yep, there’s something to work with there.”

  “I’m not looking for a job,” I said, trying to extricate my package from her grasp.

  Darla let out a resigned sigh. “A girl’s gotta try, right?”

  She pointed across the room.

  Trevor was entertaining a group of women at a table. The women pawed at him and admired his prowess.

  "We need to ask him a few questions. Do you think you could pull him away from his fan club for a minute?"

  “His stage name is Drake,” Darla said.

  She grabbed a waiter nearby and told him to tell Trevor to join us as soon as he was finished.

  All the waiters wore black slacks, no shirt, and bow ties around their necks. It was like we had stepped into the Twilight Zone. The place looked like a strip club but was conspicuously missing the enticing curves and supple mounds that we were used to.

  “I bet these guys score a lot of ass,” JD muttered.

  “You have no idea,” Darla said with a smile. “Perks of the job.”

  We waited for Trevor, but the ladies didn’t want to let him go. He finally joined us with a curious look on his face, buttoning up his shirt.

  Darla introduced us. “These gentlemen want to speak with you. You didn’t do anything, did you?”

  “No,” Trevor replied. “Is this about Vivian?”

  23

  “When was the last time you saw Vivian?” I asked.

  "Maybe a month ago," Trevor said.

  Trevor was a handsome man in his early 20s. Every guy in this place looked like an underwear model, and Trevor was no exception—square jaw, chiseled features, piercing blue eyes, dark hair.

  "What was the status of your relationship?" I asked.

  Trevor shrugged. "Drunk booty call."

  "Where were you Friday night?"

  "Here, working."

  "Can anybody verify that?"

  "Ask Darla. There are plenty of ladies that can verify that,” he said in a cocky tone.

  "You were working all night?"

  "Till 2 AM.

  "And you didn't go over to Vivian's apartment for a booty call?"

  "No. What are you getting at? I heard she died from an overdose."

  "Did she do a lot of cocaine?"

  He shrugged. "I wouldn’t say a lot. Kinda here and there. She said it helped with her headaches."

  "Headaches?"

  "Vivian had really bad migraines. The doctor had prescribed some kind of medication, but Vivian said it didn't work. Blow is a vasoconstrictor, so Vivian thought that would help with her headaches. I don't know if it was bullshit or not, but that was the excuse she used. But then she wouldn’t be able to sleep, so she’d call Audrey."

  "Why call Audrey?” I asked.

  “Audrey’s a nurse. She’d give her something."

  "Do you know what?"

  "I don't know. Vivian said Audrey would come over and give her an injection that would put her right to sleep."

  That certainly piqued our interest. I exchanged a glance with JD.

  “Do you know what the injection was?" I asked.

  Trevor shook his head. "Like I said, I don't know." He thought for a moment. “It started with a P. Pro-something."

  “Propofol?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  "Did you know that Vivian was pregnant at the time of
her death?"

  He lifted a surprised brow. "No. Really?"

  I nodded.

  “Do you know who the father is?" he asked, concerned.

  "We don't. If you want to give a DNA sample, we could cross you off the list."

  "How does that work?"

  "Swab of the cheek," I said. "I have a sample collection unit with me now." I pulled out a small plastic vial that contained a swab. I’d taken it from the station in anticipation of an opportunity to collect. I wanted to know who else had been in Vivian’s bed.

  I put on gloves, tore through the packaging, and handed Trevor the Q-tip. “Just swab the inside of your cheek and collect saliva.”

  He did, then dropped it back into the container. I sealed it up and tagged it.

  “Listen, I really need to get back to work. These ladies are loaded and are spending a lot of cash."

  We exchanged information, and I told him we’d be in touch.

  "If you change your mind, let me know," Darla shouted at me as we headed for the door.

  I smiled and waved.

  “I think she likes you,” JD said.

  We stepped out of the booming club onto the sidewalk. The avenue was filled with party monsters, wandering up and down the block, hopping from bar to bar.

  “We need to make a trip over to Forbidden Fruit, just to even things out," JD said.

  I chuckled.

  “Surely there is a suspect there that needs interrogation,” he said, his voice full of optimism.

  We found the car and headed back to the station and logged the DNA sample as evidence. I was pretty sure Trevor didn't have anything to do with Vivian's death. He volunteered a sample way too easily.

  I called Brenda.

  "I was just about to call you," she said.

  "Did you find any traces of propofol in Vivian’s system?”

  “No. But I did find a metabolite of succinylcholine."

  My face crinkled with confusion. "What's that?"

  "It doesn't show up on a standard tox screen. The half-life is so short that it wouldn't show up even if you were looking for it. The body clears it extremely quickly. It's a paralytic used in hospital settings."

  "During surgery?"

  "It's to keep the patient from moving during the procedure and to relax muscles during intubation. It's definitely what caused her death. It could have slowed respiration and stopped her heart."