Wild Spring

by Tripp Ellis

  I glared at him in the rearview mirror. “Just don’t lose the car.”

  “Are you going to pay for my ticket?”

  I flashed my badge.

  The driver’s eyes sparkled. “You're the boss. Whatever you say.”

  He gunned it, and the turbo boxer engine howled. I wouldn’t call the car a sleeper, but it put out damn near 300 hp. Apart from the scoop on the hood, and the rear wing, it looked like your average but stylish four-door sedan. But this sedan had track-tuned suspension, dynamic controls with active torque vectoring, quick-ratio steering, and aluminum front control arms. The damn thing handled almost as well as JD’s Porsche at a fraction of the cost. Then again, you didn’t buy a Porsche because it was a bargain.

  “This thing moves,” I said, impressed.

  The driver smiled. “Yes, she does! Sadie never lets me down.”

  “Sadie?”

  “She’s the best girl ever. And she doesn’t get mad when I drive other cars.”

  40

  We raced across the island, following Nadia. She pulled into the Platinum Dunes estates and whipped through the neighborhood to her home.

  My driver’s name was Theo, and I told him to pull to the curb a few houses down from Nadia's. The red car stuck out like a sore thumb, but it didn’t seem like Nadia had noticed us.

  She pulled in the driveway and hopped out of her Mercedes.

  Landon’s grey truck was parked at the curb, and he hopped out and marched toward her.

  He confronted her on the lawn, and by the looks of it, they had a pretty intense conversation. Nadia seemed like she didn't want to have anything to do with him.

  It was all starting to come together in my mind.

  I noticed Landon was wearing Aaron Jackson signature model shoes. I hadn’t seen them on the day I visited Nadia after her husband's death. Landon had entered through the back door, and the bar counter obscured my view of his feet.

  I rolled down the window and watched the two argue for a few moments. Anger swelled on their faces, and both looked flush with rage. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but there were spikes in volume that echoed down the street. It wasn’t a pleasant interaction. And I don’t think they were arguing about the renovations.

  Nadia growled at him and finally stormed inside, slamming the door behind her. Landon marched to his truck, climbed inside, and cranked up the engine. He glared at the house before putting the truck into gear. The tires barked as he launched away from the curb.

  He was pissed off. There was no doubt about it.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out they'd been having an affair. I was certain that Nadia convinced Landon to kill her husband under the promise that they would be together. She would inherit Chuck's wealth, and I was sure she told Landon she’d share it with him. But now, it seemed like she wanted nothing to do with him, and Landon was figuring out the hard way that he’d been used.

  Now all I had to do was prove it.

  "Follow the truck," I said to Theo.

  He put the car into gear and hit the sporty drilled-aluminum gas pedal. We raced down the street, rounded the corner, and kept the gray truck in sight. We followed Landon to his home on the west side. He was far too angry to notice us trailing behind him.

  He lived in a one-story two bedroom—a nice place. Well maintained, but nothing too fancy. He pulled into the driveway, hopped out of the truck, and marched inside.

  We pulled to the curb a few houses down and waited for a moment. I surveyed the premises.

  “Why are we following these people?” Theo asked. “What did they do?”

  “I can’t discuss ongoing investigations.”

  He nodded and smiled. “It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me. I can guess. “The guy in the truck is having an affair with the blonde. That’s not illegal. So there must be something more.”

  “You’re very perceptive, Theo.”

  “You should deputize me. I could go undercover. You would not believe the things people tell me when they get into my car.”

  I didn’t doubt it.

  “Some people don’t want to talk, but others will tell you their life story. I’ve had clients confess to affairs, drug deals, even murders.”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  “I just smile and nod, then I ask them to leave me a good tip and a five-star rating.”

  I had Theo take me back to the marina at Diver Down. The EMTs were gone, and the debris had been collected and logged as evidence. The burned-out remains of my Trans Am had been towed to the property division and impounded as well as the remains of my bike.

  I gave Theo an extra tip.

  He handed me a card. “Anytime you need a driver, I'm your man.” He had an ear-to-ear grin, and his eyes were wide with excitement. Theo definitely enjoyed the work.

  “I’ll keep you in mind,” I said.

  Theo put the car into gear, and the turbo four-cylinder buzzed away.

  I took a moment to look over the scene of destruction. There were still little fragments of debris scattered about, along with shards of glass. The heavy sense of doom wouldn’t soon dissipate.

  I walked inside Diver Down, and the place was packed with the usual crowd of Spring Breakers.

  It was like nothing had happened.

  Not even a car bomb could deter these people. It was just something that happened to somebody else. Something that would never happen to them. Denial was a powerful thing, and people seemed to compartmentalize events rather easily.

  I found a spot at the bar. Teagan and Alejandro hustled drinks, trying to keep up with the voracious appetites of the crowd. When she saw me, Teagan flashed a sympathetic frown. "Are you okay?"

  I nodded.

  She talked to me as she continued to pour drinks and ring up tabs. “I totally freaked out when I heard what happened. I wasn’t scheduled till noon today. Is the girl okay?”

  I shrugged.

  “Was she a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah.”

  Teagan frowned. "You know I'm here if you ever need to talk."

  "I know. Thank you. Do you know where JD is?"

  "I think he went down to the station."

  I told her I'd catch up with her later and left the bar. I walked down the dock to the Avventura with a solemn look on my face. Several neighbors asked if I was okay, and I answered all the standard questions. I appreciated the concern, but I wasn’t much in the mood to talk about it. It just made me sick to my stomach.

  When I finally made it back aboard the boat, I grabbed Buddy's leash and took him for a walk. The little guy could sense something was wrong.

  I called JD and told him about Landon.

  “I think we should do a little knock and talk,” Jack said. “Maybe he’ll crack under the pressure.”

  I agreed.

  I hung up the phone, and 15 minutes later, the red Boxster pulled into the parking lot. I climbed into the passenger seat, and JD zipped out of the lot.

  “You know, this thing is growing on me,” he said. “It handles like a dream. Perfectly balanced. It's tempting."

  I lacked enthusiasm at the moment. Talking about cars made me think of the Trans Am and what happened to Caprice. And it just made me angry.

  I felt helpless. I knew who did it, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it until I had real evidence. Of course, I could always take things into my own hands. I was really trying to avoid doing that, but this was a situation where it almost seemed justifiable.

  I struggled to suppress the urge to put a bullet into Nico’s head. I had no doubt he didn’t rig the explosive device himself. Like everything else, he would have left the dirty work to his crew. One way or another, I was going to take them all down.

  We pulled to the curb at Landon's house at 1936 Bluegill Way. His pickup truck was in the driveway, so I knew he was still at home. We hopped out and strolled the walkway to the front door. I banged on the door and shouted, "Coconut key! We need to speak with you."

>   "That was subtle," JD muttered. "What if he runs?”

  "Then we chase him down and catch him."

  "You know what they say, anybody who runs is guilty."

  Through the frosted glass of the door, I saw movement. A moment later, Landon unlatched the deadbolt and pulled open the door. He looked flustered.

  JD flashed his badge.

  "We’d like to talk to you about Chuck Kennedy," I said.

  His face twisted with confusion. "Sure, why?”

  I shrugged. "Oh, I don't know, because he’s dead."

  "I know. But why are you talking to me?"

  "You were doing work on his house. You’ve been there quite a bit over the last several months."

  "Yeah, it's been a big job."

  "I bet."

  I could tell he didn't like where this was going, and my tone was a little aggressive. I had a lot of emotions swirling inside, and I was on the verge of snapping. Any little thing could set me off.

  "I thought we already talked about this. I was working at the house when Chuck was killed."

  Landon wore a white T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts. My eyes fell down to the Aaron Jackson sneakers. They were unmistakable. "Really cool shoes."

  "Thanks," he said thinly, not sure where I was going.

  "Really hard to get, aren't they?"

  "Yeah. But I know a guy. I paid a little more, but I didn’t have to stand in line."

  "Expensive," I said.

  "Yeah," he said in a blustery tone.

  "What size are you? 10 1/2?"

  His eyes narrowed at me. "Yeah, how did you know?"

  "I used to sell shoes," I deadpanned.

  "Oh," he said, not sure if I was serious. I wasn’t. There was an awkward moment of tension. "Did you guys come over here to discuss footwear?"

  "No, we came to ask you about the affair you were having with Chuck's wife."

  Landon's eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. The color drained from his face. "What!?"

  "I mean, she's hot as hell,” JD said. “And the way she prances around the house in that little bikini. I'd be all over it."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Come on, Landon,” I said. “It's the setup for a bad porno. The handyman banging the hot young wife of a rich old man who can't quite satisfy her desires…”

  The muscles in his jaw flexed. "I don't know where you get your information from, but you’re mistaken."

  “You didn't slip her your tool?" JD asked.

  Landon's face twisted into a scowl. "No."

  "I guess it won't bother you to know that she's moved on,” I said. “She seeing a doctor now."

  Landon’s face tensed, and he tried to hide his concern. "What?"

  "Yeah. I think you got suckered."

  He hesitated for a long moment. "I didn't get suckered. I don't know what you're talking about. Nothing happened between me and Nadia."

  "Is that why you had a prepaid cellular that you talked to her with, exchanging naughty little messages and pictures?” I was bluffing my ass off.

  It was just a hunch.

  But judging by Landon's reaction, I was spot on.

  He swallowed hard again.

  "You didn't think that you two were going to live happily ever after, did you? A woman like Nadia, and a handyman?" I knew Chuck was broke, but I went the other way with it. “And the size of Chuck’s estate… whew!” I whistled. "Staggering. She's gonna have it all to herself."

  His face reddened, and the veins in his neck pulsed. He tried to calm himself down. "I'm happy that she's moving forward with her life after such a tragedy. We all deserve to be happy, don’t we?”

  "Do you own a gun?" I asked.

  His eyes flicked between the two of us. He stammered, "Yeah."

  "Can we see it?"

  There was another long pause as he surveyed us.

  41

  "Yeah," Landon said. "Let me get it for you."

  I stopped him. “How about you take us to the weapon? Things can get dicey when a suspect is armed."

  He lifted his brow. “I’m a suspect?"

  "Well, you’ve got motive, means, and opportunity."

  "Opportunity?"

  "Nadia is your alibi. She says you were at her house during the time of the murder. But now that she's moved on, do you think that she's still got your back?"

  He hesitated for a long moment. The walls were closing in around him. "Okay, you're right. I was having an affair with Nadia. It had been going on for several months, but I felt really guilty about it. I liked Chuck, and I just couldn't keep going on with it. So I broke it off."

  “Was that before or after you murdered Chuck?"

  I didn't believe he broke it off. He was just trying to make himself look good and cover his tracks.

  "I didn't kill Chuck. You people need to get that into your head.”

  “You lied to us about Nadia. How do we know you’re not lying about Chuck?”

  “Follow me. I'll show you my gun. You can run ballistics on it. You can do whatever you need to do."

  I lifted an impressed eyebrow and exchanged a glance with JD.

  We followed Landon down the entrance foyer and stepped into the living room. It was a nice place. A bachelor pad with black leather furniture, a massive stereo system, flatscreen display, and several shelves stacked full with Blu-rays and DVDs. I think I saw a lava lamp in the corner.

  Landon led us down the hallway to his bedroom and pulled open his dresser drawer.

  He had a black lacquer bed frame and black nightstands with sleek lamps from IKEA atop them. Stylized acrylic portraits of nude women hung on the walls.

  He pointed to the weapon in the drawer.

  I pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and picked up the black pistol. It was a 9mm. I pressed the mag release button and dropped the magazine into my palm. It held 17 rounds, but three were missing.

  I press-checked the weapon—there was a round in the chamber—124 grain hollow points—the same as the ones used in the liquor store murder.

  I ejected the round and collected it. "You said you don't mind if we run ballistics on this."

  "Go ahead," he said confidently.

  “Why don’t you come down to the station and answer some questions in a formal setting on video. It’s the best way to clear your name."

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide,” he said with his chin held high.

  “Good,” I said.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll drive my truck to the station, and you can follow me. I promise, I’m not gonna run.”

  We agreed and followed Landon to the station. He was put into an interrogation room. It was strictly voluntary at this point. He was free to leave at any time. He hadn’t been arrested, and he hadn’t been read his rights.

  JD and I tagged the pistol as evidence and dropped it off at the lab. We asked for expedited ballistics testing.

  With the camera rolling in the interrogation room, we asked Landon all the same questions again. His story didn't waiver. Usually when people lie, their story keeps evolving over time. But Landon was well-rehearsed. He stuck to his story.

  I noticed Landon had changed his shoes on the drive. Now he wore a pair of canvas sneakers, speckled with paint. I figured the Aaron Jacksons were locked in his truck.

  “Why did you change shoes?” I asked.

  “Old pair of sneakers. They’re comfortable. The other ones aren’t broken in yet.”

  “How about you let us examine the Aaron Jacksons while we’re here?” I said.

  His face twisted. “Why?”

  “The person who killed Chuck was wearing that style of shoe. Size 10 1/2. Your size.”

  His face tightened. “So? It’s a popular shoe.”

  “I thought you said you had nothing to hide?”

  He scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t have anything to hide. But I’m not gonna let you railroad me just because some punk wears t
he same shoes as me. You’ve got my gun. I’ve been more than cooperative. I shouldn’t even be talking to you in the first place.”

  Without a warrant, we couldn’t compel him to hand over the shoes to look for residue from the soda spill or minute markings in the tread that might match the exact shoe prints found at the crime scene. We had no real probable cause at this point. But I wasn’t too worried about it. I figured we had him with the gun, anyway.

  After we wrapped up, Daniels met us in the hallway outside the interrogation room. "Cut him loose."

  My face twisted. "Why?"

  "Ballistics don't match."

  "What!?"

  "Lab says the gun doesn’t match. Cut him loose."

  "Maybe he used another gun?" JD suggested.

  "Then you two should work on finding that other mystery gun," Daniels said dryly.

  My face tensed.

  “Get something solid on this guy,” Daniels said.

  I pushed open the door to the interrogation room. "Everything checks out. You're free to go."

  A wave of relief washed over Landon. He exhaled, and his body relaxed. A slight, almost imperceptible grin tugged his lips. “Told you."

  He pushed away from the table and stood up. I held the door as he exited with a smug look on his face. He just knew he was going to get away with murder.

  "Can I have my gun back now?" Landon asked.

  I reluctantly nodded.

  We collected the weapon from the lab and returned it to Landon. He marched out of the station.

  JD and I were beside ourselves.

  "No way," JD said. "I'm not buying it. The guy is guilty as the day is long."

  "We keep digging," I said. "We'll find something, eventually. The truth always comes out."

  JD gave me a skeptical glance.

  I was trying to remain optimistic. But that optimism wouldn’t last long. My phone buzzed with a call from Dr. Parker. I swiped the phone and took the call immediately. "Tell me something good."

  Dr. Parker hesitated for a long moment.

  42

  "I'm sorry, Deputy Wild, but your friend didn't make it,” Dr. Parker said.

  I felt like I'd been punched in the throat. My eyes welled, and my stomach twisted. I could barely choke out the words, “What happened?"