Wild Break

by Tripp Ellis

  Felicity entered the waiting area a few minutes later with a courteous smile. She wore a navy blazer, cream blouse, navy skirt, and high heels. An elegant pearl necklace dangled around her neck. She had short, sandy blonde hair and was in her early 40s.

  We shook hands and made introductions.

  "Darla was insistent that we work together,” she said. “It seems she has a lot of faith in you. I've done a little research, and your accomplishments are impressive, no doubt."

  "Just doing my job," I said.

  "Your volunteer job. You don't have to do this kind of thing."

  I shrugged. "Maybe I do."

  "Truth, justice, and the American way?"

  I smirked. "Something like that."

  "I have a disdain for abuse of power. That's why I do this. I can't stand to see people get railroaded by the system." She sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I know I have defended some guilty clients. But, if I can keep one innocent man off death row, then I feel like I'm doing something positive."

  She showed me to her office, and I took a seat across from her desk. Large windows provided a view of the ocean a few blocks away. Law books lined the shelves, and there were pictures of her husband and two children on the desk.

  “Before I agree to do this, I want to make sure that I'm actually helping an innocent man," I said.

  Felicity's face tightened with an uncertain smile. She shrugged. "Only two people really know what happened that night. One of them is dead. The other one is either on death row, or is out there running around scot-free. We may never know what really happened."

  "What does your instinct tell you?"

  "I try not to make value judgments about my clients. I stay objective. I look at the facts. I look for errors in process and procedure."

  "You could have declined to take the case. Why didn't you?" I asked.

  "I like to take cases I think I can win. Fortunately I'm in a position where I can be selective. The firm does well."

  "So you think you can win this case?"

  "I think I can argue that the original attorney didn't know what he was doing. There were a lot of things he allowed into the trial that he shouldn't have. Questions he didn't ask."

  "They say most cases are won or lost during jury selection."

  Felicity nodded. "I agree completely. There were people on the first jury that I would have stricken immediately."

  "What about the man Alana was having an affair with? Damien Silver?”

  "He claims he was with a woman named Harmony Grant. She corroborates his story."

  "What about the neighbors?"

  "The man across the street, Scott Patterson, says that he heard what he thought were gunshots. He moved to the window and saw Colt's truck out front. That was probably the most crucial aspect of the prosecution's case, proving that Colt was at home during the time of the murder."

  "Colt denies that," I said.

  "I'm aware of that. But police found no signs of forced entry. They found a gun with his prints hidden in the backyard in a flowerpot. And there are no other credible suspects."

  "You’re not really encouraging me to get involved."

  "That's not my job. I have plenty of competent investigators. Darla is the one that wants you working on this case."

  I thought about things for a moment.

  “Before we go any further,” Felicity said,” I consider anything that we discuss, and any information that you provide to me, to be an attorney work-product, and as such, it would be privileged information.”

  I nodded.

  “Good.”

  "So, Colt gets into a fight with his wife. She tells him she's having an affair, and that she was pregnant with Damien's child."

  "By that point in time she had already had a miscarriage,” Felicity added.

  “Colt flies into a rage, shoots her twice in the head, hides the gun, then calls 911?"

  "That's the timeline."

  “I’ve never met the man, but you’d have to be pretty stupid to shoot your wife in the head, hide the murder weapon on the property, and think you’d get away with it."

  "People do irrational things in the heat of passion. Besides, there was a $1 million life insurance policy that he stood to collect."

  "Are you actively trying to talk me out of this? Because that’s a strong motive."

  She raised her hands, innocently. "No. Not at all. I just want you to be well aware of what you're getting into. I don't want you bailing on me midway because you find something you don't like."

  "That's what I told Darla. If I get a whiff of something I don't like, I'm gone."

  "It doesn't work that way. When I take on a case, I’m there to the end."

  "What do you do when you believe someone to be guilty that you are committed to?"

  She shrugged. "My job is not to pass judgment. My job is to give someone the best legal defense possible."

  There was a long pause.

  I met a lot of people in the military. Most of them were decent, upstanding guys. There were always a few shit-asses everywhere. Even in the Teams. But, by and large, these were men that always had your back when the shit hit the fan. Part of me felt an obligation to Colt Steel. A man that I'd never met before, but was a brother in arms.

  I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was, but something didn't sit right. I had a hard time believing that someone who had such extensive training as Colt Steel would be dumb enough to murder his wife in the way described.

  "One more thing," Felicity said. "Colt claims his truck was broken into the week before, and his pistol was stolen."

  "The pistol that was used in the murder?"

  Felicity nodded.

  "And somehow it ended up back on the property?"

  She nodded again.

  “Did Colt file a police report about the theft?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "He says he hadn't gotten around to it."

  I took a deep breath and thought about it for another moment. "Something sounds fishy about that."

  "You're telling me."

  "Hypothetically speaking… If I were married, and I was going to kill my wife—and I planned on using my own gun—which is stupid—I would most certainly have reported it stolen beforehand.”

  "That's assuming this was premeditated,” Felicity said. “But, I agree."

  "Maybe he hid it in the flowerpot temporarily, planning on disposing of it later?" I suggested.

  "Certainly possible," Felicity said. "Or maybe someone else hid it in the flowerpot to set him up?"

  "You think someone broke into his car, stole his gun, used it to kill his wife, then hid it on the property to frame him?"

  She smiled. "Now you and I are starting to think alike."

  "Damien Silver has an alibi," I said, the wheels turning.

  "Maybe that alibi has a weakness? Maybe there's another suspect we are missing entirely? That's where you come in."

  Felicity smiled again, knowing the temptation would be too great to resist. Curiosity would most likely get the best of me. I was intrigued to say the least.

  How could I just walk away?

  9

  "You're out of beer," a girl said to me as I stepped aboard the Vivere. There was an annoyed tone in her voice.

  The crowd thinned, and revelers left the boat in droves.

  I looked around for JD, but I didn't see him in the aft deck, or in the salon. I checked the bow, and the sky-bridge with no sign of him.

  The boat was a mess. Empty beer bottles and plastic cups littered the vessel. I was determined to make Jack clean it up this time.

  I moved below deck, and as soon as I hit the companionway, I heard moans of ecstasy filter down the corridor. The sounds emanated from the VIP guest suite.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. I chuckled and moved into the master stateroom, leaving Jack to take care of his business.

  Buddy greeted me with excitement. I leashed him u
p and took him for a walk. I couldn't get two steps without Buddy drawing the attention of bikini-clad beauties. It wasn't a bad problem to have. They knelt down and petted him, fawning all over the little Jack Russell. I collected a few numbers on my journey, and by the time I returned to the Vivere, Jack was escorting two beauties through the aft salon. They each kissed JD on the cheek, then strolled across the gangway.

  Jack had a satisfied grin on his face.

  The girls smiled at me as they passed, and Jack shrugged mischievously. "God, I love spring break."

  I boarded the Vivere with Buddy. "While you've been indulging your fantasies, I've been working."

  I caught Jack up to speed.

  "We're out of beer," Jack said.

  "I know."

  "We need to stock up,” he insisted.

  "Why? So everyone else can drink it?"

  "Small price to pay," Jack said with a grin. "Loosen up. Live a little. Have fun!"

  "I'm a little stressed out right now," I said.

  Jack dismissed my worry. "Why? So, your sister wants to sell the place? Might as well enjoy it while it's still here. Tomorrow isn't guaranteed, my friend. Live life for today."

  Jack was the epitome of living life in the moment. It was a motto that had served him well for the most part.

  He looked in a nearby cooler, then pushed into the salon and rummaged through the bar. "We're out of whiskey, too!"

  My phone buzzed, and I took the call from Denise. "What's up?"

  "I got GPS data from Grace Livingston’s phone. Looks like the night of her disappearance she went to Oyster Avenue and hopped around between a few bars, then the data ends. Maybe her battery died? I don't know. Might be a good place to start," Denise said.

  "Thanks for the info."

  "Anytime."

  I ended the call and slipped the phone back into the pocket of my cargo shorts. I told Jack we needed to head up to Oyster Avenue and ask around for Grace. He was more than willing to embark on the journey. I suggested we take my motorcycle. It would be easier to navigate traffic and find a place to park.

  Jack protested. "No way! I am not riding bitch on that crotch rocket of yours."

  Parking was a nightmare on Oyster Avenue this time of year, and Jack was mildly concerned about some jackass keying his car, or vandalizing it in some way. It would have taken forever to get a cab, not to mention the traffic on the island, so we decided to walk. There was a constant stream of pedestrian traffic along the highway and side streets.

  Owen texted with the name of the boat that Grace was on when he last saw her. We decided to stop by Pirates’ Cove before going to Oyster Avenue. The Get Reel was a 35-foot sport-fishing boat. There was a small party on board as we arrived. A handful of college-aged girls and guys were drinking in the cockpit. They had a keg on ice and were drinking from plastic cups.

  JD flashed his badge. "Afternoon."

  Their eyes widened with panic. They may not all have been of legal drinking age. There were nervous faces and hard swallows and several of them set down their drink cups and drifted away.

  "We're looking for a girl that went missing from the harbor a few days ago," JD said. “You know, the one that was pulled out of the water this morning. She was last seen talking to you guys."

  A guy on the boat shrugged, innocently. "Hey, man. I don't know anything about a missing girl."

  I showed him a picture of Grace on my cell phone.

  He glanced at the image. "Never seen her before."

  He didn't really look, and that pissed me off. I growled, "Are you sure. Look again!"

  "I don't know what to tell you. She doesn’t look familiar."

  His friends had slipped into the salon.

  "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way," I said. "I want everybody out here, looking at this picture, and I want the truth. Otherwise, I'm going to make life very difficult for you."

  The guy hesitated for a moment. Then he called back into the salon. "Hey, everybody. Get out here. Now!"

  They filtered back into the cockpit.

  The guy looked at my phone again, then he handed it to his friends and passed it around the cockpit. They all looked at it blankly before handing the phone back to me.

  "Honestly, I don't remember much of the last few days," the guy said.

  A girl piped up. “She may have been on board a few days ago. But we’ve met so many people. I don't know. She doesn’t look familiar. Is that really the girl they found floating in the harbor?"

  I nodded.

  A terrified look washed over her face. "Oh, my God, y'all! If she really was on this boat, that's freaky."

  "If you recall anything about her, contact the Sheriff's Department," I said.

  "We will," the girl said.

  “Mind if we take a look around your boat?” I asked.

  The guy stammered, “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

  His friends grumbled at him not to let us aboard, but by that time it was too late.

  We looked around the cockpit, surveying the deck and bulkheads, searching for any blood or other evidence. We pushed into the salon and took a look around. There was a small bag of weed on a table.

  I wasn’t interested in busting these kids for possession.

  We searched below deck, giving a cursory glance to the staterooms, then returned to the salon. It was messy, and there were beer cans and empty pizza boxes everywhere, but no obvious signs of struggle. No bloodstains that were apparent with the naked eye.

  “Is this your boat?” I asked the ringleader. I learned that is name was Josh.

  “No, it’s my dad’s,” Josh said.

  “I don’t think your dad would like to hear about his boat getting impounded because you had a bag of weed aboard.”

  His eyes widened. “That’s not mine. You can’t take the boat over that, can you?”

  I shrugged. “Get rid of it.”

  He stammered, “Yes, sir.”

  I stared at him for a long moment. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”

  He shook his head. “I swear, Deputy. I’m telling you everything I can remember. There has been a lot of drinking involved over the last few days, I’ll be honest. But we didn’t have anything to do with that missing girl.”

  My gut told me that these kids were telling the truth. They were just here for a good time. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, we were probably looking for another serial predator.

  JD and I left the boat and stepped back onto the dock. I watched Josh take the bag of weed and dump it into the water over the gunwale.

  His friends looked disappointed.

  After we took down all of their names and contact information, I said, “Stay out of trouble. We may have more questions for you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Josh said.

  I nudged JD and pointed down the dock at Owen’s boat, Sun Kissed. It was a 45-foot Valkyrie sport-fish, similar to the one JD had owned. "That's a nice boat for a teenager."

  "Probably his dad's."

  We decided to pay Owen a quick visit. He was sitting with Isaac in the cockpit, drinking a beer. They saw us approach.

  "Are you making any progress?" Owen shouted.

  "We talked to your neighbors, they don't remember seeing Grace."

  Owen frowned. “That’s bullshit. I know I saw her talking to them. Can’t you do something? Arrest them for lying?”

  “Doesn’t really work that way,” I said.

  He huffed. “What if they are the ones who caused her disappearance? What if they killed her?”

  “I can assure you, we will find out who did this,” I said. “Just don’t go taking matters into your own hands. Most likely, they were drunk and don’t remember Grace at all.”

  Owen grumbled. “I still call bullshit.”

  He folded his arms with a scowl on his face, glaring down the dock at Get Reel.

  “Where’s Kaylee?” I asked.

  “She’s inside, taking a nap,” Owen said. “Can I get you guys a beer
, or something?”

  “Aren’t you a little young for that?” I asked.

  “Come on. It’s spring break. Half the people in this harbor are underage. You’re not really gonna bust me for this, are you? Not after all we've been through."

  "Relax,” I said. “I'm not going to bust you for beer. Just use your head. We don't need any more catastrophes."

  Owen nodded.

  "Is this your dad's boat?" JD asked.

  "No. I bought it."

  We both arched a curious eyebrow.

  "I programmed an app. It sold really well. Kind of crazy how it all worked out."

  "Retired at 19?" JD asked.

  "I'll be 20 in May," Owen replied. "I'm not really retired. But let's just say I've got a lot of breathing room. I thought I'd take a few years off, then maybe write another app. Who knows?"

  "We know that Grace went down to Oyster Avenue,” I said. “We can determine the general area from her cell phone data. Was there any particular bars that you had been frequenting that she may have gone back to?"

  Owen thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. I think we had gone to Reefers, Wetsuit, Bumper... I don’t really remember. It’s all kind of a blur.” He paused. “Where else did her cell phone say she went?”

  “The last location we have for her is Oyster Avenue. After that, it’s anybody’s guess.”

  “Dead battery?”

  “Probably,” I said.

  Owen grimaced. “That’s too bad.”

  I gave a grim nod of agreement.

  “Keep me in the loop,” Owen said.” I really hope you catch who did this.”

  We left Pirates’ Cove and walked to Oyster Avenue. By the time we arrived, the sun was dipping down beyond the horizon. Hordes of revelers packed the sidewalks. Music from the bars spilled onto the streets. The entire avenue smelled like beer, whiskey, fruity drinks, and sun tan lotion, mixed with the smell of food from the restaurants.

  One by one, we hit each of the bars in the vicinity of the GPS data. I flashed the image of Grace to bartenders and waitstaff everywhere we went. There were so many people moving in and out of the bars. Faces began to merge. I would be surprised if anyone actually remembered seeing her.

  10