by Tripp Ellis
It only glows for about 30 seconds, and the room needs to be dimmed. Forensic investigators would typically snap extended exposure photos to capture the reaction. The team moved through the house room by room, looking for any signs of trauma.
Unfortunately, the bathrooms and basins had all been scrubbed with bleach, causing the surfaces to react with the Luminol, concealing any blood spatter that may have been present.
Maybe Eva was attacked in the house. Maybe she wasn't.
Nolan watched with concerned eyes, pacing around nervously. I couldn’t tell if his distress came from the fact he’d hired a guy like Jason or if he had some involvement in Eva’s death. So far, he remained cooperative, and we had no reason to arrest him.
We wrapped up, and I told Nolan to contact me if he heard from Jason. “Oh, and don’t leave town,” I said as I stepped onto the front porch.
His face tensed. “I had no involvement in Eva’s death, I can assure you.”
“Did I mention she was still alive when the trunk was tossed overboard?”
Nolan’s eyes rounded, and his jaw dropped. “What!?” The color drained from his face and his eyes misted. “That’s horrible.”
His hands trembled, and tears streamed down his cheek.
“I need to sit down,” he said, unsteady. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He closed the door, and I felt bad for laying it on him like that. I wanted to get a reaction, and I did. I couldn’t quite tell if that was guilt or sorrow.
I needed a vacation. I was starting to get jaded. Everyone looked like a crook.
38
There was a BOLO out for Jason Bradley. Deputies staked out Sandpiper Point. His boat was still there. Between the checkpoints on the island and the Coast Guard, I hoped we’d pick him up before he managed to flee the area. There was no doubt in my mind he would try to get as far away from Coconut Key as possible.
I sure as hell would.
I called several members of Nolan’s security staff. Most of them claimed not to know much about Jason’s personal life, but Will told me, “I think his girlfriend’s name is Victoria. I met her once.”
“Do you know her last name?”
He thought for a moment. “Ross, I think. She lives in the Sirona Springs apartments. I was with Jason when he dropped something off at her place once.”
I thanked him for the info.
“You think he really killed Eva?”
“He’s high on the list.”
“Between you and me,” Will muttered. “I never really liked that guy. Guess Nolan will be looking for a new head of security.”
“Maybe you’ll be next in line,” I said.
Will chuckled. “Maybe.”
I ended the call and dialed Denise. After a brief search, she gave me the address and apartment number for Victoria Ross. JD and I headed over to the Sirona Springs.
It was a nice two-story complex with parking underneath. The colonial-style building was painted white with forest green shutters. French doors opened onto small balconies. Two blocks from the beach, it wasn't a bad location.
We parked at the curb, climbed the steps, and pushed into the lobby. We took the stairs up to the second floor and ambled down the hall to find apartment #204. I knocked on the door and waited for a reply.
I heard movement inside, and a moment later, a woman's voice shouted through the door. "Who is it?"
"Coconut County," I said, holding my badge to the peephole. "We need to speak with you regarding Jason Bradley."
She pulled open the door and looked at us with cautious eyes. "What's going on?"
Victoria was an attractive woman. She had short auburn hair that dangled above her shoulders. With steel blue eyes, burgundy lips, and tan skin, she wasn’t bad to look at. She was early 30s and had a nice figure. Maybe just a little out of Jason's league. Maybe a lot.
"Is he here, ma'am?"
She shook her head.
"Have you seen him at all today?"
"No, why?"
"Has he been in contact with you?"
She shook her head again. "I don't understand. Is there some kind of problem?"
"We have a warrant for his arrest."
Her eyes rounded, and she swallowed hard.
"You mind if we take a look around your apartment?"
She hesitated a moment and squirmed. "He's not here. I can assure you of that. What is he accused of?"
"He's wanted in connection with the kidnapping and murder of Eva Orton.”
She gasped, and her worried eyes rounded. She processed the information, then shook her head. "No. Jason is not capable of something like that."
"If that's the case, then he's got nothing to worry about. As it stands, he's a fugitive, and he has a lot of explaining to do."
She stared at us for a moment, paralyzed with fear and concern.
"I'll ask again, do you mind if we look around?"
"Sure," she stammered. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
She stepped aside and motioned us into the apartment. We entered and marched down the foyer to the living room.
The apartment was quaint and cozy. The walls were pastel yellow, and there were lots of plants that got plenty of sunlight and water.
We gave a quick glance around, searching the master bedroom, the closets, and the guest bath. Then we returned to the living room.
"Satisfied?"
I nodded.
"I told you he wasn't here."
"How long have you been seeing each other?" I asked.
"A little over a year."
I noticed an engagement ring on her finger. "Is it serious?"
She held up her hand, wiggling her fingers. The elegant diamond sparkled. It wasn’t enormous, but respectable.
"When's the date?"
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
I dug in my pocket and gave her my card. "If you see or hear from Jason, please contact me immediately. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that assisting a fugitive is a criminal act."
"You're making a mistake. Jason didn't have anything to do with Eva Orton's death."
She folded her arms and glared at us.
"Thanks for your cooperation, ma'am," I said before spinning around and marching toward the door.
She closed and latched it behind us after we exited.
"Think she's heard from him?" JD asked as we walked down the hallway.
"We’re about to find out." I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Isabella. I asked her to give me the call logs for Victoria's phone and monitor the incoming calls.
Isabella worked her magic. A moment later, she said, "Victoria got a call from a prepaid cellular about 20 minutes ago. The call originated from a self-storage facility on the east side of the island."
"Where's the phone now?"
"Off the grid," Isabella said. "I'll let you know if it pops up."
"Thanks," I said before ending the call.
I dialed Sheriff Daniels and had him send a patrol unit to the storage facility. But I figured Jason would be long gone.
JD and I left the apartment building and walked down the block to the Porsche. The street ran perpendicular to the beach and ended with a sandy outlet. The waves crashed against the teal shore. Pedestrians strolled the block, and beachgoers came and went. The squawk of gulls drifted with the breeze. The palm trees that lined the avenue swayed overhead.
We climbed into the car and watched the main entrance to Victoria’s building. A few pedestrians strolled the sidewalk. A cute girl passed on a mountain bike. A tabby cat stalked its prey in the shrubs of the apartment complex.
30 minutes had passed when Isabella called again. "Victoria just got another incoming call from the burner phone."
"Where was it at?"
"On the move. Looks like the phone was traveling in a car heading east on Hemmingway, then turned north onto Puffer Park. After the call ended, the burner dropped from the network. He must have switched it off."
"Something's up," I said.
“I’ll let you know if the device pops up again."
I called Daniels and gave him an update. “Send a few patrol units to that area and see if they can spot Jason's vehicle."
“A black four-door Lexus is registered in his name, but he could be in a cab,” Daniels said. "You’d have to be pretty stupid to drive around in your own vehicle with every deputy in the department looking for you."
“Could be in a stolen vehicle."
"Hopefully, we'll get lucky," Daniels said before hanging up.
We sat parked at the curb. After a few minutes, Victoria stepped out of her apartment building and plunged down the steps. A small black duffel bag dangled from her shoulder as she scampered to the street.
A silver compact car pulled to the curb. Victoria hopped into the back, and the car sped away.
JD cranked up the engine, and the rideshare drove right past us. Victoria was too preoccupied to notice.
JD banked a u-turn and followed after them.
The rideshare turned left at the beach and headed north on Casa Vista, then took another left on Dumont.
We caught up to them pretty quickly but kept a safe distance. I watched Victoria in the backseat. Her head was down as she fumbled for something in her purse.
"Where do you think she's headed?" JD asked.
“To meet up with Jason."
"One last rendezvous before he slips town?”
"Maybe she's going with him."
The rideshare took a right on Seaview Lane, heading north. It didn’t take long to figure out exactly where she was going.
39
It came as no surprise that Victoria was headed to the FBO at the Coconut Key airport. The rideshare pulled to the drop-off point, and Victoria hopped out of the vehicle and rushed into the terminal.
The silver car sped away, and JD zipped the Porsche around to take its place.
I hopped out and marched into the terminal as Victoria hustled through to the tarmac. A Slipstream G650 waited for her, along with a man in a gray suit. He had shaggy brown hair and dark sunglasses. He waved at her, standing at the base of the steps to the aircraft next to the pilot.
Victoria trotted to greet him.
I did a double-take.
It was Jason wearing a bad wig. I broke into a sprint, running onto the tarmac.
Jason saw me and drew a pistol from his shoulder holster. He put the black semiautomatic to the pilot’s head and moved behind him for cover. He shouted, "Back off!"
I held up and drew my weapon.
Jason backed up the steps to the aircraft, dragging the pilot along.
The pilot’s eyes were bathed in fear, and his face misted with sweat. He cooperated with Jason, and the two fumbled their way into the sleek aircraft.
It was too risky for me to take a shot.
The pilot retracted the steps and closed the door to the fuselage.
I grumbled under my breath, holstered my pistol, and called Sheriff Daniels.
"Get in touch with air traffic control. Tell them we’ve got a hostage situation." I gave him the tail number of the aircraft. "Tell them not to clear that aircraft for takeoff."
By this time, JD had parked the car and jogged to meet me on the tarmac.
This was about to get ugly.
Sirens warbled in the distance, drawing closer. Pretty soon, the area would be swarming with Feds, Homeland Security, airport security, and any other agency that had an interest.
The Slipstream started taxing toward the runway. Air traffic control would have to alert the other planes and put incoming flights in a holding pattern, or things could get messy.
I tried calling the burner phone Jason used to call Victoria. To my surprise, he answered. "Who is this?"
"It's Deputy Wild. You're about to have a real bad day if you keep on your present course of action.”
"How did you get this number?"
"Let's not waste time with things that don't really matter. What matters is that you turn this ship around before anybody else gets hurt."
"You tell air traffic control to clear the runways, or I'm going to start putting holes in people."
“Do you know how to fly the plane?"
Jason said nothing.
"You’re going to run out of people to put holes in. How many are on board? The pilot, a flight attendant, maybe two? Are you going to put holes into your girlfriend?"
“Clear the runway, or there's going to be blood on your hands." There was a slight quiver in his voice.
The plane kept rolling toward the runway.
Another pilot maneuvered his plane to block Jason’s path.
"I think you bit off more than you can chew,” I said. “How do you see this working out?"
"I see it working out just fine once I get off the ground. Get that fucking plane out of my way.”
“Where will you go? There will be an international warrant for your arrest. You can’t run from this.”
“Yes, I can. There are still places beyond your reach."
"Beyond my reach?"
"If you think I'm going to hint at where I'm going, you’re sadly mistaken. Don't try to negotiate with me, Deputy Wild. It's not going to work."
“How much fuel do you have?"
"Enough."
"What about Victoria?"
"What about her?"
"Is this the life she really wants? To be a fugitive? Never able to return to the United States? Let me tell you, being on the run gets old after a while."
"Spending the rest of your life in a jail cell gets old," Jason replied.
"Why did you do it? Why did you kill Eva?”
"I didn't kill anyone."
"Then why are you running?"
He said nothing.
“You dumped her in the ocean in a steamer trunk while she was still alive.”
He remained silent.
“Didn’t know she was alive, did you?”
There was another long pause.
“Get that plane out of my way, or people start dying.”
40
A baggage cart blocked one side of the plane, and a fire truck blocked another. The plane was quickly surrounded by emergency vehicles, which only agitated Jason.
“Move these vehicles out of my way, and clear the runway for takeoff!” Jason demanded. His snarling voice crackled through the speaker in my phone.
He barked commands to me and to the pilot, who relayed them to the tower.
“Have you thought about what happens when you get in the air?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’ve thought about it. It means I will be free.”
“Not exactly. Once you’re airborne, if you even get off the ground, you’ll become a national security threat. They take that kind of thing seriously after 9/11. The Feds will be here any minute. The FAA is coordinating with the military. This thing is about to get out of hand. It will not end well for you. You and your girlfriend are looking at federal time. I know you don't want that for her. Open the door, let the hostages out, and surrender. I'll make sure you get a fair shake."
Unmarked cars and black SUVs screeched onto the tarmac. The Feds had arrived. Men in suits hopped out and made their way toward me. A black military-style transport rumbled onto the scene, and federal agents decked out with tactical gear, helmets, and AR-15s flooded out and took position.
I had no doubt snipers would soon be perched on rooftops.
Tango One pattered overhead, having been given clearance into the restricted airspace of the airport. There was a black helicopter that I’m sure belonged to a 3-letter agency. A gray UH-1Y Venom gunship arrived, complete with Hydra 70 air-to-ground rockets and .50 machine guns. I was pretty sure it came from the Naval Air Station.
“Last chance,” I said to Jason. “The Feds are about to take the lead on this. How about you let one of the hostages go as a sign of good faith?”
I displayed my badge to the FBI guys as they stepped to me.
"Special Agent
Sam Ferguson,” one of them said, displaying his credentials. “This is my partner Special Agent Chris Greenway. Are you in contact with the hijacker?"
I nodded.
"Not to step on your toes, but this is a federal matter, and we'll be taking the lead."
I handed him my cell phone and gave him a brief rundown of the situation.
Sam introduced himself to Jason.
I heard Jason's voice crackle back through the speaker. "What happened to Tyson? I want to talk to Tyson?"
"You're dealing with me now," Sam said.
"Put Tyson back on the phone, or somebody dies?"
"Can’t do that."
"I'm not fucking around."
"Sounds like you're upset,” Sam said in a slow, smooth voice.
"You’re goddamn right, I'm upset. Get these vehicles out of my way and clear the runway for takeoff."
"I can't do that. But what I can do is help you out. I know you think I'm the bad guy. But I'm just here to ensure the best possible outcome for everyone."
"The best possible outcome for everyone?” Jason scoffed. “That outcome involves me in custody. And that's not going to happen."
Commotion filtered through the speaker. There was a scream, followed by a loud bang. Agent Ferguson pulled the device away from his ear momentarily.
"Jason? What's happening?"
There was no response.
Sam repeated the question.
"I'll tell you what's happening," Jason shouted into the phone.
A moment later, the door to the aircraft unlatched, and Jason swung it open and pushed the body of a flight attendant out. The lifeless corpse tumbled to the tarmac and splattered crimson blood, her limbs flopping at unnatural angles. A pool of blood oozed from the body.
My heart sank, and my jaw tightened.
"That's what's happening," Jason growled in the doorway.
41
Before Jason could close the door to the fuselage, an FBI sniper took a shot.
The rifle’s report echoed across the tarmac, rippling through the air. The bullet smacked Jason in the chest, tumbling him back into the fuselage. Blood splattered, and shrieks of terror spilled out of the plane and through the speaker in my phone.