Wild Honor

by Tripp Ellis

She shook her head.

  "Nothing strange yesterday?” I asked. “You didn't notice any commotion between 9 and 10 PM?"

  "No."

  "Where were you at that time?"

  "I'm usually in bed by then, watching TV."

  I took down her information and told her we might be in touch if we had any more questions.

  We talked to a few other neighbors, but no one saw anything.

  "Let's see if we can find this Brandi Lynn," I said to JD.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Denise at the Sheriff’s Office. “Hey, I need you to run a search for a Brandi Lynn. Last name unknown. Unpaid tickets. Probably has a criminal history. Mid-20s.”

  “I’m on it,” Denise said.

  3

  "Brandi Lynn Moore," Denise said. "25, sandy blonde hair, 5’2”. Lives at 734 Pelican Way, Apt. #119."

  "That could be her," I said.

  "She's got priors. Possession of a controlled substance—methamphetamine. Shoplifting. Public intoxication."

  "That's definitely our girl. Thanks," I said.

  "Anytime."

  “Text me her last mug shot.”

  "You really think she's capable of beating a man to death?" JD asked.

  "Never underestimate the ability of people to surprise you,” I said. “Besides, if she didn't do it, she may know who did. Look, she regularly goes to Warren for money. Maybe he feels like he's getting used, or maybe he senses that she is using again. He decides to cut her off. That doesn't go over well. Maybe she's got a boyfriend? The boyfriend doesn't want to take no for an answer, robs the house, Warren shows up in the middle of it?"

  "Or maybe the boyfriend just goes to beat it out of him?" JD said.

  "I say we go pay Ms. Moore a visit."

  We hopped in JD's Porsche and headed over to her apartment complex.

  The Pelican Way apartments were a three story unit with covered parking on the first floor. It was a few blocks off the beach and surrounded by palm trees. The place didn't look run down or shabby. The rent couldn't have been cheap. It was no wonder she needed help from Warren.

  A quick call to the main office, and we were buzzed in through the security gate. We strolled to apartment #119 and knocked on the door.

  A few moments later, a man yelled through the door in a booming voice, "Who is it?"

  Coconut County Sheriff's Deputies. We'd like to speak with Brandi Lynn.”

  "What's this about?"

  I hesitated for a moment. "Warren Russell has been murdered."

  There was a long silence.

  "You got a warrant?"

  "We’d just like to ask her a few questions. Time is of the essence. She might be able to help us track down his killer." I didn't want to sound too threatening.

  I could hear the two of them discussing the situation in hushed tones. A moment later, the door opened. Brandi gazed at me with wide eyes. She fidgeted nervously. I could tell she was strung out.

  "Is he really dead?" Brandi stammered.

  "Yes, ma'am," I said.

  Brandi used to be smoking hot, but the drugs had taken their toll. She answered the door in a bikini top and jean shorts. She could barely fill them out. Her once flawless skin was now full of blemishes. Her cheeks were sunken, and the meth had receded her gums and rotted her teeth. A few were missing. It was such a shame. She was rail thin, and her rib cage was visible.

  Her boyfriend had the same sunken look. He hovered in the doorway behind her. He was a big guy. 6’3”. Long hair, goatee, sleeved in tattoos. Thin and wiry. The kind of guy who could be dangerous in a bar fight.

  I noticed he had a skull ring on his right hand. It could have easily made the impressions on Warren’s cheek. I was beginning to think we had found the perpetrators.

  "How did he die?" Brandi asked.

  I told her.

  "Oh, my God. That's terrible!"

  She didn't exactly burst into tears, but she did look upset.

  The two exchanged a wary glance.

  "Where were you last night?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

  Brandi fidgeted nervously and exchanged another glance with her boyfriend.

  "Don't answer that," he said. "You don't have to say shit."

  "I didn't catch your name," I said.

  "We're not saying anything without an attorney," he barked.

  He tried to stare me down, but it didn't work.

  "You could really help us solve this crime,” I said. “The sooner we find out information, the better."

  "This conversation is over." He slammed the door.

  Before the door had closed, a wave of concern washed over Brandi's face. They were hiding something. I knew it wouldn't be long before the two of them would unravel.

  "They're not acting guilty at all, are they?" JD muttered, sardonically.

  "Let's see if we can get a warrant."

  I could hear the two of them bickering through the door, but I couldn't make out what was said. I did, however, hear Brandi call her boyfriend Brad.

  "How cute," I said. "Brandi and Brad. I'm sure he's got a rap sheet." I flashed a wry smile.

  We left the apartment building and headed back to the Sheriff's Office. I had Denise search the database for anyone named Brad that had prior convictions in Coconut Key. We hovered around her desk as she scrolled through the list, sifting through mugshots. Her svelte fingers and perfectly manicured nails danced across the keys like a concert pianist.

  Phones rang, keyboards clacked, and deputies buzzed about.

  The coffee pot was empty—which was considered a felony around these parts.

  It didn't take long to find a match. Brad Porter. Assault and battery, domestic violence, grand theft auto, possession of a controlled substance. A real winner.

  "That's our guy," I said.

  "They seem like a real power couple," Denise said, her voice thick with sarcasm.

  "Let's get this information over to Brenda, see if she can match prints from the crime scene with these two," I said.

  "Those two dipshits aren’t bright enough to cover their tracks," Jack said. "This is going to be open and shut."

  Everything was falling into place, and that made me nervous.

  4

  "We got a partial print on the back doorknob that matches what we have on file for Brad Porter," Brenda said.

  A grin tugged at my lips, and I clenched my fist in triumph as I exclaimed, "Yes!"

  "Just as you thought, there was intracranial hemorrhaging. He was most likely unconscious at the time of death. I'll let you know if I'm able to pull any prints or DNA from the body."

  I thanked Brenda and hung up the phone.

  We talked to Sheriff Daniels, then presented the evidence to the district attorney who felt there was enough to move forward. Soon we had a warrant in our hands. JD and I, along with the SWAT team, were ready to kick down Brandi's door at the Pelican Way apartments.

  We suited up with bulletproof vests and joined the tactical squad. Clad in black with assault rifles, helmets, and flash bang grenades, the tac-team was ready to breach the apartment.

  I knocked on the door and shouted, "County Sheriff! We have a warrant for your arrest."

  There was no response.

  We waited a few seconds, then two tactical officers slammed a battering ram into the door, knocking it from the hinges. Wood splintered, and the door crashed to the tile in the foyer.

  Someone tossed in a flash-bang grenade, and the apartment filled with blinding light and a deafening boom.

  Anybody inside would be dazed.

  The tactical team flooded in through the haze, the barrels of assault rifles sweeping the area. It was a chaotic few moments as officers cleared the apartment. But when the smoke dissipated, we came up empty-handed.

  Brad and Brandi had disappeared. No doubt spooked by our earlier visit.

  The two suspects had quickly risen to the top of the county’s most wanted list. Daniels put out a BOLO (be on the lookout) for them
. An older Ford Taurus was registered in Brandi's name—Brad didn't have a vehicle—and Brandi's car wasn't in the parking garage.

  We searched the apartment and found a small stash of marijuana, a few crumbs of what appeared to be methamphetamine, and a couple of pipes, thick with resin.

  "They couldn’t have gotten too far," Daniels said. "There's only one way out of the Keys. With any luck, a unit will spot them on Highway 1."

  Daniels took notice of my look of disappointment. He patted me on the shoulder, "Don't worry. We'll get them. You boys done good."

  It was rare praise from the sheriff.

  I called Denise and asked her to look up information on the two suspects—relatives that may be in town, known associates, places of employment, though I doubted either of them had a job. If they weren't heading out of town, maybe they were holding up with a friend? Or maybe they were looking to get off the island by boat?

  "If you can get me Brad’s or Brandi’s cell phone number, I might be able to track the location," I said.

  "I'm two steps ahead of you," Denise said. "I already looked into it. Brandi’s cell phone has been disconnected for nonpayment, and I haven’t been able to find one for Brad. I contacted every cellular provider in the area. He's probably using a prepaid cellular, if he's using anything at all."

  "I'm impressed," I said.

  "Please," Denise sighed. "Give me a little credit."

  "I'll give you all the credit. We wouldn't get anything done without you."

  "Damn straight."

  I chuckled and thanked her.

  "Hey, I'm about to get off my shift. And I think you owe me a beer, or two."

  Sheriff Daniels was in earshot, and he knew damn good and well who I was talking to. I'd been keeping my distance from Denise due to the sheriff's policy against interdepartmental romances.

  "Yes, that would be great," I said in a formal tone.

  "Is Daniels listening?"

  "Affirmative."

  "Don't be a pussy. It's just a drink. There's no policy against drinks with coworkers. Besides, I have no intention of becoming one of your exes. I'll be at Aqualung. Be there or be square." Denise hung up the phone.

  I looked at my watch and nudged JD. "You know, it's almost happy hour at Aqualung."

  His eyes brightened. "Ooh! Great minds think alike.”

  "You know, I'm going to join you two," Daniels said. "I've been meaning to talk to you both."

  I swallowed hard. Were we in trouble? His tone sounded grim.

  5

  Aqualung was a dive bar—pun intended. The walls were adorned with scuba masks, snorkels, wetsuits, and old dive tanks. There was a wall of customer pictures from the reefs. Some of them were phenomenal—wide angles, pink coral, vibrant fish. The drinks were cheap, and the bartender always had a heavy pour. It wasn't as touristy as some of the other spots on Oyster Avenue.

  We sat at a high-top table near the bar. A cute blonde waitress named Rose took our order. She was from a small town in Texas and had a little twang in her voice. She had a delightful smile and reminded me of a young Marilyn Monroe.

  Daniels ordered a round of beer, and Denise arrived just about the time Rose brought the frosty long necks to the table.

  "Hey, guys," Denise said, clearly surprised to see the sheriff.

  Daniels’s face twisted with suspicion. "Are you here by coincidence?"

  "Can’t a girl enjoy a drink in a bar after work?"

  Daniels frowned and shot me a look.

  I shrugged innocently.

  "Can I get you something to drink, doll?" Rose asked.

  Denise smiled. "I’ll have what they’re having."

  "Coming right up," Rose said with a bubbly smile.

  "Well, now that we're all here…" Daniels had a grim look on his face. "I haven't told anyone this, and I don't really like discussing my personal business—"

  "You're not retiring, are you?" I asked.

  Daniels glared at me. "And let you two run amok? Hell no."

  I chuckled and exhaled a relieved breath. I liked Daniels’s no nonsense approach. He could be gruff and stern, but he didn't mince words, and he was a straight shooter.

  "I've got an election to win, and I fully intend on serving out another term," the sheriff declared.

  "So, what's the news, boss?" JD asked.

  Daniels sighed. "My dad is having some issues. He fell the other day. He's 87 years old, and he lives by himself. Got a touch of dementia." He paused. "Seeing Warren Russell beaten like that really got under my skin. I mean, that could have been my dad. Hell, that could be any of us in our golden years."

  Daniels huddled over his beer, and there was a somber mood around the table.

  "We'll get these scumbags," I said. "It's just a matter of time."

  Daniels nodded. "I just don't think I can continue to let Dad live alone. He's okay after the fall—just sore and a few bruises, but it could have gone so many ways of wrong. He's fighting me tooth and nail on this, but I think I've got to move him down here and put him into a facility while he still remembers who I am.”

  We all cringed.

  “He's getting to the point where he needs full-time assistance, and I can't manage it by myself,” Daniels continued. “Anyway, I'm not looking for a pity party, I'm just letting you know that I may have to take some time here and there to handle this and get him moved down here. I'll need you all to hold down the fort."

  "No problem," I said. "Let us know if there's anything we can do."

  "Stay out of trouble and get shit done," Daniels grumbled before taking a sip of his beer.

  "Where does he live?" JD asked.

  "He's in Texas right now. He doesn’t have long-term care insurance. Do you know how much those facilities cost? An arm and a leg. Some of these places are close to $10,000 a month! I don't know how anybody is supposed to afford getting old.” Daniels paused. “I'll probably have to sell his house and the ranch to pay for the facility."

  "Like I said, let us know if there's anything we can do," I offered.

  "I'm probably going to take next week off to go up there and get things in motion."

  "Keep us in the loop," JD said. "Sorry you've got to deal with this."

  Daniels shrugged. "It's part of life."

  He took a sip of his beer, then wiped the grim look from his face. "Well, enough of the pity party. Let's enjoy the good life while we’ve got it." He raised his amber bottle, and we clinked long necks.

  Daniels finished his beer and called it an early evening.

  "I feel so sorry for him," Denise said after he left. "That's just horrible to have to go through. He never talks about anything remotely personal. He must really like you two. I don't think he trusts everyone with that kind of information."

  "Fuck that getting old shit. I just want to go out in a blaze of glory," JD said. He raised his beer, and we clinked necks again.

  I took a sip of my beer, then looked at my watch. “Oh, shit. I forgot about our party."

  "I'm sure they've moved on," JD said.

  "You two were having a party, and I wasn't invited?" Denise asked.

  "It was just a little impromptu gathering," JD assured. "Besides, I knew you were working, and I didn't want you to feel left out."

  He was totally full of shit, and Denise knew it. Her eyes narrowed at him. "Well, I still want to see the new boat. And I expect an afternoon on the water."

  "I think we can arrange that," JD said. "But we have a strict dress code on board."

  "Don't you mean an undress code?"

  JD smiled. "Whatever you prefer?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Please, you two have already seen it. I don't see what the big deal is?"

  She knew damn good and well what the big deal was. Just the thought of Denise in a bikini, or less, made my heart beat faster and clouded my judgment.

  "Yes, but it was in a strictly professional setting," JD said.

  Denise had used her assets in several prior cases to lure in leche
rous perps. During the process, JD and I had inadvertently gotten a glimpse at what was underneath that uniform of hers—and it was a sight to behold.

  We were like two kittens who'd been given a bowl of milk. We kept loitering around, hoping for another sip. She had us on a string, and now she was just playing with us. Though, now that I was back on the market, she seemed to be taunting me even more.

  “I’m off tomorrow,” Denise said. “There’s a sandbar party at Barracuda Key.”

  “I’m there,” JD said.

  “You boys mind if I bring a friend?”

  JD’s eyes perked up. “The more the merrier.”

  6

  JD's phone blew up with a few texts. The brunette he was lotioning up earlier requested his services. He showed me her text. "She's upset that I abandoned her." He grinned. "I'm gonna go make it up to her.”

  Denise rolled her eyes.

  Jack slid the phone in his pocket and finished his beer. "You good?"

  "I'll catch a cab home."

  "I'll take you," Denise said.

  "Then I will see you good people tomorrow.” Jack gave me a mock salute and strutted out of the bar like a kid on Christmas morning.

  "He’s something else, isn't he?" Denise muttered. "And what about you? I'm surprised you don't have some hot young thing lined up tonight?"

  I looked straight into those gorgeous green eyes of hers. "I do."

  She laughed. "Save it, Romeo."

  There was a moment of silence, then she brought up the ex. "Have you talked to Reagan?"

  "I have. I think she's doing well."

  "So, you guys decided not to do the long distance thing?"

  "Something like that."

  "That's too bad. You seemed rather smitten."

  I squirmed a little. "Well, you know, the walls around my heart aren't impenetrable."

  "Just difficult to climb?"

  "How did I become the topic of conversation here? Surely there are more interesting things to discuss?"

  "No need to get defensive," Denise said with a grin.

  "What about you? Is there anybody special in your life that you've been hiding away?"