by Tripp Ellis
My eyes narrowed at him.
18
"Deputy Wild?" a soft female voice said, crackling through the speaker in my phone.
I could barely hear her over the howl of the engine and the whistling of the wind as we barreled down the highway on our way to the middle school.
"Yes,” I shouted over the noise. “How can I help you?"
"My name is Haley Russell. Warren was my grandfather. Sheriff Daniels gave me your number."
"I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. He said you and your partner were investigating the case."
"That's correct."
"I just wanted to make contact. If there is anything I can do to help your investigation, please let me know." She paused. "How is it going?"
"Right now we don't have anything promising. I'm sorry. But I can assure you, we will follow this through to conclusion."
"Thank you. I appreciate that. Warren's viewing is tonight at the Serenity Harbor Funeral Home, if you would like to attend. The funeral is scheduled for noon tomorrow. I'll be in town for the week, trying to wrap up my grandfather's affairs. I hope we can at least meet before I leave town."
"My partner and I will definitely attend either the viewing or the service. Again, I am sorry for your loss. Please don't hesitate to contact me if you have any questions."
"Thank you."
We pulled into the parking lot of the Coconut Key Middle School about the time the phone call ended. JD parked the Porsche in the faculty lot, and we strolled toward the main office. A bell rang, and a horde of school kids swarmed the hallways, heading toward their next class.
"Look at all these potential killers," JD teased.
We stepped into the main office and flashed our badges.
"Uh, oh!" the woman behind the front desk exclaimed as she saw us. Her wide eyes took in the glimmering badges. She was a frumpy woman with dark curly hair, and an acetate name tag that read Dorothy. “You haven't received any threats against the school, have you?"
"No, ma'am,” I said. “Nothing like that.”
I told her why we were there.
"Oh, thank God! I thought you were gonna tell me there was a bomb in a trashcan."
"No, ma'am."
The principal, Mr. Strickler, stepped out of his office just as I was explaining things to Dorothy. He introduced himself and expressed his condolences. "I thought you guys had pretty much settled on a suspect?"
"Didn't pan out as we hoped," I said.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Warren was here every day, rain or shine, always looking out for the kids," Strickler said.
"Did he have conflicts with anyone? Parents? Teachers? I hate to ask, but was he ever accused of any inappropriate behavior?"
Principal Strickler's face crinkled. "No. Not at all. Everybody loved Warren. He was a standup guy. Nothing inappropriate. I can tell you, if a parent would have raised a concern like that, he'd been out, lickety-split."
"Seems like he got along with just about everybody," I said. "Warren didn't have any affairs with any of the teachers, did he?"
"He was 92 years old," Strickler said, looking at me like I was crazy.
"Well, in our investigation, we’ve discovered that Warren was a bit of a ladies’ man."
Strickler pondered things for a moment. "Well, he was an attractive man for his age. But I haven't heard any gossip about any tawdry affairs, have you, Dorothy?"
Dorothy shook her head.
"I don't know what to tell you," Strickler continued. "The only people that didn't like Warren Russell, as far as I know, were the drug dealers on the street corners."
That statement piqued our interests.
“Drug dealers?” I asked.
"He'd run anybody off that was loitering around school premises that didn't belong," Strickler said.
"So, he got into confrontations with these dealers?" I asked.
"Warren wasn't scared to give a piece of his mind to anyone." Strickler thought about it for a moment. "A lot of times, we get older kids lingering around campus that are trying to recruit new users. It's disgusting. But, they start young sometimes." He paused. "Hell, if you go outside right now, I guarantee you there will be someone on the next block trying to hustle drugs to these kids on their way home from school."
"How long has this kind of thing been going on?" JD asked.
"It’s endemic. Where you have kids, you will have drugs, and someone trying to sell to them. The best we can do is call you boys when we hear about it,” Strickler said. “These dealers are clever. They are school-age, they wear backpacks and carry books. They try to blend in as much as possible."
"Thank you," I said. "This has been helpful."
"My pleasure," Strickler said as we shook hands. "If there's anything else I can do, let me know."
“Do you think you would recognize these street dealers?”
“I wouldn't, but Marcy might. She's another one of our volunteer crossing guards. She’ll be here this afternoon. Talk to her.”
We left the office and strolled through the halls toward the front of the main building.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" JD asked.
"It sounds like somebody may have retaliated against Warren," I said.
We pushed through the glass double doors, descended the steps, and stood on the walkway. I gazed over the front lawn. The American flag fluttered high overhead, clinking against the flagpole. There was a large circular drive where parents picked up their children. At the south side of the school, the buses picked up and dropped off kids. Others walked home or rode their bikes.
JD and I decided to hang around until school let out. I called Denise in the meantime to see what kind of reports were on file about dealers around the school.
19
"It looks like we've received several complaints from school officials this year already. And we're what, not even six weeks into the school year?" Denise said.
"And what has been the outcome?" I asked.
"Records show we dispatched a unit to investigate the complaints. No arrests were made."
"That's it?"
"That's it," Denise said. She changed direction. "I'm really sorry about my friend getting out of control the other day. I hope you won't hold it against me."
"No worries." I paused. "I'd invite you back aboard, but since we are keeping things strictly professional, they'll be no more leisurely outings for you," I teased.
"I think it's for the best. Besides, I like our friendship, it would be a shame to ruin it over meaningless sex."
"Who said it would be meaningless?"
"Please, Tyson. Don't go there. I know better."
"I'll have you know that every woman I've been with has meant something," I said, making a pathetic attempt to defend my reputation.
"Yeah, I'm sure they meant a lot in the moment," she snarked.
"Well, when you think about it in a philosophical sense… all we really have is the present moment. The past is a memory, the future is but a dream."
I could almost hear her roll her eyes. "Okay, Aristotle, I will talk to you later."
Long before the dismissal bell rang, cars pulled into the circular drive. The traffic stacked up, and the line of metal twisted around the block. Students burst out of the doors and launched across the campus. It was pure chaos. Faces filled with jubilation, escaping the educational prison.
We talked to Marcy at the main crosswalk. She wore a lime green vest that was even brighter than JD's Porsche. She was in her late 50s, and her short, curly hair was just starting to go gray. We asked about Russell as she escorted the kids across the street.
"Yeah, Warren kept getting into it with this one kid. He ran him off a few times. I know for a fact the kid had a gun in his waistband one time Warren talked to him. But that didn't seem to scare Warren," Marcy said.
"How old was the kid?" I asked.
"I don't know. 16? Maybe 17?"
"Do you think you’d recognize him again if
you saw him?"
"If he came around here? Sure. If you put him in a lineup, probably not."
"Do you think you could give a description to our sketch artist?" I asked.
"Sure. I'd be happy to do that."
We kept our eye out for anyone who looked suspicious. Jack and I walked around the campus and canvassed the nearby streets.
Nobody looked out of place.
After Marcy had finished her obligations at the school, she followed us down to the station and worked with Lana to come up with a sketch of the young drug dealer. She said the kid wore baggy jeans, colorful shirts, new shoes, and carried a backpack with USA in red, white, and blue across the top, and a large American Eagle embroidered on the fabric. We also showed her several mugshots of kids that had been arrested recently for possession or intent to distribute.
Marcy wasn't able to identify anyone.
By the time we wrapped up with Marcy, Warren's visitation was beginning. We headed to the Serenity Harbor Funeral Home. It was one of the last of the independent, privately owned aftercare facilities. Most had been snapped up by larger conglomerates. It was still a mom-and-pop shop. They did all of the embalming and body preparation in-house, unlike the larger corporations that sent remains to a central processing facility. They offered traditional burial, cremation, burial at sea, and spreading of the ashes at sea, if so desired. They had a relationship with the Coconut Key Memorial Cemetery, and offered discounts on plots and internment. None of it was cheap.
The parking lot was half full.
Haley greeted guests as they entered. She was a cute, sandy blonde with brown hair and soft skin. Her eyes were red and puffy from all the tears that had been shed, but she seemed to be holding up relatively well at the moment. She reached out and shook my hand and introduced herself. "You must be Tyson."
"How did you know?"
"You're under 65," she said, dryly.
All the attendees were older. There were some neighbors, a few women from the nursing home, and a few of Warren's acquaintances.
I introduced Haley to Jack.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. My condolences," JD said.
"I'm so glad you both could come," Haley said. "I wasn't sure who would show up, honestly. All of grandpa’s Marine buddies have passed on. I tried to contact as many people as I could from Pappy’s address book, but half of them were no longer with us."
"I guess that's the trouble with living to 92," Jack said. "You get to watch all of your friends and loved ones go first."
Haley frowned.
"I'm sorry," Jack said. "That was probably an inappropriate comment."
"You have to excuse Jack,” I said. “He has no filter."
"I'm not offended. It's true. My grandfather lived a rich, full life. I'm sad that he's gone, and the way he went was tragic. But I refuse to let it bring me down. Instead, I'm going to be thankful of all the time that I had with him while he was alive."
"You have a good attitude," I said.
"Attitude is the only thing that you really control, isn't it?" Haley said.
I nodded.
"Besides, I know that you two capable gentlemen will bring his killer to justice."
"You can count on us," Jack said.
"Come on in, pay your respects and enjoy the refreshments,” Haley said. “There is water, soda, and snacks. I'm paying for it, so you people better eat it."
We chuckled, then continued into the funeral home. We made our way to the viewing area where people viewed Warren peacefully resting in the casket. The makeup artist did a hell of a job. I never saw Warren when he was alive, but I knew how bad he looked when we arrived on scene. Now, his skin looked flawless and vibrant. Most of the time when you see a corpse in a funeral home they look overdone—thick makeup and too much blush. There is something unnatural about their appearance. But whoever did this make up had mastered their craft. He looked like he could sit up and climb out of the coffin at any moment.
There were long faces among the guests, but most people tried to keep an upbeat attitude. After all, Warren had lived longer than most. In the US, life expectancy for men is 78.69 years. Warren had beaten that by 14 years. He probably had another half dozen in him if some scumbag hadn't taken that away.
We paid our respects, then we made our way to the refreshments.
“I don’t know about you, but this shit is depressing,” JD muttered. “I need a drink.”
“So do I,” Haley said, who happened to be in earshot.
20
Jack picked Wetsuit because their happy hour lasted till 8 PM.
That wasn't the only reason he picked the dive-themed bar. Gorgeous waitresses pranced around in wetsuit jackets unzipped to their navels. They looked like sexy super heroes of the deep. Bountiful cleavage practically spilled out of the formfitting neoprene. There were aquariums throughout the bar, filled with exotic fish. The walls were painted in a giant mural of the reefs. The drinks were strong, the music was good, and there was plenty of eye candy.
"I've just been so overwhelmed the last few days," Haley said. "It's good to get out and unwind. I've been going through all the things in Pappy’s house, deciding what to keep, and what to throw away. It makes me dizzy. And I break down crying every 15 minutes. There are so many pictures, and so many memories. There are boxes and boxes of papers. He kept everything."
Jack and I listened to her with somber faces.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to bore you with this,” Haley said. “I didn't come out with you guys to complain."
"No problem. Gotta get it out. You hold that inside, it can turn rotten," I said.
The table was silent for a moment.
"You guys don't seem like your average cops," she said with a curious look in her eyes.
"You're not going to find anything average here," JD said with a smile.
"We volunteer at the department and assist with special cases," I said.
"I'm glad my grandfather's case is special," Haley replied with a smile.
"Did your grandfather ever talk about any confrontations he might have gotten into?” I asked.
She thought for a brief moment, then shook her head.
"He didn't mention anything about running off drug dealers from the school grounds?"
Her eyes widened. "No. Did he do that?"
"It seems so," I said.
Haley put two and two together quickly. "And you think they may have retaliated against him?"
I nodded. "Could be?" I took a deep breath. "It's all we have to go on right now."
"How long are you in town for?" JD asked.
"Until I get everything sorted," Haley said. "I've got a really flexible job, so I can work from anywhere."
"What do you do?"
She hesitated for a long moment. "I'd rather not say."
That got JD's attention. He arched a curious eyebrow. "Now I'm intrigued."
"A woman should always have a little mystery about her,” she said with a coy smile.
"You know he's thinking something dirty," I said.
Haley shrugged. "I can't control what goes on in his mind."
"I don't think he can control what goes on in his mind," I said.
Haley laughed.
"Is it dirty?" JD asked, not able to help himself.
She smacked his arm playfully. "No. Cleaning out sewer lines is dirty. What I do is clean,” she said with the sly smile.
We laughed.
Haley wasn't divulging any information. I think she enjoyed making us wonder.
The waitress, Isla, sauntered by, and we ordered another round of beer. She returned a few moments later with three ice cold long necks. JD's eyes were glued to her assets as she strutted away.
"To Warren," Haley said, lifting her beer.
"To Warren," we replied, clinking bottles.
"Uh, oh!" Jack muttered. "Here comes trouble."
I followed his eyes toward the door. Jordyn entered, clinging on to some guy’s arm.
I was kinda hoping she didn't notice us, but there was no chance of that. Her eyes lit up, and she ran toward us. She gave us both a hug, and her breath reeked of whiskey. "Oh my God. I'm so glad I ran into you both."
She was already slurring her words.
"I made such an ass out of myself the other day. I hope you guys can forgive me? I'm not always that sloppy of a drunk."
The dude she was with hovered around the table.
"Oh, Jack, Tyson, this is my boyfriend, Bryce."
We shook.
“You’re Denise’s boyfriend? Right?” Bryce asked.
“Yes, he is,” Jordyn said before I could answer.
She had clearly made up some story. She sure as hell didn't act like she had a boyfriend the other day.
There was an awkward moment of silence.
Jordyn was hot, and her bikini top was holding on for dear life, but I was glad I didn't have to babysit her tonight. Another few drinks, and she'd be in the obnoxious zone—if she wasn't there already.
"Well, it was good to see you both!" Jordyn smiled and drifted away with her boyfriend.
Haley flashed me a curious look.
"Friend of a friend," I explained.
It wasn't 15 minutes later when Jordyn was practically banging Bryce at the bar. They were locked at the lips, and their hips mashed together. The two were going at it hot and heavy when Jordyn lost her balance and fell back into a burly guy next to her, spilling his drink. The glass dropped from his hand and shattered against the concrete floor, spraying shards in all directions.
Jordyn laughed. "Whoops. My bad!"
"No problem," the guy said. "Just buy me another one."
He was calm and cordial.
Jordyn's face crinkled. "Fuck you! I'm not buying you shit."
The man's face soured. "That was a $10 cocktail, and somebody's gonna buy me another one."
"What's the matter?” Jordyn asked. "You can’t afford $10?"
"You seem like the one who can't afford $10. How about we take it out in trade?” The burly man flashed a lecherous smile. “You can put that pretty little mouth to work, and we'll call it even."
That's when Bryce puffed up. "Hey man. Take it easy.”