by Trisha Wolfe
Expunged could mean the charge was sealed because he was a minor at the time.
Rhys leans in and says, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
He closes the door and takes off at a jog before I can ask where he’s going. I watch him push through the entrance of the Tiki Hive. I tap my foot as I wait, becoming impatient, but then I see him exit the restaurant.
“What was that about?” I ask as he climbs in behind the wheel.
He hands me a baggie. “Writing samples. Mike and Torrance discard their orders and cash receipts in the trashcan behind the bar.”
Which means he didn’t need a warrant to obtain them. I quickly glance over the handwriting on the tabs. “It doesn’t look similar.”
“We’ll send it on to the team. Get analysis. Whoever wrote the note might’ve attempted to disguise their handwriting.”
I let this sink in, thinking. I still remember in vivid clarity the note that was sent to my parents’ house. The blocky letters, the words. The note pushed under my hotel room door was a close enough match.
Logically, neither Mike nor Torrance had reason to frighten me years ago during the investigation. They weren’t suspects. Still, after years of questioning the motive behind the letter, I discerned the author could be delusional, or suffer from some form of erotomania.
If either one of the brothers exhibits this behavioral trait then maybe I’m not seeing the bigger picture.
“This is good, Rhys. Thorough.” If for no other reason than to check the brothers off my list.
16
Impulse Control
Lakin: Now
Parked two blocks down from Kohen’s house, Rhys uses his database to do a quick search on our suspect. Here’s what we know about the former Tiki Hive waiter:
His full name is Kohen Louis Hayes. Twenty-five. White. Male. Single. He lived with his mother, Jennifer Hayes (never married) up until a year and a half ago, when he rented a small suburban house off the A1A. He has no credit cards. He attended a community college for computer science for a few months, then dropped out to pursue a scattering of food and beverage jobs.
Kohen does have one offense. At the age of nineteen, he was in a bar altercation that resulted in the police locking him up for a night. He was released the next day on his own recognizance. The other participant in the fight never pressed charges.
Most young men have a lack of impulse control at that age—yet, was this a one-time occurrence, or a marker for the onset of a disturbing behavioral pattern?
On paper, nothing out of the ordinary stands out. He appears to have little ambition, but he did move out of his mother’s house, which is no small feat for most young males today. But the question is, for someone who appears to be comfortable coasting through life, what prompted this sudden surge of independence? What spurred him to attend college in the first place?
Typically, the answer is pretty commonplace: a woman.
This could also be a likely reason for the altercation.
That would be the natural, healthy reason. There are, of course, the less common and more disturbing motives: drug use; illicit fetishes; other various illegal activities—all of which privacy would be a necessity.
I’ll deduce more once we interview him.
Rhys does a quick periphery check around the house, making sure there are no attack dogs or other threats, before we approach the one-story home. It’s an off-white, eggshell color, darkened by age and neglect. The porch sinks in toward the middle, boards creak beneath our feet.
Rhys knocks.
There’s a noise behind the door, like someone was already watching us from the peephole. Rhys’s hand goes to his gun harness, palm hovering over his service piece as a precaution. After a reasonable amount of time, the door opens. I recognize Kohen from the description the beach bunnies gave us.
“Kohen Hayes?” Rhys addresses him as an inquiry. He says it’s best to start an introduction with a question, to get the suspect used to answering questions right from the start.
As Kohen’s hands are in view and he doesn’t appear to be a threat, Rhys bypasses his weapon and takes out his ID.
Kohen’s dark eyebrows draw together in a confused countenance. “That’s me,” he says. “What do you want?”
I can see why he had a bit of sway over the ladies. Despite his young age, Kohen is strikingly handsome and carries himself with assured confidence. His shoulders pull back, bringing him to a level height with Rhys.
Rhys makes the introductions, then says, “Mr. Hayes, we have a few questions we need answered pertaining to Joanna Delany.” He gets right to the matter, testing Kohen’s reaction to the victim’s name.
With only the slightest thinning of his lips, Kohen steps onto the porch and shuts the door behind him, otherwise stoic. He stuffs his hands into his jean pockets and lifts his chin. His way of stating he’ll talk to us, for now.
“When was the last time you recall seeing Ms. Delany?” Rhys asks.
A shrug. “I worked a shift with Jo the day she was killed,” he answers honestly, and with very little emotive tone. He also refers to the victim by a familiar nickname, denoting he knew her better than a coworker or acquaintance.
“Do you remember about what time she left work that evening?” Rhys continues the questioning.
Kohen’s deep-blue eyes shift to me for a second before he directs his attention back to Rhys. “We got off around the same time during the shift changeover. Five-thirty, I think.” His gaze flits my way again.
I tilt my head, considering him, and pull out my notebook. I write down a random note to give myself something to do while keeping my peripheral aware of Kohen. Most people will avoid eye contact for any length of time. It’s common, having an unnerving effect. I’m giving him the opportunity to check me out without catching him to see what he does.
If Rhys notices his conduct, he doesn’t let on. “Did you notice anything odd or alarming about Joanna’s behavior that day? Did she seem worried or upset?”
Kohen shakes his head. “Not that I could tell.”
“When did you leave the Tiki Hive?”
Kohen’s gaze lingers on me as he replies. “Not long after Jo did. I have an alibi, if you’re going to ask where I was during the time of her death.”
Everyone’s seen cop shows. Rhys smirks. “And where were you?”
He crosses his arms, defensive. “I was at my mother’s house. I do the shopping for her.”
“You have a good memory,” I say, drawing his attention on me.
He nods slowly. “Yeah, well, I’ve been in charge of her doctor appointments and medications, and all her shopping for the past three years. I have to have a good memory to keep up with all that, or else bad things happen.”
He’s looking directly into my eyes as he says this last part.
Rhys bristles at the hostility in his tone and moves a fraction closer to me. I’m not fazed. “What does your mother have?” I ask.
“Late osteosarcoma,” he answers.
A chill brushes my skin. “I’m sorry.” He nods, but says nothing else on the matter.
Regardless of his place among this case, I do feel regret for him. After Amber was diagnosed with advanced osteosarcoma, she was never the same. I was never the same. Surgery and chemo failed her after a yearlong battle. The cancer had already spread to her lungs by the time it was discovered.
Watching a loved one deteriorate from this debilitating cancer is isolating, painful.
Amber was twelve when she died.
“Do you mind recounting your whereabouts?” Rhys asks, shifting the subject back on track. “Since you have such a great memory, that shouldn’t be an issue for us to confirm.”
“Sure.” Kohen recites his routine for the day of Joanna’s murder. Work, pharmacy, and then a trip to the grocery store that put him at his mother’s house by approximately six forty-five p.m. Then he spent the evening with her, until about nine-thirty.
“Can anyone corroborate the ti
me you made it back home?” Rhys pushes.
Kohen adjusts his stance. “No. I live alone.”
“Why were you let go from the Tiki Hive?” Rhys changes the topic quickly.
“As you can imagine, my mother’s failing health takes up a lot of my time. My boss didn’t like me coming in late and calling out when I needed to take her to appointments.”
Rhys glances at me, a mental tag-in. “There were a few reports from patrons that you made advances on customers during work,” I say. “According to your former boss, you were caught giving away free drinks to such customers.”
He scoffs. “Those old bats? They’re harmless, but they have some wild imaginations.” He grins at me, teeth white and straight.
But he knew immediately to whom I was referring. “So their claims are unfounded?” I press.
He takes a step forward, gaining an inch toward me, and Rhys moves in as my shield. Kohen runs a hand through his floppy hair, a smile crooking his lips. “I might have led them on a couple of times,” he says. “They were good tippers.”
I read between the lines and take a chance. “They solicited you for sex,” I say outright.
His smile widens. “Well, really only one of them did.” He shrugs. “Times are hard. Got to make the rent. I looked at it more like we were doing each other a favor. I needed money, Vinnie needed someone to sleep with her old ass.”
Not a hint of shame in his voice. From what I’ve gathered so far, Kohen Hayes is a narcissist, with possible borderline sociopathic tendencies. But that doesn’t make him a killer. He would need motive to kill Joanna. That motive could be viewed as obscure and loose to most, but for him, it would be seen as deeply personal.
I decide to play to his ego. “Did Joanna ever come on to you? Proposition you with sex for drugs or money?”
He laughs. “What? Uh, no. I was never propositioned for sex by her,” he mocks.
I raise an eyebrow. “But you knew she had once had a drug addiction?”
He sighs long and hard. “It’s Florida. The bowels of hell. Who doesn’t?” Before I can ask further, he adds, “Jo was hot, all right? Sure she flirted with me, and I didn’t mind one bit. That’s how F&B is; everyone fucks with everyone. It eases the tension during a rush.” His gaze hardens on me. “Don’t read too much into that.”
“But maybe Joanna did,” I counter. “Maybe she took the flirting as more than just casual workplace banter.”
Kohen reaches behind to grab the doorknob, retreating. “I honestly didn’t know her that well, so I couldn’t tell you.”
“You ever show Jo images of your rope fetish?” Rhys does another quick shift. “Shibari, is it? Rope bondage?” We did some fast Googling on the terminology prior.
Kohen sneers. “I think this conversation is over.” His gaze slips to me, eyeing the band around my wrist. I tug my shirtsleeve down, and his lips tip into a knowing grin.
Rhys takes out a card and thrusts it toward him. “Thanks for your time. My direct line is on the back. Give me a call if anything else comes to mind.”
Hesitantly, Kohen accepts the card. “Yeah.” That blue gaze pegs me one last time. “You have a real nice day.” I can feel his lingering gaze as I leave.
Once we’re in the car, I look at Rhys. “That was abrupt. What is it?”
He cranks the engine and pulls onto the road. “What did you make of him?”
I buckle my seatbelt. “I think he’s narcissistic. But the fact that he cares for his mother long term means he may not be psychopathic. Which we know doesn’t equate to much in the way of motive to murder, but I couldn’t glean any motive from the conversation. You?”
“He said that everyone fucks with everyone in F&B. Torrance claimed Rixon fired Kohen because he was fraternizing with customers, maintaining that the beach bunnies were disturbed by his advances. But according to them, they didn’t mind the attention.”
I consider this a moment. “I picked up on the same vibe from the women. Claiming that a man—an unnerving man—is hitting on you is a guilt-free way to make yourself feel wanted.”
“The beach bunnies didn’t come across as modest to me,” he says.
I frown his way. “So they liked his attention. I agree that that wouldn’t warrant termination from the Tiki Hive, especially if flirtatious banter was acceptable. But Kohen claimed he was let go due to his hindered schedule.”
“Then why wouldn’t Torrance and Rixon just say that?” Rhys asks.
Good question. “I guess we need to ask them.”
A methodical perpetrator would point to a likely suspect without revealing his hand. By directing us toward the beach bunnies, knowing that they may reveal Kohen’s preference for bondage, the brothers created a likely suspect.
The fact that Mike didn’t mention him during the first investigation only adds to my belief that, if either brother were involved in Joanna’s murder, they felt safely removed from the investigation the first time around. Never offer information when not asked. Again, an intelligent person would know this.
At this point, Kohen may still be a suspect, but the brothers have not been removed from the list. If anything, by pointing to Kohen, Torrance made himself even more intrinsic to the case.
As we head toward the coast, I think on that further and take out my pad to make a note to ask the boyfriend another question. If Joanna was being pursued by either Mike or Torrance, to the point where either one became obsessive enough to fire Kohen because they regarded him as a distraction—or worse, an obstacle—then Joanna might have mentioned any wary feelings about work to Jamison.
Which, also, could put the boyfriend back on the list. Jealousy is one of the deadly murder trifecta.
The case is starting to get murky, but one thing is clear; Kohen is more perceptive than he chooses to appear. Whatever impulse control Kohen lacked in youth, he’s acquired now. My impulse was to write him off, but maybe the brothers aren’t the only ones using misdirection. We can’t clear anyone off the board yet.
The victim’s proverbial murder tree is starting to sprout limbs.
17
Book of Drew
Lakin: Then
Being alone with Drew was like being the only woman in the world. When he looked at you—when he looked at me—it was as if life up until that point had been an illusion, a deception. Some buried time capsule just waiting for the lid to be ripped off to reveal the real world and all its wonders.
I was awake.
Alive.
Vibrant and beautiful.
He looked right into me; he saw that spark we call a soul. Who I always had been, but was only just discovering with him.
In my youth, I had believed I was content to be second best. That was my place. Amber was the star, and I carved out a quiet corner for myself to exist. And I was happy, or rather, I was content. I didn’t know any differently.
Now, I knew someone could love me best. I’d experienced what it felt like to be desired. We were secluded in our own shiny bubble. Sheltered from that lonely past. And as I stroked his cheek, loving the way his scruff felt against my fingers, the clash of smooth and coarse, I fell harder for him.
I felt brave.
“I love you,” I said. There was no shame in admitting this aloud. I trusted Drew with my deepest, darkest fears. My most intimate aspirations. I could trust him with my heart, too.
His eyes flicked over my features before he leaned in and kissed my forehead. “I know you do,” he said.
I swelled at his response. I dropped back against the blanket, the beach sand molding to my body. Curves that I had once felt self-conscious about on show in a bikini, but the way Drew’s gaze lingered on my flesh made me want to parade up and down the shore.
He leaned over me, blotting out the sun. He was my sun.
“What would you do for that love?” he asked, his finger trailing my thigh.
I shivered at his intimate touch. “Anything,” I said. “Everything.”
His smile stretched, br
ight eyes gleamed. Then he moved in closer, his lips brushing my ear. “Anything?”
As he pulled back, those shimmering eyes darkened. Raw, carnal want shone in the depths, and I felt his desire for me. He tipped my chin up, his finger curled beneath. “Would you kill for us?”
I believed I would—I would do whatever it took for us to be together. And in our world, where only we existed, this was acceptable.
I nodded against his hand. “Yes.”
“Then it’s settled,” he said, voice low. “You’re deranged.” He laughed, and I slapped his arm.
His hand slipped between my thighs then, sending a heated quiver up my legs, a deep ache pinching my sex. I squeezed my thighs against his hand. His mouth came down on mine, tasting me tenderly at first, then savagely, devouring what belonged to him.
His next whispered words tickled my earlobe as he pressed his mouth to the shell of my ear. Heated breath caressed my neck, the spray of ocean misted my legs.
It was perfect.
It was the last happy day I recall spending with Drew. Just a week before Chelsea showed up at his door. Before the attack.
This is the memory I try to keep sacred, untouched. I don’t take it out often, because I want to try to preserve the accuracy of it. I want to keep it unblemished. Unchanged.
And yet, somehow I’ve already managed to lose the words he whispered to me on the beach. No matter how hard I try to remember, to recall what he said…the blackness catches it, burning the memory at the edges like a Polaroid rapidly smoldering, the ashes chasing the flaming embers of my mind.
18
Primal Instinct
Lakin: Now
The last time I was this close to Torrance, he was winking at Cam. Bar towel slung over his shoulder. Cool countenance of a man about to get laid. Though, I remember he was a lot younger somehow. In his interview with Rhys he revealed he’s only twenty-eight, yet the years working in the harsh Florida sun has aged him, making him appear older, weathered.