by Mark Stone
"That was different," I said, my eyes turning from the blond man to Marcus. "I didn't grow up with my father, let alone his lawyer. He certainly wasn't one of the most important people in my life, as I'm sure your daughter is to you. What's more, I could not have given a damn about my half-brother."
"The same one who bought you a boat?" The blond man asked.
"Exactly how much Googling have you done on me, bud?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and doing everything I could to stop myself from standing to meet him.
"Enough to make this interesting," the man answered. "And the name's Russell Anchorage, but my friends call me—”
"Anchor?" I asked, everything clicking into place. "You're that idiot from that stupid television show." I said, and now I actually did stand up.
"Sit back down, Detective Storm," the woman, Cross, shouted, pointing to my chair.
"I'm being questioned by a reality television star?" I asked, my eyes widening. "Is this actually happening? Is that how things are run out here?"
My mind flashed to the show in question. Boomer was a huge fan of it. In Anchors Away, the cocky bastard standing in front of me now used to hunt for sunken treasure off the coast. The show had gotten cancelled amid some sort of tragic accident. Still, I had no idea when I walked in here today that I'd be greeted (rather rudely) by a Z list celebrity.
"Anchor is working strictly as a consultant, Detective Storm," Cross said. "I assure you everything here is very professional, and very serious." She pointed to the chair again. "Now sit down!"
"Fine," I muttered. "But I want to know what's going on here. I was under the impression that I was asked for by Mikey."
"And I was under the impression you were a good detective," Cross said, looking down at me again. "I would assume that means you would know we're not running a courier service here. You're not a lawyer. Just because a prisoner asks to see someone doesn't mean we rush out and get them."
"Of course, it doesn't," I answered. My anger flaring up even more. "But you did rush out and get me, didn't you? Or, at least, you sent word for me to come. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here."
"Well, when the prime and only suspect in a kidnapping uses you as an alibi, it's only reasonable to think you're going to be questioned," Anchor said, that stupid grin still plastered on his face.
"Do you ever stop smiling?" I asked, frowning up at him.
"Not for long enough," Cross muttered before continuing. “Mikey Coolidge clams he spent the night with you at a bar drinking and playing pool."
"That's- that's partially true," I answered, remembering the night before.
Marcus slammed his hand against the table. "That's enough!" He shouted. "You helped tackle a man who had a knife pointed at me and, three hours later, the two of you are drinking buddies? I don't have to tell you how little sense that makes, Detective Storm. Now, I like your grandfather, and I've heard good things about your boss out there, but you're hiding something from me. My baby girl was taken while I was on the phone, listening helplessly ten miles away. That happened mere hours after a lunatic threatened us, a lunatic who you obviously have a more casual relationship with than you would like me to believe." He huffed loudly. "So, one of two things is going to happen right now, Detective Storm. Either you are going to tell me what happened to my daughter right this instant, or I'm arresting you on the spot and throwing you in jail alongside your monster of a drinking buddy."
Chapter 8
"You're making a mistake," I said flatly, though my heart had sped up to fighting shape. My eyes shot up, not to the blond man at Marcus's back, but the woman at his side.
I could tell from the way her face dropped and the way her hands balled up that, not only had she not been expecting this sort of outburst from Marcus, but she also didn't agree with it.
"He's making a mistake," I said to the woman, giving Cross a knowing look.
"Don't talk to her," Marcus said, rage clear and present on his face. I had seen this kind of hurt before, though it usually came from the families of crime victims and not the police officers investigating the crime. The fact that those two things were one in the same in this case was a dangerous thing, and it looked as though Cross was starting to understand that.
"Answer my question,” Marcus said, slamming his fists hard against the table again. "Where the hell is my daughter?"
"I don't know," I said truthfully, looking from Marcus to Cross and back again. "I'm not sure what Mikey told you, but the truth is, I went out for a drink last night. He happened to be there. He also happened to be drunk off his ass and about a half a step away from dissolving into a puddle of heartache on the floor. Since he couldn't drive himself home, I did it myself."
"You're under arrest," Marcus said, standing up, glaring at me as he huffed loudly.
"Marcus!" Cross said, reaching for the man and grabbing his arm. "Let's just take a minute, okay?"
"To hell with taking a minute," the chief of police said. "My daughter is out there. She could be dead or dying for all we know, and this bastard knows something! I want him in jail!"
She grabbed his other arm and turned him towards her. They were close enough to whisper when she spoke again; lowly, though I could still hear her.
"He's a detective, Marcus. His own chief is right outside this room. If we march him out of here in cuffs, it's going to cause more of a ruckus than you know." Cross's hands were still placed firmly on Marcus's arms when he responded.
"I don't give a damn about this man or Boomer Goddamned Anderson." Marcus's voice was a hiss. "The only thing I care about right now is finding my daughter."
"Then let me do that," Cross said. "You know I love Tanya. She's like a sister to me. I want to find her every bit as much as you do, if that's possible. You know what I'm good at too. Look at me. You arrest this man, and he has no choice but to lawyer up. You know what that means, Marcus. It means that, even if he knows something he doesn't know he knows, we won't get it until a trial. Let me talk to him. He says he didn't do anything more than give the man a ride. Maybe he heard or saw something that'll help us." She leaned in further. "And, if you're right, and he's lying to us, I'll find that out too. I'll get to the bottom of it and, if he laid a hand on Tanya or knows the person who did, I'll wring the truth right out of him." She took a deep breath. "Let me do this."
Marcus gave the same sort of look he'd have given the devil himself. Then, nodding at Cross, he walked out the door, leaving me with this mismatched pair.
"Good work," I said, though Anchor said the same thing at the same time, inadvertently turning us into a chorus of praise.
"I'm not interested in validation." Her eyes moved to Anchor. "From either of you. Let's get this finished. Where did you see Mikey last night, Detective Storm?"
"The Hungry Seagull, I think?" I said, trying to remember the name of the watering hole I'd found.
"Thirsty Seagull," Anchor corrected. "It's not a bad place, though there's usually zilch in the way of available ladies there, if that's what you're looking for."
"I'm seeing someone," I said, sneering at him. "But I appreciate the advice."
"Pay him no attention," Cross said, glaring at the television star. "He has a two-track mind."
"Two track?" I asked, knitting my eyebrows together.
"She says I'm always either looking for treasure or tail," he answered. "Which is partially true and partially offensive."
"Sounds positively charming," I muttered. "It really is a mystery why your show got cancelled."
"What time did you leave the Thirsty Seagull with Mikey?" Cross asked, cutting into the back and forth I was starting with Anchor.
"Sometime after midnight," I answered. "Probably closer to 1 AM."
"Can you get any more specific than that?" Cross asked flatly.
"I'd say it was between 1:30 AM and maybe 1:45," I said. "I got back to my boat by about 2:15 in the morning if that helps."
"Right," Cross said, writing the information I'd just given her down o
n a notepad Marcus had in front of him before he left the room. It was a strange feeling, to be on this side of things. Usually, I would know exactly what this sort of information meant. I would know if the words I'd just said proved Mikey's innocence or sealed his fate. It was really aggravating, though eye opening too. I now knew how all the people I'd questioned throughout the years felt, and it wasn't very good.
"What sort of demeanor would you say he was in when you left him?" Cross asked.
"Is 'drunk off his ass' a sort of demeanor?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning backward in my chair.
"Only if you're lucky," Anchor muttered.
"Enough, Anchor!" Cross said, giving the man a look that would wilt flowers as she scolded him, a look I was almost certain she had given him more than a few times at this point.
"Look," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not sure what evidence you do or don't have on this guy. My guess is it's not a lot, seeing as how I'm here right now. If it makes any difference though, I don't think he was in any position to walk across the street, let alone head over to that poor woman's house and take her forcefully."
Something tickled at the back of my mind.
"In fact," I said, digging around in my pocket and pulling out a shining pair of keys. "I still have the keys to his car. So, I'm not sure how exactly he would have even gotten to Tanya's bungalow."
"I'll take those," Cross said, grabbing the keys almost as soon as I put them on the table.
"All I'm saying is, a woman is missing and, as far as I can tell, you're looking in the wrong direction," I said, shaking my head. "Time is of the essence with something like this. So, if I were on this case—”
"You're not on this case, Detective Storm," Cross said sternly. "And, to be completely frank with you, you're not privy to all of the information about it."
"Maybe that's where you're running into your issue," I said, smirking at the woman. "No offense, but my boss in the other room and we're good at what we do. Maybe we could help you get to the bottom of this."
The woman's eyes narrowed. Instantly, I could tell she wouldn't be down for what I'd just suggested.
"Detective Storm," she said, leaning forward. "Let me give you a suggestion. I don't believe you're involved in what happened to Tanya Harris. Really, I don't. If you want to keep it that way, I suggest you stop trying to interject yourself in this case. You're from Naples. So, do what you came here to do, and get back home."
"You still think Mikey did this, don't you?" I asked, reading the look on her face.
"Our investigation isn't your business, sir," she answered.
"I was there, Cross," I answered.
"Katherine," she answered. "Detective Katherine Cross."
"Whatever," I said. "The point is I saw that man. He wasn't in any condition to do what he's being accused of doing."
"Or, he knew what he was going to do, saw a cop standing in front of him, and decided to pretend he was too incapacitated to do it," Anchor answered. "Sounds like a perfect alibi to me."
I looked at the man, steading myself.
"If you keep looking in this direction, the person responsible will get way," I said flatly. "Not only that, but any chance we have at finding her will vanish just like she did."
"Thank you for your time, Detective Storm," Katherine Cross said, standing up and motioning to the door.
"Let me see the scene," I said, standing myself.
"Excuse me?" Anchor asked.
"The crime scene," I said. "Just let me look at it. Let me see if there's anything there that would—”
"Absolutely not," Cross said, walking over to the door and holding it open. "Go back to Naples, Detective Storm. This isn't your case."
"Cross," I started.
"Go back to Naples," she repeated. "And stay out of this investigation."
"You don't give me orders," I said, anger running through me.
"It's not an order, sir," she answered. "It's a warning."
I looked at her, then at Anchor, then back at her. I huffed, and left the room.
Still, I knew what I would have to do. I couldn't do what she asked. I couldn't keep my nose out of this, not with a woman's life and a man's freedom at stake. I would have to figure out what went on here. I would have to find Tanya and, if I was right and Mikey wasn't responsible- clear his name.
"What happened?" Boomer asked as I marched out into the precinct room.
"Too much," I answered. "Come on," I said.
"Where are we going?" He asked.
I looked over at him. "To do something we shouldn't."
Chapter 9
Standing outside of Daisy's house, I had just run everything that had happened by Boomer. He stared at me in the light of a perfect Florida afternoon, his sunglasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose as he processed everything.
"You gonna ask me not to do it?" I asked, folding my arms over my chest and cocking an eyebrow at my best and oldest friend.
"No," he admitted after nearly a full minute of silence. "You wouldn't listen to me anyway. Besides, I'm not sure you're wrong."
"That's good to hear," I admitted, nodding almost compulsively. After getting so much doubt and downright indignation from Cross, Anchor, and Marcus, it did me good to hear that a detective who was as talented as Boomer thought I might be onto something.
"Well, to be fair, I'm not sure you're right either," he added, bursting the bubble I'd created for myself. "There's a chance this Mikey person was putting on for you. I mean, if he had a clear and concise plan to do something to Tanya, then getting carted out of a bar by a police officer, even a visiting one, would do a lot to provide a believable alibi."
"You're assuming that I don't know what a drunk person looks like, Boom," I said, swallowing hard. "I've been to enough late-night bonfires to be able to tell the difference between plastered and buzzed. This guy was practically blackout drunk."
"Or he was putting on a show for you," Boomer answered, shrugging. "You know what Mikey did after he retired from MMA fighting?"
"Something tells me the correct answer isn't 'opening a bakery'." I quipped, thinking about the beefy man's stature, his imposing nature, and the tattoo on his neck.
"He did a stint for one of those television wrestling corporations," Boomer answered.
"Another reality television star?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "This town seems to be crawling with them."
"This isn't reality, Dill," Boomer answered. "It's the furthest thing from it. In fact, that crap is basically soap operas with spandex. My point is, the guy might actually be a decent actor and, if that's the case, it would be hard to tell what is or isn't real." Boomer titled his head to the side. "What do you mean 'another reality television star'? Have you already met one?"
"Oh," I said, grinning a little despite myself. "That's right. I didn't tell you who one half of the duo questioning me was, did I?" I shook my head. "Remember how you said you have no idea what Russell Anchorage had been up to since his television show got cancelled? Well, now I do."
Boomer's entire face fell.
"Shut up," my best friend said. In an instant, the grown ass, beer bellied, hard-as-nails police chief of Collier County transformed into a teenage girl with a crush and posters on her wall. "Shut your lying face this instant. You are not telling me that Russell 'Anchor' Anchorage just questioned your unworthy ass."
"Unworthy?" I asked, leering at my friend. "I'm not unworthy."
"Whatever. You're not even a fan," he answered, shaking his head at me dismissively. "What was it like? How did he act?"
"Like a grinning idiot, mostly," I answered honestly. "I mean, when he wasn't acting like a belligerent dick."
Boomer blinked at me. "Say what now?"
"Sorry to mess with your expectations, but it didn't seem like he liked me too much." I pursed my lips. "Neither did his partner, for that matter."
"Maybe he could sense that you weren't a fan," Boomer said, shaking his head.
"Y
eah," I chuckled. "That must have been it. Either way, if they don’t like me now, they're going to hate me after I—”
"Stop," Boomer said, raising a hand to shut me up. "I'm not going to ask you not to do this, Dill. Hell, I think you should follow your instincts. Lord knows they've served you well this far. I am going to ask you not to tell me about it though. I can't know, for a fact, that one of my officers is going to go against the explicit orders of a chief of police in his own jurisdiction."
"I get that," I answered. "For all you know, I'm staying here to work on my treasure hunting skills."
"Exactly," Boomer laughed. "Whatever it is, Dil. Kick its ass, but be careful."
"Always," I answered.
"So," he asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "What about the others? Your grandfather already told me he was putting that party of his off indefinitely."
"It just didn't seem right," I answered, shuffling uncomfortably. "Given everything that's gone on." I took a deep breath. "Even a party as morbid as this one, I guess."
"I think it's sweet actually," Boomer answered, which stunned me more than a little bit. Recent ideological work differences aside, Boom and I usually fell on the same side of most issues. Hearing he wasn't completely against my grandfather's crazy “funeral party” idea shocked me.
"You're not serious," I said, putting on a half smile. "It's insane, Boom. The old man basically wants to watch his own damned funeral."
"And what's so wrong with that?" Boomer balked. "There're pictures of you everywhere. People are saying the nicest stuff about you, and they have all your favorite foods. I can't think of anything better."
"You're forgetting the fact that you'd be dead," I retorted.
"Except he's not," Boomer said. "So, if it makes him happy, then who are you to say no?" My best friend gave me a punch on the shoulder. "Come on, Dil. The guy has had a good life. There's nothing wrong with wanting to look back at it."
"There's less wrong with wanting to continue to live it while you're here," I responded. "I just don't like the idea of him acting like he's already gone. He's got a lot left to live for right now."