by Tripp Ellis
The area swarmed with patrol units and first responders. Red and blue lights flickered. Just about every deputy in the department was on the scene. Sunbeam Street had two lanes each way, divided by a median. Homes on either side were set off from the street with a brick wall and lots of foliage. I hoped that someone had seen or heard something.
JD parked the Porsche at the curb. We hopped out and weaved through the sea of first responders.
Chuck's body lay on the asphalt near his patrol car, both riddled with bullets. Crimson soaked his polyester uniform.
He wasn't breathing anymore.
EMTs and paramedics had attempted to revive him, but Chuck was long gone by the time they arrived.
Bullet holes dotted the door and quarter panel of his patrol cruiser.
Neighbors gawked at the gruesome scene.
Deputies canvassed the area for witnesses.
The sheriff's face was red and his jaw tight. His eyes were misty, so mad he didn’t know whether to scream or cry.
"What do we know?" I asked.
"Routine traffic stop. He called in the plates on a red Honda that is registered to Justin Kessler. 22 years old. I've got a BOLO out on the suspect now. Erickson and Faulkner are waiting at the kid’s apartment for him to turn up.” Daniels shook his head. “Chuck pulled the kid over for a busted tail light. 30 years on the job and a busted tail light gets you killed."
He hung his head and sighed.
"Any witnesses?"
The sheriff shook his head. "Not so far. Couple of the neighbors said they heard multiple gunshots, then tires squeal.”
The forensics guys were examining the roadway, looking for tire tracks. Cameras flashed as they photographed the area.
"When did this happen?” I asked.
"He called in the stop about 45 minutes ago,” Daniels said.
"What do we know about the driver of the vehicle, Justin Kessler?"
"No criminal history. Graduated Coconut Key High School. Took some classes at the community college."
A news van arrived on the scene, the station logo emblazoned on the side. Paris Delaney and crew hopped out and hustled toward us. The camera lens soaked up the scene.
"Have you talked to Ellie yet?” I asked the sheriff.
“No. That's an in-person conversation.” He frowned. "I want you two to find out who did this and bring them to justice. I don't care how you have to do it."
I gave him a grim nod.
My eyes flicked to Paris Delaney. For once, I was glad to see her.
I left the sheriff and marched toward the beautiful blonde. She saw me coming and nudged the cameraman. The lens swung in my direction.
"Deputy Wild, what can you tell us?"
"This evening, about 10:15 PM, a Coconut County deputy was shot and killed during a routine traffic stop on Sunbeam near Pearl. If anyone has information about the crime, please contact the Coconut County Sheriff's Department immediately. Thank you."
I turned around and left the news crew.
"Deputy Wild, has the name of the officer been released?"
I ignored her and rejoined JD and Sheriff Daniels. We watched as Chuck was put into a body bag and loaded into the medical examiner's van.
"I guess I better break the bad news to Ellie,” Daniels said.
A call from the dispatch unit crackled over his walkie-talkie. He pushed the talk button. "This is Daniels. Go ahead."
“A patrol unit just picked up Justin Kessler. He was with a passenger. Both are being transported to the station."
"I'm on my way."
We left the scene and hustled back to JD's Porsche. We sped to the station.
After Justin was processed and printed, he was put into an interrogation room. There were plenty of deputies that wanted 5 minutes alone with the kid. Cop killers didn’t get treated too kindly around here. The kid was lucky he didn’t have an accident on the way to the station.
JD and I pushed into the interrogation room. Justin didn’t strike me as a cop killer. There was nothing in his record to indicate violence. But people do strange things when they’re hopped up on illicit substances.
Justin had blond hair trimmed short on the sides and long on top. The sun had bleached the tips. His face was somewhere in-between round and narrow, and his sad brown eyes drooped in the corners. He still had some teen acne, and his hairline was rapidly receding, despite his young age. His eyes were red and glassy, clearly stoned.
“Want to tell me what happened?”
10
"I don't know what happened," Justin said. "All of a sudden, there were flashing lights in my rearview mirror. These two deputies pulled me over, hassled us. Now I'm here, talking to you."
I asked, “No. What happened before the deputies arrested you?”
He was silent for a long moment.
"You know, when the first officer pulled you over,” I said in a condescending tone. “Deputy Chuck Atwood. The guy that's dead."
Justin's eyes rounded. "He's dead?"
"That's what happens when you fill somebody full of bullets."
"I didn't do that. I swear!”
"So, I'm going to ask you again. What happened?"
He exhaled. “The first cop pulled me over for a busted tail light. He gave me a warning and let me go. As he was heading back to the patrol car, these guys pulled up and shot him."
"Who?"
"I don't know who."
"Tell me about them."
"Two guys. They wore ski masks. They drove by and blasted your friend with a submachine gun. It was crazy."
"What were they driving?"
"A silver car."
"Two-door, or four-door?"
Justin shrugged. "I don't know. I think it was a four-door."
"And you just took off?"
"Yeah. I was scared shitless. I didn't know if those guys were gonna come back or what. I got the hell out of there."
"You can't just leave the scene of a crime like that."
"I was scared those guys were gonna kill me too."
"And you didn't bother to report the incident?"
He exhaled and slumped. "Man, I didn't want anything to do with that. I mean, what if those guys come after me?”
I frowned and exchanged a glance with JD.
"When you were arrested, Deputies Erickson and Faulkner found a bag of weed and paraphernalia in your car. Your blood alcohol level was 1.2, well beyond the legal limit. You mean to tell me that Deputy Atwood was just going to let you go with a warning?"
"Yeah. I swear!”
I didn't buy it for a second. "What else can you tell me about the shooters?"
Justin shrugged. "I don't know. It all happened so fast."
“You get a license plate?”
“No. I was too freaked out.”
"Who's the girl in the car with you?"
"Kennedy?"
"Yeah. She your girlfriend?"
His face tightened, and he clammed up. "She's just a friend."
"She's 17."
"So?"
"You're 22. You're an adult. She's not."
"Aw, come on, dude. She's close enough."
"Close enough doesn't count."
"I didn't touch her. I swear. We’re just friends."
Another line that I didn't believe. "Right. Friends. As it stands, you're looking at possession of a controlled substance, DUI, which is compounded by the fact you had a minor in the car."
"She's 17!" he protested. "Have you seen her? She doesn't look 17." His eyes flicked between the two of us, looking for sympathy. "I'm not going to jail, am I?"
"That's what happens when you break the law," I said in monotone.
“But I’m a prosecution witness. I can testify against the shooters if you catch them."
“That’s something you can work out with the DA.”
He frowned. "Does that mean I gotta spend the night in jail?"
"You'll stay in jail until somebody bails you out. You'll get arraigned in the mornin
g."
"What does that mean?"
"You’ll go before the judge. If you can think of anything else about the shooters, let us know. If you help us, it might help your case."
I pushed away from the table and stepped to the door.
Justin hung his head and sighed.
A guard buzzed us out, and we stepped into the hallway.
Daniels joined us a moment later, having watched the interrogation from the observation room. “I’ll put a BOLO out on the silver sedan. Talk to the girl and see if her story matches.”
“Will do,” I said.
We walked down the hall and pushed into interrogation room #2.
Kennedy fidgeted nervously. She was a pretty girl. Shoulder-length dark hair, heavy eye shadow, piercing blue eyes, and a black choker around her neck. She definitely had the angsty teen thing going on. Hanging out with a loser like Justin probably had the desired effect of pissing off her parents.
"I'm not in any kind of trouble, am I?" she asked innocently. "I mean, you’re not gonna tell my parents, are you?"
"That depends," I said.
"On what?"
"How cooperative you are."
She looked at me and swallowed hard.
“Is Justin your boyfriend?"
She shrugged tentatively. "I mean, we hang out."
"He takes you out and gets you high?"
She shook her head. "I don't smoke."
Judging by the condition of her eyes, I would say she was lying. “I thought you were gonna cooperate."
"I'm not going to admit to doing something illegal. Do I look stupid?"
“Well, your choice of friends leaves a little to be desired.”
She scowled at me.
“Are you engaged in a sexual relationship with Justin?”
“No. Perv!”
I rolled my eyes. Probably another lie. "You're a pretty girl. You can do better than Justin."
She didn't disagree.
"Tell me about the traffic stop," I said.
She pretty much told me the same story. Two guys in a silver sedan, wearing ski masks with a submachine gun.
"I told him we need to report it,” she said, “but Justin didn't want to say anything. He was afraid we’d get in trouble. And it appears that we are.”
"Did you get a look at the license plate?"
She shook her head. "It was kind of surreal. I heard the gunshots, and it took me a second to process what was happening. I looked through the back window and saw them gun the cop down. I was stunned. I just watched them pass by. The two killers glared at us, and I ducked in my seat. I really thought they were going to shoot us for a second. Then they took off. Justin started the car, and we got the hell out of there." She paused. "I'm really sorry about your friend."
Kennedy was a sharp kid. I couldn’t tell if she was saying that just to get on our good side or if it was sincere. Maybe a little of both.
"Do your parents know where you are?" I asked.
"My parents don't care where I am." She paused. "What's gonna happen to Justin?"
"He's going to get charged with several misdemeanors."
"Will he do jail time?"
I shrugged.
"What about me?"
“Have you been drinking?"
She shook her head.
I lifted my brow.
"A couple of beers,” she admitted.
"You’re too young to drink beer."
"Like you guys never did the same thing."
JD and I exchanged a glance.
"I'm gonna call your parents to come pick you up."
She frowned. “Do you have to? Can’t you just give me a ride home and drop me off, and we’ll call it even? It's just gonna start a lot of unnecessary drama."
She looked at me with sad, pouty eyes, pleading for a break.
11
I had Mendoza run the girl home. I strongly urged her to reconsider her life choices. She was about to turn 18 in two weeks, and any trouble she got into would stick with her. It was pretty clear she wasn’t going to rat out Justin at this point.
Every patrol unit on the island was looking for the silver sedan. We cruised around for an hour with our eyes peeled. With no luck, we eventually left it to the patrol units and headed back to Diver Down.
"I heard about the shooting on the news," Teagan said. "You guys have any leads?"
I frowned and shook my head.
"I'm really sorry."
"Thanks."
We ordered a drink, and JD lifted his glass. "To Chuck."
We clinked glasses and sipped the whiskey. It was hard to believe Chuck was gone. The gravity of it hadn’t fully sunk in yet. JD and I were in a somber mood as we nursed our drinks.
We called it an early night. JD headed home, and I ambled down the dock. I crossed the passerelle to the aft deck and slid open the door to the salon. Buddy greeted me with excitement. He was a bright spot in an otherwise dreary evening.
I grabbed his leash and took him out for a quick walk before bed. I tossed and turned all night, thinking about Chuck, dreaming about the incident, helpless to stop it.
Chuck was one of those guys you couldn't help but like. Anytime someone in the department went down, we all felt it. It could happen to any of us at anytime.
I pulled myself out of bed in the morning as the sun blasted through the windows. That uneasy feeling from the night before still lingered. Something was wrong with the world, and there was no way to make it right.
I took Buddy out for a run. Despite having a sleepless night, I had restless energy to burn off. I came back to the boat, fixed breakfast, and tried to shake off the gloomy feeling.
Daniels called. “We got a report this morning of a stolen car. Silver four-door sedan. Belongs to a woman named Norah Griffith. Says she stepped out of her house for work this morning and the car wasn’t where she’d left it. I'll let you know if and when it turns up, but I'm guessing that's the vehicle the shooters used."
"Keep me posted. Have you talked to Ellie?"
"I paid her a visit and broke the news to her last night. All things considered, she took it pretty well, or at least, she put on a good front. I tell you, if I never have to do that again, that’d be just fine with me."
"I understand."
"I told her you boys would be over sometime today. Talk to her. See if you can piece this thing together. I’m of the mind that this wasn't a random shooting. Start poking around. Find out who wanted Chuck dead."
"I'm on it."
I took a shower, got dressed, and grabbed my weapon from the nightstand drawer. I press checked it and holstered it in my waistband for an appendix carry.
I called JD, and he swung by the marina 15 minutes later to pick me up. I jogged down the dock and hopped into the passenger seat of the Miami Blue Porsche. We drove across the island, the morning sun beaming down.
Chuck and Ellie had a nice one-story home on Bloom Street. It was surrounded by a white picket fence and two large fan palm trees that shrouded the house. It was painted in mint green.
We parked at the curb, pushed through the gate, and climbed the steps to the front porch. I shared a glance with JD and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.
Ellie pulled it open a few moments later.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," I said.
She forced a grim smile and nodded. "Thank you. Come on in." She held the door and motioned for us to enter. We stepped into the foyer, and she closed the door behind us.
Ellie was normally a bubbly and vivacious blonde, but now she was a red-nosed, puffy-eyed mess. She looked like she hadn't slept, and she had a tissue in her hand in case an emergency rush of tears flooded from her eyes.
Ellie was 43—quite a bit younger than Chuck. But their age difference didn't seem to matter.
She escorted us into the living room and offered us a seat on the couch.
Her wavy hair hung at shoulder length. She had a slender face, brown eyes, and pouty lips. She was gir
l-next-door pretty. Wholesome. The kind of woman you built a life with.
"Please tell me you know who did this," she said.
"We're doing everything we can," I assured. "Is there anyone you can think of that we should be looking at?"
She shook her head. "You know Chuck. He got along with everybody."
"Did he express any concern about his open cases?"
"He didn't really bring home his work. He felt it was better to leave the job at the office. He didn't talk about it, and I didn't ask. Every now and then he might say something, but he really didn't want to blend the two worlds."
"How were things between you two?"
"They were great. I mean, we were about to enter the biggest transitional phase of our lives."
"He mentioned wanting to move to Montana," I said
She rolled her eyes. "I don't know what he was thinking. I mean, if that's what he really wanted to do, I would have done it. But I don't think that’s what he really wanted. It's one of those things that sounds good when you talk about it. I think he liked the idea of becoming a rancher and living out some type of western fantasy. But I think he would have changed his mind at the first hard freeze."
“I hate to ask, but I gotta do my due diligence.”
Ellie nodded.
“Did he owe anybody money? Gambling debts? Anything like that?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Was he having any type of affair?”
She chortled. “No. I was enough for Chuck. I don’t think he had the time or the energy.”
“What about you?”
She sighed. “I know this is standard stuff, and you’ve got to ask, but no.”
The room was silent for a moment.
“Is there anything you need? Anything we can do?”
“Besides get the bastards who did this? No. I’m coasting along on autopilot.” She sighed again. "It hasn't really sunk in yet. I'm not allowing myself to go there. If I let it consume me, I may never get up again. I gotta get through the next couple weeks, get everything taken care of, then I can mourn.”
She blotted her eyes as they misted.
"You never think you're gonna be the one," she said as she started to break down. "I know this is gonna sound terrible, but I can't tell you the number of times the department lost a deputy, and my first thought was thank God that wasn’t Chuck. Now I'm the grieving widow."