by Tripp Ellis
Felix had a permanent scowl etched on his face. He was 63 years old, had a long gray bushy beard, and long gray hair on the sides. The top of his head was cue ball slick. He had ice-blue eyes that, at one point in his life, had been vibrant. Now they were dull and angry. He stuffed groceries into a bag as we talked to him.
"You guys are interrupting my work," he grumbled.
"This won't take long," I said.
"What do you want?"
"We want to talk to you about Chuck Atwood."
His wrinkled face crinkled. "To hell with that guy.”
"I don't know if you’ve been keeping up with current events, but Deputy Atwood is dead.”
He smirked. "Good riddance."
My face tensed.
JD's cheeks reddened.
"Deputy Atwood was a friend," I said.
“Well, your friend set me up.”
“Is that so?"
"I lost 15 years of my life."
The woman whose groceries Felix sacked had a fearful look on her face. She stood by the debit terminal, card in hand, as the checker scanned items. Bleep. Bleep. Bleep. The woman’s concerned eyes kept flicking between the three of us as we spoke.
A manager soon approached. "Is there some kind of problem here?"
I flashed my badge. "No, sir. We just need to have a few words with Felix."
"How about you step outside and have this conversation in private?" the manager suggested. He looked at Felix. "Take five."
Felix’s face twisted. “I’m gonna miss out on my tip.”
At this point in time, I don't think the customer felt too comfortable having Felix follow her out to her car with the groceries.
Felix grumbled but complied. We followed him outside and stepped around to the side of the building.
Felix was livid.
He took the opportunity to have a smoke break. He stuffed a cigarette between his thin lips and struck it up. The cherry glowed as he sucked in a breath, and the smell of fresh tobacco wafted with the breeze.
"You got no right to come here and harass me at my place of work,” Felix growled. “I did time for something I didn't do. I just want to live my life and enjoy what time I got left. Look at me. I'm 63 years old. Because of you people, I got nothing. No retirement and a felony conviction on my record. If it weren’t for the people at Phoenix House, I’d be on the street and wouldn’t have a job. You know what it's like trying to start over at my age?"
"Maybe you should have thought about that before you raped and murdered Darcy Klein?”
His cheeks reddened, and he clenched his jaw tight. His hands balled into fists. "I didn't rape and murder that girl. And I didn’t assault the other two girls either. Your buddy, Deputy Atwood, planted the evidence. I got a lawyer, and I’m gonna sue the county.”
“Two women ID’d you.”
He scoffed. “Of course they did. Deputy Dickwood shoves my picture in front of their face and says that’s the guy. Other witnesses have ID’d him. And they go along with it. Eyewitness testimony is notoriously inaccurate. And explain this to me… The knife they took off me that was supposedly the murder weapon… How come the blood had traces of a preservative in it?”
That hung there for a moment. EDTA was used as a blood preservative.
“I’ll tell you how,” Felix continued. “They took that shit from the lab and put it on the knife. Plain as day. And everybody from Atwood on up had a hand in it, including that damn Judge Echols.” He shook his head in disgust.
If true, it was a concerning allegation. I was no fan of the judge, either.
"Where were you last night around 10 PM?" I asked.
"I was at Phoenix House."
"They say you weren’t there.”
He gave me an incredulous look. "Now that's bullshit. Check the logs. I signed in."
"If what you say is true, that's a hell of a reason to kill Deputy Atwood."
“What I said is true. And you ain’t gonna railroad me again. Find another patsy.” He took a last big drag from his cigarette, tossed it aside, and stormed away.
“You know, if he’s telling the truth, it means the real perpetrator got away with Darcy’s murder and two other assaults,” JD said.
“I don’t know what to think right now.”
We left the grocery store and headed back to Phoenix House. Another check of the register revealed that Felix had, in fact, signed into the facility at 9 PM. The clerk I had spoken to on the phone had made a mistake earlier.
Brenda called as we were leaving. “You ready for this?”
“What have you got?”
“With the use of a spectroscope, I was able to make out the title and edition of that textbook. World History.”
“What year?”
16
"That particular edition was used by the Coconut Key High School in 1988 and 1989," Brenda said.
My brow lifted. "Really?"
"I called the school and talked to a woman in the administration building that has been there since the ‘80s. She remembered that two girls from the school went missing during that era. Laurie Ferguson and Skyler Locke. Neither one of them ever turned up."
I frowned.
"I made a ton of phone calls and tracked down the dentists for those two girls. Both of them were out of business, but their practices were assumed by new dentists. The files for Laurie Ferguson had long since been discarded."
I frowned again.
“Fortunately, the woman who took over Dr. Rossi's practice maintained all the past records. It seems I caught her in the nick of time. She just hired a document company to shred the old records, and they're taking them next week. She sent the file over for Skyler Locke. After careful examination, I can say with confidence, Skyler Locke is our victim.”
"You are amazing," I said. “Have I told you that?”
"I know, and not often enough.”
I laughed.
Brenda continued, "Skyler was 16 years old at the time of her disappearance. A junior at the high school. I'll send over her yearbook photo."
"Does she have any family still living on the island?"
"Yes. Her mother's name is Deborah Locke. She lives at 712 Bayshore Drive. I'll text you her phone number."
"You've outdone yourself."
"I got lucky. Now go give the family some closure."
"I will."
I ended the call and gave JD the address for Deborah Locke. A text with Skyler’s image buzzed through a moment later. It was heartbreaking to see her gorgeous, smiling face. The brunette had a classic ‘80s hairdo—parted in the middle, feathered on the sides. She lacked the height to be a fashion model during the era, but she was every bit as pretty.
We zipped across the island. Deborah lived in a nice neighborhood. The two-story French colonial was painted in Heather Gray with white trim. The yard was surrounded by a white picket fence and was full of tall skinny palm trees and green ferns. It looked like a lush tropical paradise. A cobblestone walkway led up to the porch, and there was a silver Lexus SUV in the drive.
We parked at the curb, pushed through the gate, and climbed the steps to the porch. I banged on the door, and not long after a woman's voice filtered through, “Who is it?"
"Coconut County. We’d like to talk to you about Skyler."
The door unlatched and flung open. Deborah's wide eyes greeted us with curiosity. She was 39 in 1989 when her daughter went missing. She’d held her age well. Her short auburn hair was clearly dyed. She kept herself fit and trim, and she had few wrinkles for a woman in her 70s. “Tell me you found her."
I gave her a grim nod.
Her eyes misted with tears. This moment had been over 30 years in the making. “Not the girl you just found in the barrel?”
I nodded. She’d clearly seen the news reports.
Her face quivered, and her eyes misted. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. “Come on in,” she said, stepping aside as the pain rolled down her cheeks.
She offer
ed us a seat in the living room. It was a beautiful home, and French doors opened to a patio and a pool. It was clean and cozy, everything in its place. Not cluttered.
Deborah took a seat, and I told her the full story. Sadness twisted on her face. She grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and blotted her eyes as she wept.
"Can you tell us what was going on at the time?"
"Well, let's see… My husband passed away in ‘86. Tom was a bit of a drinker, sad to say. One night, as he was coming home, he must have passed out on the drive. Swerved off the road and hit a telephone pole. Died instantly. It was a miracle he didn't kill anybody else."
"I’m very sorry."
"It was a difficult time. We went to live with my brother, Paul, until I could get on my feet. We lived there until I got remarried. Somehow, I got pregnant again. Maggie is my miracle baby."
"You live here with your current husband?"
Deborah shook her head. "Victor died two years ago. Stroke." She snapped her fingers. "Had a brain bleed and was dead before he hit the ground. I was devastated at the time, but the more I think about it, the more I believe he got off easy. He didn't have to suffer or linger on as some people do."
"What can you tell me about the day Skyler disappeared?"
She took a moment to recall the era. “I was working at the time. I didn't usually get home until the evenings. Paul worked shifts. Sometimes he was on days, sometimes nights. Anyway, Skyler went to school that day and never came home.”
17
"When did you report her missing?" I asked.
Deborah thought about it for a moment.
“Skyler was always home by dinner. Sometimes, in the afternoon, she’d hang out with friends or do whatever. When she didn't make dinner that night, I started to get worried. I called around to her friends, and they hadn't seen her since school."
"So, she definitely was in school that day?"
“The school confirmed she was in attendance. I called her boyfriend at the time. He hadn't heard from her. I think he came over and went looking for her with Paul at all the usual hangouts. The two of them went out several times over the next few weeks looking for her."
"What was her boyfriend's name?"
"Marshall Noonan.”
"What was their relationship like?"
She shrugged. "I guess it was a fairly typical high school relationship. As I recall, Marshall seemed a little possessive."
"Did he get jealous easily?"
"That he did. He wanted her to spend all of her time with him. Skyler was pretty independent and liked her space. I stayed out of her relationships. I figured if I told her what to do, she’d do the opposite."
"Did you two get along?"
"Apart from the usual teenage drama, we had a good relationship. At least, I'd like to think so."
"How did you feel about Marshall?"
"I figured he wouldn’t stick around long, and that was fine by me. I really didn’t think he was going places. Wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, if you know what I mean. Good-looking boy. I just kept praying that he didn't knock her up."
JD and I exchanged a glance.
“Do you know for a fact they were engaged in a sexual relationship?"
"It's what hormonal high school kids do. I told her to be careful and use protection. Apart from that, I didn't want too many details."
I hesitated for a moment, trying to determine how to tell Deborah that Skyler was pregnant at the time of her death. When I did, she cried at the loss of a potential grandchild.
“I take it she never mentioned anything?”
Deborah shook her head. “Do you know who the father is?"
"Not at this time,” I said.
"With DNA, you should be able to tell, right?"
I nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We'll just need to collect samples from potential fathers."
She lifted a curious eyebrow. "Potential fathers?"
I shrugged. "We have to keep the possibilities open."
Deborah took a deep breath and nodded. "I don't think she was promiscuous, but you never know."
“Did Marshall ever get violent with her?"
"He would get angry. Never in front of me. But Skyler mentioned he would get verbally abusive at times. I told her she didn't need to put up with any of that. I put up with too much of that from her father.” She sighed. “Tom, God love him, he was a good man, but when he drank, sometimes it was like a switch had flipped. He could say the meanest things."
"Was he abusive toward Skyler?”
"Physically? No. But they got into a few shouting matches when he’d come home drunk.”
“How often was that?”
She shrugged. “More often than I liked.”
"What about Skyler’s friends?"
"You need to talk to Tiffany McKnight. They were thick as thieves back in the day. Beautiful girl. Bubbly, vivacious. Little bit of a troublemaker. When the two of them got in trouble, it was usually Tiffany's instigating. They were best friends since grade school."
"Do you know if she’s still in the area?"
"She is. She's done pretty well for herself too. I see her on that commercial that plays on late-night TV for her real estate company. I'm not sure, but I think she lives over in Stingray Bay."
"I think I know who you’re talking about," JD said.
“Is Paul still in town?” I asked.
“He is. He lives a few blocks over on Atlantic Avenue. I can give you the address.”
“Please,” I said.
“Do you have any idea who did this?” she asked in a desperate tone.
“We’ll do everything we can.”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t suspect Marshall. He was obsessed with Skyler. And I think she might have been ready to move on.”
18
We left Deborah's and headed over to Oyster Avenue to grab dinner. Brenda had given me Paul's number and address. I figured we’d talk to him in the morning.
Faye’s band, Lip Bomb, was playing later, and we had told her we'd show up and offer moral support—not that they needed it. Lip Bomb was steadily growing a loyal following.
Jack wanted to eat at Wetsuit, and he got no argument for me. There were always plenty of visual delights—waitresses sauntering around in bikini bottoms and tight-fitting neoprene jackets. We took a seat at a high-top table near the bar, and an adorable blonde named Lana took our order.
Crash had never returned my calls, so I figured I would pester him again, just to make sure he was all right. I was starting to get worried about the guy. To my surprise, he picked up the phone when I called. His voice was dreary. "What do you want?"
"Is that any way to talk to your manager?"
He didn't say anything.
"You weren’t at band practice the other day. Just want to make sure everything is good with you."
"Oh, yeah, it's just peachy," he said, his voice full of sarcasm.
"I heard about you and Faye.”
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Fair enough. But you’re part of the band, and you need to come to practice."
"What's the point? I still have my cast on. I can't play. She's doing just fine."
"We're a unit."
"Look, I just can't be around her right now. Okay?" He hesitated, then sighed. "I never should have said anything to her. I shouldn’t have told her how I felt. I messed it all up."
I was starting to understand his sharp tone with me. I'd given him the advice to express his feelings to Faye. It didn't work out how he planned. Now he was mad at me. "I can’t imagine how being honest with somebody is ever a bad thing.”
"It was clearly the wrong thing to do."
I frowned. "I'll keep my mouth shut next time."
Crash said nothing.
"I take it you're not coming to the show tonight,” I said.
"No, man. I don't need that kind of torture."
The line was silent for a moment.
"Well, I guess I'll let you g
et back to whatever you were doing. Call me if you need anything." I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket. I told JD, "I'm staying out of band drama from now on."
“Good luck with that,” JD muttered.
We ordered oysters on the half shell and the shrimp and crawfish fondue to start. For an entrée, Jack ordered the blackened Mahi-Mahi with shrimp, spinach, and mushrooms in a tomato cream sauce. I went with the grilled Atlantic salmon, topped with Lafitte sauce and served with jambalaya rice and grilled veggies.
The meal was damn good.
My belly was full, the whiskey was smooth, and there was plenty of eye candy to keep me occupied. My eyes took in the sights and sounds of the restaurant. Smooth music filtered through speakers, and the murmur of conversation filled the air. In a cozy booth against the far wall, I saw something I did not expect.
Ellie was having dinner with a handsome man that looked to be in his mid-20s. It seemed odd since her husband had just passed. Odder still that they were holding hands across the table.
I nudged JD and motioned in their direction. “What do you think that's about?"
He glanced across the restaurant, and a look of surprise washed over his face. “Maybe he's comforting her in her time of need."
"I'll bet he is."
"Far be it from me to judge, but isn’t it a little early for Ellie to start dating again?" JD asked.
“By the looks of things, I’m thinking they’ve been dating for a while."
The couple looked longingly into each other’s eyes.
"We probably shouldn't jump to conclusions,” JD said, trying to take the high road. "I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation. Maybe he's her cousin?"
“They look a little too close for cousins."
"Should we say hello?" JD asked with a devious glint in his eyes.
19
JD flagged down the waitress. He paid the tab and left her a nice tip, slipping a wad of cash into the leather folio. We slugged down the rest of our whiskey, pushed away from the table, and ambled toward Ellie and her new friend.