by Tripp Ellis
She turned out her bottom lip.
Tommy looked at us and shrugged. "Duty calls, gentlemen."
He pushed away from the table and stood up. He escorted us to the passerelle, then attended to his plaything.
We crossed to the dock, and I dialed Denise. “I need you to look up old DMV records.”
I gave her the make and model of the car and asked her to look up Randy Murdoch’s registration history.
“I’ll let you know what I find out,” she said.
JD glared at the superyacht that belonged to Christian Hutton as we walked back to the parking lot.
“Let it go,” I said.
JD frowned at me. “What!? It’s gone. I’m over it.”
He clearly wasn’t.
We hopped into the car and drove to the station. We found Denise at her desk.
“Guess what?”
“Randy Murdoch owned a convertible Cadillac in 1989,” I said, hopeful.
She smiled. "Yup, and get this. That car was an ’84, and was a limited edition run. There were only a few thousand convertibles like it ever made, and Randy's car was the only one registered in Coconut Key at the time. It's a safe bet that Randy Murdoch is the married man."
A confident smirk tugged my lips. "That ought to be enough for a warrant."
We filled out sworn affidavits, went to the judge, and asked for a warrant. It seemed like a slam dunk. The judge agreed, but it took some convincing.
I didn't think we’d need a tactical team to bring in Randy Murdoch, but Faulkner and Erickson accompanied us. Bringing him back to the station in the back of the Porsche wasn't really an option.
Mrs. Murdoch was understandably concerned to see the four of us standing on her front porch, asking about her husband again.
I displayed the warrant, and her eyes rounded, and her jaw dropped. The color drained from her face, and she fumbled for words. "That's not possible," she stammered. "Randy can't be involved in that girl's disappearance."
“Death, ma’am. Death,” I said. “Is he here?"
She shook her head, still dazed. I nodded to Erickson and Faulkner. They marched inside and quickly searched the home.
I told her that we had a witness that had seen Randy with the girl. I didn’t go into much detail.
"Your witness is lying. I refuse to believe such a thing."
Erickson and Faulkner returned a moment later. Faulkner shook his head. “He’s not here, but I did find this.”
He held a picture frame in his hand. The faded photo was of a 1980s era Randy standing in front of a red convertible Cadillac, wearing a mustache and a grey Members Only jacket. The photo looked like it could have been an ad for the car, the jacket, or cigarettes.
Mrs. Murdoch’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t take that! That’s personal.”
“We’ll return it,” I promised. “Where's your husband, Mrs. Murdoch?”
"Do I have to tell you?"
"You don't want to be charged with obstruction of justice, do you?"
Her face tightened. "He's at the country club," she sighed. "Playing golf."
"Thank you."
"You're wrong, Deputy. You’re wrong about this, and I hope you know that you're about to destroy a man. A hard-working family man.”
Her words stung. Her life was about to be upended through no fault of her own. I didn’t like this part of the job. But I didn’t like seeing innocent people murdered either.
We plunged down the steps, raced across the courtyard, and pushed through the wrought-iron gate.
I took a picture of the photo so I’d have it handy on my phone, then gave it back to Faulkner to log.
We hopped into the Porsche, and Faulkner and Erickson followed us to the country club in their patrol car. We stopped in the pro shop.
The golf pro confirmed Randy's tee time. He gave us an estimate of where he thought Randy might currently be on the course. He gave us a map and the keys to a couple golf carts. We hopped in and raced down the concrete path, backtracking from the 18th hole.
The electric carts whined as we weaved down the path alongside green fairways, winding our way to the 15th green.
Two carts were parked by a sand trap, and a foursome played out the hole. One of Randy's buddies tended the pin while he sunk a 12-foot putt with a smooth stroke.
The little white ball fell into the hole and rattled with a satisfying clunk.
Randy had a wide smile on his face and pulled a triumphant fist. His grin soon faded as we approached the green. His eyes rounded. It was clear by our demeanor we were here to bring him in.
"Randy Murdock, you’re under arrest for the murder of Skyler Locke,” I said.
His jaw dropped, and he blinked rapidly. "That's incorrect. You've got the wrong guy."
Faulkner slapped the cuffs around his wrists and ratcheted them tight while his friends looked on in dismay.
"Don't say a word," one of them cautioned. “I’ll call Carl.”
I assumed Carl was an attorney friend of theirs.
Faulkner escorted Murdoch to the golf cart and sat him in the passenger seat. Erickson climbed onto the back of the vehicle where the golf clubs would normally reside. He held on tight as Faulkner drove down the path toward the clubhouse.
"You're making a big mistake," Murdoch’s friend said.
I shrugged and walked down the slope of the green to our golf cart. JD hopped behind the wheel, put it into gear, and mashed the pedal, spitting a few blades of grass.
Club members gawked with wide eyes as Faulkner stuffed Randy into the back of the patrol car near the clubhouse. This kind of thing was a rare sight at the posh country club.
At the station, Murdoch was processed, printed, and put into an interrogation room. At this point, I didn't expect him to talk, but it was worth a try.
34
Randy Murdoch looked a little peaked under the pale green glow of the fluorescent lights. Sweat misted on his skin, and his nervous eyes surveyed us with trepidation as we entered the room.
The chair squeaked across the tile as I pulled it away from the table and sat down across from him.
"I'm not saying a word without an attorney present."
He didn't specifically ask to speak with an attorney. "Okay. That's fine. But just FYI, we know you were having an affair with Skyler Locke.”
He balked. "That's preposterous. I barely knew the girl."
"I thought you said you didn't know her."
He swallowed hard.
"We’ve got an eyewitness that saw you pick her up in your red Cadillac. You took her to the beach. You did something you shouldn't have under the pier.”
His face went long, and his eyes widened. He was silent for a long moment. “An eyewitness from 30 some-odd years ago? No way that holds up. And the statute of limitations has long since expired.”
“First-degree felony where the victim was under 18. No limitations.”
Randy swallowed hard.
“She was pregnant with your child."
His throat tightened again. "You can't prove that."
"Actually, we can. I'll get a court order for your DNA. It's not looking good, Randy.”
The sweat on his brow intensified.
“You know what I think? I think Skyler told you she was pregnant, and you freaked out."
He said nothing.
“I think you were worried that your entire life would come crumbling down. You’d go to jail, your wife would leave you, your business would collapse. So you killed Skyler, stuffed her in a barrel that you had around the warehouse, took her out on your boat, and got rid of her."
He shook his head. "I did no such thing."
"Why don't you do us all a favor and come clean? Cooperate, and maybe we can get you some kind of deal. You can live out the rest of your days in a minimum-security prison. Hell, it might almost be like a country club."
I pulled out a DNA testing kit that contained a swab sealed in a container. I put on a pair of nitrile gloves, tore open the p
ackage, removed the sterile Q-tip, and said, "I need to swab the inside of your cheek. It will only take a second, and it won't hurt."
"No."
I will go to the judge, and I will come back with a warrant for this. We will prove that you’re the father."
He glared at me, silent a long moment.
"Fine. Take your sample. But I didn't kill Skyler, and you can't prove that I did. When this is all said and done, I'm going to walk out of here, and you won’t be able to touch me."
I grinned. "Wanna bet?"
35
We dropped the DNA sample at the lab, filled out after-action reports, then headed to Diver Down to get something to eat. We took a seat at the bar, and Teagan had two beers waiting. “What's with the glum faces?"
I shrugged. "We just arrested an 80-year-old guy for murder.”
"The barrel girl?"
I nodded. "The guy got away with it for 30-plus years. If all goes as planned, he'll spend his last days in a 6x8 cell."
“That should be a reason to celebrate. Late justice is better than no justice," she said. "Plus, when you wrap this up, it'll give the family closure."
“Closure ain't gonna bring the girl back,” I said with a frown.
A breaking news alert flashed on the TV behind the bar. Paris Delaney's gorgeous face appeared on the screen. “A retired businessman has been arrested in connection with the death of Skyler Locke. As we reported earlier, the young girl's body was found at sea, contained in a steel drum. Randy Murdoch was arrested at the Coconut Key Country Club earlier today."
Randy's mugshot flashed on the screen. It was readily available from the county website under the recent arrests tab. The image of Randy wearing his Members Only jacket in front of the red convertible flashed on the screen next. Somebody in the department had taken a picture of it and texted Paris a copy.
"The investigation is ongoing, and we will continue to give you updates as the story develops. For Action News, I'm Paris Delaney."
"Do you guys know what you want to eat?" Teagan asked.
We perused the menu and placed our order. We started with chips and the crab, spinach, and artichoke dip. JD ordered the stone crab claws, and I got a crab cake sandwich.
Denise called during lunch. "You’re not gonna like this. You know that kid you arrested for DUI the other night?”
"Yeah, Cameron Hartsell. What about him?”
“The charges were dropped."
I lifted an astonished brow. "All of them?"
"All of them. Got a slap on the wrist. His lawyer worked out some kind of non-prosecution agreement. Got off with a fine."
"Saved again by daddy's money."
"That's not all," she said. “I started digging. There are a lot of cases getting dismissed or receiving lesser penalties."
"What's that about?"
"It seems Coconut County’s State Attorney is letting these people off easy if they make contributions to the Forward Fund.”
"Is that legal?"
“Not on the federal level. Settlements to third parties are prohibited under the Federal rules of criminal procedure. But for state crimes, it seems they get a pass."
"That sounds ripe for a conflict of interest," I said. "Keep digging into that. See what you can find."
"Well, you'll have a chance to talk with Stella at tonight's charity event."
"Oh, right," I said.
“I thought you might have forgotten about that."
"No, I didn’t forget. It just left my mind."
She chuckled. “I’ll talk to you later."
I relayed the information to JD.
His face twisted with an annoyed scowl. "I swear, there’s more corruption in this town…"
I called Isabella, my contact at Cobra Company. I asked her to drum up as much information as she could about Stella Turner and the Coconut Key Forward Fund.
"Investigating charities now?" she asked.
"See where it leads." I filled her in on the situation. "Any word on Elias Fink or Sophia Breslin?"
"No, but I've got my ears to the ground. Trust me. I'll let you know as soon as they pop up on my radar."
We finished lunch, then headed back to the Avventura and cleaned up the mess from the after-party. I usually got stuck holding the bag in that department, so I was pleased to have a little help from JD.
We had a free afternoon, so we took the boat out, fished, searched for the lost treasure of Jacques De La Fontaine, and drank a few beers. We headed back to Coconut Key in time to get dressed for the evening.
JD headed home to make himself look more presentable. It was a black-tie fundraiser, and I dusted off my Di Fiore tux, put on my cummerbund and tie, and styled my hair.
Denise swung by the marina in her banana yellow SUV to pick me up. She texted me when she pulled into the lot, and I strolled down the dock and climbed into the passenger seat. She looked divine in a black strapless evening gown that hugged her petite form. Pearls dangled from her elegant neck, and her emerald eyes sparkled.
"I might not be totally embarrassed to be seen with you,” I teased.
She sneered at me. Her eyes surveyed my attire. "Yeah, well, you’re not a total embarrassment either. I could do worse."
I laughed.
We drove out of the lot and headed over to JD's. Denise pulled into the circular drive and honked the horn.
JD emerged a few moments later wearing a tuxedo with a Hawaiian-print cummerbund and tie. His hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail, and he wore dark sunglasses. He looked like a cross between a sleazy record producer and a covert agent. Neither was far from the truth.
He climbed into the backseat, and we zipped across the island to the Seven Seas.
Jack inhaled a deep breath. "I see you got the smell out of the car."
"I took it to your friend. They detailed it inside and out. Did a paint correction, buffed out all the scratches, and put a ceramic coating on it."
"It looks nice," JD said. "I wish my car looked this nice.”
“What are you gonna do about that?"
"I haven't had time to take it in yet."
We pulled into the lot at the luxury hotel. Attendees in formal evening attire hopped out of luxury vehicles at the valet stand, and parking attendants hustled cars through the lot. There was a long line of cars, and the valets had used orange parking cones to take up every available space in the lot, forcing you to use the valet at $28.50 a pop.
Jackasses.
It took 15 minutes to get through the line. An attendant grabbed Denise's door and handed her a ticket, while another grabbed mine and JD's.
We hopped out, straightened our jackets, and strolled into the lobby. We moved past the waterfall, past the elevator banks, and headed toward the pool.
Coconut County's elite mixed and mingled. A quartet played classical music, and a small stage was set up with a podium and PA speakers. Palm trees swayed overhead, and the pool was illuminated.
I saw Daniels across the pool, mingling. He hated these kinds of things, but elections weren’t cheap, and it was always good to keep up relationships.
We made a beeline for the bar and took advantage of the complimentary drinks. There was a silent auction, and people bid on various collectibles and jewelry that had been donated.
We perused the items and waited for the event to begin. It was a little after 7:30 PM when Stella Turner took the stage. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for coming. I am so excited to share with you all of the great accomplishments we’ve made this past year. The fund has given out over $3 million in grants and is reshaping the community for the better."
The crowd cheered.
Stella smiled. "With your help, we can continue to do great things, so I know you will dig deep and give all that you can. Think of it as an investment in the future of Coconut Key. Thank you all, and enjoy the evening."
The crowd roared with applause.
Stella left the stage with a bright smile, mixing and minglin
g, glad-handing the mega-donors.
I approached and hovered in the wings, waiting for the opportune time to strike.
36
“I think it’s truly amazing what you’ve been able to accomplish,” I said, putting on my best phony smile. I figured I’d go in soft. Drop the hammer later.
“Why, thank you, Deputy…”
“Wild.”
“Yes, Wild.” Stella smiled. “I’m just passionate about this community.”
“It shows, but let me ask you something. Cameron Hartsell… We recently arrested him for DUI, reckless driving, and a host of other charges. I believe you negotiated a non-prosecution agreement in exchange for a sizable contribution to the fund.”
Stella forced a smile. "Yes. As I recall, it was his first offense.”
“No. It wasn’t his first offense."
"Regardless, given the circumstances, I thought the nature of the fine would be a significant deterrent to future violations. The boy is also a college student, and in the interest of his academic study, I thought this was the best arrangement for all parties involved.”
"It's not really a fine, is it? More of a contribution."
"We can argue the semantics of it all day long, but at the end of the day, this fund is benefiting the community. We are providing assistance to the homeless, meals for the elderly, educational supplies for underprivileged children, the list goes on. Deputy Wild, I've been doing this job long enough to know that once somebody gets into the system, they have a very hard time getting out. It's my belief that we should do everything possible to keep offenders out of the system and use our resources to rehabilitate them and deter future criminal behavior."
"And I can appreciate that. But what happens next time Cameron goes out drinking with his buddies and kills someone."