by Amy Andrews
“What’s your name?” Detective Thorn inquired.
“Sonny Holden. My name’s Sonny Holden,” the man answered, as if this would
clear everything right up.
“Get up, Sonny, nice and slow, and take me to your boat,” Detective Thorne ordered.
“Yeah, okay. Whatever you want. What’s this about?” he asked.
Getting no answer from Detective Thorne, Sonny sat up, and he wiped the sleep out of his eyes. He turned and started walking towards the back door. Detective Thorne was right behind him, with the muzzle of his gun in the small of Sonny’s back.
“Nice and slow, and don’t try anything stupid,” Detective Thorne stated, as they were exiting the cabin.
Once outside, they walked across a small concrete patio, then across some brick pavers, which led down to an unlit dock. The dock was weather worn and old, just like the cabin. Shabby is the word that came to Thorne’s mind. Some of the planks were warped, causing them to be very uneven. Tripping or stubbing your toes would be a definite probability, if you didn’t watch your step. There was a foul smell coming off of the deck, reeking of rotting fish blood and guts, that had been cooking in the hot Florida sun. Incidentally, which made the rate of decay accelerate. The smell was so horrid that Thorne had to stifle his gag reflex. When he had been out here numerous times before, the cabin had been unoccupied. Poor guy. Wrong place, wrong time. Thorne needed his cabin, and so, he needed to get rid of him. The fact that the guy had a boat, was an added bonus. It would make his escape even easier.
Reaching the end of the dock, Sonny turned around and unclipped the set of keys from his belt. He handed the boat keys to Detective Thorne. Thorne took them, and shoved them into his pocket.
“Turn back around, and get on your knees with your hands behind your back,” he demanded.
Sonny barely got out a “why,” when Detective Thorne kicked the back of his knees causing them to buckle. “Do it!” Thorne said with an even intensity.
Sonny might not be so willing to comply, had he noticed Thorne stoop during their stroll on the dock, to pick up a gutting knife that had been left lying there.
Sonny’s knees hit the dock with a thud, and he placed his arms behind his back. Scared and confused out of his wits, he started pleading. “Please, Officer. What am I being arrested for?” he asked in bewilderment.
Detective Thorne placed his palm on top of the man’s head. “Your not,” he muttered. His palm closed, gathering a fistful of Sonny’s shaggy mop. Yanking his head back in a quick and fluid motion, Thorne deeply raked the gutting knife across the Sonny’s neck from his left ear to his right.
Not wanting to “get dirty,” Thorne swiftly kicked the limp body off of the dock. A heavy splash broke the calm surface, as Sonny Holden sank into the murky water. Dropping the knife, it clamored at his feet, as Thorne watched the body disappear beneath the red pool. Satisfied, he turned on his heel, heading back towards the wooded perimeter where he had left Tessa.
CHAPTER TWENTY - HELP IS ON THE WAY
LieutenantWhitten, and Detectives Layne and Wilshire pulled aerial and topography maps of the Everglades, deciding that it would be a good idea to first view and study the area. Maybe something would leap off of the pages at them.
With a red marker, Detective Layne placed a circle on the map, where the black Lincoln Continental was found. He leaned in, to take a closer look. “Here. Look,” he said, running his finger down Route 29. “I’ll bet money, this is where he was headed,” shaking his head in approval. “Yeah. Down near Everglades City,” he said, while tapping the map with his index finger. “It’s isolated. Some areas are pretty remote and off the grid. Of course, there’s also access to the water, in pretty much every direction, except to the North. Odds are, he’s heading South to Southwest. Ten Thousand Islands is right off the coast.” He looked up at Whitten and Wilshire, who were both following what he said. Detective Layne spoke up again and said, “We need to cut this asshole off before he gets to the water. Once he gets there, he could go anywhere. We could never find him. Or her,” he said with a grim undertone.
Lt. Whitten turned to Detective Wilshire. “You have a four wheeler don’t you? We’ll be able to cover ground more quickly that way, than on foot.”
“Yeah. I can run back to the house and hook the trailer up. I can be back here in about an hour,” he said while grabbing his keys out of his pocket.
Lt. Whitten thought about it for a minute and said, “why don’t you two pick me up at my house? You know where it is, and it’s on the way. I need to run home and change clothes. I don’t think stilettos are conducive to running around out in the Everglades,” she said as she showed off her pumps.
“Actually, Lieutenant,” Detective Layne spoke up, “if it’s cleared by you, I would like to split off from you two, and come in from the other side by boat. That way, we’ll get more coverage. Maybe we can pinch him in the middle?”
“Yes, Layne, great idea! That is fine by me. I didn’t know you had a boat?” she said questioningly.
Detective Layne had a devilish grin spread across his face. “Well, technically, I don’t, but there is a whole lot of them out in the compound?”
“I didn’t hear that, Detective Layne, because you didn’t just say that,” she said while covering her ears. Then she winked at him.
“Lieutenant Whitten?” Manny Sanchez called while waiting at the door of the room.
Whitten, Layne, and Wilshire turned around. Lieutenant Whitten motioned him to come in. “Yes, Manny?”
“I got the results of the tests you brought in this morning. All of them are pretty much inconclusive. No prints, no blood matches in the data base. I’m sorry Lieutenant,” he said while looking down at the floor.
She touched him lightly on the arm and took the results file. “It’s okay, Manny. You can only process the evidence that was collected and given to you. It’s not your fault that the perp was careful not to leave us anything.”
“I know. I just wish I could have been more of a help to the investigation.”
“Thank you, Manny. If there is anything else we need, we will let you know,” she
said as she dismissed him from the room.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” he said as he turned to walk out of the room.
“When are you going to stop tormenting that man?” Detective Wilshire asked of
his Lieutenant.
“What?” she giggled nervously. She didn’t realize it was that obvious.
Both Layne and Wilshire rolled their eyes and said, “Nothing, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Whitten walked over to the copy machine, made a copy of the maps, and handed them to Detective Layne. “Be careful. We’ll see you out there,” she said.
“You be careful,” he cajoled.
As Lieutenant Whitten and Detective Wilshire were walking out of the homicide division, Detective Layne called to his partner. “Hey, Wilshire.” Wilshire spun around, and Detective Layne gave him a nod and a thumbs up. Their own special understood version of a hug, or a fist or chest bump, or an “I love you man, be careful.” Detective Wilshire understood exactly what his partner was trying to convey. He returned the nod and the gesture.
Once outside, Detective Wilshire said, as he was standing at the foot of his blue Mercedes, “Okay, Lieutenant, I’ll be at your house to pick you up in about an hour.”
“I’ll be waiting.” She ducked into the driver’s seat of her white Toyota Camry, and pulled out of the precinct.
While they both headed in their separate directions, Detective Layne went out to the compound lot. He decided on a 2013 model, Everglades 295 CC twenty-nine foot center console with two 225hp Honda four stroke outboard motors. He hooked it up to his Ford F150, and set out heading South to the Marco Island boat launch. He chose Marco Island over Port of the Isles or Goodland so he could scout the shores all the way from Marco to Everglades City.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - MISHAPS
Lenny’s chocolate hue
d eyes flew open. His enlarged pupils darted around in the darkness. Momentarily he was in a fit of panic, because he actually did fall asleep. The sweat on his brow wasn’t only due to the eighty degree temperature and high humidity. He hadn’t been counting sheep in his dreams. Vivid, ghastly, and unthinkable images, reserved only for his nightmares, had flashed through his brain during his short unconsciousness. Outcomes of this entire fucked up situation, that he didn’t even want to think about while he was awake. Reaching hastily over to his left trembling wrist, he looked at his timer. A sigh of relief expelled out of his lungs, when it registered that he had only been out for thirty minutes. A short thirty minute nap that did wonders.
Initially upon waking, emotionally, he was near drained. Physically, he felt as though he had slept for hours.
His leg muscles no longer burned, and the Novocain was doing its work on his arm. Standing up, he dusted himself off, and did a full body stretch. Popping another piece of Wrigley’s gum, he discarded the wrapper on the ground, although he normally did not condone littering. In this instance, it would be a good and inconspicuous marker to let his colleagues know he was there, and that they were going in the right direction. He chewed the stuff so much, he often wondered why he hadn’t bought any stock in the company yet. Picking up his duffle, he slung it over his back, and continued heading South.
In the darkness, it was not easy to track, but time was of the essence. He couldn’t just sit and wait for daybreak. By then, Tessa would be out of time. He opted to keep the flashlight turned off for the most part, because as much as he wanted to locate their position, he didn’t want to give away his. Hell, for all he knew, the lunatic could be lying in wait for him. The stealthy quiet approach was better. Moving slow and methodically, periodically he would shine the light on the ground to pick up signs of which direction they were moving. Thus far, they continued on foot, heading South. Lenny made an educated guess, knowing where they had entered from the road, combined with the direction they continued to move in, that they were headed at or around Everglades City, towards the water. One thing was for certain, and that was that they were quickly running out of land, unless they turned due East and headed towards Miami. That was a highly unlikely route, due to the distance to reach that destination on foot.
#
Wilshire arrived at his Lieutenant’s modest two story split level. Lightly tapping his horn, he waited patiently in her driveway.
Whitten emerged from her door, and lightly jogged towards the BMW. Holy shit. He reached down and rearranged his manhood, because it was hard on sight. He had never seen her in civilian type clothes before. Her in tight fitting jeans, a clingy t-shirt, and a pair of black leather knee high boots. This was not good. Hopefully it was dark enough out for her not to notice the bulge in his pants, or his eyes popping out of his head. Or the tongue wagging.
“Let’s go,” she said, as she quickly entered, and settled into the passenger’s seat, strapping herself in.
Wilshire didn’t utter a word, because he was afraid he would sound like a fumbling for words kind of idiot, as they headed out of the gated community.
Detective Wilshire and Lt. Whitten pulled over and slowed to a stop when they saw Lenny’s Mustang sitting on the side of the road. It was also very clear where the Continental had veered off the road, where the guardrail was a twisted and broken hunk of metal.
By this time, Coastal Towing was getting the black Lincoln Continental rigged up to be towed back to the department to be thoroughly swept and processed for evidence. Lt. Whitten instructed the tow truck driver to also tow the Mustang back to the station. She knew it was one of Lenny’s sentimental prized positions, and she didn’t want to leave it sit on the Alley, so some car thief could steal it and take off to Miami or somewhere else.
Detective Wilshire set up the ramps, and eased the four wheeler off of its trailer. Once completely off the trailer, he handed his Lieutenant a black full faced helmet, that matched his. She pulled her long flowing red locks back into a pony, and slipped the black cranium protector over her head. Turning to his Lieutenant, he tapped the back of the seat directly behind him, indicating for her to climb aboard. Thank God she wasn’t driving, or she would have a lance poking into her back the whole time. Lieutenant Whitten hesitantly straddled her legs around the machine behind Detective Wilshire. Her hesitation had nothing to do with him at all, as she trusted him completely. It had everything to do with the fact that she had a fear of riding on anything that did not have a completely enclosed capsule. This would include four wheelers, motorcycles, dirt bikes, and any other similar moving vehicle, except convertible cars. She could do convertible cars, and even did those with a smile on her face, while the wind whipped through her hair.
Detective Whitten was aware of his Lieutenant’s irrational fear, so he gingerly eased the throttle. He would try to break her in slowly, but they had a lot of time to make up. This was no time for dilly dallying around.
Lt. Whitten gritted her teeth, as the four wheeler set into motion. Hanging onto the cargo racks behind her was not doing much in the way of making her feel secure, as she bustled and bounced around like a rag doll.
Detective Whitten yelled over the loud motor, “you might want to hang onto me. Once we get across the open field and into the forest, it’s going to get a whole lot bumpier.”
Lt. Whitten released her death grip from the cargo racks, one hand at a time. From there, she hooked her thumbs around Detective Wilshire’s belt loops. Her hands acting like a c-clamp.
Detective Wilshire’s smile was concealed by the blacked out acrylic on his helmet. One by one, he pried his Lieutenant’s hands from his belt loops, and pulled her arms tightly around his torso. She was his superior, and he completely respected that, and her. He was also a man, and that came with the instinct to be in control, and to lead and protect females. This particular female, he would do anything for; although, he never let on the true intimacy of his feelings for her. She was enamored with Manny Sanchez, and he loved her too much to put her through all of the emotions. She was confused enough as it was, and needed to figure out if she and Manny were going to hook up or not. He had plenty of distractions to keep him busy during the meantime. That’s all they were and would ever be though. Just distractions. His heart belonged to one. Driving with one hand, he held her hands there, with his. She leaned into his back, and held on for dear life, as he opened the throttle up, and they jetted off through the tree strew, and bumpy terrain.
The rhythmic vibration of the motor shook through her body. After about five minutes, she started to ease up a little. Riding the machine wasn’t as terrifying as she had first imagined. What she could do without, was all of the dust and debris that was pelting her. She was glad that Detective Wilshire had full face helmets. At the very least, her eyes and mouth were protected. How miserable would this have been without them, with dirt and bugs flying into them? She shuddered at the thought.
Nearly an hour into their battering ride, they came across a recent camp fire. Pulling up along side it, they came to a stop. As Whitten dismounted from the four wheeler and stood, she rubbed her sore ass-cheeks briskly with both hands, even before removing her helmet.
Catching her in the act, Detective Wilshire said with a chuckle, “you need some help with that, Lieutenant?” Oh, shit. Did I just say that out loud?
Without skipping a beat, she continued rubbing out the soreness of her battered glutes and said jovially, “thanks for the offer, Detective, but I think I can handle
it.”
“Alright,” he said. “Just don’t say I never offered to do anything for you,” as he removed her helmet for her, and handed her a flashlight.
“Let’s take a look around here, but let’s not get out of each other’s line of sight,” he said.
“Sounds good,” she replied, while they simultaneously clicked their flashlights on.
Indicating the area around the campfire and four wheeler, Detective Wilshire said, “Why don’t yo
u start around this area, and I’ll start at the perimeter.” He shined his flashlight to the edge of the clearing. “ I’ll work my way in, and you can work your way out.”
Lt. Whitten nodded in agreement, and immediately started looking for footprints, blood, or anything else that might give them some insight.
Detective Wilshire walked to the outer edge of the clearing, making sure to scan the ground on his way out.
Whitten immediately found evidence of three different shoe prints. Judging by the size, she would say they belonged to two males and one small female. Knowing Lenny wore a size ten, she would bet money that the combat boot tread belonged to him. By process of elimination, obviously the smaller female print would belong to Tessa. She didn’t know what size shoe she wore for sure, but she was petite. This left the last imprint. The largest imprint.
“Wilshire!” she called out.
“Yeah?” he replied.
“I found some prints over here! You find anything yet?” she called out.
Not getting an immediate answer, Lt. Whitten shined her flashlight towards where Detective Wilshire had made his way to. He was North of her, back over where they came into the clearing from.
Shining his light into some brush, and leaning in for a closer inspection, Detective Wilshire yelled back. “Lieutenant!” he called. “I found some pretty fresh blood evidence over here!”
Lt. Whitten started jogging towards Detective Wilshire with a pit in her stomach. At her arrival, Detective Wilshire pointed out the bamboo branch that had traces of blood, camouflage material, and skin on it. It wasn’t enough to be alarming, so her tension eased. Taking a deep slow breath, her hammering heart returned to it’s normal pace.
“Looks as though we’re heading in the right direction. Let’s continue heading South,” she said.
“Definitely. I think Layne is right about heading towards Everglades City. It’s only about five more miles due South of here,” Detective Wilshire said.