by Tripp Ellis
"Yeah. But never like this."
"What sparked the argument?"
She clammed up. "I don't know."
"I think you do know."
She looked beyond me to the street. The neighbors were peering through the blinds, gawking at the scene.
"I guess you guys can come inside." She stepped aside and invited us in.
Like the other homes in the Platinum Dunes Estates, there were imported marble floors and crown molding on the ceiling. Expensive furniture and fine luxury appointments. In the foyer, there were statues of Greek gods atop pedestals. A dual staircase curved up to the second floor. There was a library to the left and a parlor to the right. It was a little gaudy and overdone—new money.
Shiloh led us into the living room. It had high vaulted ceilings typical of the neighborhood. The large windows offered a view of the pool and the canal beyond. The open area floor plan connected seamlessly to the kitchen and bar.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” I said. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
35
“We got into an argument," Shiloh said. "Things escalated. Armando grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall. He punched me a couple times and said if I ever told anyone…"
"Told anyone what?" I asked.
She hesitated. "It doesn't matter."
"It does matter."
"I really shouldn't be talking to you. You guys are cops. You’ll twist around anything I say."
"Nobody's going to twist around anything," I said. "We're here to help you. How did you get away from him?"
"I apologized and pleaded with him. I told him I’d do whatever he wanted. When he let me go, I ran to the bathroom, locked myself in, and called 911."
"What started the fight?"
Shiloh didn't say anything.
"I know you're going through a range of emotions right now. And you clearly have a distrust of the police. I just want to assure you that you are not in any trouble. We just want to ensure your safety. We want to find Armando and keep him from coming back here and doing even more damage. It's okay that you're feeling conflicted. I'm sure there are a lot of positive things about your relationship, or you wouldn't still be with him."
"He's really sweet, and he's good to me, except…" She slumped. "I mean, what am I supposed to do? You guys are gonna arrest him and take him to jail. Then what? Who's gonna pay the rent on this place? I'll lose everything. I'll have to go back to stripping and move into some crappy little apartment."
"Stay with Armando long enough, and one day he’s gonna take things too far. I see this all the time.”
Her eyes rounded with fear. She knew it was true. Shiloh took a seat on the couch and fidgeted nervously.
JD and I took the chairs next to the sofa.
Shiloh trembled, her knee bouncing involuntarily. She took a deep breath, and with an exhale, the floodgates opened. "He was freaked out about me going to therapy. He was worried I was going to say something that I shouldn't. But I told him it's not a big deal. Talking to a therapist is like talking to a lawyer. They can't say anything. But he just couldn't understand that."
I exchanged a glance with JD. I knew where this was going. "Who's your therapist?"
"Nina Harlow."
That hung in the air like fog.
"He kept going on and on that her therapy notes could be subpoenaed. I told him she didn't take therapy notes. I told him he was overreacting. He flipped out, grabbed my throat, and shoved me against the wall."
"What was it that he didn't want you talking to Nina about?" I asked.
She clammed up again.
"Does the name Emmett Forrester sound familiar?” I asked.
Her frazzled eyes flicked to me, then she looked down again. She knew the name. No doubt about it.
"That's the guy who went missing, right?" she asked, still looking down.
"Right."
Her face tensed, and she fidgeted even more. She finally groaned, "Okay. But if I talk to you, I need you to promise I’m not gonna get in trouble."
"If you're about to tell me what I think you're about to tell me, I'm sure we can work something out."
She hesitated. “We were at Turtles, and Armando was being a dick. So, I started flirting with this guy to make him jealous."
"Emmett?"
"Yeah."
"Did you know him previously?"
"No. Not really. But I’d seen him out before, and I thought he was cute. Anyway, Armando flipped out and wanted to beat the shit out of the guy. I managed to calm him down and told him that this was not the time nor the place. The last thing he needed was to get arrested for brawling in a bar. He didn't need the attention. I thought I had talked some sense into him. But Armando wouldn't let it go. He dragged me out of the bar, and we waited in the parking lot for Emmett to leave. Armando followed him home and confronted him in the parking lot of his apartment complex. They got into a fight, and it all happened in seconds. Next thing I know, Emmett’s dead, and Armando is rummaging through his pockets, taking his keys and wallet. He found Emmett’s car and stuffed him in the trunk. Then we got out of there. I was totally freaked out, but here's the screwed up part… It kinda turned me on.”
JD and I exchanged an awkward glance.
Shiloh continued, “The danger... the excitement... That's what I was seeing Nina about. I mean, we went home after that and had the most amazing sex ever! I felt guilty about it. But also thrilled by it. Then when Nina turned up dead, I knew Armando did it."
"We’ll need you to come down to the station and make a sworn affidavit. You’ll need to testify in court.”
“What if I don’t want to testify?”
“If you don’t cooperate, you could be charged as a co-conspirator."
"Co-conspirator?"
"You were present during the murder, and you didn't notify the authorities. That makes you an accomplice."
Her eyes narrowed at me. "See, I knew you were gonna twist this around.”
"I'm not twisting this around. I'm just telling you... make a statement saying exactly what you just told us, and you won’t get in any trouble."
"But Armando will go to prison, right?"
"Where he can't hurt you."
She thought about it for a long moment.
36
“Okay,” Shiloh said. “I’ll testify. But you have to keep me safe.”
“We will,” I assured.
“And not just from Armando,” she said. “He’s got connections.”
“What kind of connections?”
“Look around. Where do you think all of this comes from?”
“I take it he’s not a legitimate businessman?”
“No. He’s a fucking drug dealer.”
I shared a glance with JD. We were definitely going to nail this perp.
"He works for the cartel,” Shiloh continued.
"Are there any drugs at the house now?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I don't think so. He never brings it around the house. He has his crew move all the product. But he’s not as big-time as he likes to think he is.”
“Who’s his crew?” I asked.
“Two losers. Remy and Kendrick.”
“You know their last names?”
She told us, and I texted the information to Denise to see what she could find out.
“You mind if we take a look around the house?” I asked Shiloh.
“Go ahead.”
The EMTs treated her while we searched the mansion looking for drugs and weapons. We didn’t find any drugs, but we did find a 9mm handgun in the nightstand drawer and a sawed-off shotgun in the bedroom closet. The shotgun was an illegal weapon. The 9mm was loaded with jacketed hollow-points.
I felt reasonably certain we had our perp.
Shiloh went to the station and made a videotaped statement, and signed a sworn affidavit. Her injuries were documented with pictures and video. She seemed relieved afterward, like a weight had been lifted.
"So, how is this g
oing to work? How long are you guys going to protect me?”
“You may be eligible for the Witness Security Program with the US Marshals. It is available to witnesses to state and federal felonies that are being threatened or may be retaliated against. It’s a process, and every application is vetted by the DOJ. How much do you know about Armando’s cartel connections?”
“I know a little,” she said. “I know he gets a shipment every week. I know Remy and Kendrick handle the product and dispense it to the smaller dealers. They collect the cash and handle enforcement. Both Remy and Kendrick run a crew underneath them. It's like a big pyramid scheme."
"Do you know who Armando’s cartel connection is?"
“A guy named Juan Valverde. Every few months or so, he comes into town, and we all go out to dinner. The guy’s annoying. Loud and obnoxious, and he's always surrounded by goons. But hey, when the boss wants to take you out for dinner, you go, right?"
"Have you ever overheard them talking about business?”
"I don't know what they talk about. And half the time they talk in Spanish, and I don't understand what they're saying." She paused. “But Juan would congratulate Armando about the job he was doing. I remember there was some discussion about increasing the volume of product he was handling. There's always a weird vibe at these get-togethers. Juan and Armando were old friends, but at the same time, this was business. Juan was there to both encourage Armando, but also remind him how powerful the cartel was. Juan’s security guys were always armed, and you could see it in their eyes, they were just soulless."
I was beginning to think Shiloh had more than just Armando to fear. I was pretty sure the cartel would put pressure on Armando to tie up any loose ends. Shiloh had probably seen and heard more than the cartel would have liked. And with the couple on the outs, Shiloh would be a target.
She told us some of Armando’s hangouts and gave us his prepaid cellular number.
I called Isabella and asked her to track Armando’s phone and give me as much information about Juan Valverde as she could find.
“It’s off the grid right now,” Isabella said. “It’s probably turned off. I’ll let you know if it pops up. I’ll get back with you shortly about Juan Valverde.”
The county sprang for a hotel room for Shiloh at the Seven Seas and posted a deputy overnight.
“Why don’t you contact that acquaintance of yours at the network?” Daniels suggested to me. “I want Armando’s picture on every media outlet.”
“She probably already knows,” I said.
I texted Paris anyway and sent Armando’s mug shot from a previous DUI conviction.
Denise looked up addresses for Remy and Kendrick. Both of the goons had condos in the Trident Tower. It was a luxury high-rise. Armando and his crew may not have been the biggest dealers on the island, but they did okay for themselves. Remy lived on the 17th floor and Kendrick on the 15th.
We left the station with Erickson and Faulkner and headed to the Trident. I flashed my badge to the concierge and gained access to the lobby. We advanced to the elevators and stepped aboard when the doors opened.
JD and I hopped off on the 15th floor while Erickson and Faulkner proceeded to the 17th. This was just going to be a simple knock and talk. We’d be able to tell pretty quickly if Kendrick was harboring a fugitive.
We pushed down the hallway and knocked on #1514.
"Coconut County! We’d like to talk to you for a minute."
There was no response.
I heard commotion and footsteps down the hallway. Then the peephole flickered as someone looked through it. "What do you want?"
"We're looking for Armando Duarte. Have you seen him?"
"Nope."
"Mind if we come in and take a look around?"
"Get fucked.”
"I can come back with a warrant."
"Do it."
"Armando is wanted in connection with three murders. If you're harboring a fugitive or you've aided or abetted, you will go down."
"He ain't here. I ain't got nothing to do with nothing."
“Okay. If you want to do things the hard way…"
He didn't respond.
JD and I stepped away from the door and conferred.
"I don't know about you, but I smell a strong odor of marijuana coming from that condo. That leads me to believe there's a crime in progress. I say we kick down the door."
There was no significant odor.
I shook my head, and JD frowned.
I called Sheriff Daniels to see if we could get a search warrant.
"On what probable cause?” he asked. “Has anyone seen Armando enter or exit the condo? The fact that they’re acquaintances is not enough. I’ve already talked to the judge."
“Let's put a couple deputies on the condo and see if he shows up."
"Are you volunteering?"
I hesitated. “I would say our resources are better deployed elsewhere.”
"I don't have the extra manpower. I’ve already got a deputy at the Seven Seas. I don't have any more to spare. So, if you guys want to sit on the apartment, be my guest."
I didn’t much feel like sitting in this hallway all night, waiting to see if Armando emerged from the condo. There was only one way in or out of the condo unless you wanted to scale the balcony.
"Let me talk with Erickson and Faulkner,” I said. “See if they found anything."
I ended the call and sent a text to Erickson. He replied an instant later. [Nothing here. Remy opened the door, invited us in, and we looked around the apartment. No sign of Armando.]
[It's interesting. Kendrick wouldn't even open the door.]
[We're on our way down.]
They joined us a few minutes later in the hallway.
“I’ve got a solution for this," JD said.
We all eyed him curiously.
He grinned. "Stay here. I'll be back shortly. He jogged down the hallway, pressed the call button on the elevator, and disappeared when the doors opened. I think I knew what he had up his sleeve.
37
JD drove home, grabbed his drone, and returned to the Trident. He stood in the parking lot, launched the drone into the air, counted the floors up, and navigated the unmanned aerial vehicle to the balcony of Kendrick's apartment. The drone had a 4K camera attached to a gyro stabilizer. The images were relayed to JD's phone that he mounted atop the drone’s controller.
Jack piloted the vehicle onto the balcony and scanned inside the apartment, first peering into the bedroom, then into the living room.
It didn't take long for Kendrick to see the drone hovering outside his sliding glass doors. He slid open the doors, charged the device, and swatted at it.
JD navigated it away and landed the drone in the parking lot.
When it was all over, JD sent me a text message, telling me all about it. [Unless Armando is hiding under the bed or in the closet, he's not in that condo.]
[You're sure?]
[Reasonably so.]
[Why didn't Kendrick want to open the door?]
[Because he’s got 2 keys on his coffee table. I've got video footage of him tooting on it. I recorded the whole thing. I’d say that’s probable cause.]
[Nope. Freedom from Unwarranted Surveillance Act. Prohibits law enforcement agencies from using drones to gather evidence or information.]
[There are notable exceptions. ‘When swift action is needed to forestall the imminent escape of a suspect.’ I know the law, bitch.]
I laughed. [Send the footage to Daniels. Let’s see what the judge says.]
Moments later, JD joined us on the 15th floor, and we waited eagerly for a reply.
Daniels called back 20 minutes later. “No dice.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s nothing on that footage to indicate the imminent escape of a suspect. There’s footage of a guy snorting a white powder. We don’t know what that white powder is. Either way, it does not fall under the exemptions of the Unwarranted Surveillance Ac
t. So stand down and either sit on the condo or pursue other leads.”
“You’re the boss,” I said before hanging up.
There was much disappointment among us.
“Look,” Faulkner said. “Armando is not gonna be dumb enough to come to either of these locations. He knows this is the first place we’ll look. The guy is long gone. Plus, if he was thinking about coming here, these ass-clowns probably already called him and gave him a heads up that we’re here.”
He had a point.
“Maybe he’s got another girlfriend?” Erickson said. “Did you consider that? Maybe that’s where he is.”
JD and I exchanged a curious glance.
I called Shiloh at the Seven Seas and asked if she knew about other women Armando may have been seeing. She groaned. "Ugh, that little whore, Gianna.”
"What do you know about her?"
“I know I’d like to beat the shit out of her.”
“Apart from that.”
“I caught him with her once before. He was banging her in his car in the parking lot of Forbidden Fruit. And I know that bastard still sees her.”
“Where can we find her?”
“I don’t know. But I have my suspicions that he pays for her apartment.”
“What’s Gianna’s last name?”
“Silver.”
I hung up, called Denise, and asked her to look up the information. Gianna’s current residence was listed at 3405 Moray Way, #205 in the Delphine Apartments. We left the Trident and headed across town. I figured it was a long shot.
We banged on the door of the mid-rise apartment. There was no response. We knocked a few more times, and still no answer.
It gave us a good excuse to go to Forbidden Fruit on official business.
The upscale adult establishment on Oyster Avenue always provided a visual feast. Slender beauties slinked around chrome poles. Fog billowed from stages as spotlights slashed the air, highlighting the scantily clad performers. There were spike-heeled shoes, tight curves, and frilly lingerie. Bodies shimmered in the light, and hair flipped. The girls displayed amazing flexibility and physical prowess. Climbing up a pole and spinning around like an acrobat takes skill and strength.