Wild Crown

by Tripp Ellis

  I showed Denise below deck to the VIP guest room. "You've got your own shower, satellite TV, all the comforts of home. I'm going to make a sandwich. Do you want anything?"

  "I'm starving."

  "Roast beef sandwiches, coming right up!"

  Denise was ready for a shower and a change of clothes. I left her alone and headed to the galley to whip up our snacks. After we ate, I took a shower and got changed. My suit, and my hair, were crusty from the saltwater.

  We watched TV in the salon for a few hours, then crawled off to bed in separate compartments. I set the alarm on my phone to check on her throughout the night.

  The next morning I made scrambled eggs and bacon. The strips popped and sizzled in the skillet, the smell wafting throughout the boat.

  Denise said she felt good, albeit a little sore, and her neck was stiff. She was dressed in her duty uniform and planned on heading into work, as scheduled.

  After breakfast, I took her by the Seven Seas to pick up her car. Just before she climbed out of the Porsche, she leaned across and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks Tyson. You're a real friend."

  She hopped out of the car and I watched her climb into the banana yellow SUV.

  I pulled out of the parking lot and zipped over to Jack's to return the sports car. I rounded the circular drive, killed the engine, and strolled to the front door. A few moments after I rang the bell, Jack pulled open the door with droopy eyes, wearing a robe and slippers. He looked like he'd had a long night.

  "What happened to you?" I asked.

  "After I left the hospital, I texted Sasha and Tasha and met them at Bumper. Then we hit an after-hours bar on 5th Street. We didn't get back here until after 4 AM. And then, we had business to take care of," he said with a devious grin.

  "If you're expecting sympathy because two hot twenty-somethings kept you up all night, you're not going to get it," I said.

  I handed him the keys.

  "How's the patient?" he asked.

  "She's fine."

  "Anything happen that I need to know about?" Jack asked, full of curiosity.

  "No."

  "You sure about that?" Jack pressed.

  "I'm positive."

  "If you say so," he said, full of skepticism.

  I rolled my eyes.

  "What do you hear about that scumbag?" JD asked.

  "Willow's brother? Nothing yet."

  Jack frowned.

  "Get dressed and take me back to the marina."

  JD waved me inside.

  He staggered down the foyer into the living room. I took a seat while he pushed into the bedroom to change clothes.

  A moment later, Tasha slipped out of the bedroom buck naked. She bounced and jiggled in delicious ways. There wasn't a shred of modesty about her. As she strolled into the kitchen, she waved casually and said, "Morning Tyson."

  I tried not to stare.

  JD emerged from the bedroom a moment later, fully dressed. He stepped into the kitchen and kissed the vixen goodbye.

  We left the two Russian beauties at the house while he drove me back to the marina. The morning sun warmed my face as we cruised with the top down. It was the start to a beautiful day. The morning got even better when Sheriff Daniels called and said, "Coast Guard picked up Phoenix McMillan and his friend. They are transferring custody now."

  "Fantastic!”

  "Phoenix recruited one of his friends to help him dispose of Denise. Now all three of them are facing charges. Nice work."

  "Don't thank me. Denise put it all together."

  "I'm aware of her contribution," Daniels said. "Not too much happens around here that I don't know about."

  "Speaking of which, can you think of anybody who retired within the last 10 years that is over 6 foot, bald, with a mustache? Would have been a stocky guy?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  I hesitated. "You're not going to like this, but Darrell Casey pointed the finger at a deputy."

  "One of ours?" Daniels growled, incredulous.

  "There's probably nothing there, but it's worth looking into. I'll head down to the station in a bit to look through the records."

  "The only person I can think of is Ed Sutton." Daniels hesitated. “I gotta be honest… I have a hard time believing he'd be capable of something like this."

  "We'll see," I said.

  I ended the call as we pulled into the lot at Diver Down.

  "What do you have going on today?" I asked JD.

  "While your lead sounds fascinating," JD said, "I have some houseguests that need urgent attention."

  I chuckled and climbed out of the Porsche.

  JD sped away, and I ambled down the dock to the Vivere. I grabbed my helmet and gloves, then jogged back to the parking lot. I was anxious to get down to the station and find out as much about Ed Sutton as I could.

  39

  "Just so we’re clear, I am not going to let you destroy a long and distinguished service career on a hunch," Daniels barked with a stern face. "Just because some dirt-ball up in Raiford points a finger at one of our deputies, doesn't mean he's guilty."

  I sat at Denise's computer, looking over Sutton's personnel records. The air was filled with telephone calls, the clack of keyboards, the murmur of chatter, and the smell of stale coffee.

  "He was on staff at the time," I said. "He fits the description Casey gave us."

  "Maybe Casey has a vendetta against this guy for arresting him?" Daniels postulated.

  "Looking at the case file, Ed Sutton was the one who logged in the evidence, and logged it out to send it to the lab," Denise said. "He could have easily made that evidence go missing."

  "You need to tread carefully with this," Daniels cautioned.

  "I intend to," I said.

  Daniels frowned. "What's your plan?"

  I shrugged. "I say we go talk to him. Cop to cop. Approach him like we need assistance closing this case and we think he might be able to help. See how he reacts?"

  "Then what?" Daniels asked. "You've got nothing to tie him to the scene. Darrell Casey's testimony isn't going to amount to a hill of beans."

  "You're right. Let's just drop it. I'll call Florence Baxter and tell her we’ll never find out who raped and murdered her daughter."

  Daniels glared at me, then finally grumbled, "Go talk to him. But be delicate about it."

  "Do we have a current address for Sutton?" I asked.

  "He still lives here in the Keys," Denise said. "1269 SeaCrest Drive."

  "Why don't I take Denise with me?" I suggested. "Ed might be more inclined to talk to a pretty girl."

  Denise arched an eyebrow at me.

  "Did you hear, Denise would have been crowned if she hadn't been abducted. You're looking at who should have been the next Miss Coconut Key."

  Daniels looked unimpressed. "I'm looking at two people who will be out of a job if they screw this up."

  "Go ahead. Fire me," I taunted. “I could use the free time.”

  Daniel's stern gaze pierced into me for a moment. "Get out of here."

  I left the station with Denise, and she drove us to SeaCrest Drive. It was in a nice little neighborhood a few blocks from the beach. Ed Sutton lived in a one story white brick home shrouded by palm trees. There was a black pickup in the driveway underneath the carport. The driveway, and the walkway, had been freshly repaved.

  We strolled up to the porch and knocked on the door. I heard footsteps in the foyer, then a booming voice shouted, "Who is it?"

  "Coconut County Sheriff's Department!"

  Ed twisted the latch and opened the door. Even in his 70s, he was an imposing figure. He stood 6'3" and almost filled the doorway with his shoulders. His eyes flicked to me, then to Denise, regarding us curiously. "What can I do for you?

  "We're working on one of your old cold cases,” I said. “We thought you might be able to provide some insight."

  A thin smirk curled on his face. "Is the county going to pay me a consulting fee?"

  That hung there for
a moment.

  "I'm kidding. Come on in. I'm happy to help."

  Ed stepped aside and motioned for us to enter. We walked through the foyer and stepped into the living room. "I'm Deputy Wild, this is Deputy Elliott," I said.

  We shook hands.

  His eyes lingered on Denise. "They sure didn't make deputies like you when I was on the force," Ed said with a slightly lecherous grin.

  He offered us a seat on the sofa, and he took what was clearly his usual position in the recliner. The armrests were worn, and the headrest was stained.

  There was a large flatscreen display in the room. A row of floor to ceiling windows offered a view of the small backyard that was enclosed with a fence, lined with foliage. The house was clean and well-maintained.

  My eyes were drawn to the 9mm pistol on the end-table next to the recliner. It was just within Ed's grasp.

  "Rough neighborhood?" I asked, nodding to the weapon.

  "I carried a pistol for so long, I feel naked without one. Just two doors down there was a home invasion six months ago. I don't know if you remember? Couple of thugs kicked in the front door, shot an elderly couple, stole their jewelry and some electronics. I tell you, I don't know what the world is coming to."

  "You live alone, Mr. Sutton?" I asked.

  "Ed. Call me Ed."

  I smiled at the man.

  "My wife passed away two years ago," he said.

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "I thought about getting a dog, but I figured it would outlive me, and what would happen to it when I died?"

  Denise made a sad face.

  "Can I offer you something to drink? Water? Beer?"

  I smiled. "No, thanks."

  "Which case are you working?" he asked.

  "Samantha Baxter. You remember her, don't you?"

  Ed's eyes widened with surprise for a moment, but he quickly covered, transforming his face into a look of confusion. I knew right then and there something was up.

  He fumbled for a moment. "Samantha Baxter…" He frowned and shook his head. "That one is not ringing a bell. Refresh my memory."

  I told him the pertinent details.

  "Oh, right! Now I remember. Young girl. Pretty. Such a shame." He sighed and shook his head again.

  "Anything you could share would be helpful," I said.

  Ed sucked in a deep breath. "You know, there were a few suspects, but nothing really ever panned out. I liked the bartender for that one. Not sure why we couldn't make it stick." He forced a smile. "You can't solve them all. Sometimes you just gotta let the tough ones go."

  There was an awkward silence.

  "It's a shame that the DNA evidence went missing," he continued. "Probably could have nailed that bastard otherwise."

  I nodded in agreement. "It is a shame. Do you recall what happened? We're trying to piece that together. You're listed as the last officer in the chain of custody."

  The muscles in his jaw flexed. "Honestly, it was so long ago, I don't really recall. I vaguely remember sending it to the lab, then never hearing anything back."

  "We've acquired some new evidence in the case," I said.

  Ed's brow lifted with surprise. "Really?"

  I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. "We exhumed Samantha Baxter's remains," I lied. "The medical examiner found a pubic hair and DNA of who we believe is the perpetrator."

  Ed's face went flat for a moment. Then he stammered, "That's fantastic."

  "It's amazing what modern technology can achieve," I said.

  "It is, isn't it?" He swallowed uncomfortably. "So, what do you need from me?"

  There was a palpable tension in the room.

  "We're trying to rule out anyone involved in the case. We've been collecting DNA swabs from the officers that came into contact with the evidence and Samantha's body. All we need is a DNA swab.”

  A cold sweat broke out on his face. When he spoke, he was distracted. His mind was somewhere else. He was probably trying to put all the pieces together and work out an excuse as to why his DNA would be found in the victim. "Sure. No problem. Like I said, anything I can do to help."

  It seemed like my bluff was paying off.

  But, perhaps, it paid off a little too well?

  Ed grabbed the gun from the end table and aimed it at me, sweat sprouting on his forehead. His eyes flicked between the two of us.

  "Easy there, Ed," I said. "You don't want to do this."

  40

  "It's over, Ed," I said. "Put the gun down. You don't want to kill us."

  His cheeks flushed, looking like he was about to short-circuit.

  "All these years later, and you gotta drag this up. Why? Who cares?"

  "Her mother cares. That's who! Florence Baxter. You remember her?"

  He gritted his teeth.

  "Why did you do it?" I asked.

  "She was a little slut. I just gave her what she wanted."

  "I don't think a knife to the throat is what she wanted," I said. "You found her under the pier, crying after Ben Brown had left her naked. She trusted you. And you took advantage of the situation."

  "It didn't happen like that," Ed said.

  "How did it happen?" I asked.

  Ed was silent for a long moment. "I found her under the pier. I gave her my coat to cover up. We started talking. I asked her how she found herself in the situation. She started flirting with me."

  I wanted to roll my eyes.

  "She was so young and fresh," his eyes drifted back to the day.

  "So, you raped her. She was screaming and crying, and you knew you weren't gonna get away with it, so you killed her."

  Ed's eyes filled. "No. It wasn't like that."

  "You keep saying that. But if Samantha was here, I think she'd tell a different story."

  "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

  "And thank God I don't," I said. "You're nothing less than a monster."

  Rage snarled on his face.

  I probably shouldn't have provoked a man with a gun in his hand.

  "I had a distinguished career. I retired with honors. Now you're going to throw all of that in the trash can."

  "You're the one who threw it in the trash can," I said.

  Ed's past tortured him. As well as his future. He knew what the rest of his life would look like, and it wasn't pretty. "You can't put me in a cell with those animals. I'm not dying behind bars."

  Ed hesitated another moment, then put the pistol to his head. He squeezed his eyes tight, gritted his teeth, then his finger pulled the trigger.

  Bang!

  The deafening blast filled the living room.

  The bullet tore through his skull and exploded the opposite side, spraying the contents of his twisted mind across the living room, splattering the walls and the carpet.

  Ed's body slumped in the chair. His hand fell limp. The pistol dropped to the floor, smoke still wafting from the barrel.

  The sharp smell of gunpowder hit my nostrils, mixed with the metallic scent of blood.

  Denise shrieked. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She brought her hands to her mouth, looking at the sight in horror.

  I called Sheriff Daniels. Before long, the home swarmed with officers. A crime scene photographer snapped pictures, the forensics guys documented the blood spatter, and Brenda examined the body. It was all a matter of procedure at this point.

  Daniels had a grim scowl on his face as he surveyed the hideous scene. "This doesn't look good for the department."

  "It's a good thing the election is over," I quipped.

  "I don't want anyone talking to the press over this. This doesn't inspire confidence."

  My ears were still ringing from the blast by the time we left. Denise was still frazzled. She drove us back to the station.

  "Sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have brought you with me. I put you in a dangerous situation again."

  "It's part of my job. I can handle it."

  "Yeah, well, maybe I don't want you in those situations.
"

  A thin smile tugged at her lips. She'd never admit it, but she liked the fact that I cared. But that didn't stop her from giving me a sassy response. "You're not the boss of me."

  I chuckled. “Nobody is the boss of you. Not even Daniels.”

  At the station, we filled out a mountain of paperwork. I called Florence Baxter and let her know the details.

  "I can't thank you enough for bringing closure to this case," she said. "It doesn't change anything, and it doesn't bring my daughter back, but I think Samantha is smiling today. Justice was served."

  We wrapped up at the station, then met JD at Wet Suit for happy hour. Denise needed to blow off some steam.

  So did I.

  "I can't believe you guys didn't call me," JD said. "I would have loved to see that bastard pop his own lid."

  Denise groaned. "I'm still traumatized."

  "What a sicko!" JD exclaimed.

  Scarlett called while we were at the bar. Her excited voice filtered through the speaker. “You’re not gonna believe what happened!”

  “Did you do that thing we talked about?”

  "What thing?"

  "You know. The last time we talked you said you were going to…"

  "Talk to Jack? Yeah, I did."

  My brow lifted with surprise. "And?"

  "It was no big deal."

  I looked across the table at Jack. "I find that hard to believe."

  "He'd been getting Internet alerts emailed to him anytime my name popped up on a website. He already knew. I feel kinda bad for him, honestly. I'm sure the last thing he wanted to see were naked pictures of me on tabloid websites."

  "I would imagine so," I said.

  "Jack said in the scheme of things, it wasn't that big of a deal. He said that I am an adult, and I can choose to screw up my life however I'd like. But at least I'm not doing drugs anymore."

  "Reasonable."

  "Now for the good news. Because of all that, I got media attention that you just can't pay for. The exposure got me exposure, let's just say. David Cameron saw my photos. THE David Cameron."

  "I know who he is," I said.

  "He called Joel and said I have to meet with Scarlett." She shrieked with joy. "Can you believe it?"