Wild Killer Read online

  I left the bar and strolled down the dock to the Wild Tide. My phone rang as I stepped into the cockpit of the boat. It was Big Tony.

  "Alright, here's the deal. I got a message to Salvador Zamora. He is considering it. I'll let you know if he decides to meet with you."

  "Is there anything I can do to persuade him?"

  "It's out of your hands. Just sit back and wait."

  I sighed. "I appreciate your effort. Thanks for getting in touch with him."

  "It was nothing. Just a few phone calls."

  I hung up with Tony, then I stepped into the salon. I was greeted by an overly enthusiastic Jack Russell Terrier bouncing up and down like a kangaroo, barking with excitement.

  "Hey, boy. How are you doing?" I knelt down and petted Buddy.

  He wagged his tail looked at me with those adorable brown eyes, and if he could talk, he would have said, "Let's go for a run!"

  It wasn't a bad idea.

  I leashed him, and within moments, we were trotting down the dock toward the parking lot, his paws clattering against the wooden planks.

  We did a short 3-mile loop. I was drenched in sweat by the time I made it back to the Wild Tide. The sun blazed high overhead.

  JD called. "Brenda has identified the victim. Just as you suspected. Abigail Monroe. The victim has evidence of a previous fracture in her left fibula that matches Abigail’s past x-rays. Belinda’s running DNA for confirmation."

  I cringed.

  I knew the moment Abigail went missing it was trouble. Her family had posted signs all across the island—in restaurants, bars, hardware stores, you name it. The xeroxed image of Abigail’s smiling face was emblazoned on my retinas. Every time I saw her picture, I dreaded the day we’d find her body. I hated that my thoughts drifted to the worst possible outcome. But as long as the Sandcastle Killer was out there, more girls would go missing.

  "Daniels wants us at the station ASAP.”

  "Has the family been notified?"

  “Well, sort of.”

  “What do you mean, sort of?”

  “Daniels wanted to wait until the DNA evidence came back, but the victim’s mother saw the story on the news, and she is at the station demanding to see the remains."

  I cringed. “I’ll be right there.”

  There was no time to take a shower. I toweled off, pulled on a clean shirt, then jumped on the X6. I was at the station in a few minutes.

  4

  “I have a right to see my daughter,” Tina, Abigail’s mother, demanded. Her shrill voice echoed throughout the station.

  Sheriff Daniels tried, and failed miserably, to calm the grieving woman. "Ma'am, we haven't finished our testing."

  "I know it's her! I want to see her." Her eyes were red and puffy, mascara had stained her cheeks. She had short blonde hair, was mid 40s, and was carrying around a little more weight than she probably would have liked.

  "Ma'am, I have to warn you, the victim's remains are—"

  Tina cut him off. "Her name is Abigail. And stop calling me ma'am. You can call me Tina or Ms. Monroe."

  Sheriff Daniels frowned. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "I can have my deputies escort you to the medical examiner's office."

  "Thank you."

  Daniels glanced to JD and me. It was our cue to take over.

  "Ms. Monroe, I'm Deputy Wild. This is Deputy Donovan. We are investigating the case. I know this is a difficult time. I thought we might ask you a few questions before we head over to the medical examiner's office."

  "I told the deputies everything when I reported her missing."

  "Maybe there is a small detail that could be useful."

  I motioned to the conference room, and we stepped inside. We took a seat at the oval-shaped mahogany table, and the overhead florescent lights made the room feel harsh and sterile. JD closed the door so we could have some privacy.

  "You two don't look like deputies," Tina said, eyeing us suspiciously.

  "We sometimes work undercover," JD replied. "Think of us like a special task force."

  She gave him a skeptical glance through bleary eyes. "Like I told the other deputies, the last time I had contact with her, she told me she was on the way to work."

  "And where is that?" I asked.

  "I didn't like it, but she was a cocktail waitress at Forbidden Fruit." Then she made certain we understood, "She was just waitressing. Abigail was very modest, and she would never… expose herself… in that kind of way." Tina's lip crinkled with disgust. It was clear she didn't approve of Abigail's line of work, nor the establishment itself.

  "Did you two have any disagreements?"

  Her face tensed. "Well, typical mother/daughter stuff. But nothing serious."

  "Like what?"

  "Well, I wanted her to find another job. I wanted her to go back to school. I didn't like the crowd she was running with. Those bar people stay out all hours of the night and drink way too much." She paused. "I don't want you to think we didn't have a good relationship."

  "I don't," I said.

  "You don't think I had anything to do with her going missing, do you?"

  I shook my head. "Can you give me a list of some of her friends?"

  "Sure."

  "When did you report her missing?" JD asked.

  "She usually got off work late—2 AM, and by the time she got out of the club, it was usually 3 AM. Then sometimes she'd go to an after-hours club with friends. We talked every day. When I didn't hear from her the next evening, I began to get worried. She had just moved out and gotten her own apartment a few months ago."

  "Does she have a roommate?" I asked.

  Tina nodded. "Sarah Dodson."

  "Did Abigail have a boyfriend?"

  "I don't think so. She broke up with Brad maybe six months ago."

  "Did she date around a lot?"

  Tina's eyes narrowed at me, clearly offended. "Was she promiscuous?"

  "That's not what I asked."

  "Abigail was very… She didn't sleep around."

  "I'm just trying to determine if there were new people coming in and out of her life."

  "Sure," Tina said. "She was meeting people all the time. That's what people of that age do."

  "Did she ever mention to you that she felt unsafe?"

  "No."

  "What about Brad? How did their relationship end?"

  Tina shrugged. "I don't really know. She didn't give me a lot of details. I think it just kind of fizzled out."

  "Do you know if he was upset about the breakup?"

  "Why are you asking these questions? There is a serial killer running around this island. Isn't that where you should be focusing your attention?"

  "We are," I said. "I'd just like to rule out any other possibilities and get a sense if she may have had contact with the killer in a social setting."

  "I'm done answering questions. Take me to see my daughter." Her eyes welled, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  5

  The color drained from Tina's face when she saw her daughter's body on the metal slab. The place smelled of death and chemicals. Stark white walls were offset by stainless steel counters and washbasins. There were biohazard waste containers, purple nitrile gloves, beakers, test tubes, electron microscopes, centrifuges, and an array of stainless steel surgical items. There were several stainless steel autopsy tables in the room with hydraulic lifts. Blood gutters in the tables allowed fluids to drain. It was a macabre sight that belonged in a haunted house or a horror movie.

  Tina’s knees wobbled, and JD and I caught her before she smacked the tile floor in the autopsy room. She came to a few moments later, and JD and I helped her to a couch in a nearby hallway.

  She sobbed uncontrollably.

  JD found some tissues and brought her bottled water.

  "That's definitely her," Tina said between jerking sobs.

  "I promise, we'll get the person who did this," I said.

  Tina wasn't in any condition to drive home. JD drove her car, and I fol
lowed them in the red Porsche. As we dropped her off, I assured her once again that we would find the person responsible, but that did little to console her.

  JD and I switched places, and he took the wheel behind the convertible. "Where to?"

  "I say we talk to the roommate, then we go pay a visit to Jaco."

  JD was never one to turn down an opportunity to visit Forbidden Fruit.

  We drove across town to the Oceanside Apartments where Abigail had lived with her roommate Sarah. The modest apartment complex was nowhere near the beach, and certainly not ocean-side. There were multiple buildings that contained four apartments each—two up, two down. Sarah lived on a second floor walk up, apartment #209.

  We banged on the door and a soft voice filtered through, "Who is it?"

  I held my gold badge up to the peephole. "Coconut County Sheriff."

  "Come back with a warrant," she shouted.

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  "We just want to talk to you about Abigail."

  There was a long moment of silence.

  Then the deadbolt unlatched, and Sarah pulled open the door. She was a pretty young girl, about 21. She had straight dark hair, blue eyes, and a svelte body.

  "I don't really know anything," she said. "She was here one day and gone the next."

  "We’re just looking for any additional details that might help us connect the dots,” I said. “Can we come inside?"

  "I don't let cops in my house without a warrant."

  "You have something to hide?" JD asked.

  The brunette scowled at him. "No. I'm just exercising my constitutional rights."

  "Fair enough," I said. "We're not the bad guys. I promise."

  She rolled her eyes.

  "When was the last time you saw Abigail?" I asked.

  She shrugged. "I guess it was the day she went missing."

  "When was that?"

  "I don't know. Don't you already know this stuff?"

  "I only know what I've been told. Your recollection may differ from that of someone else. It's important we get a broad overview of the situation."

  "I think it was a Thursday,” Sarah said. “But don't hold me to that. My days all run together."

  "How did you meet Abigail?" JD asked.

  "At the club. We worked together. We got along, so we decided to become roommates."

  "So, you're a cocktail waitress at Forbidden Fruit?"

  She scoffed. "No. I'm a performer."

  "What about Abigail?"

  "She danced too."

  JD and I exchanged a curious glance.

  "So, she wasn't a cocktail waitress?" I asked.

  Sarah rolled her eyes again. "No. That's just what she told her mother."

  "See, we are learning new information," I said. "Her mother said she was on her way to work the night of her disappearance.”

  "I guess," Sarah said. "I had gone shopping that afternoon. I'm not sure if she was planning on going into the club that night or not."

  "What did she like to do in her free time?" I asked.

  Sarah shrugged. "I don't know. What does anybody like to do? I mean, we go to the beach sometimes. Shopping. Drinking. If we weren’t working, we were out at the clubs, or on dates."

  "Was she dating anybody specific?"

  "Nobody in particular," Sarah said. "We are hot young girls. Why limit ourselves to just one guy? These bodies aren’t going to last forever, might as well have a little fun with them before they get old and saggy."

  The way Sarah described Abigail was nothing like the way her mother did.

  "Did you know any of her boyfriends?"

  "I can barely keep up with mine."

  "What type of guys did she like to date?" I asked.

  Sarah looked at me, hesitantly. "Well, guys our age are total losers. They’re broke, immature, and they last about two seconds in bed."

  "So, she liked older men?"

  "Older, rich men," Sarah clarified.

  "What about you?" JD asked with a hopeful smile. "Do you like older rich men?"

  Sarah groaned. "You are so not my type."

  JD deflated.

  "Would you recognize any of these men?" I asked.

  "I didn't meet most of them."

  "She didn't bring anyone to the apartment?" I asked.

  "It wasn't that kind of arrangement."

  I could tell she was holding something back. "What kind of arrangement was it?"

  Sarah was silent for a long moment. Then she spilled the beans. "I'm not gonna get in trouble for this, am I? I mean, you can't arrest me for anything I say, can you?"

  6

  "You're not a suspect," I said. "If you know something that could help the investigation, please tell us."

  Sarah hesitated. "Abigail had arrangements with several men."

  "Financial arrangements?" I asked.

  Sarah nodded.

  "So, she was a prostitute?" JD asked.

  Sarah's face twisted. "No. It wasn't like that."

  "What was it like?" I asked.

  "She had men that would do her favors in exchange for…" Sarah's voice trailed off, not wanting to spell it out.

  "Sex?" I asked.

  Sarah nodded.

  "Sounds like a prostitute to me," JD muttered.

  Sarah glared at him. "She was not a hooker!"

  "You say tomato, I say tomato."

  "How did she find her clients?" I asked. "The club?"

  "Sometimes. But half the guys that come in there don't have two nickels to rub together. They blow their whole paycheck on a few dances, and expect a blow job for 100 bucks," Sarah said. “The guys that do have money are great, but you have to tip out to the house. It cuts into the profit margin. Plus, sleeping with a guy in the club makes me feel dirty.”

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  “Makes you feel dirty?” JD asked.

  She sighed, then conceded. “Okay, so, I may have exchanged a few favors in the club. But I don’t do it on the regular. It’s gross.”

  "Where did Abigail meet most of these men?" I asked.

  "Online. There's a website that facilitates connections between older wealthy men, and young, available women. Maybe you need someone to pay your car payment? You can work something out. Maybe you want your rent covered? There will be someone willing to do it."

  "For a price," I added.

  Sarah nodded.

  "I take it you use the website as well?" JD asked.

  Sarah's eyes narrowed at him. "Like I said, you’re not my type."

  "You girls make good money at the club without doing extras," I said. "Why would you need to do that?"

  "Typically, the men that we meet through the site are more generous, and more refined. You can specify exactly the terms your interested in. You have complete control. Some of them are even cute."

  "You wouldn't happen to have access to Abigail’s account, would you?" I asked.

  Sarah shook her head.

  "What's the name of the site?"

  She told me, and I scribbled the URL down on a piece of paper.

  "Do you think the killer is finding victims through that website?" Sarah asked, concerned.

  I shrugged. "It's a possibility. If you have any other friends that are utilizing that site, I'd warned them to be extremely cautious."

  Fear bathed her eyes.

  "If you can think of anything else that might be helpful, please get in touch," I said.

  Sarah said she would. She closed the door and latched the deadbolt as JD and I strolled to the parking lot.

  "She paints a very different picture of Abigail, doesn't she?" JD said.

  "Indeed."

  "I say we get access to Abigail's profile on the site and check her private messages," JD said.

  "We'll need a warrant for that."

  "Or, you might be able to call in a favor," JD said with a sly grin.

  I knew what he was getting at. "I don't know how many more favors I can pull out of Isabella."


  "Don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you could charm a few more out of her."

  We hopped into JD's Porsche and drove to Oyster Avenue. We parked at a meter and strolled down the sidewalk to the strip club. Music thumped inside the dim den of debauchery. Colored lights slashed the foggy air. Exotic beauties in stiletto heels pranced on stage, slinking around chrome poles.

  It was a feast for the eyes.

  Much to JD's chagrin, we were a little too early for happy hour.

  We scanned the club, looking for Jaco, the manager.

  I wouldn't go so far as to call us regulars, but we were no strangers to Forbidden Fruit.

  Jaco saw us and strolled in our direction. "I take it this isn't a social call?"

  "How can you tell?" JD asked.

  "You both have that look in your eyes. You're not here for fun."

  “I have fun wherever I go,” JD boasted.

  “I don’t doubt that,” Jaco replied.

  "Tell us about Abigail Monroe," I said.

  "She the dead girl you found on Surfside Beach?"

  I nodded.

  Jaco frowned and shook his head. "That's too bad. I liked her. Customers did too."

  "Did you see her the night she went missing?"

  Jaco shook his head. "I think she worked the day before."

  "Are these girls on any type of set schedule?" I asked.

  "Not really. They come and go as they please. Some of the more professional girls treat this like a business and come in on certain days. That way the regulars know when they can find them."

  "Do you think you could give me a list of Abigail's regular customers?" I asked.

  Jaco looked at me blankly. "No. We value discretion around here. How long do you think this place would stay open if my customers thought their name would end up on a list that was given to law enforcement? It's the reason I don't have security cameras. Half the guys that come in here are married. You think they want their wives finding out?"

  "I don't know if you've been keeping up with the news, but there's a bad man out there doing bad things to young girls," I said.

  "And it breaks my heart. It really does. But to tell you the truth, I don't keep track of these people. I don't know who her regular customers were. You can ask some of the other girls. I doubt they were paying attention to Abigail's regulars." Jaco paused. "Did you talk to her roommate? Sarah?"