Red Tide (Siren Publishing Classic) (24 page)

Where did he meet her? Inside or outside?

Until now, there had been no witnesses of his approach to a victim. Kenny supposed Romeo met her outside. But how did he first see her?

Kenny had to turn to watch the door to the bar. No, it wouldn’t be from there. He stood up, looked around, and spied an overhang in front of a club across the street. It was obvious in the deepening shadows that someone could lurk there in relative obscurity. Kenny crossed Seventh and looked back across. It
felt
right, somehow. He wasn’t sure why, but it just felt
right.

He sighed and looked down at the concrete. If only…if only…if only.

Then, suddenly, he felt his heart pound. Down on the ground, wedged behind a downspout off the corner of the awning, lay two boiled peanut shells.

His car was around the corner. He ran to it and grabbed a small plastic evidence bag, returned, and scooped up the shells and bagged them. They were valuable if for nothing else than to show where their boy stood when he first spotted Stanley.

Kenny ran them down to headquarters, logged them in as evidence, and sent them to the lab for testing. Maybe they could get a DNA sample. Not likely, but Kenny was always a strong believer in long shots.

On his drive home his heart didn’t feel any lighter, but a glimmer of hope had insinuated itself there. He pored over the case file again until almost midnight, when his eyes finally started blurring. He went to bed and drifted into a tenuous sleep, haunted by images of Jenny and faces from the case file.

Jenna was still asleep eight o’clock Saturday morning when John quietly padded out to the kitchen in his bare feet to make a pot of coffee. She’d been unusually quiet when she picked him up at the dealership the night before.

While waiting for the coffee to brew, he sat on the couch in the living room and turned on the TV. There wasn’t much on besides cartoons and sports, so he tuned to CNN. Nothing interested him until a Florida story came on.

“In other news, the small Gulf Coast Florida town of Aripeka was rocked yesterday by a car bomb. For the second time in a week, Mitch Jackson, a charter boat captain, was involved in an incredible movie-like drama when a car bomb exploded in her vehicle late Friday afternoon…”

John shook his head in disgust.

Leave it to Mitch to forget her purse. She always was forgetful.

He heard the toilet flushed in the master bathroom and quickly changed the channel. This wasn’t exactly the type of thing he wanted to talk to Jenna about right now. It would be bad enough when he had to talk to the police. And he wanted her to see his reaction when he “first” heard about Mitch’s tragic misfortune.

He cursed the bad luck that made her file for divorce when she did, but at least he did have the decree to use in his defense. If she’d been silly enough to ask for alimony, his ass really would have been in a sling.

A yawning Jenna drifted into the living room, an oversized T-shirt hanging almost to her knees.

“Good morning,” he greeted her. She leaned over the back of the sofa to kiss him on the top of the head.

“Morning. Is that coffee I smell?” She wandered into the kitchen.

He followed her. “Sure is. Feel like going out for a bite to eat?”

She poured two mugs of coffee. “When do you need to get to the dealership?”

He glanced at the clock. “Oh, probably about ten or so.”

Jenna sipped her coffee. “Okay, that sounds good. Do you want to run by your condo first?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ve got everything I need.” He took his coffee with him into the master bathroom and shaved. He didn’t want to stop by the condo in case there were police waiting there for him.

When he finished he made way for Jenna to get ready and went into the den to get his laptop. Carrying it back into the kitchen, he set it up on the breakfast bar next and quickly accessed his server. It only took a few minutes to attend to his business. By the time Jenna emerged from the bedroom, he was offline and ready to go.

* * * *

They ate a leisurely breakfast at a small cafe near Jenna’s apartment, then drove to the dealership. He talked with the service manager, who promised him the car on Monday afternoon, then arranged another Porsche as a loner. John told Jenna he’d meet her back at her apartment. Once she left, he drove to his condo and was pleased to find no one waiting for him. There was a message on the answering machine at the Carrollwood house from detective Sam Caster in Pasco County. He jotted the number down and made a mental note to call it from Jenna’s.

* * * *

Jenna drove off with a small sense of relief. She remembered Mitch’s number was written on the notepad next to the phone, and prayed John hadn’t spotted it when he went into the den. She hurried home and ripped the top page off the pad, studying it for a moment.

Finally, she reached for the phone and dialed the number, her stomach knotting when the phone rang on the other end. After the second ring, a machine answered.

“Hi, this is Mitch. We can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave your name and number—”

Jenna paused, almost hung up, then decided to leave a message. She gave her cell number instead of the apartment number. She didn’t want John to overhear if Mitch returned the call. She could silence her cell phone easily without him seeing the number.

She hung up the phone and tucked the paper into her daily organizer. Her thoughts waffled between believing John was completely up front with her, and worrying that she was in over her head with a man who might have tried to kill his wife. Unfortunately, answers would have to wait until later.

John arrived a half hour later, a frown on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I had a message on my machine at the Tampa house to call a Pasco County Sheriff’s Office detective.” He perched on a barstool and grabbed her cordless phone.

Jenna walked into the kitchen and washed the coffee mugs from that morning. “What do you think it’s about?” Her heart raced. Instinct told her it was about the bombing, but John appeared totally unaware anything was wrong.

“I can’t think of what it would be, unless something’s happened to Mitch.” He dialed the phone. “I mean, legally, I am still her husband, even though she’s filing for divorce.”

He paused when someone answered the phone. “Yes, ma’am. Detective Caster left a message for me to call him? Thank you.”

He was put on hold for a moment, and took the opportunity to put the phone on speaker mode.

A man came on the line. “Sam Caster.”

“Hello? This is John Tyne. You left a message on my machine.”

“Yes sir. I’m calling about your wife, Michelle Jackson.”

“What happened? Is she okay?”

“She’s extremely lucky. Someone blew up her vehicle yesterday.”

Jenna watched his face. He seemed to be genuinely shocked.

“That’s terrible! Is she okay?”

“Bumps and bruises, scrapes, nothing serious.”

“That’s a relief. Who did it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Where were you yesterday?”

Disbelief registered on his face. “Where was I? Well, I was in Orlando yesterday. Then I started driving back to Tampa last night and my car died at the Lakeland rest stop on I-4. I had it towed back to Orlando.”

With horrifying clarity, Jenna realized she was John’s alibi.

“I thought you lived in Tampa,” the detective said. “Why would you have your car towed to Orlando?”

“Actually, I’ve got a condo here, where I spend most of my time. And my girlfriend lives here.” He glanced at Jenna and winked. Somehow, the action disturbed her.

“Ah, I see,” Caster said. “Do you have any witnesses who will testify to you being in Orlando?”

“Well, I spent the day with Jenna, and she’s right here. I’m calling you from her apartment. I spent the night here.”

“And her full name is?”

“Jenna Stephens.” He spelled it for the detective as well as gave him her address and phone numbers.

“Okay, thank you. I’m going to need both of you to come in and give a formal statement. As soon as possible.”

John looked at Jenna and shrugged. “Tomorrow?” he silently mouthed. She nodded. “Can we come in tomorrow? We’d made plans for today.”

They heard papers rustling on the other end of the line. “Eleven o’clock. Sorry to bring you in on a weekend, but I need to get your statement.” He gave directions to the New Port Richey Sheriff’s office. “Oh, and I need you to bring your towing receipts and any other paperwork that will show where you were. I’ll need to talk to the tow truck driver, too.” The detective said good-bye with little fanfare. John ended the call.

“That’s horrible!” Jenna exclaimed, hoping she sounded appropriately surprised. “Why would someone want to do something like that?”

John shook his head. “I wonder if it had something to do with that boat she found.”

* * * *

They went to the car show as planned. It was difficult for Jenna to keep her mind off Mitch and the bombing. What if John was behind it? What if he led a completely different life than the one he portrayed to her?

“What’s wrong?” John stared at her from across the table. They had stopped at a little sidewalk cafe for lunch.

She forced a weak smile. “Nothing, I’m sorry. I’ve got a headache coming on.”

“You want to go home?”

Jenna shook her head. “No, I’m okay. I’ve got aspirin in my purse. When the waiter brings us our drinks, I’ll take some.”

The conversation remained light during the meal. They finished their tour of the car show, Jenna doing her best to pay attention to John. He took her out to dinner, and then home.

“Look, if you want to, why don’t you go to bed?” he asked. “I’ve got some work I need to do. I’ll just go over to my place. It’ll take us a couple of hours to get over to New Port Richey tomorrow, so I’ll pick you up here at seven, we’ll grab a quick bite on the road, and be there with plenty of time to spare. Sound good?”

She nodded. “Okay. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He gathered up his things and kissed her good-bye before leaving.

* * * *

Through the window, Jenna watched John pull out of the parking lot. Once she was sure he’d left, she went to her desk. She’d locked her cell in it before leaving that morning. Scrolling through the missed call log, she was disappointed to find no return call from Mitch. That didn’t necessarily mean anything. Mitch might not be at home or had not had a chance to check her messages.

But now that she had started the quest for more information, Jenna was going to see it through to its conclusion.

* * * *

John felt the tension building inside him all day long, ever since the call to Sam Caster. The need had returned with a vengeance. Orlando was prime hunting ground for him, full of transients, vacationers, and, of course, prostitutes.

He
did
go back to his condo, but only long enough to take a quick shower, change his clothes, and drop off his things. He preferred traveling light on his hunting trips.

John rotated his haunts the same way he rotated his cities. International Drive was extremely promising for finding suitable prey. But he journeyed north instead to Church Street, where he parked in one of the city lots under I-4. Passing Church Street Station, he walked several blocks farther to a club he’d heard about a few months earlier. At the front door he paid the cover charge and walked inside the loud, dimly lit bar.

He held no appreciation for the tastefully decorated club, with its ornate brass and oak bar, engraved mirrors, and elegant oak paneling. He ordered a beer and went to a table in the far corner, allowing him a good view of the entire room. Scanning the patrons, he saw no prospects. Several attractive single women, but the signals they sent weren’t the ones he sought. He wanted someone vulnerable, reachable.

The women at the bar he could have taken home and had sex with, if his need hadn’t been so great. But for the hunt he needed prey, and these women were many things, but not prey.

As he nursed his second beer, a different waitress walked up to check on him. She was young, maybe in her late twenties, with shoulder-length light auburn hair. The faint flowering of a bruise high up on her right cheek had barely been concealed by makeup.

“Can I get you another drink?” Her green eyes skipped everywhere but his face. Her voice sounded clear, but timid.

The image of a gun-shy doe came to mind.

He put on a kind, friendly smile and looked directly into her eyes. “I think I’ve had enough to drink for the evening. What do you have in the way of food?”

He knew. He’d looked over the menu and practically memorized it. The food was typical sports bar fare, but they even offered boiled peanuts, an unusual item in a bar. He took that as an omen and listened to her, as if enraptured, waiting until she finished to make his choice.