Red Tide (Siren Publishing Classic) (32 page)

Great
.
Just what I’d need on top of everything else going on right now. A serial killer.

Jim stuck his head in the door a couple of hours later. “Good news, they fit Mitch’s Bronco. Bad news, no prints.”

“None?”

“
Nada.
Must’ve wiped them clean and used gloves for the job.”

Sam sighed. “Well, that makes sense. Figures we wouldn’t get that lucky.”

“But it does add credence to Mitch’s theory. Her own keys were still in the ignition when it blew.”

“It’s not going to be enough for the State Attorney. I’ll have to talk to them. I know I don’t want to lock John up and have him skate on the charge. We have to come up with something more solid than this.”

“Patience, my friend, patience. Something will happen. It always does.”

Sam snorted. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The phone on his desk rang.

“Sam Caster.”

“Sam, it’s Mitch.”

Jim started to leave, but something in the tone of her voice made him motion to Jim to stay. “What’s up, Mitch?”

He listened as she told him about her conversation with Jenna and how she’d heard no word from her. Instinct told him John had probably got to Jenna first. “Hold on.” He rifled through papers on his desk, looking for his investigation notes about Jenna Stephens. “I’ll call the Orlando PD and have them send a car over. I’ll call you back.”

He broke the connection and immediately called the Orlando PD. They would take lead on the case since her listed address was inside city limits. He gave the information to a detective and was put on hold while they sent a unit to investigate.

Jim sat down across from him, his eyes questioning. Sam gave him a brief outline of what Mitch said.

After ten long minutes and several repeats of public service messages that played while people were on hold, the detective returned to the line.

“She’s dead, apparently a suicide. There’s a note on her computer. She slit her throat in the bathtub.”

“That doesn’t sound right at all,” Sam said.

“Tell me about it. But that’s all the info I have right now. I’ll head out to the scene and call you back when I’ve got more information. In the meantime, give me this man’s name and I’ll put out a BOLO on him.” Sam relayed John’s vitals and tag number and description of the Porsche.

“I’ll put out one here in Pasco. I’ll also contact Kenny Schoenborn in Hillsborough in case this guy shows up at his house there.”

Sam ended the conversation and sat back, filling Jim in on the details.

“Shit,” Jim swore, rubbing his face with his hands. “Want me to call Mitch?”

Sam shook his head. “No, I’ll do it.” He dialed the phone.

* * * *

When Mitch didn’t hear from Jenna two hours after she talked to her, she called her and left a message on her voice mail.

It wasn’t necessarily a reason to worry. There were many reasons—all innocent—why Jenna might not return her call.

She didn’t believe that for a second.

Finally breaking down, she called Sam and relayed the entire conversation to him.

“Hold on, Mitch.” She heard papers rustling. “I’ll call Orlando PD and have them send a car over. I’ll call you back.”

When her phone rang thirty minutes later, she snatched it up. “Hello?”

Sam’s voice sounded grim. “They found her, in the tub. Looks like a suicide. She slit her throat.”

Mitch felt the phone slip from her hand, and somehow, almost magically, Ed was there, taking it from her, walking into the kitchen to talk to Sam.

She looked up at him after he hung up.

“There was a note typed on her computer. Apparently, John broke up with her,” Ed explained.

“People don’t kill themselves over John, Ed.
He
kills people.”

“Mitch, you don’t know that.”

“The hell I don’t.” Her fury drove Ed back a step. “He’s a cold, ruthless son of a bitch!”

“You didn’t make him that way.”

Tears rolled down her face. Ed took her into his arms as she sobbed. “Why didn’t she listen to me? Why didn’t she call the police from her office? I told her not to go home first.”

Ed held her at arm’s length. “Listen to me. The first thing is that you are not responsible for what’s happened. You did everything humanly possible. John is a psycho. The second thing is, we have to get out of here. He’s had enough time to get over here from Orlando. He might be on his way here now. He tried to kill you once. What’s to say he won’t try again?”

Mitch looked lost, uncertain. “Call Ron. He’ll know what to do.”

“Mitch,
I
know what to do. We’re getting the hell out of here. Sam said he may try coming for you again. They found the spare keys to your Bronco in the lot next door to the marina.”

* * * *

“Get her out of there, Ed,” Sam told him. “Go now. He’s had a couple hours’ head start on us. He might be over here by now. Just get the hell out of there.”

“Okay, Sam. Thanks.”

When he hung up with Ed, he put out the BOLO and called Kenny Schoenborn to update him.

Kenny wasn’t any too thrilled either. “I’ll get someone over to Tyne’s house now, but I don’t think we’ve got enough for a search warrant. A judge’ll give me a hard time with nothing more than circumstantial evidence.”

“I know. That’s the bitch of it.” Sam thought about the computer records Mitch had and reconsidered. “We’re working another angle right now, though. I might be able to get you enough to sway a judge.”

Kenny perked up. “Well, why don’t you let me in on this?”

“I can’t just yet. It’s got to pan out. Hopefully, it will.” He hung up and ordered a car over to Ed’s house, then called Ed back.

“I’ve got a unit on its way right now. Uniformed. We need that computer evidence. Forget what I said about moving. You just got yourself a new houseguest.”

“Who?” Ed asked.

“Me.”

John wasn’t sure how long it would be until someone discovered Jenna’s body, but he figured he had at least an hour head start. He jumped off I-4 in Plant City and drove through Zephyrhills, down State Road 54. He connected to Dale Mabry Highway from there, which led him right into his subdivision.

His first pass by the house showed nothing amiss. With a mental list of items he needed, he called a cab on another throwaway cell phone and was assured it would arrive in twenty minutes. On his second pass, he used the garage door opener and parked inside, making sure the door was down before getting out. He worked fast.

Early on he knew there would be too much risk if he didn’t diversify a little, spread his funds out. It seemed now it proved to be a wise choice. He took two large suitcases from the closet and put them on the bed, filling them with basics he’d need. From the wall safe Mitch didn’t know about, he pulled a large, bulging manila envelope. Inside were credentials for four different identities and several bankbooks for various offshore accounts. Next, he pulled five bundles of bills out, over twenty thousand dollars in cash. The suitcases he placed by the front door while the cash and envelope went into his briefcase.

He checked his time. Ten minutes had passed since calling the cab company.

Into a large tote bag went all his CDs and several three-ring binders full of codes and instructions. He booted the computer, and, with a sad sigh, started his nuclear program. The hard drive would thoroughly scrub itself and rewrite the data several times before reinstalling an image of a pristine operating system. He doubted the Sheriff’s office had a geek smart enough to recover the data. If they did, by that time, he would already have salvaged some funds and be untouchable.

That’s when he noticed the new footprints.

He followed them throughout the house. Before leaving the house the last time, he’d run the vacuum, of that he was certain. And he kept that in the kitchen pantry, so there were no footprints when he left.

He followed them around the house, from the garage straight to the den, to the computer desk.

To the file cabinet.

Who did they belong to?
There was only one set, all the same size. If it was a police officer, they’d still be here, with a search warrant, waiting for him. Putting one of his own feet alongside one of the phantom prints, he realized what had happened.

For the first time in his life he felt unbalanced. The answer was obvious, but she had given him back his keys.

He thought about it. She could have made a spare set. He immediately discounted that theory, remembering the prints came from the garage, not the front door.

Then he remembered.

Garage door opener.

All his loose ends were tied except for Mitch. She had to be taken care of. Unless she was dead, the killings would always be hanging over his head.

A dead witness couldn’t testify.

He finished and waited by the door for the cab. It arrived only two minutes later than predicted, and the driver helped him load his bags.

“Where to, sir?”

John thought for a moment. “TIA. Cayman Airways departure.”

Mitch stirred the large pot on the stove before returning to the table where Ed, Ron, Sam, and Jim pored over the printouts. “It’s there, Sam, I know what we need to nail his ass is in that damn computer somewhere!”

At the center of the pile was the copy of the mysterious fax received from Texas. After placing a few phone calls to the Texas Rangers, Sam reported to the group that the office there was forcibly closed, its assets seized, and both state and federal agents were poring over records, looking for information to tie them into John’s purported drug smuggling.

The list was a series of dates and times for the next two months, with some codes that probably represented places, but Mitch had yet to connect the dates with anything in John’s records on the computer.

He shook his head. “We have to have proof, Mitch.”

She sighed. “I know.” She popped a peanut open and sucked the meat out of the shell.

Sam reached out and took one from the bowl in the center of the table, shelled it and ate it, dropping the shell onto the paper plate. “These are good, Mitch.”

“Thanks. I like to make my own.”

He studied her. “Do you make those a lot?”

She shrugged. “I used to. John loved them. They’re easy to make. This is the first batch I’ve made in months.”

Startling realization flooded his brain and he staggered to his feet, his mind reeling. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking
god
!” he yelled.

Jim frowned. “Sam, what the hell is wrong with you?’

He grabbed his cell, his fingers obviously trembling with excitement as he dialed. “Yes, this is Sam Caster, Pasco County Sheriff’s Office. Put me through to Kenny Schoenborn immediately, please. Yes it’s urgent!”

Mitch and Ed exchanged puzzled glances while Jim looked like a lightbulb had gone on in his brain. “Oh, shit!” he exclaimed.

“Sam, what is it?” Mitch asked.

He turned. “What color is the interior of John’s Porsche?”

She thought for a moment. “Tan, I think, or beige, or whatever they call that color.”

“Kenny!” he interrupted her, talking on the phone again. “Sam Caster here. Listen, get your men over to John Tyne’s immediately! Suspicion of murder. I’ll have you a witness for a probable cause search warrant in about one hour.” He turned to Mitch. “Yes. She’s sitting right here.”

* * * *

Sam and two deputies drove Mitch and Ed to Tampa to Kenny Schoenborn’s office, where she gave a sworn statement. They got an emergency bench warrant and as soon as it was signed, Kenny gave the team on the scene the word to enter the house.

The Carrollwood house lay empty. The Porsche, however, sat in the garage. After the crime scene technicians finished and secured it, it was towed to the sheriff office’s lab. Matching fibers were found to connect him with Denise Stanley.

Now all they needed was their suspect.

Sam had his deputies drive Mitch and Ed back to Ed’s house to wait for news. He told them he’d return in a couple of hours and to sit tight.

Ron showed up before Sam, and was already trying to talk the two into leaving. Sam picked up the argument immediately upon his arrival.

“Ed, take Mitch, and go off for a couple of days. Get a rental car and leave your truck here. We’ll post a couple of deputies that resemble you two and hope John does something stupid.”

Mitch still didn’t like the idea of leaving. She knew Aripeka, grew up in its close-knit confines. A stranger was easily identifiable. If they did leave and John managed to follow them, there was no telling how much danger they’d be in. There would be no way to watch their backs and know for certain that John wasn’t close behind.

“How long are we supposed to keep our lives on hold? How long are we supposed to keep running? What happened to keeping a close eye on the key witness?” Mitch sniped.