Live and Lime Die: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 8 Page 5

  “By her, you mean Tiara Hayes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you glue his lips shut as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” the detective was on a roll now, glad that he was finally getting some answers.

  “Because he said some vile things after she went into the house.”

  “And his hands?”

  “Yes, just seemed appropriate.”

  “Mr. Eckels, did you put makeup on Samuel Freed?”

  “Yes.”

  “What reason could you possibly have for doing that?” Ferguson demanded.

  Tim giggled, then caught himself and turned it into a slight cough, placing his fingertips over his mouth for a moment. “That…” he replied, with a sly grin. “That was just for my amusement.”

  The detective was nonplussed, staring at the seriously strange man in front of him and not knowing quite what to say.

  “How did Mr. Freed die?” Ferguson finally asked, ready for this interview to be over.

  “One would hope, that since you recovered the body, you would already know that,” Tim tilted his head to the side again.

  The detective let that pass. “What happened after you did your gluing and painting?” he asked, not bothering to conceal his disgust.

  “I gave him a ride to the commercial docks and dropped him off.”

  “Dropped him off a dock?”

  “No, dropped him off as in “let him out of my car,” Tim sighed.

  “Then what?”

  “I went home.”

  “When did you arrive at your home address?” Ferguson persisted.

  “8:57.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” the detective shook his head.

  “Is that a rhetorical question?” Tim asked, wondering if the detective knew what rhetorical meant.

  Ferguson stared at him blankly. “So you’ve confessed to gluing together a man’s eyes, lips and fingers, as well as putting makeup on him, and you expect me to believe that you didn’t kill him?”

  “No.”

  “No?” The detective was too baffled to hide it. “Are you confessing to this murder, Mr. Eckels?”

  Tim’s disdain was palpable. “Of course I’m not confessing to the murder, Detective, I didn’t kill him. You asked me if I expected you to believe me – I don’t. But then, you don’t have to believe me…I have proof,” he smiled an eerie smile.

  Chapter 14

  Marilyn anxiously awaited the arrival of the officers who would be looking into the vandalism that had occurred and wondered what on earth was going on with her neighbor. Tiara had gotten to know him a bit, and thought of him as “a little weird, but definitely harmless.” She was glad that her daughter didn’t have to witness him being taken away by the police, probably for protecting her. He’d always been oddly protective of Tiara, even before she’d come to trust and like him.

  It had been tempting to see what the paper was, that was wrapped around the rock or whatever it was that had come through her window, but knowing that she could unwittingly be contaminating evidence by touching it, she left it alone. Breathing a sigh of relief, she heard a car pull up in her driveway, and looked outside to see two uniformed officers approaching. She told them what had happened and brought them inside to survey the damage, asking if either of them would like some coffee. They demurred and she sat at the kitchen counter, leaving them alone to conduct their investigation.

  It had been a crazy night, and she was operating on just a few hours of sleep, so she brewed some coffee for herself, and scrolled half-heartedly through her Pinterest app, trying to pass the time while the police collected evidence.

  “Ma’am?” the handsome Hispanic officer came into the kitchen, startling her a bit.

  “Yes?” she hopped down from her bar stool to meet him, setting her phone and her coffee mug on the counter.

  “Do you know either of the people in this photo?” he asked, holding out a picture in his gloved hand.

  Marilyn’s hands flew to her throat in alarm. “That’s my daughter, Tiara,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. “And I’m not sure, but judging from the way that he looks, I’m going to guess that’s Samuel Freed,” she turned to the officer wide-eyed. “Samuel Freed is dead. What on earth is going on?”

  The officer held up a hand as though trying to get her to calm down. “We don’t know just yet. This photo was wrapped around the rock that was thrown through your window. It looks to me like someone was trying to send some sort of message. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

  She shook her head numbly. “My daughter is in the hospital, on the 7th floor, is there any way that arrangements for more security can be made?” she pleaded softly.

  “That was taken care of when we found out that she was associated with the young man who was found dead,” the officer assured her.

  “Am I safe? Should I be worried?” Marilyn didn’t want to panic, but her world had turned upside-down pretty effectively today.

  “Hard to say,” he admitted. “It might be best for you to stay in your daughter’s room with her at the hospital for tonight, until we can start putting things together. If you’re up to it, I’d also like to ask you a few questions about your evening with Bernard Cortland.

  Marilyn’s eyes grew wide at the mention of Cort’s name. “Oh gosh, is he…?”

  The officer held up a reassuring hand again and leaned in closer. “Out of surgery and stable, but you didn’t hear it from me, are we clear?”

  She smiled at him gratefully and nodded, not sure that she could’ve survived any more bad news this evening. “Crystal. Thank you, officer.”

  “Manny,” he replied. “Cort is a friend of mine. He speaks highly of you.”

  Marilyn blushed. “Thank you, Manny. It was so frustrating when no one would tell me anything.”

  “Understandable. Did anything unusual happen while the two of you were out tonight? Anybody lurking around, looking suspicious?”

  She thought hard, then shook her head. “No, the only person that we even encountered, other than the wait staff was the daughter of a former client of his.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Jenna. Jenna Winston. Her dad owns a yacht that’s docked over at the club. Cort used to do private security for them,” she explained.

  “Any bad blood between the detective and the Winstons?” Manny asked.

  “Not that I know of. Cort sounded like he got along very well with the family.”

  “Okay, thanks. If you remember anything else, let me know,” he handed her a business card with his contact info. “My partner and I are going to finish up here. If you want to get to the hospital, I’ll call ahead so that security and the nursing staff will let you through.”

  “Thanks, I’ll go get changed and head over there,” Marilyn nodded.

  “Do you have any sheets of plywood or anything in your garage?” he asked.

  “I think so, why?”

  “We’ll board up the front window for you before we leave. You can probably get a glass guy out here to take a look at it tomorrow,” he offered.

  “That would be great – thanks. I hadn’t even thought about that,” she admitted.

  “It’s been a rough night for you,” he shrugged.

  “Yes it has,” she agreed, and headed up the stairs.

  Chapter 15

  Jenna Winston was furious that Sam hadn’t responded to her text. He had blown her off to “go out with friends,” twice now, and the crew member whom she paid to follow him had told her that he actually didn’t go out with friends at all, but had gone briefly to a pie shop and sat outside of someone’s house in the bushes. She’d paid a little bit more and found out that Sam had been stalking an ex-girlfriend, who just happened to be the rude wench from the pie shop.

  Samuel had been ignoring her, and that was unacceptable, but the fact that she had also been brushed aside by Bernard Cortland, who was way hotter than she remembered, had just seared
her to the core. And for what? The pie girl’s mother! Seriously? What on earth was wrong with men these days? Didn’t they know a hot, powerful woman when they saw one? Frustrated by the lack of response from the men she had targeted as being worthy of serving her recently, she decided to take matters into her own hands, and began by showing up at the swanky bar, where Cort had taken Marilyn, after Jenna’s brother had spotted the couple, looking quite cozy.

  Hitting yet another wall with the detective, and still feeling full of mischief, she decided to go scope out the address that she’d gotten from her spy, where Samuel had been hiding in the bushes. She was determined that she was going to either get lucky, or ruin someone’s evening trying. Slipping into the opulent ladies rest room at the bar, after downing Cort’s nasty dirty martini -she’d forgotten that he drank the foul things - she opened her oversized bag and drew out a pair of designer yoga pants and a matching black, long-sleeved top. Putting ultra-light black running shoes on her feet, she crept out of the back exit and headed for her rental car.

  Jenna parked down the street from Marilyn’s house and crept behind some bushes to watch the events unfold. Just as she had suspected, she clenched her fists in fury when she saw Tiara and Sam drinking wine on the back patio. Turning over a dozen humiliating and painful scenarios in her mind that she’d like to inflict, she sat up and paid attention as things began to get very interesting. The girl hit the deck, the weird-looking dude with the pie jumped Sam, who resisted at first, then just seemed to crumple, and the grand finale was the weird dude carrying Sam, like a sack of potatoes, over to the house next door.

  She seriously considered going over an giving the girl who’d been capturing Sam’s attention a good swift kick while she was down, but reconsidered when a car pulled up in a hurry in front of the house. Glad that she had parked at the other end of the street, where she could pull away without being noticed, she made her way over to the weird guy’s house, to see if she could find a vantage point from which she could check out what was going on. Her fury still burned bright, knowing that Sam had chosen the pie chick over her, and she was doubly incensed when she saw Marilyn and Cort get out of the car that had pulled up.

  Both of the men that she wanted were in the same spot, and both of them had pesky peasant women standing between them and her. Perhaps the weird guy would at least be doing something interesting with Sam that she could use to embarrass him later. She had no idea. She crept around the side of Tim’s house, opposite the kitchen, where lights blazed, and snuck over toward the dining room windows, where some clumps of ornamental grass would provide great cover while she watched the activities in the kitchen from afar. She was glad that she had chosen the back of the house for her hiding spot, because now, flashing lights from an ambulance that had just arrived were bathing the front and side in light.

  The strange man had Sam laid out on the floor, and was doing things to him that she’d never imagined. She wondered if he might be some sort of serial killer, and was simultaneously sickened and excited at the prospect. He seemed very clinical in his ministrations, and finished his bizarre ritual in short order. She was a bit disappointed that the only things he’d done involved Sam’s eyes, mouth and hands, but she couldn’t wait to see what came next. The man slung Sam’s body over his shoulder, and she guessed, (correctly), that he was probably headed toward the garage.

  Thinking that he’d be driving away soon, and wanting nothing more than to follow the odd fellow, Jenna slunk along the far side of the house, into the neighbor’s yard, and took off, keeping low, toward her car. Thankful that she’d had the presence of mind to disable the dome light, she got in and closed the door behind her, with no one even noticing. She started the engine and waited. Tim’s non-descript sedan passed her by, and after waiting so that she’d be a safe distance behind him, she pulled out to follow.

  Chapter 16

  “You have proof?” Ferguson rolled his eyes at Tim Eckels. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” he scoffed.

  “Have one of your men bring me my phone and I’ll show you,” Tim replied calmly.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” the detective raised his eyebrows at the weirdo in front of him.

  “I assure you I am not. If you bring me my cell phone, I can provide unequivocal proof that your victim was quite alive when I left him,” he insisted mildly.

  The detective glanced over at the uniformed officer sitting next to him. “Perkins, go get his phone,” he drawled. “Let’s see if we can get him for lying and impeding an investigation as well.”

  The cop was only gone a couple of minutes and came back, handing the cell phone to Tim, who tapped at it, scrolled a few times, and tapped again, turning the volume up and laying the phone on the table in front of Ferguson.

  “You’ll note,” he narrated. “The first live shot is of Mr. Freed lying on the dock. Notice the rise and fall of his chest, indicating that he’s breathing. Note also…let me zoom here…the pulse that can easily be seen on the side of his neck. Now, look carefully at the time stamp. Here I am walking back toward my car, getting further and further away, but the camera is still trained on him. Once inside the car, I prop the phone in the back window, so that you can continue to observe Mr. Freed, even as I drive away. I can only assume that the two gentlemen standing near him are his friends,” he continued, figuring that a little white lie surely wouldn’t hurt.

  “Wait!” Ferguson ordered. “Back it up. More. More. There! Who is that?” he murmured, getting closer to the small screen. Unbeknownst, even to Tim, who had obviously been driving at the time, a small figure had emerged from the shadows, spoken with the men standing above Freed, and beckoned for them to follow with the unconscious man between them, disappearing back into the shadows.

  “I have no idea,” Tim shrugged. “I hadn’t watched the video until now, so I hadn’t seen that.”

  “You didn’t bother watching the video? Why?”

  “Why would I? What the camera showed after I left seemed rather irrelevant. The important part is coming up, where you’ll see that the time stamp is precisely 8:57 when I pull into my driveway. Once I was back inside, the footage just shows me settling in on the couch and watching a movie until I fall asleep. I recorded it all, if you’d like to watch,” he offered.

  “No, I’m good,” Ferguson sighed, frustrated. “Why the heck did you go to the trouble of videotaping the entire rest of your night?” he asked.

  “Because when one has a personality that others might find odd, I’ve found that it’s best to cover one’s bases,” he gave the detective a smug smile.

  There was a sharp rap on the interrogation room door, startling everyone, and another police officer poked his head into the room.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Ferg, but I’ve got something urgent,” he said, addressing the detective.

  “Can’t wait?” Ferguson grumbled.

  “No, it can’t,” the officer was respectful but firm.

  “Perkins, give this yahoo his stuff back and get him outta here. The most that we could get him for is malicious mischief and I don’t have the time to mess with it,” the detective jerked his thumb at Tim, and followed the other officer out the door.

  **

  “This had better be good,” Ferguson warned.

  The officer wasted no time. “Okay, first…we found drugs in the stateroom of the victim that matched the tranquilizers in his system and in the girl’s that he was with, but here’s the kicker. They weren’t his meds, they belonged to a chick he worked for, Jenna Winston. We also looked at the footage taken from the cameras in the parking lot at the hospital, and even though it was dark, we caught a glimpse of the…woman who shot Cort,” he said grimly. “The only thing that we could tell for sure was that she had red hair – it flashed briefly under the one small streetlight that’s out there.”

  Ferguson’s eyes widened as a new revelation hit him. “Red hairs were found on the victim, he was shot with the same caliber gun that got Cort, and I just saw
video of someone, who was tiny enough to have been a woman, using two big guys to take the victim off of the commercial docks and follow her,” he put it all together. “I think we’ve got a double-trouble perp on our hands,” he nodded. “Let’s bring her in. Now,” he ordered.

  “That’s a problem…” the officer hesitated.

  “Why is that a problem?” Ferguson’s eyes narrowed.

  “The Winston yacht pulled out over an hour ago, and she wasn’t on it, we checked. She’s gone missing – told her dad that she wanted to hang out on the island for a few days and relax. I can put an APB out on her, but so far, we don’t even know where to start looking.

  Chapter 17

  Jenna had dated a wide variety of men in her lifetime and had used many more as playmates. To say that she was well-versed in manipulation would be the understatement of the year. She’d kept company with more than her share of doctors, always seeming to end up frustrated with their lack of availability to her, so she was eerily comfortable in a hospital environment. She’d been snuck into more on-call rooms, dressing areas and empty offices than she could recall, and knew her way around all of the systems, rules and regulations that were in place to protect the unsuspecting public from folks like her.

  Her favorites had been the coma patients. After a quick tryst with a resident, or an attending, she’d slip into a dressing room, don some scrubs, pull out her fake name tag, and head for the patient rooms. She found the human body fascinating, and chocked up her activities to research. It was interesting to her, how a body in a vegetative state would still gasp if its oxygen was blocked, and how easily it would seize, sometimes never recovering, if a large enough syringe of air was pumped into an IV line.

  Death fascinated her, and when she really thirsted for a peak experience, she’d turn off all of the machines that would announce a patient’s impending demise with unnecessary beeps and squeaks and alarms, so that she could watch the process of death, uninterrupted. Hospitals weren’t the only places that she’d get her fix for pain, torture and death, but they were a treasure trove of potential victims.