Chapter 3
"Yeah," Grace said.
"You think that could be him?" I asked.
She studied the image, which admittedly wasn't the best. It was a little grainy and dark. "Could be. I can't say for sure.”
I shared a glance with Jack.
"I think we need to have a talk with Noah," he said.
The forensic guys dusted for prints, and Brenda and her crew bagged the body. They transferred the remains to a gurney and wheeled the victim out of the apartment.
Paris got her money shot.
I asked Grace if Abigail's parents still lived in Iowa.
"I think so. It's just her mother. I'm not sure if her dad is even still alive. From what Abigail told me, he left them when she was a child. I don't think she's spoken to him since.”
I talked to the sheriff. He would make a call to the local authorities, and they would do a death notification in person.
I didn't think Mrs. Jordan would be able to help with our investigation, but I figured I might call her once she had time to process the news.
On the way down to the lobby, I dialed Isabella, my handler at Cobra Company. As the head of one of the largest clandestine agencies, she had vast intelligence resources. She could find out just about anything about anyone. But let's just say her methods weren’t always legal.
"I need another favor," I said when she answered.
"I'm not surprised.”
We’d been through a lot together, and we were beyond favors at this point.
I gave her the scoop.
"You think the ex-boyfriend did it?”
"He’s certainly a person of interest at this point.”
I asked her to see if any cell phones pinged the tower from Abigail's apartment.
I knew it wouldn't be easy. Elevation data wasn’t a standard component of tower pings, but Isabella had ways.
From the standard carrier data, it was hard to tell if a phone was on the 1st floor or the 6th.
But barometric data from an app could determine elevation.
Sometimes apps send data back to the developer, which is then sold to data brokers.
There were various databases Isabella could cross-reference.
"I'll look into this and see what I can figure out,” she said. “It's going to take a little time."
"No problem.”
"Anything else I can do for you?”
"I'm sure I'll think of something.”
Isabella chuckled. "I'm sure you will.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
JD and I stepped outside and walked across the parking lot to the Wild Fury van.
The late afternoon sun angled toward the horizon.
We had plans for the evening, and I was hoping we wouldn’t have to cancel.
Two of Jack's lady friends had gotten us VIP invites to an exclusive event we did not want to miss.
Jack was on the mend and healing well. The bullet fragment had deflected into his shoulder after bouncing off his vest. It broke his collarbone and carved out a channel of flesh, but he was doing pretty well, all things considered. Nothing was going to keep Jack down.
I fired up the engine and pulled out of the lot.
We headed across the island to find Noah Conroy.
Grace told me he lived in the Tarpon Trails Apartments on Coral Crest. They weren’t the greatest apartments in the world, but the complex wasn’t a complete dump.
Something told me that Abigail had been making a lot more money at Heartbreakers than Noah ever thought about making.
According to Grace, he waited tables at Coral Cowboy.
Jack was in charge of the radio, and we listened to classic rock on the way over. With the windows down, the wind swirled, and the engine growled.
“I’m thinking it’s time to pick up a new ride,” Jack said.
His 1979 Porsche 911 SC was in the shop.
It needed a little paint and bodywork after our recent adventures.
There was no telling how long it would take to get it back in shape.
With the Devastator still in the impound lot in Pineapple Bay—evidence in a crime—we were down to the van and my sportbike.
Jack had the itch for something new. It usually didn’t take him long to act on it.
I pulled into the lot at the Tarpon Trail Apartments and found a place to park. There was no security gate. We hopped out and followed the concrete walkway through the maze of run-down buildings with faded coral paint and peeling white siding. A few anemic palm trees swayed overhead.
We found building D and climbed the steps to apartment #204. I put a heavy fist against the door and shouted, “Coconut County!”