Chapter 30
Jenna sighed. “Okay. Show me what you’ve got.”
I texted her Ray’s DMV photo. He didn't have any photos on social media. He kept himself offline as much as possible. If I were a former serial killer, I’d do the same.
The image buzzed her phone a moment later, and she took a minute to examine it. "I don't know. This could be him. It looks like him. He's older, obviously. It's been a long time.”
"So, you're not certain.”
"I'm certain. I think. Maybe. I mean, yeah. That's gotta be him. Right?”
"You don't sound 100%.”
Eyewitness testimony was notoriously inaccurate. Especially after 15 years.
"You have to understand, I was so traumatized at the time,” Jenna said. “Honestly, it's really all just a blur. Vignettes. Bits and pieces of a nightmare that I never want to relive.”
"I understand.” I paused. "The Pineapple Bay Police Department chronicled the bite marks and photographed them, yes?”
"I think so. They should all be on file. I'm sure they brought in some kind of specialist to examine them. I think that's how they identified Ray’s remains from the accident. With dental records, you know?"
I asked her where she was the night of Ray's murder. I tried to put it in as nonthreatening a way as possible.
"I don't know. I guess I was here at my apartment." She thought for a moment. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure I was at home that night.”
"You live alone?”
"Yes."
"I'm sure you've talked to some of the family members of Ray’s other victims.”
"I think I've talked to all their families at one point or another.
I'm the only one whoever survived. I feel sorry for all those other girls.
The families wanted some kind of closure.
We all thought we had it when Ray died, but I guess closure just got delayed.
I know this sounds bad, but I'm glad he's dead. And I hope it was painful.”
Honestly, I don't think Ray knew what hit him. His brain was instantly pulverized by the bullet. I don't think he had time to process anything.
I thanked her for the information and told her I might have more questions.
"I think I need a drink now," she said.
"I know this was traumatic to relive. I'm sorry. Thank you.”
She took another deep breath. "I'll do whatever I need to do to help anyone process this. I just hope there are no more victims out there. But I know you're going to find them.”
I ended the call, got on the computer, and dug into the case. I managed to track down one of the cops who had worked the investigation back in the day. His name was Frank Moretti, and he still lived in Pineapple Bay.
There was a lot of tension between the PBPD and the Coconut County Sheriff's Office. I didn't know how far I’d get on the phone with him. I figured it might be advantageous if I made a trip up and spoke to him in person.
Madelyn joined me in the galley, and I rousted JD.
The three of us ate breakfast on the sky deck, soaking in the amber rays of morning. I told Jack to look after Madelyn while I headed up to Pineapple Bay.
"I don't need a babysitter," she insisted.
I gave her a flat look. "The whole reason you're here is to have some protection.”
"But nobody knows I'm here.”
"Nobody knew where your sailboat was either, if I recall correctly," I said, giving her a look.
She frowned and looked at JD. "I guess you're stuck with me today.”
Jack smiled. "I can think of worse things. I guess I'll tough it out.” He looked at me. "You'll be okay up in Pineapple Bay on your own?”
"I'm just talking to a cop.”
"Well, don't go looking for trouble.”
I scoffed. "What else is there to do?”
We finished breakfast, bused our plates, and took them down to the galley.
I grabbed my helmet and gloves, said goodbye to JD and Madelyn, then jogged to the parking lot and hopped on my bike. I cranked it up, revved the throttle, and cruised out of the lot.
It was a great morning for a ride. Perfect weather, not much traffic. Of course, I had a get out of jail free card. Normally, it was about 45 minutes to Pineapple Bay, but I hugged the tank, twisted the throttle, and hit the triple digits. The wind whistled through my helmet, and the engine howled.
Getting on the bike was always liberating. It also demanded total focus.
Frank had long retired and lived on a 35-foot sailboat in the Pelican Point Marina.
I turned into the lot, found a place to park, and pulled off my helmet. I ran my fingers through my hair to straighten it out and left my helmet and gloves with the bike as I strolled the dock, looking for the Second Wind. It was a slightly older sailboat, but Frank kept it well-maintained.
With his pension and this boat, he didn't have a care in the world. I had given him a quick call before I left Coconut Key. He said he’d be around and would talk to me.
I banged on the stern of the boat and shouted, “Frank, it's Tyson Wild.”