Chapter 28
Icalled Isabella. She had her hands full, but I figured she could get to the bottom of this. The IT guys were good, but they weren't as good as Isabella. She’d have no problem hacking into the system and looking for nefarious activity or malware.
By the time we made it back to the boat, Paris Delaney and her news crew had arrived. They were on the dock. The cameraman had his rig shouldered, filming Brenda as her crew rolled out the bodies.
"This is private property, Paris," Daniels cautioned. “You’ve got no right to be here.”
She frowned at him. "What can you tell us? It's my understanding there was some kind of equipment malfunction. It obviously resulted in the death of two individuals."
"Get back on your boat, Paris, or I'll arrest you for trespassing."
“You would not do that to little old me.”
“Don’t test me.”
She frowned at him, but complied.
The trio boarded the boat. Paris stood at the bow as the cameraman filmed her with the island in the background.
"Chaos here tonight at Horizon Cay. So far, there have been two confirmed deaths, but no details at this time. We’ll keep you updated as this story develops.
I'm Paris Delaney, and you heard it from me first."
I cast off the lines, and the sheriff fired up the outboards.
Paris shouted across the gunwale, “I need to talk to you. Check your messages.”
We pulled away from the dock and headed back toward Coconut Key.
A couple of uniformed deputies stayed behind with the forensic team. We returned to the station and filled out after-action reports. I ran background on Lance Wentworth.
To say he’d done well for himself was an understatement.
The guy was a billionaire hedge fund manager.
I can't say that I was surprised. I never got around to asking Dr. Cameron what the fee was, but cryopreservation wasn't chump change, especially as a speculative treatment.
For Lance Wentworth, the ROI was definitely lacking.
The sheriff stepped into the conference room and tossed a small baggie onto the oak tabletop. Inside were two red capsules.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s the latest thing to hit the streets. The kids call it Silk.”
“What is it?”
“That’s the thing. I’m not quite sure. Something new. It’s not an analogue of any current drug. It’s not on the schedule.”
“So it’s not illegal?”
“Not yet. But I don’t like it. That came off a 17-year-old kid popped for DUI.”
Nothing was surprising these days.
“I want you to find out where it’s coming from and who’s moving it,” he continued.
“If it’s not illegal, why bother?”
“Because I’m afraid one of these kids is going to die. And when the law catches up, I want you two to get that shit off the streets.”
“You got it.”
By the time we left the sheriff’s office, the sun was cresting the horizon. It painted the sky orange and cast long amber rays.
I finally checked my voicemail. Paris had left a message about Preston Stewart. I called her back.
“It’s about time. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”
“It’s been kind of busy, and I figured you were going to ask questions I couldn’t answer.”
She huffed. “I’m trying to help you.”
“So, what’s this you need to tell me about Preston?”
“I was supposed to meet him for lunch the day he died.”
That got my full attention. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I did! Pick up your phone next time.”
“Where were you supposed to meet?”
“The country club.”
“What about?”
“He said he had information to share that would cause a major scandal.”
“What kind of information?”
“He wouldn’t say over the phone. He was extremely paranoid.”
“Sounds like he had reason to be paranoid.”
“Why would he stand me up for lunch, then kill himself?”
“I don’t think he killed himself,” I said. “According to his employer, he was unstable and selling secrets.”
“No,” she said, dismissing the notion. “Guys selling secrets don’t contact reporters.”
“You never know.” I filled her in on some of our theories.
“I’m going to keep digging into this. There’s a story here.”
“Please do.”
“I hear he had a girlfriend. Want to tell me her name?”
“It’s probably an alias, but knock yourself out.” I gave her Preston’s girlfriend’s name.
Paris said she’d be in touch and ended the call. The girl was a pit bull. No telling what she could dig up.
With barely any sleep, I was ready to get back to the boat, grab a snack, and fall into bed for a few hours, but we had a death notification to do.
JD and I stopped by Waffle Wizard first and fueled up on pancakes, toast, bacon, and plenty of coffee. We were going to need it to get through the day.
After we ate, we drove to the Trident Tower to see Vanessa Wentworth. According to DMV records, she lived in unit #2602.
Jack pulled up to the valet and slipped a few bills into the kid’s palm as he grabbed the door. We hopped out, and I flashed my badge at the glass doors.
The cute concierge buzzed us in.
The Trident was an upscale high-rise with all the amenities, including a marina. Its main competition was the Nautilus. They both had a similar feel and price point.
After a brief chat with the concierge, we strolled to the elevators and made our way up to the 26th floor. I rang the video doorbell at Vanessa’s unit. This wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation at this hour of the morning. It wouldn't be a pleasant conversation at any hour.
Her voice crackled through the speaker a moment later. "Can I help you?"
I flashed my badge to the lens and made introductions. "We need to speak with you for a moment."
"What is this regarding?”
"It's best if we have this discussion in person."
"Is something wrong?”
"I'm afraid there's been an accident at the lab."
Vanessa was silent for a moment. "I'll be right there.”
After a few minutes, footsteps shuffled down the foyer.
The deadbolt unlatched, and Vanessa pulled open the door.
She was an attractive woman in her mid-20s with flowing auburn hair, porcelain skin, and tawny eyes.
She had a petite figure and was dressed in a silk blouse and slacks, like she was about to leave the house.
A woman like Vanessa Wentworth didn't need to work, but it looked like she was going somewhere professional.
With a worried brow, Vanessa asked, "What kind of accident?”
I gave her the bad news.
Her eyes filled, and her face tensed. Sorrow soon turned to anger. She shook her head. "I told him it was a stupid idea.”
The tears spilled over, and her cheeks reddened.
Her hands balled into fists. Tortured with a mix of sadness and rage, she trembled.
Vanessa covered her face for a moment, trying to hide the tears and collect herself.
"I'm sorry. I'm so angry right now. This whole thing was idiotic.
Just a pipe dream. I can understand the rationale behind Evelyn doing something like that.
But Dad? No." She growled in frustration.
After a moment, she pulled herself together.
"Do you know how this happened? What exactly went wrong? "
"We're still trying to ascertain that," I said.
She took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm sorry, would you like to come in?”
"Please."
Vanessa stepped aside and motioned us in. She closed the door behind us, then led us down the foyer to the living room and offered us a seat on the sofa.
Like most of the units in the Trident, it had a spacious living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a view of the ocean.
An open floor plan blended the living area and the kitchen seamlessly.
It was full of black stainless steel appliances and a state-of-the-art cooktop.
This unit was two stories with a second-floor master and guest bedrooms. A large terrace with patio furniture offered a place to relax and catch the Florida sun.
Coastal-themed abstract art hung on the walls.
JD and I took a seat on the couch, and Vanessa fell into a chair catty-corner.
Her head fell into her hands, and she sobbed for a moment.
When she pulled herself together, she said, "This was to be expected with Evelyn, but I wasn't prepared to lose my father, too. He had plenty of good years left in him.”
"You want to tell me why they chose to try cryo-suspension?”
Vanessa took a deep breath and steadied herself. The tale would obviously be painful.