Chapter 18
“Nick did everything he could to keep tenants in their homes,” Lena said. “He extended credit through seller financing to people who could never get it otherwise. He was giving an opportunity to people who wouldn’t normally have it.“
“Some say he was setting people up to fail.”
She huffed. “Give someone a hand and you’re the bad guy, right?” She scoffed. “Eviction is part of the business. What are you going to do, let some deadbeat who doesn't pay rent occupy a property indefinitely?”
“Who did he recently evict?”
“A guy named Ray Munoz,” Lena said. “I felt bad about it. Ray’s got a wife and two kids.”
I cringed.
“Nick gave him every opportunity to make good. Tried to work out a lower payment for him. Ray was behind three months' rent. How long was Nick supposed to float the guy?” She paused. “We had to get the sheriff’s department to evict him.”
“I take it Ray wasn’t too happy about that. Did he make any threats?”
Her eyes rounded and she nodded. “Called the house. Came by one time. Harassed the new tenants.” She thought for a moment, putting all the pieces together. "This had to be him. Can’t be anybody else.”
"Do you know what kind of car he drives?"
Lena thought about it for a moment. "The time he came to the house, he was driving a black four-door.”
"A Dominator GT?”
"What's that? I'm not really into cars," she said, a convertible Maserati sitting in the driveway.
"We’ll check with the DMV," I said.
I thanked her for the information, gave her my card, and told her I'd be in touch as things developed.
We walked back to the Revenant and climbed inside. I ran background on Ray through the online portal. He was shaping up to be a suspect, especially after what I found.
Ray served five years for aggravated assault. He had gang affiliations. According to the records, he turned a wrench over at Randy’s Garage. Ray’s current address was listed as the place he got evicted from.
I called Randy’s Garage. A receptionist with a delightful Southern drawl answered after a few rings.
“Is Ray working today?”
“He's not in today.”
"When do you expect him back?”
"Don't. Ray got fired.”
I lifted a curious brow. "What did he get fired for?"
She hesitated for a moment. "Well, I'm not really supposed to discuss employee business with the customers."
"I'm not really a customer," I said, then introduced myself as a deputy sheriff.
"Well, in that case, I really shouldn’t be talking to you.”
I laughed. "This sounds too interesting. Now you’ve got to share. You have my curiosity piqued."
"It's not all that scandalous. Ray kept showing up drunk and high. I know he was going through some hard times, but that ain't no excuse. Randy had to fire him.”
"When was this?"
"Oh, I’d say three or four days ago. It’s a shame. Ray was a good mechanic. He’d only been working here a few weeks. Maybe a month. I suspect he got fired from his previous job for the same thing."
“You know where he was working before?”
“Carlo’s Customs.”
"Thanks for the info," I said.
"Is Ray in some kind of trouble?"
"Could be.”
She laughed. "Now you’ve got my curiosity piqued.”
"Tell you what, if he's guilty, I'll give you a call, and you'll be the first to know."
"Well, thank you, darling. I look forward to your call.”
I ended the call, then dialed Isabella and asked her if she could find a cell phone in Ray’s name.
Her fingers tapped the keys, and a few moments later, she said, "Looks like his cell phone is on Ocean Avenue near Taffy Beach.” Then she added, “And just FYI, his phone was off the grid at the time of the murders.”
That didn't bode well for him.
I thanked her for the information. We headed back to Diver Down and swapped the Revenant for the Porsche. I had no doubt we’d put the Revenant through its paces at some point.
We drove across the island to Ocean Avenue. It had become a hotspot for illegal overnight camping. People would park along the boardwalk, enjoy the view, and live rent-free. The city hadn’t cracked down on it yet, but that was about to change.
We cruised down the boulevard until we spotted the four-door sport sedan. Covered in dust, it was in desperate need of a wash. Someone had doodled smiley faces, dicks, and the obligatory wash me in the dust.
Jack found a place to park. We hopped out and strolled the sidewalk to the car. I peered inside. With all the junk inside the vehicle, it looked like this was Ray's new home. But there was no way the vehicle could handle a family of four.
Ray wasn't anywhere around.
I cupped my hands around the glass to get a better look inside the vehicle, but I didn't see any spent shell casings on the floorboard.
What I did see were a lot of empty soda bottles, fast food wrappers, a couple of empty beer cans, random napkins, and other trash. Clothing items littered the backseat. The passenger seat was reclined all the way, and a pillow and blanket rested on the seat.
We kept walking down the sidewalk, looking for him. Hotties with knee and elbow pads whizzed by on rollerblades. Tourists strolled up and down, taking in the view. Teal waves crashed against the shore.
I spotted a guy at the median at the next intersection who matched Ray's DMV photo.
JD and I walked to the light and waited at the crosswalk until traffic cleared, then hustled to the median.
Ray held a cardboard sign. Scrawled in Sharpie in barely legible handwriting, it read, “Homeless. Please help. God bless.”
I flashed my badge as we approached, and momentary panic filled Ray's eyes.
He was late 40s with shaggy dark hair, a thick mustache, brown eyes, and tan skin that more closely resembled shoe leather. He'd been out in the sun all day and looked sufficiently baked.
The red solo cup in his hand held the loose change he’d gathered throughout the day, and his pockets looked stuffed with dollar bills. Fear in his eyes, he considered bolting for a moment, but thought better of it. With a sneer, he said, "What do you want? I'm not breaking any laws."
Standing in the roadway was illegal in Florida when panhandling.
However, I hadn’t seen Ray do it. He made sure to stay on the median in our presence.
Coconut Key had passed an ordinance against aggressive panhandling.
You couldn’t follow people around, begging for money.
You couldn't solicit near ATMs, schools, or bus stops.
Whether or not those ordinances would hold up in federal court was another matter.
But for now, they were on the books. Ray didn't appear to be violating any of those at the moment.
I smiled, "Relax. We just want to have a friendly chat."
His suspicious eyes narrowed. "Bullshit. I never had a friendly chat with a cop in my life."
I kept up with the smile, but I didn't think today was going to be the day to change that. "Is that your Dominator GT over there?" I asked, pointing.
Denise hadn’t picked up his vehicle in her initial search. Ray was outside her search bracket.
He glanced at the dusty muscle car. "It's not parked illegally. I don't have any outstanding warrants or tickets. No parking tickets. The registration is up to date."
"There is no overnight camping on the boulevard," I said.
Ray's face tightened. "Is that what you're harassing me about? You gonna mess with everybody else parked along the boardwalk?"
"We're not parking enforcement," I said.
"Then what the hell do you want?"
"You been out here all day?"
"Ain’t got nowhere else to go. Sometimes I'll move a block over. Sometimes I'll go up to Oyster Avenue. Just depends. You’d think I’d do better up there, but those college snots don't want to part with their beer money. I do better on the boardwalk with the tourists.”
"What about yesterday?"
Ray stared at me for a moment before answering. "Don't really remember. Kinda blurs together out here. Every day is the same."
"You recall where you were yesterday evening?"
His suspicious gaze continued. "Why do I get the feeling I shouldn’t be answering any of your questions?”
Ray knew the drill, and he knew nothing good ever came from talking to cops.
"If you don't answer my questions, I'm going to get suspicious and think you're hiding something. You don't have anything to hide, do you?"
"I don't have much of anything anymore. But I was right over there on the boardwalk last evening," he said, pointing. "Then, I walked across the street to Surfside Pizza, grabbed a few slices, drank a beer, then went down to Ernie's and shot some pool. Is anything about that illegal?"
I shook my head. "Can anybody verify that?”
Ray smiled. "All the good people who gave me money. Good luck finding them.”
"When’s the last time you saw Nick Kingston?"
The mere mention of the name soured his face. "Part of me hopes I never see that son-of-a-bitch again. The other part of me hopes I run into him on the boardwalk. Better yet, in a crosswalk. I might just forget to brake.”
I shared a look with Jack.
"Why don’t you tell us how you really feel?" JD asked.