Chapter 37
"Is that blood on your shoe?" I asked, pointing at the crimson speckle.
Darrell's eyes rounded. He looked down at his feet. "I had a damn nosebleed. Just started gushing for no reason."
I figured there was a reason. Maybe he and Lexi had been doing a lot of nose candy. Maybe he had shot Cameron. It didn't particularly look like blood spatter from a gunshot, but it had piqued my curiosity.
"I need the shoe," I said.
Darrell's face wrinkled at me. "You can't take my shoe."
"Exigent circumstances. Now, I can get a warrant, or you can just hand it over to me. Either way, I’m gonna get the shoe and analyze that blood spatter.”
Darrell huffed, pulled off the shoe, and handed it to me. "Here. You can stick that right up your ass."
I smiled. "I got a better use for it. Putting your ass back in jail."
Darrell shook his head. "Oh, no! Ain't no way I'm going back there. You can bet your life on that.”
"You got a cell phone, Darrell?" I asked.
He shook his head. “Ain’t nobody I want to talk to. Except maybe Lexi." He looked at her and winked.
She smiled back.
"Do you know Dr. Miriam Renick?"
His brow wrinkled. "No. Can't say that I do."
"She's dead, too."
"Damn shame. But that sounds like a you problem. Not a me problem. I'm alive, and I plan to stay that way."
We finished our search, but didn't turn up a weapon or any other blood-splattered clothing. Nothing in plain sight, anyway.
We left the boat. On the way back to the parking lot, Jack said, "I think he's picking off these people one by one. Everyone he feels responsible for putting him in jail.”
"What's the connection to Dr. Renick?”
He shrugged.
"Let's see what we can dig up.”
We hopped into the Porsche and drove back to the sheriff's department. I logged the shoe in as evidence, then we found Denise at her desk. I had her dig into Dr. Renick and see if there was anything that would connect her to Darrell York.
Her fingers tapped the keys as we huddled around her desk, doing a deep dive on Miriam Renick, cross-referencing her name with Darrell York.
Nothing turned up.
We headed back to Diver Down to grab a late lunch. Teagan greeted us with her infectious smile as we took a seat at the bar. “What’s shake’n boys?”
We caught up on the latest gossip, then perused the menus. We started off with chips and lobster queso dip, and snacked on fried coconut shrimp with a pineapple rum glaze. Jack ordered the grilled mahi mahi, and I went with the jerk chicken sandwich.
By this time, it was downright chilly. It drizzled off and on throughout the day, and the clouds stayed pretty thick. This kind of weather was certainly an unusual occurrence in Coconut Key.
We returned to the boat, and I took Buddy out for a run in between showers. I got a workout in, and by that time, it was arguably happy hour.
We headed up to Oyster Avenue, and Jack found a place to park on the boulevard. There wasn't much traffic out since the weather wasn't so great. We hustled down the street, stepped into Sandy Bottoms, and took a seat at the bar.
It was a casual place with a beachy vibe and murals of white sand, teal water, and, of course, sandy bottoms. Driftwood tables and chairs, soft lighting, and cheap drinks at happy hour.
Delightful waitresses pranced around in bikinis.
Although in this weather, they weren’t too happy about it. The air smelled like fresh coconut.
I’d worked up an appetite after my workout and was ready to chow again. We ordered a round of cocktails and a platter of appetizers—crab balls, grilled shrimp, oysters on the half shell.
Paris Delaney’s interview with Darrell flashed on the flatscreen behind the bar.
The cameraman followed them as they walked the dock in the marina.
In between drizzles, it was the ideal time to do it.
But the unseasonable weather forced both into wearing jackets.
Gusts of wind blew their hair. At first glance, you would think the interview had taken place in New England during the winter. It looked nothing like Florida.
"Tell me what it feels like to be a free man after all this time," Paris said.
Darrell smiled. "It feels wonderful. Ain’t nothing like it in the world. God bless America. I tell you one thing, it's hard to appreciate the light if you've never been in darkness. I appreciate my freedom much more now than I ever did before.”
"The Alford plea that you took allowed you to get out of jail for time served. As far as the state’s concerned, you've been tried, convicted, and you’ve served your time. You are in a position where you could tell the truth without repercussions."
"I've been telling the truth for 15 years, and I'm still telling it.”
"I guess what I'm getting at is that you could, at this point, admit to killing Sarah Sweet and face no repercussions."
Darrell's brow wrinkled. "I could. But why would I lie like that? Why would I admit to something I didn't do?”
"So, you're telling me, right here and right now, that you did not rape and murder Sarah Sweet."
"No. Of course not.”
"Why was her underwear found aboard your boat?"
"I think it's clear, don’t you? That evidence was planted.
They needed a scapegoat, and I was the perfect patsy.
I don't know if you’ve been paying attention, but this county doesn't have the best track record when it comes to integrity.
I wouldn't be the first innocent man to be put behind bars in this county, and I'm sure I won't be the last."
"Are you saying police fabricated evidence?"
Darrell shrugged. "I'm saying somebody did."
"Those are bold allegations.”
"I think it was pretty bold of the state to convict me on flimsy evidence. They had nothing on me. No DNA.”
"Five eyewitnesses saw you with Sarah Sweet on your boat the evening of her disappearance."
"And those five witnesses are liars.”
"Two of those five witnesses are now dead. What do you have to say about that?”
"I'll tell you what I told the deputies who paid me a visit earlier this afternoon. I didn't have anything to do with their deaths, and I'm tired of this county trying to railroad me. My mind is not shackled by conformity. But that doesn’t make me a criminal. I’m a free spirit. You can throw me in jail, but you can never imprison my mind.”
"The future certainly looks bright for you with a movie deal on the horizon. You're living the good life.”
"You can say I’ve gotten everything a man could want," Darrell said with a smile.
It was at that moment that a figure in a hoodie approached. The figure pulled out a black semiautomatic pistol, took aim, and squeezed off two shots.
Muzzle flash flickered from the barrel.
The deafening bangs clipped the audio on the camera.
The copper rounds pelted Darrell's thoracic cavity. He tumbled back against the deck. He writhed and moaned.
Paris shrieked, her face contorted with horror.
The assailant spun around and took off, running back toward the parking lot, his sneakers slapping against the concrete.
The cameraman twisted around to catch his retreat.
The broadcast was live, and the segment cut back to the news anchors. "Shocking footage coming to you live from Sandpiper Point. We apologize if this violent imagery may have upset viewers. Paris, are you okay?”