Chapter 15
Hunter shook his head. "I know my father wasn't stupid enough to get married without a prenup. Especially with a girl like Tiffany.” He paused, then added. “She was a hooker. You know that, right?”
"I've heard rumors to that effect.”
He laughed. "Rumors? Dude, that girl has been run through by the whole town. I don't know what my father was thinking. She must have special skills, if you know what I mean?”
"So, if you don't think she killed your dad, who did?"
"Tiffany is a cokehead. Everybody knows that. Everybody knows she was in debt up to her eyeballs with that stuff. I heard something crazy, like she owed her dealer a quarter million. He came looking for it, and Brock refused to pay.”
"Seems like chump change to a guy like Brock," Jack said.
"It was the principle of the thing. You had to know my father to understand. He was big on principles. Obviously, I didn't agree with all of them. But he was as stubborn as the day is long.”
"You know who Tiffany's dealer is?"
"Why don’t you ask her?”
I shrugged. "That’s something she might not admit.”
Hunter flashed a smug smile. "Well, if you’re good at your job, you can get it out of her.”
I stared him down for a long moment. “You were about to tell me where you were last night.”
“I wasn’t about to tell you shit.”
“You’re only making it more difficult on yourself.”
“How do you figure?”
“If you don’t have an alibi, it just bumps you up on my suspect list.”
“I was with a girlfriend.”
“Does this girlfriend have a name?”
He glared at me. “Yes. Roxanne.”
“I’ll need contact information for Roxanne.”
“I’ll tell her to call you.”
“Hey, if you want to stay high on my suspect list, that’s fine by me.”
“I can think of a lot of people who have more reason to kill my father than me.”
I lifted a curious brow. “That’s surprising, ‘cause right now you’re pretty high up there.”
He gave me a look of disdain.
“How about you give me a list?”
“I already told you. Tiffany’s drug dealer.”
“I need a name.”
“I don’t have a name.”
My frustrated eyes stared him down for another moment. "You mind if we take a look around your boat?”
"No. Get fucked. Come back with a warrant.”
"Don’t need a warrant for a routine compliance inspection.”
His eyes narrowed at me.
"You got everything in order?”
Hunter shifted uncomfortably, and his blue eyes flicked between the two of us. "You can't just come aboard and do whatever you want.”
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
"I didn't kill my father. Okay?”
"Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Hunter finally got the message that this wasn’t optional and reluctantly led us below deck.
The boat was stylish and clean. A functional design with high-quality materials and a sense of elegance.
Custom leather cushions with deviated stitching.
Dark cherry woodwork. A nice galley with an induction stove and refrigerator.
A spacious aft guest berth, and a forward V-berth with a private en suite. The boat had all the latest gadgets.
I figured out right away why Hunter didn't want us to come below deck. A glass bong, along with a tray of weed, sat on the table across from the galley. Looked like fresh bud. Smelled like it too.
Hunter swallowed hard, his eyes wide. "You’re not gonna bust me for that, are you?”
“I'm only interested in one thing—who killed your father. Beyond that, I don't care what you do."
Hunter breathed a sigh of relief.
We looked around the boat, searching for any bloodstained clothing, drips of blood, or anything else incriminating.
Typically, any warrantless search would be limited to the confines of the inspection.
We couldn’t normally go rooting through drawers and compartments without probable cause.
The weed gave us probable cause to look for more of the same.
Which we did.
We scoured the boat, much to his dismay, looking in drawers, storage compartments, and every nook and cranny we could find.
We didn’t find any bloodstained clothing or footwear. But even a moron like Hunter would be smart enough to ditch that. Hell, the items could be sitting at the bottom of the marina.
In total, Hunter had about a quarter ounce of weed. I wasn’t keen on bringing the kid in on a misdemeanor offense.
Hunter frantically searched for all the compliance items—flares, paperwork, life preservers.
Everything appeared to be in order.
"Satisfied?” he said in a hopeful tone. He knew he was treading on thin ice.
"I still need your girlfriend’s number.”
Hunter frowned at me.
I gave him my card, and he texted me her contact info. Then I confiscated the weed.
“Oh, man. You’re not going to take that, are you?”
“You’re lucky I don’t arrest you.”
He frowned and bit his tongue.
I told him to get in touch if anything relevant sprang to mind. I didn't expect to hear from him.
We left the boat and strolled back toward the parking lot.
"That spoiled brat just hit the lottery," Jack said. "$1 billion split between the two of them. I can think of 500 million reasons why he stabbed his father. We should have taken him in.”
“He’d be out tomorrow. And I’m not sure he’s our guy.”
I called his girlfriend, Roxanne.
She didn’t pick up. I left a voicemail, then texted her. I’m sure she was on the phone with Hunter, shoring up her story.
We hopped into the car and set out to find Gavin Carver. From my phone, I logged into the portal and ran background on him. That guy just couldn’t catch a break.