Chapter 18
"Isaw Mr. Wescott shove Liam and get in his face," Felipe said in Spanish when we talked to him at the club.
He’d told Bill Warren what he’d witnessed. Felipe was a skinny guy with a slim face, curly dark hair, and a narrow jaw. He wore the typical olive green maintenance uniform.
"When was this?" I replied, fluent in the language.
"The day of the murder.”
"Where?"
"On the court.”
"What happened?”
"Mr. Wescott looked mad. Pointing and shouting at him. Spit flew from his mouth. He looked like he was about to pop.”
"Did they come to blows?"
Felipe shook his head. "Mr. Wescott screamed and yelled for a few moments, then stormed off."
"What was the last thing Mr. Wescott said to Liam?" I asked.
"He said he was going to kill him.”
"You sure about that?”
"Si.”
I handed him a card and told him to get in touch if he remembered anything else about the interaction.
I called Isabella on the way back to the Wild Fury van. "I need you to look into the location history for John Wescott.”
With a few taps of the keys, she said, "His phone was off the grid at the time of the murder.”
Wescott was looking like a promising suspect.
“Wescott made a few phone calls to Liam’s cell phone over the past week,” Isabella said. “I'm sure he called the tennis pro when he found out he was sticking it to his daughter and gave him an earful." Then she added, “I'm noticing some other unusual patterns, too.”
She told me a few concerning things about the man.
I thanked Isabella for the information. We left the club and set out to find John. Isabella told me he was currently at Pump CK. It was a trendy sweatbox gym.
We hopped into the van and drove across the island. The country club had a gym, but it didn’t have the same vibe—a bunch of machines, treadmills, stationary bikes, and some free weights. It hardly saw any use.
Pump CK smelled like sweat and determination.
Grunts and groans filled the air. This was a no-frills kind of place.
The exact opposite of the country club. Heavy weights and state-of-the-art machines.
Here, you could find everything from serious bodybuilders to weekend warriors to out-of-shape CEOs trying to get their mojo back. John Wescott was the latter.
I flashed my badge at the desk clerk. “I’m looking for John Westcott.”
The cute, fit blonde smiled. “Yeah, he’s here.” She scanned the gym, looking for him. She pointed, “There. On the bench press.”
“Thank you,” I said with a smile.
She smiled back.
JD and I meandered through the machines and the benches.
Massive dudes curled heavy weights, pumping biceps.
Veins bulged and faces reddened. Arms like tree trunks.
Some guys looked like they were one step away from competing for Mr. Olympia.
Others looked like their arms would break if they curled a 25-pound dumbbell.
There was a little something for everyone here.
John was a fit guy in his early 50s with wavy dark hair. He had narrow brown eyes, a low brow, and strong features. There was a hint of gray in his mustache and goatee.
A spotter stood over him as he pumped out a few presses, then racked the bar.
“Good job, bro,” the spotter said as John sat up. They bumped knuckles in triumph.
John grabbed a bottle of water from the floor, twisted the top, and took a sip.
I flashed my badge as we approached. “Mr. Wescott, my name is Deputy Wild. This is Jack Donovan with Coconut County.”
His face tensed with annoyance. “My wife said you might stop by, asking questions.”
“How much did your wife tell you about our visit?“
“She mentioned you had a lot of questions about Liam Prescott.“
“I’m just going to excuse myself,“ his spotter said. He made himself scarce. He didn’t want any part of this.
“Your daughter seemed pretty upset by the news,” I said.
John’s frown persisted. “My daughter is confused and misguided.“
“I bet you were pretty pissed off when you found out Liam was having an affair with Stephanie.”
The muscles in his jaw flexed, and the veins in his forehead bulged. “I paid that guy to improve her tennis game, not to treat her like a blowup doll.“
“Did that piss you off?”
“No. It made me ecstatic,“ he snarked.
“Did you threaten Liam?”
His eyes narrowed at me. “Now, how exactly am I supposed to react to something like that? Congratulate him? Ask him if he’s having a good time? Invite him to join the family?”
“Did you confront him?”
“Gwen was content to sit back and just let it play out. She didn’t want to do anything. Told me to keep my mouth shut. Don’t stir up trouble. Sorry, but I just couldn’t do that.”
“We’ve got a witness that says you got into an altercation at the club the day that Liam was killed.”
John frowned. “I was just trying to scare the guy.”
“Did you get physical?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“I shoved him and told him to stay away from my daughter. I told him I’d kill him if he didn’t leave her alone.” Then he added, “The guy was sleeping with everyone. I think he’s dipped his wick in half the wives in Stingray Bay.”
“What about your wife?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Why was your phone off the grid at the time of the murder?”
John hesitated. He didn't want to answer that.
"Was it off the grid because you went back to the tennis court and beat him to death with a racket?"
The guy at the bench next to us looked over at that one.
John glared at him. "What are you looking at?”
"A guy that's going to jail most likely,” he quipped.
John sneered at him. Then he addressed us. “I didn’t kill the guy.”
“You want to take off your workout gloves and let me see your knuckles?”