Chapter 27
“Those sharks are tagged and relaying data to satellites,” I said. “Those tags can be hacked, right?"
"A lot of the older tags are unencrypted,” Isabella replied. “But I would imagine if Aqus is engaged in illegal genetic experiments, all their data is encrypted. And if this is government-sponsored, you can expect the highest level of encryption.”
"If you can hack into their network, I'm sure you can snoop around and find the tracking data. If we can find that shark, it would make this situation a little easier to deal with."
"I'm just curious, what are you going to do when you find the damn thing?”
"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."
“Odds are it will be considered a protected species, despite the fact that it was created illegally. It’s probably got enough great white DNA. Plus, there’s the Endangered Species Act. You’re dealing with a ton of sticky bureaucratic red tape.”
“Like I said, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.“
"I'll see what I can do,” she said in a sigh. “I’m working on something for you. I’ll get back to you shortly.”
I had faith in Isabella’s hacking abilities.
We left and drove to Oyster Avenue to grab something to eat at Totally Tubular.
The surf-themed restaurant was always good for a burger and earthy surf girls.
Longboards hung on the walls, along with pictures of massive swells and perfect barrels.
Autographed pictures of famous surfers lent authenticity.
Jack ordered the Hang Ten burger, and so did I. We split a basket of sweet potato fries and kicked around more theories.
My phone buzzed with a call from Isabella as we were finishing up. “You are going to love me.”
“I already do. What did you find?”
“So far, nothing on the gene splicing bit. But I've got something for you on the murder at Sandpiper Point.”
"I'm listening."
"I used software to calculate the size of the assailants based on reference objects within the frame. The taller assailant is 6’1”, approximately.
The other assailant is roughly six feet tall.
I was able to enhance the footage and adjust exposure.
The taller guy has a facial tattoo that extends beyond the edge of the surgical mask.
He's also got a gang tattoo on his neck that is barely visible. I cross-referenced the county database for prior arrests of people both with facial and neck tattoos that matched the height and approximate weight. I got a list of names. Then I cross-referenced that list of names against the local hospital’s medical database. ”
"You hacked medical records?"
"Do you want answers, or do you want to keep twiddling your thumbs?”
"I want answers.”
"That's what I thought," she said. "Two guys matching that description went in for knee issues in the past six months. One of them had surgery for a meniscus tear six weeks ago. His name is Mason Serrano. That's where I'd start.”
"We’ll do a knock and talk. See what we can stir up.” Then I added, “You're the best."
"And don't you forget it.”
I relayed the information to Jack. We finished our burgers and hustled out of the restaurant.
Mason Serrano was 23 and lived with his mother and sister in a small house on the edge of Jamaica Village. It was a one-story, poured-concrete structure with cream stucco siding, a pitched roof, and a patchy lawn surrounded by a chain-link fence.
A pit bull chained to a stake guarded the yard.
As we stepped to the gate, the dog found the end of the chain, snapping and growling. The canine was definitely an effective deterrent against knock-and-talks. I suspected that was the purpose.
I dug into my pocket and tossed a doggy treat over the fence. I kept them on hand for Buddy, and for situations like this. It wasn't the first time we'd encountered an ornery pit bull.
Chompers crunched on the doggy treat and didn't seem to mind at all when we stepped into the yard.
I tossed another one to the ground to keep him occupied, then continued up the walkway to the front porch. I put a heavy fist against the door.
The sound of a TV filtered down the foyer.
I figured someone was home.
Footsteps approached a few moments later, and the peephole flickered as someone peered out. "Who is it?"
"Coconut County," I said, flashing my badge to the lens.
The deadbolt unlatched, and a young woman pulled open the door. She was gorgeous, with wavy raven hair that danced past her shoulders. She had dark, smoldering eyes, full lips, and smooth skin. She had all the right curves.
"We’re looking for Mason. Is he around?”
She looked at me with cautious eyes. "What kind of trouble is he in?"
"No trouble. We just need to ask him a few questions.”
She knew better. "Questions mean he's in trouble.”
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I don't have to tell you shit.”
"I'm guessing you're his sister, Nova."
Her alluring eyes narrowed at me. "Looks like you've done your homework. Now I know he's in trouble."
This wouldn’t be the first time Mason had run afoul of the law. That was certain.
"He runs with a gang?" I asked, knowing the answer.
She huffed like it was a silly question.
"According to our records, he has several known gang affiliations.”
"Then why did you ask?"
"I'd like to hear it firsthand.”
"I'm going to ask you again. What did he do?"
The pit bull made his way up to the porch and sat beside me. He looked up with those sad eyes, licking his lips.
I reached a hand down and petted his head. I had a new friend. "Who's your brother hanging out with these days? According to our records, he got arrested with a guy named Shane Phillips a few years ago for shoplifting. Is he still hanging around that bad influence?"
The tension in her jaw told me everything I needed to know.
"Do you know a guy named Ethan Rexrode?”
She shook her head. "Never heard of him.”
"Well, he's dead.”
Nova's eyes bulged. "Dead?"
"Shot twice at close range aboard his boat.”
"What does that have to do with my brother?”
I shrugged. "You tell me.” After a pause, I said, "We have security footage of two men boarding the boat the night of Ethan's demise. We believe Ethan was involved in a money laundering operation. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?"
She shook her head.
"Do you know where we can find your brother?”
"No. I don't.”
"What about Shane?”
"I don't talk to Shane anymore.”
"Anymore?" I picked up on the subtle phrasing.
“I don't think I want to talk to you anymore either."
She started to close the door, but I put my foot on the threshold.
I dug into my pocket and handed her a card.
"Give me a call if you want to cooperate.
This isn't going to end well for your brother. He's dealing with some bad people. I know it may not sound like the right thing to do, but talking to us could save your brother’s life.”
She scoffed and looked at my foot. "Do you mind?”
"Take the card," I said.
She snatched it from my grasp, and I removed my foot from the doorway. She closed the door and flipped the deadbolt.
I shared a look with JD, and the dog looked up at us, pleading for another treat with those sad eyes.
How could I refuse?
I tossed him another snack before we walked down the walkway, stepped onto the sidewalk, and pulled the gate shut behind us.
We climbed into the Porsche, and my phone buzzed with a call from the sheriff. “I need you two to get to Salt Point ASAP!”