Chapter 40
Hayden lived in a dumpy apartment on Bamboo Court. The Tropic Sands was a series of four-unit buildings, two up, two down. With faded coral siding, white trim, and pitched roofs. The property had fallen into disrepair. It was in desperate need of a refresh, but the rent was still too high.
Withered palm trees swayed, and the grass was overgrown but patchy in spots.
It certainly wasn't the worst place on the island.
I don't know how much time Hayden actually spent at the apartment.
I figured he probably lived with a roommate.
From what I could tell, Hayden was a guitarist in a cover band that played the bars around the island.
We pulled into the lot and found a place to park. No security gate. No covered parking.
A couple of kids tossed a football around the lot.
We hopped out of the Porsche, strolled down the walkway between the buildings, and climbed the steps to unit D204.
I put a heavy fist against the door and shouted, "Coconut County.”
There was no response. It was quiet inside.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
According to the DMV records, Hayden didn't have a car. My guess was he borrowed Kenzie’s. But with the break-up, he was left without transportation.
A guy approached and climbed the steps. He was in his mid-20s with short, sandy-blonde hair and a muscular physique. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Can I help you?"
"Looking for Hayden?” I said, displaying my badge.
"Well, if he didn't answer, then he's not around."
"You know where he might be?”
"I’m not his babysitter.”
"You know where he works?"
The guy laughed. "He doesn't.”
"I take it he’s your roommate.”
"Geez, how’d you figure that out?" he snarked, fumbling for his keys, checking out Daphne.
"If he doesn't have a job, how does he pay rent?" I asked.
"Well, he better figure that out pretty quick. It's coming due, and since his girlfriend dumped him, he's a little cash poor."
"What's your name?”
"I don't have to tell you shit." He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a card. "If you see Hayden, would you give me a call? I need to speak with him."
The guy laughed again. "The last thing anybody needs to do is talk to cops. Why are you interested in him? What did he do?"
"How well do you know your roommate?"
"We went to high school together.”
"Did he get in a lot of trouble in high school?”
"Why don't you ask him?" He closed the door on us.
JD and I shared a look.
"Well, he's cooperative," Jack muttered.
We plunged down the steps and headed down the walkway toward the parking lot.
“This is kinda fun,” Daphne said. “I want to be a cop.”
I gave her a doubtful look.
“What!? I’d make a good cop.”
We hadn’t gotten far when Hayden's roommate pulled open the door and called after us. "Hey, wait up! I think you need to see this.”
JD and I stopped in our tracks, exchanged another glance, then walked back toward the apartment.
A sensation of dread swirled in my stomach. Hayden's roommate looked like he'd seen a ghost.
We climbed the steps and followed the guy into the apartment.
JD and I pushed down the foyer that was covered in cheap vinyl faux wood flooring.
We followed him past the dirty kitchen, into the living room.
It was home to a couch, a coffee table with a bong, a tray of weed, and plenty of empty beer bottles and cans.
The apartment wasn't much to speak of—a plastic plant in the corner, a 50-inch flat screen on a stand, a stereo system, and a guitar in another corner.
The troubling part of the decor was the dead body on the floor between the coffee table and the television.
Hayden lay on the dingy brown carpet with lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. A pool of blood had soaked into the fibers. He'd been shot twice in the chest.
"Wait outside, don't touch anything," I said to the roommate.
He complied, and JD called dispatch.
I moved to the body and felt for a pulse as a matter of protocol, but Hayden was long gone. This happened within the last few hours, judging by the body temperature.
I glanced around the area, looking for shell casings but didn't find any.
I stayed with the body and told JD to bang on neighboring doors to see if anyone had heard anything. With walls as thin as they were around here, a gunshot would be noticeable. Unless it was suppressed.
Something told me there was trouble in paradise. A falling out between Levi and Hayden. The stakes had been raised when they shot Douglas Caldwell. I suspected the group was beginning to fracture.
It didn't take long for first responders to arrive.
Dietrich snapped photos, and Brenda pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and examined the remains. Forensic investigators dusted for prints.
The sheriff joined us, and I gave him a recap of the situation.
“What the hell is she doing here?” he asked, nodding at Daphne.
“What do you want me to do with her? I’m multitasking.”
"I know you’ve got a theory about why this guy was killed.”
I told him my thoughts.
JD returned. "I talked to the woman who lives below. She recalled hearing an argument, then a snap, then a thump. Everything went quiet after that."
"What time was that?" Daniels asked.
"About an hour ago.”
“She get a look at the guy?”
Jack shook his head.
I shared a look with the sheriff.
"Find Levi and see if you can connect him to this thing,” Daniels said. “Then I think you better talk to Kenzie. She could be next on the hit list.”
"We're on it," I said.
“I’ll interview the roommate, find out where he was during the time of the shooting.”
“JD and I will head to the Nautilus and try to get Kenzie to talk.”
We left the apartment, plunged down the steps, and hustled toward the parking lot. JD and I crossed paths with Paris Delaney along the way. I didn’t have the time or inclination to answer any questions.
“Cover your face and keep walking,” I said to Daphne. She was supposed to be a fugitive.
I put my hand over the lens and spoke to Paris. “Do not air footage of her. I need to maintain the illusion she’s at large.”
Paris nodded.
I gave her a soundbite and made my usual call for witnesses, then hurried out of frame.