Chapter 5
The Metropolis was an upscale apartment complex built around a central pool that saw a lot of activity on the weekends. Skimpy bikinis, barbecue, beer, and cool music.
Due to our car situation, we took the Wild Fury van to the apartment complex. I drove and pulled up to the valet. We hopped out, and I slipped a few bills into the kid’s pocket as he grabbed the door. "Keep it up front. We shouldn’t be long.”
Decked out with Cragar S/S rims, chrome exhaust pipes, and an engine that would put most muscle cars to shame, the van was slick.
With a custom paint job and a bespoke grill like shark’s teeth, it was the kind of vehicle that drew attention.
Great advertisement for the band and Jack's liquor brand. There was a method to his madness.
I flashed my badge at the glass doors, and the concierge buzzed us in. We stepped into the opulent lobby, and I asked the concierge if she had seen Sydney Hollister lately.
Her face scrunched up as she thought about it. "Not today.” Then she added, "Is she in some kind of trouble?”
I shrugged. "Just a routine check.”
I pressed the call button for the elevator, and we took it up to the fourth floor. JD and I ambled down the hallway, and I knocked on the door to unit #416.
There was no answer.
"Sydney," I shouted through the door. "Coconut County. Are you in there?” JD and I shared a look, then I tried the door. I twisted the handle and pushed it open.
It wasn't locked.
From the foyer, I had a straight shot to the balcony, which offered a view of the pool and the other wing of the complex.
"Sydney?” I called out again.
There was no response.
The open concept kitchen was off the foyer to the right. The L-shaped balcony wrapped around the living room. It extended to the bedroom.
JD and I drew our pistols and kept them in the low ready position as we advanced into the living room, clearing the area.
"Sydney? Coconut County. Here on a welfare check."
The blinds were partially open, and the Florida sunshine spilled in. Sleek, stylish furniture decorated the unit. Abstract modern art in beachy pastel tones hung on the walls. A large flatscreen TV stood on a stand.
JD and I moved across the living room, past a high-heeled shoe, to the closed bedroom door. We held up on either side, and I knocked. "Sydney?"
I twisted the handle and pushed open the door. JD and I swept our barrels across the room, clearing the corners.
The room was mostly tidy, but the bed was unmade. There were a few items of clothing strewn on the floor.
Jack cleared the closet, while I moved to the bathroom. I stepped inside and saw the problem right away. Sydney lay naked on the tile in the walk-in shower. Articles of clothing littered the tile nearby.
I moved to the frameless glass door, pulled it open, then knelt down beside the body and felt for a pulse.
Sydney was long gone.
A grim frown tightened my face.
She was an attractive woman in her mid-20s with sandy-blonde hair.
Her blue eyes were fixed on the ceiling.
Her toned figure was now pale, and her lips blue.
The blood pooled at the low points where her body touched the tile.
Bruising around her neck and petechial hemorrhaging told me how she died, and it wasn’t pretty.
I didn't need the medical examiner to tell me that she’d been strangled.
A strong odor of bleach hit my nostrils.
Whoever did this tried to cover their tracks. I hoped there would be DNA evidence to recover, but I wasn't holding my breath.
In a grim voice, I shouted to JD, "I found her.”
I called the sheriff, gave him the bad news, and told him to send the forensic team and the medical examiner.
I snapped a few photos of the scene and gave a look around. She was probably strangled elsewhere in the apartment, then moved to the shower for evidence destruction. Her body was dry now, but it looked like it had been rinsed. Mascara stained her cheeks.
I moved out of the bathroom and into the living room. The way the complex was structured, it was easy to see into the apartment from the other wing. The blinds were mostly open, and there was a good chance we had a witness if the strangling had occurred in the living room or dining area.
I found Sydney’s cell phone on the bar counter. The screen was locked, so I took it to the bathroom and held the device in front of her face. Sometimes it worked on the dead, sometimes it didn’t. It was morbid, but necessary.
The screen cleared, and I had access to the device.
I thumbed through the recent calls and texts.
There were several from Bailey, a few steamy ones from Trevor, and a slew of nasty ones from Fletcher.
I looked through her secure messaging app, Memo.
There were a handful of unsavory messages from Patrick.
I read through the exchange. It was difficult to put them in context since she had messages set to disappear within 48 hours.
I took screen grabs and sent them to my phone.
First responders showed up, and I led them through the apartment to the bathroom.
Dietrich snapped photos, and camera flashes bounced off the walls. Brenda went to work, examining the body. Forensic investigators chronicled the scene, dusting the door handles and flat surfaces for prints.
Light gray hardwoods lined the floor in the living room. There was carpet in the bedroom. Forensic investigators would vacuum everything, looking for trace fibers.
Daniels arrived, and we had a brief conference. It was crowded in the bathroom, and we let Brenda and her crew do their work.
By that time, Paris Delaney had arrived. She hovered with her news crew outside the apartment, waiting to catch a glimpse of the carnage.
After Brenda wrapped up, I asked her for a time of death.
“I’d say between 11:00 PM and 1:00 AM last night. I’ll know more when I get her back to the lab.”
“Sexual assault?”
“Judging by the condition of the body, I suspect so. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Daniels frowned and shook his head. The chaos was never-ending. “I’m not looking forward to telling Judy what happened to her daughter.”
“We’ll do it,” I said. It was not an enviable job.
“Anything to go on?”
I shook my head. “No forced entry. No blunt trauma.” I pointed to the high heel. “There’s another in the bedroom. Just a guess, but the attack probably happened out here. The assailant may have dragged her into the bedroom to assault her, then into the bathroom to degrade the trace evidence.”
“Somebody she knew?”
I shrugged. “Could be. Boyfriend, jealous ex. She could have been assaulted at the door and forced inside.”
“I want answers,” Daniels said.
“We’re on it,” I said, then added, “When Judy called, had she been to the apartment yet?"
"Not as far as I know," the sheriff replied.
My brow wrinkled with confusion. "She didn't bother coming over here before calling you?"
"Judy doesn't do anything herself that she can have someone else do for her."
"Got it."
"When you’ve got that kind of money, the world caters to you."
I had no doubt Judy and Preston Hollister were large contributors to the sheriff's campaign.
We left the apartment, and the camera closed in.
“Deputy Wild, is this the apartment of Sydney Hollister?” Paris was on top of it.
“I can’t comment.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t discuss it now. It’s an ongoing investigation, and we are making a call for any witnesses to come forward. Please contact the Coconut County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Witnesses to what?” Paris never took no for an answer.
I gave her a look and stepped out of frame. We knocked on the neighbor’s door, but there was no answer.
Across the hall, footsteps padded down the foyer a moment after I knocked. A woman’s voice filtered through. “Who is it?”
I flashed my badge to the peephole. “Coconut County. There was an incident across the hall. Have you seen anyone unusual in the building?”
She pulled open the door with concerned brown eyes that darted between the two of us. With long sandy-blonde hair and a petite figure, she was easy on the eyes. “Incident? What kind of incident?”
“Have you seen anyone unusual come or go from Sydney’s apartment last night?”