Chapter 17
Paris Delaney and her news crew lingered just outside the apartment.
The Harbor House was a nice three-story hive with gated parking. Built in a U-shape around a central pool, it was home to a hundred units or more.
A few deputies lingered at the door, and the curious neighbor across the hall gawked.
We approached the second-floor unit, stepped inside the apartment, and made our way down the foyer to the living room.
Bleached hardwoods and pastel walls gave it a tropical vibe.
It was a split design with a bedroom on either side of the living room.
The tiny balcony offered a view of the pool.
It was home to a few plants and plastic patio furniture.
The kind of art that you could buy in a Swedish furniture store hung on the walls.
The decor was stylish, but not expensive.
A young brunette sat on the couch, head in hands, sobbing. A deputy stood nearby, trying to comfort her and get more details.
Camera flashes spilled out of the bedroom. That's where all the commotion was.
JD and I hovered at the bedroom door for a moment. It was pretty crowded as first responders gathered around the bathroom. Daniels stood nearby with a grim face. He didn't much care for getting pulled out of bed at this hour.
Dietrich snapped a few more photos, then cleared out. Brenda went to work.
JD and I moved to join the sheriff by the doorframe. Another young blonde lay dead in the bathtub. The faint odor of bleach wafted.
My face tightened, and I exhaled with frustration.
Daniels said, "That makes two.”
"Same MO?"
"Looks that way. There is bruising around the neck, and petechial hemorrhaging around the eyes.” He just shook his head. "Roommate came home and found her like that."
"She’s the one on the couch?”
The sheriff nodded. “Her name is Whitney Westgate. The deceased is Polly Madison.”
Polly was an attractive young woman with piercing blue eyes, fair skin, pouty lips, and wavy sandy-blonde hair. She had a petite figure and lay naked in the tub in an awkward position.
I hated to even ask, "Was she sexually assaulted?"
"It appears that way," Brenda said. "I'll know more when I get her back to the lab."
"Do we have a time of death?”
"Fairly recent," Brenda said. "I’d put it within the last two hours." Then she added, “She’s got two minor superficial burn marks on her neck. Could be a taser.”
"I thought you boys were on top of this," the sheriff grumbled.
"Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong direction.”
"Well, start looking in the right direction.”
"If it were only that easy,” I quipped.
JD and I stepped out of the bedroom and approached Whitney. I flashed my badge and made introductions. "I know this is a difficult time, but can you tell me what happened?"
She sniffled and blotted her eyes with a tissue. "I just came home and found her like that," she sobbed.
"I take it you two are roommates?"
Whitney nodded.
“She have any family here in town?”
“No. Her mother died last year. I don’t know where her dad is. I don’t think she’s seen him in years.”
"Where were you this evening?"
"I went out on a date with this guy.”
"Does anyone else have a key to the apartment?”
She shook her head. "I don't think so. Maybe Lucas.”
"Who's Lucas?”
“Polly's boyfriend.”
"What's their relationship like?”
She shook a so-so hand. "I think she is… was… about to break up with him.”
"Why is that?”
Whitney shrugged. "I just think they lost the spark.”
"How does Lucas feel?”
Her eyes flared. "Lucas loves her.” She shook her head. "This is gonna mess him up.”
"Was Polly seeing anybody else?”
Whitney hesitated a moment. "Well, she just met this guy, Brett. They’d been talking. I don't think they hooked up or anything.”
I shared a look with Jack, then asked Whitney, "Did Polly know Sydney Hollister?”
Whitney’s face wrinkled. "No. Who's that?”
"Another girl who was killed in the same fashion."
Whitney cringed. "So, this is a serial killer?"
I shrugged.
Whitney burst into tears again and sobbed. "I can't believe she's dead. There was a killer in our apartment,” she exclaimed, frazzled, on the verge of losing it. “How am I supposed to stay here tonight after something like this?”
"You have a friend you can crash with?”
"Yeah, I guess. If anybody will pick up the phone.” She grabbed her purse from the coffee table, pulled out her phone, and started texting people.
We stepped away and huddled.
Jack said, "The assailant waits for her to come home, attacks her as she's entering the apartment, does his business, and leaves. It's exactly the same.”
We stepped outside and approached the neighbor across the hall. She looked mortified. In her mid-20s, she had long straight black hair that hung to her mid-back.
I flashed my badge and made introductions. “Have you seen anyone suspicious tonight?”
"No,” Talia said. “I don’t think so.”
“Have you been here all evening?”
"Yeah. I was just lying on the couch, watching a movie, when I heard a scream from across the hall. The next thing I knew, Whitney was banging on my door. I let her in. She was totally freaked out. Told me Polly was dead. I deadbolted the door, and she called 911. The county showed up a few minutes later. You guys are quick.”
"Have you seen anyone lingering around the apartment complex over the last few days?”
Talia thought about it for a moment. "You know, there has been this guy loitering around. He's been hitting people up for money in the parking lot. It's not hard to get past the security gate. I complained to the property manager, but you know, what can they do?”
"Call the county and report him for trespassing.”
"He's gone by the time a patrol unit gets here.”
"Can you give me a description?”
"Mid-30s, medium build, curly dark hair, bushy beard. Smelled.”
I thanked her for the info, took her contact information, and gave her a card. I told her we might be in touch, then we stepped back inside and rejoined the sheriff.
Forensic investigators dusted for prints. Brenda and her crew bagged the body. They transferred the remains to a gurney and wheeled the victim out of the apartment.
Paris Delaney and her crew got their money shot.
I asked Whitney if she needed a ride somewhere.
"No, thanks. I called a friend. I'm gonna stay with her."
"Just keep in touch, be aware of your surroundings, and let me know when you get to your friend's house.”
She nodded. "I will. Thank you. Do you need anything else? Can I go now?"
I nodded, and she moved into her bedroom and packed a small bag. She was more than ready to get the hell out of there, and I didn't blame her.
The camera closed in as we left, and Paris asked her usual questions. I made a call for witnesses to come forward.
“Is this related to the Sydney Hollister case?”
“It’s too soon to tell.”
“If there’s a serial predator on the island, the public has a right to know.”
I gave her a look. I didn’t need her instilling panic. But maybe people should be afraid. "I think everyone should stay vigilant, keep aware of their surroundings, and be extra cautious at night."
We left the scene, headed back to the station, and filled out after-action reports. It was pretty late by that time, and I was more than ready for bed.
The party had died down aboard the Avventura, but I had no doubt the action continued below deck.
I climbed to my stateroom and settled in for bed. My mind went over the details of the crime, trying to put all the pieces together. When I finally did get to sleep, it was half-ass. And it didn’t last long enough.
My phone rang bright and early in the morning with a call from Denise. I snatched the phone from the nightstand, glanced at the screen, and put it to my ear. In a scratchy voice, I said, "What's up?"
"Rough night?"
"About average," I replied, peeling open sleepy eyes.
“I heard about what happened to Polly Madison. I narrowed that list of sex offenders down. I think I've got a suspect for you."