Chapter 50
“I’m curious, Deputy,” Judy said. “What are your intentions?”
“To solve your daughter’s murder,” I said.
“And you think coming here, insulting me, making wild accusations is going to accomplish that?”
“I apologize if I’ve offended you.”
“I am in a state of mourning, overcome with grief. I’ve lost not only my father, but my daughter as well.
How dare you come here and talk to me like this!
I will be calling the sheriff and making my displeasure known.
I will ask him to put more competent deputies on the case.
If this is the state of policing in this city, I will be forced to sponsor another candidate come the next election cycle. ”
I smiled. “I think you should call the sheriff and let him know exactly how you feel.“
“I’d like you to leave now.”
JD and I stood up.
I said, “Do you mind if I use your restroom?”
She huffed. “If you must. The guest bathroom is out of service. Use the one in Preston’s bedroom. It’s just down the hall,” she said, pointing.
I walked across the living room and down the hallway.
The door to Preston‘s room was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and stepped inside. The sheets had been stripped off the bed, and the room was heavy with the man’s former presence.
A silver walker still stood near the bed.
Various bottles of medication lined the nightstand. I looked them over.
The man was on a cocktail of beta-blockers, diuretics, ACE inhibitors, anticoagulants, blood pressure medication, opioids, and digoxin, among others.
The bottle of digoxin was empty, even though it had been refilled recently. It was a common medication for AFib or congestive heart failure. It quickly became toxic above prescribed doses.
In control of his medication, Judy could have easily managed her father's decline. Any of these medications or a combination thereof at the right levels could have caused his demise. Excess digoxin over a period of weeks could have brought him into the compromised position in the first place.
Proving foul play would be a different story.
I pulled a nitrile glove from my pocket, snapped it on, took the empty pill bottle, and placed it into an evidence bag.
I slipped it into my pocket. It was fair game.
She invited me into the house and told me to use the restroom in the bedroom.
The pill bottle was in plain view. I didn’t know what good it would do me.
Her prints were probably on it, but they had a legitimate reason to be there.
I stepped into the restroom and took care of my business, then returned to the living room.
JD and I showed ourselves out.
As we hit the walkway, Jack said in a sardonic voice, “Something tells me we’re not getting invited back.”
Brenda called as we hopped into the Porsche. “I have good news, and I have bad news.”
“Give me the bad,” I said, bracing for it.
“Preston Hollister’s remains have been cremated. If he was poisoned, the perp got away with it.”
I grimaced. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
I told her my theory about the digoxin.
“That would do it.”
“What’s the good news?”
“The dye lot on that mohair fiber is MP-067, Imperial Navy. It’s made exclusively for JP Ashcroft. It’s an upscale men’s atelier in London. Every suit is handmade to a customer’s exact specifications.”
I grinned in triumph. “That’s traceable.”
“Highly. You might try giving them a call during business hours tomorrow.“
“I’ll do one better. I’ll get Bryce’s credit card records.”
“I figured you would.”
Thanks again,” I said.
“Anytime.“
I ended the call and immediately dialed Isabella. I told her about the fiber and JP Ashcroft and asked her to look into Bryce Van Allen‘s credit card receipts.
We left Palm Haven and drove back to the station where I logged the pill bottle into evidence. Then we returned to Diver Down.
JD and I took a seat at the bar and chatted with Teagan while we perused the menus.
We caught her up to speed on the happenings.
Our schedule had been thrown off by our late night event, but it was close to dinner time, and we were both hungry.
Jack ordered the shrimp quesadillas, and I went with a mushroom cheeseburger.
Isabella called back about halfway through the meal. “You’ll like this. Bryce made several purchases from JP Ashcroft. You’ll need to subpoena the records from his bank, but I think you’ve got probable cause. If you can get sales receipts from the retailer, you’ll be golden.”
I thanked her for the information and ended the call.
It took a few days to get everything sorted. We talked to the couple that witnessed the document in the mean time. They recalled Preston being coherent, but they had no idea what he was signing. Who knows? Judy could have promised them a cut.
Once we had Bryce’s financial records and the receipts from JP Ashcroft, Judge Echols signed off on a search warrant.
With a tactical team, we gathered outside his unit in the Trident Tower. Bright and early on a Sunday morning, I put a heavy fist against the door and shouted, "Coconut County! We have a warrant."
Bryce's voice crackled through the speaker a moment later. "What's going on?"
I displayed the warrant to the camera lens. "Open the door, or we’ll break it down.”
"That's not necessary. I'm coming.”
A few moments later, he shuffled down the foyer, unlatched the deadbolt, and pulled open the door. With annoyed eyes, he glared at me and JD. "What are you searching for?”
I handed him the warrant and let him read it for himself.
We stormed down the foyer with Erickson and Faulkner and went straight for the master bedroom.
It was a nice unit. Vaulted ceilings, a large terrace with a view of the ocean, an open concept kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances, modern white leather furniture, a large flatscreen TV, surround sound system, and trendy art.
We raided his closet and took every JP Ashcroft suit he had that even remotely looked like Imperial Navy. Each cost more than the average car. He had several from the bespoke atelier—three in some shade of navy blue. We bagged and labeled each item.
Bryce hovered in the doorway, watching us root through his private stuff. "You can't take all of my clothes. What will I wear?”
"I think you’ll survive.”
He huffed and shook his head. "This is ridiculous. What do you think I've done?”
I smiled at him. "I think you strangled Sydney Hollister. And I'm going to prove it.”
"That's ridiculous. I loved Sydney. She was like family.”
We collected all the garments and lugged them down to the lobby. A white county van waited under the carport. We loaded the garments in and hung everything on racks. The items were taken to the station and logged into evidence. One by one, they would all be tested.