Page 14 of Stone Coast (Tyson Wild Thriller)
" L ike I said, it's complicated."
"It's a simple question," Scarborough said. "How long have you known Grayson?"
"I'm not sure."
He gave me a quizzical look, then I told him about my recent incident.
"So you have no memory of anything past a week ago?"
"That's what I said."
"And you were mugged and shot in the head. And now home invaders stormed in and shot your boyfriend."
"That pretty much sums it up."
"You seem to be a magnet for trouble." He paused. “IT sales?" he said in a skeptical tone, his eyes piercing into me. "You involved in anything else?"
My brow knitted. "What do you mean? "
He shrugged. "I don't know. You just seem to attract a bad element. Judging by the surroundings, it looks like you are accustomed to a certain lifestyle. It's not uncommon for rival drug dealers to target a kingpin."
It took me a second to process. When I did, I laughed. "You think I'm a drug kingpin and that these men were trying to rip me off because they thought I had cash and a stash of drugs?"
"That's the first thing that comes to my mind."
I looked at him like he was an idiot. "How many drug cases have you worked, detective?"
"Quite a few."
"And how many murder cases?"
"Almost as many."
"Maybe I should ask what your solve ratio is?"
He didn't like that much.
"Grayson was a doctor,” I said. “This is his house."
“And you work in IT sales, I know…” he said, still doubtful. "Where do you live?"
"In Pelican Point on a small boat."
"Must be nice,” Scarborough said. “When I retire, I’m gonna sell it all, buy a boat, live on the water, and sail the seas."
"I hope it works out for you."
"You mind if I look around the house?"
"Yes. I mind. "
"Well, it's not really your house, is it?"
"You still need a warrant to search beyond the immediate crime scene unless you have a reasonable suspicion to believe a crime is currently in progress. Do you?"
His eyes narrowed at me, and he didn't answer for a moment. "Well, look who knows the law."
The words just came out of my mouth without having to think about it. Maybe everything was locked away deep down inside my brain, and I just needed the key.
The medical examiner and the forensic team arrived. Camera flashes flooded out of the foyer into the living room as a forensic photographer chronicled the scene.
Local news crews gathered outside, along with a horde of curious neighbors. Officers kept them at bay.
"Will you be able to ID the intruder?" I asked Detective Scarborough.
"I'm sure this wasn't his first offense. He's likely to have a record. If so, it should be pretty easy."
"Check his previous arrests for accomplices," I suggested. Again, the statement just came out of nowhere.
"Yes, we can and will do that. Can you describe his accomplice?"
“6’2”, muscular, dark eyes. He wore a mask. I didn't see his face."
"Did the assailants use any names?"
"No. There wasn't much conversation. "
"We’ll talk to the neighbors, review the video doorbell footage, and see what the word on the street is." He paused. "I'll need to get your contact information."
We exchanged numbers, and he gave me a card.
"Does Grayson have any next of kin?"
I hesitated for a moment. "I don't know."
"Don't go anywhere," Scarborough said. He wandered off and made a few phone calls.
I called Tyson. I didn't really know who else to call. It rang a few times before he answered.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Not so great. Kind of nauseous, actually."
"I'm sorry. A little nausea is normal sometimes after a head injury."
"It has nothing to do with my injury. There's been an incident."
"An incident?"
I told him everything.
“I'm in the middle of a case, but I can get there in about an hour and a half."
"You don't have to come all the way up here. I just… need someone to talk to. I don't know what to do."
"From what you told me, you've done nothing wrong. You don't have anything to worry about. But don't answer any more questions. That never leads to anything good. "
I appreciated his candid response.
"If I text you the image of the assailant, can you look him up?"
"I can try."
"I appreciate whatever you can do."
"Can you describe the assailant that got away?”
I gave him my limited description of the man. “Sorry. That’s all I’ve got.”
“Where will you be?"
"On my boat," I said. "I’ll text you the information."
"I'm assuming they will confiscate your firearm."
“Yep.”
"I know you have a backup somewhere. Have you found it?"
"Yeah. I have a small arsenal." I paused, then admitted, "This wasn't random, was it?"
"Hard to say. Given the situation, probably not."
"I mean, this wasn't a robbery. They shot Grayson the instant he opened the door," I said, my eyes filling. I wiped the tears away.
"Sounds like an execution to me. You never know these days. Some people will shoot you just as soon as look at you."
We chatted for a few more minutes, then Detective Dickhead returned. I told Tyson I'd be in touch, then ended the call .
The medical examiner and her crew bagged the remains and loaded Grayson's body onto a gurney. They rolled him through the front door and down the walkway and did the same for the assailant.
"The team is about to wrap up here,” Detective Scarborough said. "Officers have talked to the neighbors. They don't recall seeing anything." He paused. "I take it you will be staying in town."
It wasn't a question.
"I have no plans to leave."
"You need a ride back to your place?"
"No, thank you. I'll catch a cab."
"It's no trouble really," Scarbrough said.
I figured he just wanted more time to ask questions, to become my best buddy. Maybe I’d start talking more. But I wasn't giving him any more fuel.
"I got in touch with Grayson’s sister,” he said. “She confirmed that you two were an item, and that you had recently been in the hospital. She lives in Texas and says you two have never met face-to-face."
"If that's what she says."
"She asked me to lock up. She’s going to fly in tomorrow.”
"Are you kicking me out?"
"It's not your house."
"I guess I’m leaving," I said .
Scarborough escorted me out, and we stepped around the bloodstained tiles.
"Are you just going to leave it like that?" I asked.
"Cleanup isn't our job."
I grabbed the lasagna, and we strolled down the walkway as the medical examiner's van pulled away from the curb. Curious neighbors gawked and gasped. Reporters rushed in, and camera lenses focused. Microphones were shoved in my face.
"What’s your name?"
"What can you tell us?"
“Records show the house is owned by Grayson Mitchell. Is he the deceased?"
The barrage of insensitive questions continued. They didn’t care about me or Grayson. They just wanted details. A sound bite.
"Listen, let me give you a ride,” Scarborough said.
“You've been through a traumatic experience.
And I think I came on a little strong before.
I'm sorry if I pressed too hard. You have to keep in mind, we come into these scenarios not knowing anything.
And when something looks suspicious, it sets off alarm bells. "
I didn't really want to stand around, waiting for a cab while these vultures swarmed, so I accepted his offer. I hopped into his Camaro, and he drove me back to the marina.
The news crews tried to follow, but Scarborough had a heavy foot. With a few twists and turns, we left them in the dust. He didn’t have to abide by the law .
Scarborough tried to make small talk along the way, but I wasn't present. My mind replayed the events in slow motion, frame by frame. I tried to make sense of what had happened, but it was senseless.
It was a short ride to the marina—10 minutes. Scarborough dropped me off by the dock, and I climbed out of the car.
"Take care of yourself. I'll be in touch."
He pulled away, and I kept my head on a swivel as I hustled down the dock to the Intrepid . I boarded the boat with caution, made a beeline for my backup pistol, and pulled it from the compartment in the forward berth. I press-checked the weapon and holstered it.
The boat creaked and groaned, gently swaying. The rigging clinked against the mast, and water lapped against the hull. It was quiet in the marina this time of night, and the air had an eerie stillness to it.
Tyson showed up an hour later.