James Swain - The King Tides

“Has he caused any other problems?”

“No, but it’s only a matter of time. I know his kind.”

“Which is what?”

“He’s a perv.”

“You were a cop once, weren’t you?”

“Military Police.”

“What makes you think he wasn’t helping the kid out?”

“This place is loaded with beautiful unmarried women. You should see the pool on the weekends. It’s enough to make you drool. Zack could have his pick, only he doesn’t want that. He’s into little girls, the sick bastard.”

“Is he here now?”

“Hasn’t come home yet. You going to arrest him?”

“I just want to talk to him. Do you mind if I wait inside?”

“Be my guest. Park in one of the visitor spots or someone will raise a stink.”

“Will do. Thanks for the help.”

The guard went inside the guardhouse and made the guardrail rise. Lancaster drove inside the complex, parked, and kept the engine running and basked in the AC. Back during his cop days he’d been offered a desk in the sex crimes unit but had declined out of fear of what he’d do if he caught a suspect harming a kid. Zack Kenny was bringing out the same kind of raw emotions, and he tried to stay focused on the job he’d been hired to do. He needed to get his hands on Kenny’s cell phone and look at the images of Nicki Pearl stored in its memory. His gut was telling him there was more than the video of Nicki singing while lying atop a pile of mattresses.

To pass the time, he did a Google search on his cell phone and was soon reading Kenny’s work profile on LinkedIn. He’d been employed as a securities broker with the same firm for eight years and recently been promoted to vice president. He had a solid work history and a decent education. He didn’t think Kenny’s employer knew about the restraining order or the problems with his apartment association, which told him that Kenny was doing a good job of keeping his personal life hidden. During the day he was a respectable businessman, but at night he was a creep.

A familiar black Lexus parked three spaces down. Lancaster killed his engine and hopped out of his vehicle. He was going to confront Kenny and take his cell phone once Kenny got out of his expensive sports car. Nicki’s stalkers were slaves to their phones, and he was determined to find out why.

But Kenny didn’t get out of his car. Instead, he remained behind the wheel with his head bowed. Either he was taking a nap, or he was looking at his phone. Lancaster silently came up behind the Lexus and stared through the driver’s window at the cell phone in Kenny’s lap. A video was playing with fuzzy images dancing on the screen.

Kenny’s head turned. He flipped the cell phone over, hiding the screen. Lancaster placed his cop badge against the glass.

“Get out of the car.”

Kenny shook his head.

“Get out of the car before I drag you out.”

Kenny blinked. Decision time. He lifted the cell phone off his lap and ripped off its rubber protective cover. Then he slammed the cell phone’s screen violently against the dashboard with all his might. He did this so many times that it must have made his arm hurt. But he wasn’t done. Throwing open his door, he leaped out of the car and threw the cell phone against the pavement, picked it up, and gave it a mighty heave over a hedge that separated the complex from its neighbor. A triumphant look spread across his face, and he turned around and walked away. Lancaster followed him.

“Do the people at your brokerage firm know about the restraining order Karissa Clement slapped against you? Or that you shacked up with a fifteen-year-old girl?”

Kenny slowed but did not stop. The words were having an effect.

“I can tell them. Or you can stop and talk with me. It’s your call.”

Reaching the entrance to the apartment building, Kenny stopped and spun around. His mouth was as thin as a paper cut, his breathing short. His clothes were expensive and so was his haircut, and he had a perfect bronze tan, courtesy of a tanning salon.

“How much do you want?” Kenny asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You want money, right? That’s why you’re here.”

“This isn’t a shakedown.”

“It sure feels like one.”

“Have you been shaken down before?”

Kenny said nothing. People with sordid backgrounds who made a decent buck were vulnerable to blackmail, and he guessed Kenny had paid for people’s silence before.

“Then what is it?” Kenny said.

“I want to know why you’re stalking Nicki Pearl.”

“Never heard of her.”

“You were watching her at the Cheesecake Factory today. You’re obsessed with her. I want to know why.”

Kenny shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person.”

“You have images of her on your cell phone. That’s why you threw it away.”

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“Then what were you just looking at?”

“Baseball. I’m a big Marlins fan.”

“Do you always throw your phones away?”

“What I do with my cell phone is none of your business.”

This wasn’t working, and he decided to take a different tack.

“Would you like me to send a copy of the restraining order to your boss? Or tell him about the fifteen-year-old runaway you kept in your apartment?”

“My boss is a she, and she doesn’t care what I do in my free time. I make millions for my firm every year. I’m entitled to have a little fun after work.”

“A little fun? Sleeping with minors is a crime.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. By the way, how did you get in here? This is a private parking lot, and you’re trespassing. If you don’t leave, I’ll go inside and call the police. I mean it.”

He was trespassing and could get himself and the guard at the front gate in real trouble if Kenny made good on his threat. He started to retreat.

“Stay away from Nicki Pearl,” he said.

“I told you, I don’t know her. Now get out of here and don’t come back.”

Kenny used a key card to enter the building, where he boarded an elevator in the lobby. Lancaster waited until the elevator doors were shut before venturing over to the concrete dividing wall that Kenny had tossed his cell phone over. It was a foot taller than he was, and he put his hands on the ledge and pulled himself up to have a look.

Sunrise Harbor’s neighbor was another luxury apartment building. It had all the trimmings, including an Olympic-size swimming pool with reclining lounge chairs. A uniformed janitor was picking up cushions and towels. A whistle snapped his head.

“Want to make yourself a quick buck?”

The janitor hustled over to the wall. He was Hispanic with a face older than his years. South Florida was filled with boat people who’d fled Cuba looking for a better life, only to discover the best they could do was menial jobs in the service industry. Lancaster pulled himself up so he was sitting on the wall.

“My name’s Jon. What’s yours?”

“Jorge,” the janitor said.

“Hey, Jorge, nice to meet you. My girlfriend and I just had a fight, and she tossed my cell phone over the wall. That will teach me to forget our anniversary. I’ll make it worth your while if you’ll look around the grounds and find it for me.”

“You want me to find your cell phone,” Jorge said, sounding pissed.

“It won’t take five minutes. Come on, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Sure you will.”

“You’re not going to help me?”

“No. I need to finish up.”

“What if I come over and look myself?”

“You can’t do that.”

His anger was palpable. Had Jorge been a doctor or professional person back in Cuba? Lancaster had met Cubans with degrees who weren’t allowed to practice in the States, and it had hardened them. Pulling out his wallet, he removed a handful of cash.