“You got it,” Olivia said. “Let me know what you find.”
“Will do.” She hung up and increased her speed, making the long trip in record time.
“Detective Emerson,” Director Sam Flot greeted when she arrived. “What can I help… Is everything all right?” His line of questioning detoured the instant he read the urgency tensing her muscles.
“A man named Triton. Does he work here?” she asked.
“Triton?” Flot repeated. “Can’t say that sounds familiar. I can double-check our records to confirm, though...”
“His name wasn’t on the list you sent to the station,” Bel said.
“So why ask?—?”
“Did you leave any names off?” Bel interrupted.
“Why would we do that?”
“To cover up a connection you couldn’t afford.”
“Detective, this is a family-friendly business. One that revolves around the care of innocent animals. What could you possibly think we’re trying to hide?”
“The mermaids were encased in your sculptures,” she said. “Maybe you realized they’d gone missing and are protecting the thief.”
“The performer’s drowning was incredibly traumatic, Detective. We locked everything that reminded us of Mermaid Week in storage and forgot about it. We aren’t hiding anything.Now, the list we sent you is an accurate documentation of everyone who’s worked here for the past decade.”
“It’s just that he had an aquarium maintenance uniform,” Bel said. “Here, let me show you what he looks like.” She swiped through her phone and pulled up the news recording of the family’s press conference, but as she scrolled through the footage, she realized that Mr. Triton never once showed his face. Impossible as it was, the man had managed to position himself so perfectly behind his wife that his every identifying feature was invisible to the cameras. He was present, yet he was a ghost.
“Detective, I have a busy day ahead of me.” Flot crossed his arms across his chest to drive home his point.
“Just two minutes, please.” Bel texted Griffin a 911 message asking for Triton’s driver’s license photo, and thankfully, her boss responded immediately. “Here.” She shoved the photo of the twenty-year-younger Mr. Triton at the director. “Him? Have you ever seen him?”
Flot grabbed her hand and pulled the phone closer to his face. “That’s Neal Flounders.”
“This is my victim, Ariella Triton’s father,” Bel corrected.
“No…” Flot dragged out the word. “That’s Flounders. He works in maintenance.”
“This man?” Bel asked, the pieces starting to find their way together in her mind. “He works here under the name Flounders.”
“What do you mean by ‘under’? That’s his name,” he said. “We run background checks on all our employees since kids visit here. Nothing was flagged.”
“And nothing was flagged when we ran Triton,” Bel said. Two IDs for the same man, but only one of them could be real… if either of them were. But to withstand a background check? She knew only one man who could pull off false identification so flawlessly.
“When did Flounders start working here?” she asked.
“Probably around ten years ago.” Sam Flot froze. “Right after the performer drowned.”
Bel’s heart faltered. A fake name and a new job after the mermaid’s death? That was why no one had caught on. He’d been two different people.
“Was he there when she drowned?” she asked, her spirit crossing its metaphorical fingers.
“I don’t know. A lot of people witnessed her death, and it was chaos for the following months. We lost so many patrons and employees that we almost went bankrupt. We managed to keep our doors open, but just barely. It’s why we hired Flounders. We needed help after so many employees resigned, and he’s been here ever since. We’ve never had any issues with him, and I honestly forget he even works here. He’s so quiet.”
“Is he here today?” Bel scanned the expansive lobby as if Triton might attack her out of nowhere.
“Should be.”
“Where is he?”
