"How did he die?"
"Is it true that you killed him?”
Tiffany knew the drill and kept her mouth shut and her head down.
Jack and I escorted her down the walkway to a patrol car and helped her into the backseat. She wasn't under arrest, but it wasn't a good look. The tabloids would have a field day.
I tapped the quarter panel, and the officer pulled away from the curb. He inched through the crowd that had gathered in the street.
"Is Tiffany a suspect?" Paris shouted.
I declined to answer. Instead, I took the opportunity to make a call for witnesses.
JD and I regrouped with the sheriff. Deputies Erickson and Faulkner had canvassed the neighborhood, knocking on doors, but no one had seen or heard anything suspicious. They checked for security camera footage, but didn't turn anything up. No videos of the suspect coming or going.
There were no other bloody footprints in the house besides Tiffany's. Just hers, along with blood drops in the hallway that led from the master bedroom to the grand staircase and down to the foyer.
A smear of blood stained the inside handle of the front door, presumably when Tiffany opened it to let first responders into the house.
JD and I did another once-around the house, looking for signs of forced entry. Other deputies had walked the house, but we thought we'd give it another go just to be sure.
No windows were broken out.
The back door was unlocked.
Someone could have easily just walked in through the back door, made their way up to the master bedroom, and done the devil's business.
The home backed up to the beach. There was a nice infinity pool surrounded by a bar, a stainless steel barbecue grill, and plenty of lounge chairs and tables. It was a perfect place for entertaining. A path led down to the man-made white sand beach. Inky waves crashed against the shore. The killer could have easily slipped away into the night without being seen.
We left the scene and headed back to the station to fill out after-action reports and re-interview Tiffany to see if her story changed. Most liars can’t keep their facts straight over time.
“You know how they met, don’t you?” JD said again.
7
“Forbidden Fruit?” I said, guessing.
It was the premier strip club on the island. Brock Madison wouldn’t have been the first to fall under the spell of an alluring young performer. It was easy to fall in lust in a place like that and get confused. Heartbreaks and dreams.
Jack shook his head. “Rumor is she was one of Charlotte Beaumont’s girls.”
Charlotte ran an elite stable of high-end escorts. Her girls were model gorgeous, discreet, and professional. Charlotte had too many high-profile clients to ever worry about getting busted. No matter what judge she might find herself in front of, she had dirt. Powerful people weren’t going to let her go out of business anytime soon.
A simple phone call would reveal the truth.
Is it possible to find true love with an escort? Perhaps. Never say never. But when the client’s worth a billion dollars, the motivations are obvious.
Charlotte answered in that smooth, seductive voice of hers. “Well, hello, Deputy? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I knew Charlotte from a previous case, and not in the way you’re thinking. I was smart enough to resist her offerings.
“I’m hoping you can help me sort fact from fiction.”
“Fact. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other. You should stop by and say hello. I’m sure you can find something here to suit your fancy. Complements of the house, of course.”
I chuckled. That’s exactly how she got her hooks into everyone of note on the island. “Sounds tempting. What can you tell me about Tiffany Madison?”
Charlotte hesitated for a moment. “From what I understand, she just suffered a terrible loss.”
