I said nothing.
“Find him yourself.”
She stepped back inside, closed the door, and latched the deadbolt.
JD and I shared a glance, then walked down the hallway toward the elevator.
“Think she killed her old man?” JD asked.
“If she did, I’m sure she feels justified. And she might very well be.”
Jack pressed the call button when we reached the elevators. When the doors opened, we stepped aboard and plunged down to the lobby. Outside, we climbed into the Porsche and set out to find Hunter.
I called Denise and had her run background. According to the DMV records, Hunter claimed his permanent residence was his father’s Palm Haven estate.
Digging a little deeper, she found a 40-foot sailboat registered in his name, with a mailing address tied to a PO Box at the Pirates’ Cove Marina.
Hunter was no stranger to the county lockup. He’d gotten popped a few times on DUI and possession. Nothing his father couldn’t get him out of with a high-priced attorney. He’d been in and out of rehab a few times. Didn’t seem like it stuck.
We zipped across the island, pulled into the parking lot, and Jack found a spot by the dock. We hopped out and strolled around, looking for theVelocity.
It didn’t take long to find it. This wasn't some beat to hell old monohull collecting barnacles. This was a sleek, modern vessel with all the options. A wide cockpit with a dual helm station, hydraulic swim platform, and a teak deck. There were electric winches and state-of-the-art navigation. A cockpit fridge and a grill for barbecuing. There were built-in solar panels in the hardtop sunshade. Graceful and sophisticated. A boat like this didn't come cheap. I figured it was probably a gift from Brock. Something to help his son out. Despite being 30 years old, Hunter had a slim employment history. From what I could tell, he’d never held down a real job.
I banged on the stern and shouted, “Coconut County,” before boarding the boat.
We had the right to board and do routine compliance inspections of any boat on the water without a warrant. Anything in plain sight was fair game. I looked for bloodstains on the deck, but didn’t see any.
Commotion below deck drifted about. It wasn't long before Hunter poked his head out of the salon and looked at us with quizzical eyes. "What do you want?"
"We’d like to talk to you about your father?”
"Fuck that guy.”
"Why don't you tell us how you really feel?" JD snarked.
"I just did.”
"You know he's dead, don't you?" I asked.
"That's what I hear,” he said, unaffected by the news.
"You don't seem too upset about that," I said.
He shrugged. "How am I supposed to feel?”
Hunter was a handsome guy with loose sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, and a rugged jaw that belonged in a razor commercial. He had an athletic physique and possessed the ability to knock out Tiffany and stab his father multiple times.
"It's my understanding there was a little bit of tension between you two," I said.
His eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened. "Who’ve you been talking to?”
"People.”
"It's no secret my dad was a douchebag.”
"This is a nice boat," I said. "You buy it?"
Hunter scowled at me. "Just ‘cause he bought me shit doesn't make him a good guy.”
