I smiled. "I've got bloody shoes that match bloody shoe prints. That might just be enough.”
JD and I pushed away from the table and ambled to the door. After a quick knock, a guard buzzed us out, and we stepped into the hallway.
Bobby yelled, "You can't lock me up. It's not fair!”
The door closed before he could finish his sentence.
Daniels joined us in the hallway. He’d watched the interview from the observation room. "Think he killed them?"
I shrugged.
"Figure out what the hell is going on, and fast, before someone else dies," he said before strolling down the hall.
We left the station and headed up to Oyster Avenue to get something to eat at Iguana Isle. It was a chill restaurant that served Tex-Mex with an island flavor. Iguanaritas, Conch Queso, Tequila-Lime Shrimp. Jack went with the steak burrito, and I ordered the lobster quesadillas. We stuffed our bellies and kicked around theories.
Paris Delaney buzzed my phone. “Hey, I’ve got someone you should talk to. He’s making some pretty crazy claims.”
“What kind of claims?”
“You’re gonna think it’s nuts.”
“At this point, nothing is too outrageous.”
“He agreed to speak to me on the condition of anonymity, but I think I can get him to talk to you. He wants to get this information to the public. He’s part of this eco group. In the past, they’ve taken action against fishermen, cruise ships, shipping vessels, that kind of thing.”
“By action, you mean vandalism,” I said.
“These people believe the message outweighs the means.”
“He wants some kind of immunity,” I guessed.
“Exactly.”
“If he gives me something useful, I’m willing to overlook past indiscretions. How credible is this guy?”
“Seems to know what he’s talking about. Said he was in contact with Andrew before he died. I’ll see if I can set something up. I’ll be in touch.”
I thanked her, ended the call, then filled in JD.
After we filled our bellies, we met the guys in the band at Red November. It was a trendy submarine-themed bar full of leggy beauties in tight cocktail dresses with high hemlines. Just as Teagan had said, they had a signature shark cocktail—the Great White Bite. Made of vodka, Everclear, and cranberry juice with a pinch of salt and a twist of lime, it would definitely knock you on your ass. The bartenders mixed them up all night long.
Plenty of people would be feeling the bite the next morning.
We mixed and mingled, chatting up the ladies. The guys in the band rounded up a small entourage, and we ended up back at theAvventurafor an after-party.
It was a little after 2:00 AM when Paris buzzed my phone again.
“You never stop, do you?” I said.
“Neither do you. Get it together. My source is willing to meet now at Flood.”
It was an exclusive after-hours private club that served liquor illegally until sunrise. You had to know the password to get in, and it was constantly changing. Fifty-dollar cover at the door, plus a bottle. The door guy handed out a stack of poker chips that essentially served as drink chips. No money changed hands for alcohol, technically. The bartenders worked on tips, pouring user-supplied liquor. Just a bunch of like-minded people hanging out, drinking after hours. Hard to bust.
Paris told me the password, and JD and I caught a rideshare up to the club.
Hopefully, theAvventurawould still be afloat by the time we returned. Never guaranteed with these guys aboard.
21
