She had changed her clothes into something more seductive. Instead of a conservative designer dress, she wore a slinky little cocktail dress with a low-cut V-neck and a high hemline. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was looking to have her own bit of fun.
She handed me a small USB drive. "That's got everything. Emails, all the genetic testing, tracking, failed and successful attempts, and all the accounting. Everything you need to put him in jail. Of course, I want immunity. Do we have a deal?"
"Count on it," I said with a handshake. I wasn't in the position to offer one, but I was sure I could get the prosecutor to agree.
She agreed to come to the station and make a statement. We logged the thumb drive into evidence and took a look at what we had.
Just as Claire had said, there was everything we needed to make a case. Personal emails between Mark and the team. Classified memos. Gene splicing protocols, test subject reports, you name it. Aqus was receiving $120 million a year in research grants from NSF, Noah, DARPA, the Navy, and more, all allocated for marine life tracking and reef restoration. That was all above-board money. But he was funneling most of that money through a holding company, Coconut Marine Research Capital Partners. It was an offshore firm that would then overbill Aqus for ships, submarines, equipment, and consulting. His holding company owned the house in Stingray Bay and the superyacht. Mark was enriching himself at public expense.
We filled out an application for a warrant and had one in no time. We assembled a tactical team and set out to bring the scumbag in.
At Sanpiper Point, we stormed the Chimera.
JD and I advanced up the port side deck. Mendoza and Robinson took the starboard side.
Mark lounged on the foredeck, wearing pale blue board shorts, soaking up the afternoon rays. Dark sunglasses shielded his eyes. Two lovely young beauties in skimpy bikinis kept him company. I had no doubt he’d ordered the companions in, probably from Charlotte Beaumont. She ran a high-end escort service. Mark struck me as the type of guy who needed constant attention.
Mark smiled, trying to look like he wasn’t shitting his pants. “What seems to be the problem, boys?”
Eager barrels stared him down.
“You’re under arrest for multiple violations. On the ground. Put your hands behind your head.”
He glanced at his companions, who looked on with wide eyes. They didn’t want any part of this.
Outnumbered and outgunned, Mark complied. He ate the deck, and Jack slapped the cuffs around his wrists.
We yanked him to his feet and escorted him toward the stern.
"What are we supposed to do?" one of the girls asked.
I shrugged. "Enjoy the boat.”
Mendoza transferred Mark ashore, escorted him down the dock, and stuck him in the back of the patrol car.
JD and I searched the boat with Robinson. We looked through every nook and cranny, every compartment, every drawer.
We found nothing.
No bloody knife. No bloody shoes. Nothing to connect him to either Andrew’s or Tess's murder.
JD and I returned to Stingray Bay, executed a search warrant of the mansion.
Claire was in full compliance.
We searched the house, but found nothing incriminating.
Mark was smart enough to cover his tracks and ditch the evidence. I’m sure the knife he used and any clothing he wore were at the bottom of the ocean.
But there was something he overlooked.
57
Dietrich snapped photos of the blood smear by the push-button start in Mark’s convertible.
It was small. Easy to overlook.
Forensic investigators took samples and logged the evidence. It would take a few days to come back from the lab, but I was optimistic.
