Isabella texted back.[Adam Boyd’s phone was off the grid this morning until a little after noon.]
"Why was your phone off the grid this morning?" I asked him.
He stammered. "I don't know. The battery died. What's the deal?”
"Where did you say you were this morning?"
"I told you. I was at my apartment, sleeping. I got pretty hammered last night. My alarm didn't go off, and I overslept.” Adam wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. But he finally put it together. "You think I had something to do with Cody's death?”
"I need to see your pistol. Where is it?”
"It's at my apartment. And no, you don't need to see it.”
"Do you know a woman named Evelyn Ellington?"
Adam’s brow knitted with confusion again. "No.”
"Are you sure about that?”
"Yeah, I'm positive," he said with frustration. "Look, I'm done talking to you. If you need to ask more questions, talk to my lawyer.”
He marched toward the bar and slipped behind it, then had a brief chat with his manager.
We didn’t have probable cause to bring him in. I wasn't convinced he had any involvement, but hedidhave motive, means, and opportunity.
We left Shrimptastic and walked back to the Porsche. JD and I discussed our thoughts about Adam, then hopped into the car and headed to find Dustin. He was the more likely target, but I wasn't ruling anything out at this point.
12
The Mango Place apartments was one of the few that would rent to people on the registry. No background checks.
All a prospective tenant needed was to come up with the first and last month’s rent and security deposit, and they could move in. It was a dingy, poured concrete building with a pitched roof and a few towering palm trees standing sentinel around the property. It wasn’t in a great part of town, on the edge of Jamaica Village.
We found Dustin in Unit #206.
"It's total bullshit," he said when I asked him about his conviction. He stood in the doorway of his apartment.
I looked at him with doubtful eyes.
"Bro, I was at a frat party. She told me she was 18. Shelooked18," he said, cupping his hands in front of his chest. "How was I supposed to know? What was she doing at a frat party anyway?” He shook his head in dismay. "It was totally consensual, but her parents wanted to press charges. Don't ask me how they foundout. Totally fucked my life, bro. Can't get a decent job. Nobody wants to hire somebody with that shit on their record. They all think you’re some type of pervert. I have to live in this shithole. Nobody else will rent to me.”
"Tell me about the incident at the mall."
Dustin slumped, and his eyes fell to the floor. He shook his head. "See what I'm talking about? That shit sticks with you. It haunts you forever.” A frustrated exhale escaped his mouth. “I didn't do shit. Then all of a sudden, this guy is accusing me of sick shit. I’m not into six-year-olds, dude. I must have had something in my pocket.”
We gave him a doubtful look.
"Don't look at me like that. I'm telling you. I didn't do anything. Now I got that guy threatening me.”
"Talk about the threats," I said.
"Well, he said he was gonna kill me. Everybody heard it. They had to hold him back at the mall.” He paused, looking for sympathy. “Look, if I had a daughter, I'd kill anybody who messed with her. I get it. But I swear to God, I didn’t do anything. I'm telling you the truth.” His eyes pleaded with us to believe him. "I already talked to the deputies and DCF. They found no wrongdoing. I still lost my job. Now I can’t pay rent. I’m going to get kicked out of this place. I’m totally fucked.”
"Can you think of anybody else who may have wanted to harm you?" I asked.
Dustin thought about it for a moment. "Well, I did bang this chick last week." He raised his hands innocently. "I didn't know she was married. Of course, she told her husband. I think she didit just to piss him off. Now that guy’s after my ass. He came by here, banging on the door the other day. Said he was going to kill me, too. I mean, right there, that's two guys that want me dead.”
"You happen to know his name?"
