“That or he’s having an affair with someone. The phones meet at the Seahorse Shores on occasion.”
It was a seedy motel on the edge of town, notorious for illicit trysts, drug deals, and college kids looking for a place to party and a room to trash.
Isabella continued. "As far as the homicide at the Metropolis… The only cell phone that pings the tower from that apartment belongs to Sydney Hollister. There are too many other cell phones in the complex to make heads or tales out of anything. Before Sydney returned to the apartment, she was at her grandfather's house in Palm Haven.” Isabella gave me a list of recent calls and texts, which I already had. “I'll keep digging around."
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” I said before ending the call.
I didn’t really want to do it, but I ran background on Shane through the online portal. He’d gotten pinched in Miami on aburglary charge. Made off with a quarter million in cash from a nightclub safe. Took a plea deal and served 8 out of a 10-year sentence. Out early for good behavior.
All kinds of thoughts ran through my mind. Thoughts that I didn’t want to have.
Jack staggered out of his stateroom with bleary eyes and tousled hair, looking like he was feeling last night as well.
We dished up plates and chowed down on the sky deck as the amber rays of morning bathed the marina and sparkled the water. Boats swayed in their slips, and gulls hung on the breeze. It was a nice morning.
We stuffed our faces, crunched on bacon, sipped coffee, and kicked around theories about the cases. I filled him in on Shane’s background.
He frowned and shook his head. “Doesn’t surprise me. That guy always did straddle the line.”
“That’s a little more than straddling the line. That’s crossing well over.”
Jack read my mind. “You think he crossed over again?”
“I don’t want to think that. But it’s a helluva coincidence that he shows up and the Vault gets knocked off.”
12
“It’s a terrible tragedy,” Orson said when we caught up with him in his office. “I’m heartbroken to hear of it.”
He said it with all sincerity.
JD and I sat across the desk from him, trying not to look too doubtful.
Orson Reid was the CEO of ERI, LLC. Environmental Rejuvenation Initiative was the leading emergency response and toxic waste remediation company in the area. Sydney had exposed the company for dumping toxic waste in the ocean. Paying the $50,000 fine was cheaper than the required permits and proper disposal.
Orson was in his early 60s with silver hair, powder blue eyes, and a disarming, ever-present grin. Fit and trim, he kept himself in good shape.
His office overlooked the ocean. Pristine sapphire waves crashed against the shore in the distance. It was hard to imagine the guycould enjoy such a view and still dump thousands of gallons of waste offshore.
"I'm a little surprised to hear you say that," I said, "given the nature of your relationship."
Orson’s brow knitted with confusion. "I didn't have a relationship with Miss Hollister.”
I gave him a flat look.
"We had a difference of opinion. I have differences of opinions with people on a daily basis. Doesn't mean I wish them ill.”
"Her exposé cost your company a lot of money.”
"It did, but in the grand scheme of things," he shook his head. "Chump change. Certainly not enough for me to dwell on or revel in her demise. We’re talking about a human life, gentlemen," he said in a lofty tone, trying to sound sincere.
I tried not to show my disdain. "Where were you last night between 10:00PM and midnight?"
Orson chuckled. "You’re not really accusing me of murdering Sydney Hollister, are you?"
"No. I'm just asking where you were last night."
He sighed and gave me an annoyed look. "I was home with my wife, Claire. You can call her and verify, if you'd like."
