Due to our car situation, we took the Wild Fury van to the apartment complex. I drove and pulled up to the valet. We hopped out, and I slipped a few bills into the kid’s pocket as he grabbed the door. "Keep it up front. We shouldn’t be long.”
Decked out with Cragar S/S rims, chrome exhaust pipes, and an engine that would put most muscle cars to shame, the van was slick. With a custom paint job and a bespoke grill like shark’s teeth, it was the kind of vehicle that drew attention. Great advertisement for the band and Jack's liquor brand. There was a method to his madness.
I flashed my badge at the glass doors, and the concierge buzzed us in. We stepped into the opulent lobby, and I asked the concierge if she had seen Sydney Hollister lately.
Her face scrunched up as she thought about it. "Not today.” Then she added, "Is she in some kind of trouble?”
I shrugged. "Just a routine check.”
I pressed the call button for the elevator, and we took it up to the fourth floor. JD and I ambled down the hallway, and I knocked on the door to unit #416.
There was no answer.
"Sydney," I shouted through the door. "Coconut County. Are you in there?” JD and I shared a look, then I tried the door. I twisted the handle and pushed it open.
It wasn't locked.
From the foyer, I had a straight shot to the balcony, which offered a view of the pool and the other wing of the complex.
"Sydney?” I called out again.
There was no response.
The open concept kitchen was off the foyer to the right. The L-shaped balcony wrapped around the living room. It extended to the bedroom.
JD and I drew our pistols and kept them in the low ready position as we advanced into the living room, clearing the area.
"Sydney? Coconut County. Here on a welfare check."
The blinds were partially open, and the Florida sunshine spilled in. Sleek, stylish furniture decorated the unit. Abstract modern art in beachy pastel tones hung on the walls. A large flatscreen TV stood on a stand.
JD and I moved across the living room, past a high-heeled shoe, to the closed bedroom door. We held up on either side, and I knocked. "Sydney?"
I twisted the handle and pushed open the door. JD and I swept our barrels across the room, clearing the corners.
The room was mostly tidy, but the bed was unmade. There were a few items of clothing strewn on the floor.
Jack cleared the closet, while I moved to the bathroom. I stepped inside and saw the problem right away. Sydney lay naked on the tile in the walk-in shower. Articles of clothing littered the tile nearby.
I moved to the frameless glass door, pulled it open, then knelt down beside the body and felt for a pulse.
Sydney was long gone.
A grim frown tightened my face.
She was an attractive woman in her mid-20s with sandy-blonde hair. Her blue eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Her toned figure was now pale, and her lips blue. The blood pooled at the low points where her body touched the tile. Bruising around her neck and petechial hemorrhaging told me how she died, and it wasn’t pretty. I didn't need the medical examiner to tell me that she’d been strangled.
A strong odor of bleach hit my nostrils.
Whoever did this tried to cover their tracks. I hoped there would be DNA evidence to recover, but I wasn't holding my breath.
In a grim voice, I shouted to JD, "I found her.”
I called the sheriff, gave him the bad news, and told him to send the forensic team and the medical examiner.
I snapped a few photos of the scene and gave a look around. She was probably strangled elsewhere in the apartment, then moved to the shower for evidence destruction. Her body was dry now, but it looked like it had been rinsed. Mascara stained her cheeks.
I moved out of the bathroom and into the living room. The way the complex was structured, it was easy to see into the apartment from the other wing. The blinds were mostly open, and there was a good chance we had a witness if the strangling had occurred in the living room or dining area.
