Page 1 of Wild Sentinel

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These folks had paid a lot of money for dinner. They were going to eat before it got cold, despite the fact that there was a dead body lying on the deck.

We carved through the inky swells in the sheriff’s Defender-class patrol boat. The sun had dipped over the horizon, and the faint traces of color still lingered in the sky. Lavender, gray, and midnight blue.

We approached the Mystic Voyage at a blistering pace. With the sheriff’s boat on plane, the engines howled, spitting a frothy wake. Salty air swirled.

The medical examiner and her crew accompanied us, along with the forensic team and the crime scene photographer.

The triple-deck motorized catamaran was a sight to behold. A new boat, it was built to have that vintage vibe. Lots of wood trim and elegant workmanship, even though it had a fiberglass hull. It was the ultimate booze cruiser/party boat. It had 50 staterooms, each with a balcony. There was a large main dining hall, a full bar, and a sky deck with a small pool. With luxurious old-world appointments, it was like stepping back in time to a simpler era.

We tied up at the swim platform and climbed molded-in steps to the aft deck. Joshua, the cruise director, greeted us with a terrified face. I'm sure he was worried about his job. The owner of the boat was worried about a lawsuit.

Joshua was a narrow guy in his early 40s with wavy dark hair, a mustache, brown eyes, and a slim face. With a white tuxedo jacket, black tie, and black pants, he escorted us into the main dining salon. The dark-stained mahogany paneling and pillars with intricate detailing gave it a cozy feel. A massive mahogany bar at the forward end of the salon kept passengers well lubricated. Tables draped with crisp linen and sparkling glassware stood atop a deep red carpet with gold accents. Fancy chandeliers cast a warm glow over the passengers.

Forks clinked against plates, and the murmur of chatter filled the room. The passengers went about their evening, business as usual, albeit with a slight interruption.

We followed Joshua, weaving through the tables to the scene of the crime.

Waitstaff looked on in horror as they continued to serve the passengers, making sure to avoid the body.

There was a time when people would have freaked out, cleared the room, and congregated in other parts of the ship. Now, things like this were so commonplace, and people so desensitized, it was just a normal day. People took pictures, captured cell phone footage, and posted the gruesome pics to social media.

I had to admit, the food did smell good.

A handsome man in his late 40s with wavy dark hair, blue eyes, and a trimmed beard lay on the deck, forward of the tables, before the bar. His blank, lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling. A gunshot wound to the chest stained his white dress shirt and speckled his black jacket. It was hard to tell from his current position, but he looked about 6’1” with an athletic frame.

Another gentleman sat not far away, sobbing with his head in his hands. In his mid-30s, he had long, shaggy dark hair and a mustache. He was a bit thick around the midsection, and his hairline was starting to recede.

Dietrich snapped photos of the victim, and Brenda pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves.

“Somebody want to tell me what the hell happened here?” the sheriff said.

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"We're still trying to figure that out," Joshua said. “Every night during the show, Ben comes out and shoots Jonathan." Then he added, "With fake bullets, of course." He made a dire face. "Tonight, there were real bullets in the gun. We are not sure how that happened."

The sheriff frowned.

A hundred witnesses had seen the crime, but I didn't think this would be open and shut.

Brenda went to work examining the body after Dietrich finished taking photos.

JD and I went with the sheriff to talk to Ben Rogers. He still had his head in his hands as we stepped to him. He finally looked up at us, and we made introductions.

"Tell me exactly what happened," I said.

Flustered, he replied, "I don't know. I don't understand. I didn't even think the gun could fire real bullets." His pale skin was covered in sweat.

"Where's the gun now?" I asked.

Ben’s frantic eyes glanced around. "I don't know. It's all kind of a blur. The gun went off. It was louder than usual. I didn't know what had happened at first.” He trembled. “Then there was blood. So much blood,” he cried. “Usually, Jonathan just falls to the ground. But… I thought maybe… I thought they rigged up a squib or some kind of special effect. I figured they added it to the show, but nobody told me. Then I realized he was dead. I don't really remember anything after that. I think I dropped the gun.”

We looked around, but didn't see it. It wasn’t on the deck. It wasn't on the table near Benjamin.

"So, you don’t remember anything after you shot Jonathan until now?” I asked.

Ben shrugged. "I was feeling weak and dizzy. I had a hard time processing what was happening. I thought I was going to puke. The next thing I knew, I was sitting here. It was almost like an out-of-body experience.”