Page 8 of Wild Sentinel
Jack muttered sarcastically, “Well, that’s a little odd, don’t you think?”
“Just a little.”
We talked to the rest of the cast, and they all had pretty much the same thing to say. Hunter wasn't the only one to suggest that Melissa was having an affair with Jonathan, but nobody could provide definitive proof or had seen them engage in inappropriate behavior. It was just a feeling everyone had.
We spoke with the passengers and crew of the Mystic Voyager and collected names and contact information. Nobody had seen anyone suspicious enter the actors’ dressing room. I asked specifically if anyone had seen Nate enter the compartment.
Despite an extensive search, we never found the murder weapon. It would have been easy for Ben to toss it overboard before we got there. If he did drop it onto the deck after he shot Jonathan, someone could have picked it up and absconded with it. Or thrown it overboard. There were endless possibilities.
I didn't know what to think, but there was something odd about this one.
I didn’t know just how odd it would get.
Paris Delaney and her crew confronted us on the aft deck. She asked her usual barrage of questions. I declined to comment and instead made a call for anyone with information to contact the sheriff's office. Often, witnesses clam up in the moment. They don't want to say anything. They don't want to rock the boat. They don't want to draw the ire of the killer. But sometimes their conscience weighs on them, and they come forward a few days later.
I wasn't holding my breath.
We boarded the sheriff's patrol boat and headed back to Coconut Key. Benjamin was processed, printed, and put into an interrogation room. We filled out after-action reports in the conference room, then paid him another visit.
He told the same story.
I was a little surprised he didn't ask for a lawyer. He still seemed pretty torn up about it. Hard to say if that was because he was looking at jail time, or if he had genuine remorse. Maybe he was an innocent pawn.
I got the impression Benjamin didn't have two nickels to rub together. He might not be able to bond his way out if indicted.
We left the station and set out to find Jonathan’s wife, Chelsea.
I called Isabella, my handler at Cobra Company. I asked her to pull Benjamin's cell history along with Jonathan's, Melissa's, and Nate’s. Isabella had access to all kinds of intelligence resources, but it wasn't always legal.
I gave her the scoop, and she said she'd get back with me as soon as she had time to look into it. She had plenty of her own issues to deal with.
"Think Ben shot him on purpose?" JD asked.
I frowned and dismissed the notion with a headshake. "You think he’s that dumb?”
Jack shrugged.
Benjamin didn’t strike me as the sharpest tool in the shed. Still, even if he intended to kill Jonathan and pass it off as an accident, he had to know he’d be looking at a manslaughter charge at the least. That could earn him 15 years in prison and a $10,000 fine.
“Where's the gun?” I asked.
"Maybe he panicked and threw it overboard."
I shrugged. “Maybe Nate grabbed it during the aftermath and tossed it over.”
Daniels had sent a patrol unit to make the death notification. I was glad somebody else had broken the news. It was the worst part of the job.
Jonathan Edwards had lived with his wife in the Platinum Dunes. He'd clearly done well for himself. The upscale neighborhood was full of cookie-cutter mansions with perfectly manicured hedgerows and landscaping. Palm trees swayed overhead in the gentle breeze.
Jack pulled to the curb in front of the house. The lights were on. We hopped out of the 1979 Porsche 911 SC in light blue metallic and ambled up the walkway. We passed a silver Lexus SUV and a black Mercedes AMG 63.
I rang the buzzer at the courtyard gate.
Chelsea’s voice crackled through the speaker a moment later. "Can I help you?"
I flashed my badge to the lens. "Deputies Wild and Donovan with Coconut County. I know this is a difficult time, but we need to ask you a few questions.”
In a shaky voice, she said, "Sure."
