"Once or twice," he said with caution.
"To harass her.”
"No. Not to harass her.” He chose his words. “To express my displeasure at the situation. To let her know what has become of my life.”
I exchanged a look with Jack.
JD said, "Sounds like harassment to me."
"Sounds like free speech. Just because someone doesn't want to listen, doesn't mean I have to shut up.”
"You were mad, you accosted her at her apartment, you forced your way into her unit. Things got heated, you strangled her," I said, glaring at him.
He shook his head. "No. Absolutely not!"
We both continued to scowl at the twerp.
"I didn't do anything. I didn't kill Sydney, and you can't prove otherwise."
I always took it as a challenge when someone dared me to prove their guilt. "How about you give us a DNA sample and we can cross you off our list?”
Patrick scoffed. "Get lost. I'm not giving you shit.”
"You can make things a whole lot easier on yourself.”
"Giving you a DNA sample isn't going to do anything for me. I'll end up in some database somewhere. It will get sold to some mega-corporation. They'll use my DNA to come up with somedrug that will make millions, and I won't get a dime. Worse yet, they'll sell it to an insurance company. Then I'll get denied healthcare for some preexisting condition that I don’t even know I have.”
I couldn't disagree with his argument. "Look, I know you didn't give a rat’s ass about Sydney, but we sure would like to cross you off the list.”
"I said no. And that's my final answer. Good day, gentlemen.” Patrick ducked back into the salon.
"Not so fast," I said. "We need to do a routine compliance inspection.”
His head emerged again from the salon. A scowl twisted his face. "You want to search my boat? For what?"
I smiled. "Not a search. Just a routine compliance inspection."
Technically, we could board any boat on the water. We couldn't do an outright search, but it was an excuse to get eyes inside the boat. If we saw anything in plain view, it was fair game. But we couldn't compel his DNA without a warrant. Patrick had a motive, and the text message was damning. But it wasn’t enough.
We boarded the boat, much to his chagrin, and descended the companionway into the salon. Patrick fumbled for his registration and showed me all of the required safety items—fire extinguishers, flares, life vests, etc.
Everything was in order.
While Patrick was busy with me, Jack looked around the salon and found a water bottle in an open trash container. He snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves, fished it out, and dropped it intoan evidence bag. Trash was fair game, though in this context, Patrick might have a defense. But the odds were slim.
Once I confirmed everything was in order, I thanked Patrick for his time, and we left the boat.
Jack had been pretty sly about the whole thing and stuffed the evidence into a cargo pocket. I don't think Patrick noticed.
We hopped into the Porsche, drove back to the station, and logged the evidence. At this point, I wasn't even sure if Brenda had been able to recover DNA from the body. But I didn’t want to miss an opportunity.
Afterward, we set out to find Fletcher.
14
"Welcome to Coconut Capital Partners," a cute blonde receptionist said. She put on a cheery smile as we stepped to the front desk of the fourth-floor office.
I returned the smile and flashed my badge. "Looking for Fletcher Cahill."
