31
The sun dipped over the horizon, painting the sky in swaths of amber.
We pulled into the lot of the Bayshore Suites and found a place to park. Jack killed the engine, and we hopped out and joined Shane. He pointed to the red Camaro. "That's his car. He's here."
With my head on a swivel, we moved down the path that led to the bungalows. The trail was lined with lush foliage, creating a secluded oasis.
I took point, advancing with caution, my palm resting on the grip of my pistol in its holster. We reached cabana #6 and held up at the door.
The sound of the TV inside filtered down the foyer.
I shared a look with Jack, and he moved around the back of the bungalow to monitor the rear exit.
I whispered to Shane, "You stay back and stay out of this."
With a face full of rage, he tried to contain himself. Shane reluctantly nodded and took a step back.
"You're not armed, are you?"
He raised his hands innocently and spun around.
I knew damn good and well he had something in the car. Possession of a firearm would send him back to prison.
I knocked on the door. "Coconut County. Open up!"
There was no reply.
I banged on the door again. "Garrett! Open up!"
There was still no response.
JD hustled around the side of the building to rejoin us. With a somber look on his face, he said, "We've got a problem."
He motioned us to follow him, and we hurried around to the back patio of the bungalow. The sliding glass door was slightly ajar.
Beer cans, glasses, and a bag of weed littered the coffee table, along with a white powdery substance.
Garrett was slumped on the couch. His chest didn't rise and fall with respiration. By the pale color of his skin and lips, I'd say he was dead.Probable cause to enter the bungalow.
I slid open the door and stepped inside with my weapon drawn. JD followed, and we cleared the corners. It was an open concept space with a bar counter and a full kitchen. There were bedrooms on either side of the living room.
I advanced to Garrett, pulled a pair of nitrile gloves from a pocket, and snapped them on. I felt for a pulse in his neck.
His skin was cold to the touch, and his pulse long gone.
There were two glasses on the coffee table.
Red lipstick stained one of them.
The faint traces of perfume still lingered in the bungalow. I sniffed a deep inhale. "Smell that?"
Shane nodded.
"Don't touch anything," I said to Shane.
The glassine baggie of white powder on the coffee table was typical of heroin.
JD and I moved through the bungalow, securing the structure. We found an AR-15 and a 9mm in the bedroom.
