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“Nobody did, until streaming came along. He got fired. Our marriage was never the same afterward.”
A four-foot green iguana crawled out from the hibiscus bush, stopped on the pool deck, and stared at Jack. Imani jumped from her chair, and the reptile darted away.
“Welcome to Jurassic Park,” said Jack.
Imani smiled nervously, then checked her sports watch. “I have a full-body massage at nine a.m. Anything more we need to talk about?”
“I want your permission to talk to MDPD about the Tyler McCormick case.”
“Are you going to tell the police about the call you got?”
“No. If I tell them, they’ll start running down Shaky as a possible lead. Then the cat’s out of the bag. We want Shaky to be in a position where he’d rather drop his civil case than face questions from me or anyone else about Tyler McCormick.”
“So what’s the purpose of your meeting with MDPD?”
“Learn as much as I can. If this is a powder keg, I want to be prepared.”
“I guess the worst-case scenario is that Shaky knows something about the murder of Tyler McCormick. That’s his problem, not mine.”
“No,” said Jack. “The worst-case scenario is that he knows something, and so do you. That makes it your problem.”
“I see what you’re getting at. Is this why we’re having this conversation in person, just you, me, and the iguana?”
“Do I have your permission to talk to MDPD?” asked Jack. It was another way of asking if she knew something about the murder of Tyler McCormick.
She grabbed her water bottle, then looked her lawyer in the eye. “Yes. You have my full permission.”
Chapter 12
Detective Cruz’s name was no longer on the MDPD website, but Jack found him on Facebook, where all retirees went. Jack messaged him, and they agreed to meet at 10:30 a.m. at a Cuban coffee shop that, according to Cruz, served Doral’s best breakfast empanadas.
Doral was not only home to the famous Blue Monster golf course and a plethora of retirement communities, but it was also the main headquarters of the Miami-Dade Police Department. Cruz had arranged for Detective Wallace Green from the cold-case unit to join them. The three men found a booth near the window, with Jack sitting opposite the detectives.
Cruz broke his empanada in half and took a bite. “The investigation hit a dead end long before I sent it to the cold-case unit,” he said.
“Were there ever any suspects?”
It wasn’t the kind of question that Jack would have asked a detective in an active homicide investigation and expected an answer. But cold cases were different. Information flowed more freely after every possible avenue had been explored and investigators were hoping for any information that might solve an unsolved crime.
“None while I worked the case,” said Cruz. “I can’t speak for Wallace and what’s happened in the cold-case unit since I left.”
Green was younger than Cruz but looked older, the weight of too many unsolved crimes having taken its toll. He cleared his throat, then spoke. “Mr. Swyteck, you have to understand that MDPD has thousands of unsolved cases. Up until last year, I was one of two detectives assigned to the cold-case unit. Now I’m one of three.”
“I’m casting no aspersions here,” said Jack. “Just wondering if there were ever any suspects.”
“We solved fifty-nine cases last year,” he continued. “One of them was a homicide dated back to the 1980s. Unfortunately, we can’t provide answers for every family. So, no. We’ve identified no suspects in the Tyler McCormick homicide.”
Jack turned his attention back to the original detective on the case. “There must have been leads you followed, even if they never led to an actual suspect.”
Cruz started on his second empanada. “The cause of death was asphyxiation—a rope around the neck. The body was then moved and put on display in the bay. We had no motive for that kind of violence and apparent anger. No evidence of any threats against the victim. No enemies. We couldn’t find a single person who even mildly disliked him. Nothing added up.”
“Any possible connection to drug trafficking?” asked Jack.
“A narco-style execution was my first impression. But Mr. McCormick had absolutely no connection to that world.”
“So, what theories were you left with? A gang ritual? Maybe a cult of some sort?”
“We looked at both of those angles. More dead ends.”
