The King Tides

Chapter 39 Sistrunk

Broward County was a vast place, with two million inhabitants spread across 1,320 square miles and thirty vastly different communities. Of those neighborhoods, none was more dangerous than Sistrunk, in the central part of the county.

Sistrunk was a slum filled with crack dens, Section Eight housing, and badass drug dealers staking out their turf on every corner. Of the cops that Lancaster had worked with, he did not know a single one that would answer a distress call from there at night.

The address showing on the DMV site for Mates and Holloway was on NW Ninth Street in an area called Washington Park. Northwest Ninth was a four-lane road with residences taking up one side and a line of businesses on the other. The most prominent was a Fast Stop Food Store that also sold hard liquor and lottery tickets.

It was late morning when they grabbed coffee from McDonald’s and sipped it while sitting in the Fast Stop’s lot. They were both running on fumes and knew that a jolt of coffee would trick their bodies into staying alert for a few more hours. They had a clear view of their suspects’ residence, a one-story concrete-block house with iron bars on the windows and a fenced-in yard. It was a depressing place with equally depressing neighbors.

“This is a rat hole,” Daniels said. “Are you sure it’s the right address?”

“This is the place,” he said. “Let’s wait and see if anybody’s home.”

“Why would they live here? It’s dangerous.”

“It is dangerous,” he admitted. “But it also offers them protection. Team Adam did a study of abductors who held their victims for extended periods. This included Jaycee Dugard, Elizabeth Smart, and the three women held in a house in Cleveland — Michelle Knight, Amanda Berry, and Gina DeJesus. The study concluded that these women’s abductors had chosen to live in economically depressed communities because people who lived in those areas often have criminal records. Neighbors won’t call the police if they see suspicious activity because they don’t trust the police.”

“You’re saying the neighbors know something bad is going on inside the house, but don’t want to get involved.”

“That’s right. Jaycee Dugard was a good example. Her abductor kept her imprisoned in a tent behind his house for eighteen years. The neighbors on either side could clearly see Jaycee, and the two children she had by her abductor, but they never raised a stink or called the police.”

“Do you think Mates and Holloway’s neighbors know what they’re up to?”

“I’m sure they’ve had their suspicions. Mates and Holloway have been abducting and murdering young girls for over seven years. Someone must have heard something.”

“The FBI received the first photos from Houston and the second set from Atlanta. How do you explain that?”

“I think they did that to throw the FBI off the scent. They flew to Houston and Atlanta for a long weekend, killed the girls in a rented house, took photographs of them with their camera, and dropped the film off at a Walgreens to be developed. Miami is their home base.”

“That’s a lot of work, don’t you think?”

He turned in his seat and stared at her.

“It worked, didn’t it?” he said.

They finished their drinks in silence. Movement on the other side of the street caught his eye.

“Looks like we’ve got some activity,” he said.

A pair of binoculars lay in Daniels’s lap. She lifted them to her face and had a look. “I see a white male wearing cargo pants and a sleeveless T-shirt coming out the front door. He’s walking down the front path.”

“Is it Mates or Holloway?”

“It looks like Mates. Same haircut, but grayer. Looks like he still works out. He’s crossing the street. His destination appears to be the Fast Stop.”

Mates came into view. His arms were tight, and he had a weight lifter’s thick neck. They watched their suspect step onto the sidewalk and enter the grocery store. Daniels started to get out of the rental, but Lancaster stopped her.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I want to tail him, see what he’s doing.”

“What if he recognizes you? What are you going to say, that you came to Sistrunk on a vacation? Stay put.”

She was chomping at the bit to nail Mates and Holloway, and she reluctantly fell back in her seat. Several minutes passed as they waited. The silence was unbearable.

“You never explained how the Cassandra videos were created,” he said.

“We used the Reality Thief,” she said.

“Is that a person?”

“Yes, he’s a person, and my boyfriend. It’s a long story.”

He thought back to Daniels’s Facebook page and the shadowy figure of the man running beside her posted in her photo album. Had she met the love of her life while conducting her investigation? She deserved a reward considering what she’d been through, and he felt happy for her, even if he hardly knew her.

“You’ll have to share it with me one day,” he said.

“I’ll do that,” she said.

Five minutes later, Mates exited the grocery store carrying a brown paper bag overflowing with groceries. Sticking out of the top of the bag was a loaf of Cuban bread and what appeared to be a head of lettuce. Mates went to the curb, halted, and glanced suspiciously over his shoulder before crossing. Years of criminal behavior had instilled a sixth sense in him, as it did in many criminals. Mates sensed that he was being watched, and his eyes scanned the street and the lot but did not touch upon the rental.

Mates shrugged it off and crossed. He opened the gate to his property and walked up the brick path. As he reached the front door, it swung in, and a man with silver hair greeted him. They briefly spoke before Mates went inside and the door was shut.

Daniels watched through her binoculars, which she now lowered.

“That was Holloway,” she said. “He hasn’t changed.”

“They’re both home,” he said. “Is that usual? I would think they’d need to be at work.”

“They may be part-timers. Many senior agents do that before applying for full retirement. It sweetens their package.”

“They’re working cases when they’re not abducting girls and killing them. That’s really sick.”

Daniels pulled out her cell phone and started to make a call.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m calling my boss in DC to ask them to grant me permission to run a surveillance on the house,” she said. “We can’t just barge in there and search the place without probable cause. We need to build a case.”

“But what if they’re preparing to kill Ryean Bartell?” he said. “Waiting isn’t an option.”

“I have to follow the law, Jon. There’s no other choice.”

She made the call. Her boss was tied up in a meeting, so she left a message asking that he call her back immediately. Lancaster’s mind was racing, and as she ended the call he undid his seatbelt, opened his door, and started to get out.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Inside the grocery store. Care to join me?”

She caught up to him halfway across the lot.

“Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?” she asked.

“Did you see the bag of groceries Mates was carrying? There was a loaf of bread sticking out of the top and a head of lettuce. Like he was getting ready to cook a big meal. Isn’t that part of the ritual? To feed their victim a last meal before the lights get turned out? I want to see what else was in that bag.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“I’m hoping the owner will show us the receipt of what Mates purchased.”

“Will he do that?”

“He should. Many of the groceries around here run illegal numbers games. If we tell the owner you’re with the FBI, he should play along.”

“I’m the leverage.”

“Yes, you’re the leverage.”

An annoying buzzer rang as they stepped inside the store. There were aisles of canned goods and nonperishable items, while produce was kept in bins in the back. Behind glass counters were the meats and poultry and freshly caught fish. The husky Cuban manager working the register wore a white guayabera shirt with a big fat cigar sticking out of the pocket. He eyed them suspiciously as they approached the counter.

“Good morning,” Lancaster said. “My name’s Jon Lancaster and I’m a private investigator. This nice lady is Special Agent Daniels with the FBI.”

The manager stared at Daniels. Lancaster nudged her with his elbow.

“Show him your badge,” he said.

Daniels took out her wallet and flipped it open. A silver badge rested inside. She held the wallet in front of the manager’s face and let him have a look.

“What’s your name?” Lancaster asked.

“My name is Alejandro. My friends call me Alex,” the manager replied. “Is something wrong?”

“There was a man in here a few minutes ago,” he said. “We need to see the receipt from the items that he purchased.”

“You mean Don?” Alex said.

“Yes, Don. You know him?”

“He’s one of my best customers. What did he do?”

“Nothing. We just need to see a copy of the receipt. Can you print out one for us?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

In Lancaster’s experience, only people who broke the law asked to see warrants. He leaned over the counter and put on his best mean face. “Do you want trouble? We can give you trouble, and shut you down for running an illegal numbers operation. Or you can play along, and print the god damn receipt.”

“I don’t want trouble,” Alex said.

“Prove it.”

Alex quickly typed a command into the keyboard on his register. A receipt was spit out of the printer, and Alex tore it off and placed it on the counter. Lancaster and Daniels read it at the same time. Mates had purchased a loaf of bread, a head of lettuce, three New York strip steaks, mushrooms, Hungry Jack instant mashed potatoes, a quart of chocolate Breyers ice cream, a box of brownies, and a product called U by Kotex.

Lancaster pointed at the last item. “What’s this?”

Alex acted embarrassed. Instead of explaining, he came out from behind the counter and walked down an aisle. They both followed him. He stopped at a section that sold feminine hygiene products and pulled a box off the shelf and showed it to them.

“Here you go,” the manager said.

It was a box of tampons.