“Same way that the girl left?” I said. “Undetected. Out of the sight from the cameras.”
“She’s got a point,” Scott said.
Tom grumbled something I couldn’t hear.
“Okay, let’s say I run with it,” I continued. “Would that mean that this woman has killed Cassandra too? And taken Emma?”
Tom shrugged. “I guess that’s what we’re looking at, right? She might be a victim too, and we just haven’t found her. I know it hurts to hear, but we still gotta consider the possibility.”
I exhaled. I knew he was right.
“We need to find this woman. And fast. Tom, how about you go down to the local bars and restaurants in the area and ask them if she was in there last night, and if she was with Bryan Henderson? Ask for any surveillance footage if they have cameras.
“And Scott, you go talk to Bryan Henderson’s colleagues and friends. Let’s get to know this guy and his relationship with this woman. Maybe they’ll know who she is. Even better maybe they’ll know where she is.”
TWENTY-SEVENBILLIE ANN
“Got it!”
It was the end of the afternoon that I received the message. We had grabbed coffee and a snack at Café Surfnista, which was located down the street from the police station and had just come back when I saw it.
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“I know who she is,” I said with a smile. “The woman on the footage. God, I love social media.”
“Okay, rewind for a second,” Scott said. “For those of us who aren’t as bright as you.”
“I posted the photo that I took of the girl with Bryan Henderson in our local Facebook groups and someone wrote to me privately that she was her neighbor. The neighbor is up in Boston now. She is a snowbird and only comes down here for three months during wintertime with her husband and dog, but the girl lives there full-time, she says. I got the address and everything. Her name is Ashley Wittman. And she has a prior. For stealing a car with her friend.”
Tom rose to his feet. “What are we waiting for?”
The condominium where Ashley Wittman lived was located with a view of the Banana River on the backside of our barrier island. It was where you could watch the gorgeous sunsets at night over the mainland, and where dolphins and manatees could be spotted in the water regularly. Every day the Dolphin Tours would go by, helping the tourists see those playful and alluring animals, while telling the town’s history.
As we drove toward her condo, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. Finally, we were getting somewhere in this case. The sun was setting, casting a pink and orange glow over the water, and the palm trees swayed gently in the warm breeze. I couldn’t help but feel a little envious of Ashley’s view. It was absolutely gorgeous.
When we arrived at the condo, we were met with a gate and a camera. We rang her door number on the intercom, but no one answered, so we tried a couple of others. Tom flashed his badge to whoever answered the camera phone, and we were buzzed in. We made our way inside the building. Ashley lived on the top floor, so we took the elevator up.
When we knocked on her door, there was no answer. I had gotten her phone number from her neighbor, and we tried calling, but her phone was off. We decided to wait for her to come back. We could see the sunset from the platform, and it was even more stunning from up there.
Still there was no Ashley Wittman.
Tom looked at the door, got impatient, then knocked again.
“Cocoa Beach police, open up.”
As he knocked harder the third time, the door slid open. It wasn’t locked. He gave me a look, lifting his eyebrows, then stepped inside the hallway.
“Ms. Wittman, this is Cocoa Beach police. We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding Bryan Henderson. May we come in?” he asked, keeping his voice firm but polite.
Still no answer. He shrugged. “I don’t think she is here. Let’s just go back… wait a second.”
There was alarm in his voice. He grew pale and his eyes widened as he looked at me. I stepped closer, hand lightly resting on the grip of my gun. Sweat sprang to the back of my neck.
“What? What do you see?”
He gave me a look of concern, then pointed and mouthed. “Blood.”
My heart rate skyrocketed. I took a step inside and stood next to him. He was right. On the wall by the door was a light switch with blood smeared all over it. Bloody fingers had been touching it, and the wall around it. It had happened recently. It looked fresh.
Tom quickly scanned the entrance while I examined the light switch and took pictures of it with my phone. There was no sign of a struggle in the condo, but the disarray of the furniture suggested a hurried exit. A basket by the entrance had been pushed to the floor, and keys, sunglasses, and phone charging cords were spread all over the tiles. There were bloody fingerprints on the walls and door handles. My heart sank at the thought of where this blood came from. There had been no blood on the body. Bryan had been strangled. So, was the blood Ashley’s? Had she been hurt somehow? Maybe while running away? But what was she running from? Why was she running? Because of what she had done? Or was it the killer?
I was leaning toward the latter. Yet I wasn’t taking any chances.
“Let’s split up and search the rest of the condo,” I said quietly to Tom, pulling out my gun. “Be careful.”
Tom nodded and headed toward the living room, while I moved toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The silence was deafening, the only sound was of our own footsteps on the marble tiles.
As I approached the first door on the left, I noticed it was slightly ajar. I pushed it open with my foot and stepped inside, keeping my gun ready. My heart was racing in my chest.
It was a small room with a queen-sized bed and a dresser. There was no one there, but the room was in disarray, with clothes strewn about and drawers pulled open. I walked toward the bed. I spotted a white T-shirt on the carpet and touched it with my foot. It had huge bloodstains on it. The T-shirt was a man’s, judging from the size of it, and my guess was it was most likely Bryan’s. Ashley had been wearing this when running from his place. As I moved inside of the bathroom, I noticed something else that made my heart throb.
It was more blood. Inside of the sink. Lots of it. On the porcelain sides, and on the soap dispenser. The towel hanging on the wall also had bloodstains on it.
Someone had washed blood off their hands recently.
“I’m calling it in,” I said and grabbed my phone. “We need the techs to get in here ASAP, so we can determine who this blood belongs to.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
