Page 16 of Wild Tempest

"You know it.”

After we filled out paperwork, we left the station and headed across the island to talk to the owner of Whistler Cay. Martin Harris was a real estate developer who had an office in One Ocean Plaza.

Jack pulled into the lot, found a place to park, and we strolled into the lobby. Plant boxes provided lush greenery. Florida sunshine spilled in through the atrium.

JD and I took the glass elevator up to the fourth floor and found Martin’s office. We stepped inside and smiled at the cute brunette behind the counter. With a flash of my badge, I said, "We need to talk to Mr. Harris.”

"Is there some kind of problem?” she asked, her eyes widening with concern.

"There was an incident on one of his properties."

"Right, the thing at Whistler Cay. I saw something about that on the news. Somebody went missing or something?” she said, trying to recall the details. Then she said aside, “They shouldn’t have been out there anyway.” She sighed. “Let me see if he's available.”

She picked up his phone and dialed an extension.

Martin answered a moment later, and she told him two deputies were here to see him.

"Thank you,” she replied. “I'll tell them.” She hung up the phone and smiled at me. "Go right on back," she said, gesturing to her right. "Last door on the right.”

I thanked her, then JD and I strolled down the hallway. We passed two empty offices, then arrived at Martin's corner office. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the sapphire swells and white sand beach.

Martin Harris was a handsome man in his mid-40s with short, wavy dark hair, brown eyes, and a healthy tan. He was no stranger to the sun. Dressed in a designer suit, he had an impeccable appearance.

The office was sleek and modern. An all-in-one computer sat atop a contemporary glass desk. Two couches offered a place for a casual meeting. Magazines rested on a glass coffee table, and a flatscreen display provided a view of properties and developments in Martin’s portfolio. A minibar came in handy for snacks and celebratory cocktails.

Martin stood up and greeted us with a handshake and a pearly smile. "Terrible what happened out at Whistler Cay,” he said with a sympathetic frown. "I'm hoping you can tell me more. There seems to be a lot of speculation on the news. I know kids go out there and try to conjure some type of demonic entity.” He laughed and shook his head. “Really, nothing I can do about that. The whole thing seems silly to me.”

“You don’t believe in the legend,” I said.

Martin scoffed. “No. I believe in what I can touch, see, and hear. Though I have come across more than my fair share of prospective buyers who shy away from that property because of its history. I don’t know if there’s any truth to it, but whatever happened there happened long ago. It’s got no bearing on anything today. At least, that’s the way I feel about it.”

"When was the last time you were on the island?" I asked.

Martin thought about it. "It's been a minute or two. I don't get out there too often. I was trying to put together a deal to build a small resort, but that fell through. We couldn’t get permit allocations. There were environmental impact studies. Turns out there’s some goddamn bird that lives on the island or some shit. Don’t get me started on the cost to insure a structure on that island. When I bought it, I thought it would be a quick flip. Five years later, I’m stuck with it.” He sighed. “Live and learn. My fault. I should have known better. I’ve got other things on my plate at the moment anyway. It’s for sale if you're interested,” he said with a hopeful smile.

I shook my head. “You’re not making it sound appealing.”

“Tell you the truth, it’s more of a liability than anything else. It’s been sitting so long, and everybody knows what hurdles development faces. I just want to get out from under it.” He wasn’t happy about it. "So, these kids who went missing… Do you think they're dead?”

I shared a look with Jack before answering. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, they would have turned up by now, wouldn’t they?”

I shrugged.

“Did you bring cadaver dogs out to the island?”

I nodded.

“What did you find?”

I hesitated. “Not the missing kids.”

“I don’t know anything about it, but I’m not holding out hope.”

"There's a high probability they met with an untimely demise, given the amount of blood we found.”

Martin frowned again. "Hate to hear it. You got any suspects?”