Her speech picked up speed. Court’s head spun with the information she was doling out. “Hold on,” he said, lifting both palms up to stem the flow of information. “If they rebooted the system, wiped it, how do you know what happened before the reboot?”
“There was a backup on Hunter’s computer. They rebooted the card-key reader and the logs, but they didn’t delete everything off her system.” She waved her hand in the air as if she were brushing away a pesky fly. “There’s a second key issued under Hunter’s name. I was able to figure out which entries were made by the original key and this second key. All the new-pattern entries, and the late-night entries were made by the second key. I highlighted them in yellow.”
Court let this sink in for a minute. “But there’s no way of telling who actually has this key, right? It could be Hunter, or it could be someone else? When was the second key made?”
“There’s the kicker. There is no record of it even being issued. I’d say it probably happened after the reboot.” Ashena held up both hands in excitement. “And, more importantly, the four-thirty swipe on Wednesday was made with the second key.”
“And when did Drummond enter?” Court asked.
“Turns out, he was ‘Rosie’, and he swiped in at six-fifty-five.”
If Hunter was on the Eastside by 4:30 on Wednesday, then someone using the second key issued in Hunter’s name had been there for almost two hours before Drummond showed up. There were dozens of yellow lines going back six weeks at various hours of the day and night. Whoever had the second key had been doing some serious reconnaissance.
Court rubbed at his eyes. He was going to have to chart this out. “Okay, let’s say someone figured out where Drummond was going every Wednesday night. They stalk him for a while, then figure out how to get a card key into the domme’s studio. They watch and wait for their opportunity?”
Ivy took the log from Court and examined it closely, as if by closing the distance she might get more information from it. “Maybe. But why? We need to figure out who would’ve wanted him dead.”
“You think the reboot eight weeks ago has anything to do with the killing?” he asked. “Could it be coincidence?”
“Hard to tell. There was a reboot of the system, All I can tell you is everything was wiped during the re-boot and a second key appears under the owner’s name along with all the new card-keys, but there is no trace of it being made on the system.
Court added Haubek to the to-call list. At the very least, someone there would be able to explain the technical aspects of the reboot and how keys are issued. They were seeing Hunter back at the scene later in the day as well. Maybe she could enlighten them.
Court turned back to Ashena. “What about her computer? Any emails? Any useful documents?”
Ashena tapped the computer they’d taken from Hunter’s office. “As far as I can tell, the only thing she used it for is the card-key log—which appears to be something she ignored completely—and an occasional web search. She might have another computer at home, but she didn’t have any email accounts on the system at all.” She reached around and picked up an iPad in a plastic evidence bag. “This … this is what she used for her business and email. It’s linked to her iPhone, so her texts are still coming across the device. Today, she’s been canceling appointments across the board. Did she have a clue what she was signing over when giving you permission to look at this?”
Court had asked Hunter to sign a release that had been intentionally vague, but gave them access to everything Ashena had been working on. Her attorney was either tired or unaware that Hunter’s iPad had been left in the office, and she had approved Hunter’s signing the release for them to search “all electronic equipment, computers, and the like.” Court went to reach for it, eager to see what was on it.
Ashena pulled it away from him, holding it up over and behind her head and out of his reach, her other hand coming up with an accusative index finger to tap his chest. “I think this means I’m done owing you, Detective.”
Court eyed the tablet. She’d been at his beck and call for a couple of months now. It was time to call things even. “Sure, Ashena. Now, spill it.”
“All right, Mr. Antsy Pants.” She put the iPad back down on her desk. “I printed you a transcript of her text conversation with Berkeley Drummond going back a month. It’s as racy and hot as any erotica I’ve ever read.”
“You read a lot of that stuff, Ashena?” Court asked.
She laughed. “Me? Nu-uh. But I have to say, this is certainly interesting.”
Court skimmed the texts, feeling voyeuristic, and quickly found himself wishing he hadn’t seen most of it. Their interaction had a playful, friendly intimacy combined with a fiercely direct sexuality. Hunter gave Dummond directions, and he responded. At least there were no naked photos of either of them. Several times, Drummond was directed to do specific sexual acts with his wife. Court wondered if the Widow Drummond knew her husband was coming to her bed at the behest of his dominatrix.
Reading these intimate texts felt intrusive. Even though he’d already seen the man naked, dead and in a vulnerable position, the platitudes and promises of the texts were more personal. He skipped to the last entries, wishing he’d started there instead.
Hunter had sent Drummond only two texts on Wednesday, the first at 4:30 telling him she was going to be “a little late.’ She told him he should get into his harness and wait on his knees until she got there. The second, at 6:45 p.m., was an apology as she cancelled entirely. Drummond had only responded to the first, saying he would wait for her as told. The second message was left unanswered.
“His phone was off from about six thirty onward. He never got the message she was canceling,” Ashena said.
“You were able to get past his phone pass code?” Court asked.
“As weird as this sounds, Drummond didn’t have a lock on his phone.”
Court handed Ivy the package of papers to give her free rein with it as he digested this last bit of information. Why someone of Drummond’s status wouldn’t have a security code on his phone was beyond him. “Well, since you had access to his phone, did you find anything pointing us to someone in particular? Any chance someone texted him with a threat or anything?”
“That would make your day a lot easier, wouldn’t it? But, no. And, oddly, he didn’t have much email on his phone. Everything on there is new and unread, so I’m thinking he read and deleted as he went.”
“Anything else on Hunter’s phone? In her email? Anything useful?” Court asked.
“Like her client list?”
“Well, yes, actually,” Court said. “Are you saying you have a client list?
“Sort of. She used codenames for all her clients, so I have to do a back-trace on the phones. I had barely started when you walked up.”
Court checked his watch. They had to get a move on if they were going to make it out to the Drummond household. “Okay. Anything else in her texts or email?”
“Skimmed a few. Most of the rest of her texts and emails are pretty much about appointment times and requests. Surprising what some of these guys were into. I haven’t had time to do more than skim her active mail folder—there’s a shitload of it. There are several hundred emails in a folder called When Hell Freezes Over. I read through a couple, and they’re mostly creepy fan letters or desperate guys begging her to be their mistress, promising undying and everlasting devotion.”
Court liked the way Ashena’s voice parodied a gospel-preacher cadence.
Ashena reverted to her regular soft and melodious voice. “She has a bunch of rules set on her email so messages with key phrases in the subject line go directly to the hell folder. She never even opened or read any of them.”
“Can you get us a print-out of all her emails?”
Ashena’s eyes dropped to half mast, her head lolling toward her shoulder. “Seriously? You want me to kill a tree on this?”
Court admired Ashena’s ethics, but reading a few hundred pages of emails on the sc
reen was too much. It would kill his eyes. “Two, if you have to.” Ashena would print them all, put them in some sort of order in a three-ring binder, and use up a whole package of those little sticky tab things.
She slumped backward into her chair. “We are so even, Pearson. So even.”
10
Their business with Ashena done for the time being, Court and Ivy made their way to the motor pool. The guy in the booth set his paperback open and face down when they approached, and pointed to the row of available cars. Ivy picked the Ford Taurus, grabbing the keys before he had a chance to. She held them up with a smug grin. “I’ll drive.”
“Works for me. I’m happy to navigate.”
She looked him over from head to toe. “Figures.”
Court was used to the whole body sweep but, what, exactly, was her ‘figures’ thing about? Was it some sort of passive-aggressive bullshit?
“What figures?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him as she pointed the keys at the car and the tail-lights flashed, signaling it was unlocked. “Nothing. Just get in the car.” She yanked her door open and flung herself into her seat.
Court paused at the passenger door, and shrugged away the feeling of being jerked around before climbing in. A little consistency from her would be nice. Court settled in and typed the address into his map as Ivy adjusted all the mirrors.
“The house is in Medina. Do you think it’s even on the GPS? Or will it be all fuzzy like a secret air base?”
She rolled her eyes with a half-smile. Did she have a sense of humor after all?
“I know Medina pretty well. What’s the address?” Court held out his phone so she could see the routes already plotted out on his map. She sucked in a quick breath of air. “Oh. I can get us there without help.”
“Awesome, I can sit back and enjoy the view.”
Ivy eased out of the parking space. “Why would Drummond even be coming over to Seattle to see Hunter, anyway? A guy with his money should be able to pay for someone to come to him, or put up someone closer to home.”
And now, she was suddenly all talkative. It was time to track her responses. If she continued being short with him on every personal point, he’d have to talk to her about the attitude directly. He picked a neutral, teaching tone. “Think about it. You’re super rich, and your face is well known. Better to hang out and do your dirty stuff away from home.”
Ivy almost hit a scruffy old guy with a worn back-pack and tattered clothing as they pulled out of the parking garage. She held up a hand in vague apology as he stared at her the whole time he crossed the driveway. Court was pretty sure he slowed down on purpose and added a slight drag to his left leg for effect.
“A man like Drummond should be able to get whatever he wanted ordered in,” she said as she pulled out onto the street.
Traffic was light, and it only took a couple of minutes to get from the garage and onto the freeway heading north. Court toyed with the glove compartment. Bits of garbage from someone’s surveillance tumbled out. He picked up the pieces and crammed them back inside. How hard is it to take your trash with you when you leave? He wiped his hands against his pants.
“Hard to order in what she offers. Think about the hook in the ceiling. It’s not like you can casually toss a rope around a light fixture and hope it holds the weight. Besides, she had, what, sixteen clients? A single location makes sense.” Court grabbed the handle above his head as Ivy swerved around a slower vehicle. Her eyes were fixed on the road, completely focused. “Christ, Langston, we’re not on a racetrack.”
“I’m under the speed limit.” She rolled her shoulders back into her seat, loosened her grip a bit. “I suppose it makes sense for him to go to her with all the hardware and toys involved. Still, it seems like he could have set up something more private.”
“Nah. I think she’s totally in charge. She set up her business and didn’t want to travel to her customers. They came to her.”
Ivy kept her eyes on the road, but waggled her head from side to side like a bobble-head doll as she weighed the idea. “Okay, okay. I can buy that.”
They slowed to a near standstill as they hit the middle of the bridge. It was the northernmost of two floating bridges connecting Seattle and the Eastside over Lake Washington. Court checked to see if the mountain was out—a phrase locals used as an overall descriptor for the weather as well as their passion for Mount Rainier, the most prominent feature around. After a few seasons of living in Seattle, he’d learned how deceptive the clouds made the landscape. Months could go by when the rain and low-lying clouds completely hid Rainier—a fourteen-thousand-foot glacier-covered volcano sticking up out of nowhere. When the weather cleared, and you could see the mountain, it was like a goddess appearing to the world, its foothills her arms spread out for an embrace.
The mountain top glistened sparkly white against the cloudless blue sky, the single biggest feature in the landscape even though it was eighty miles away. He turned back to Ivy, a smile on his face. “I love the view of Rainier with the water in front of it like this.”
Ivy kept her eyes on the road as the traffic regained speed. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”
Court wondered if growing up in the area made locals immune to the view. He didn’t think he’d ever get bored with it. “Mrs. Drummond seemed pretty composed last night.”
Ivy nodded. “People like her go through public-image training, don’t they? I mean, she’s the face on this huge charitable foundation. She’s had lots of practice staying calm in front of people.”
And people acted weird around death. “Hard to know what to think. One time, we had this case where the wife looked at her dead husband and didn’t move for a long time. It was probably only ten seconds, but it seemed way longer. Then, she laughed. Loud, body shaking laughter. It was kinda freaky.”
“Did she kill him?”
“No. He had been killed in an accident at work. Later, she was mortified by her response. She was in shock or something. Point is, people put a lot of stock in how someone reacts when they look at a dead loved one. It’s not necessarily cut-and-dried.”
“What you’re saying is Audrey Drummond might have been calm on the outside but a mess internally.”
“Exactly. I want to get beyond her public facade.”
“In other words, you want to take lead on this.”
“Yes.”
She stayed focused on the road ahead, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the wheel. “Look, I get we’re supposed to get them talking. Get them to trip themselves up by filling in holes in their story as they make things up. I can do this, too. It’s not like I haven’t been a cop for twenty years.”
“It’s your first case.”
“My first death investigation. In Homicide. It’s not like I haven’t been a cop for twenty years.”
Court cracked the window for some fresh air. Beat cops spent most of their time talking to people, interviewing witnesses. Maybe by giving on this, she’d be a little less prickly around him. “Fine. Tell you what. Let me start. It might be she clicks with women more than men. If I’m not getting anywhere, I’ll find a way to hand it over to you. Wait for my lead, okay?”
She weaved in and out between half a dozen cars and took the first exit after the bridge. “Fine.”
How was it that no one had ever mentioned Ivy drove like a maniac? True, he had taken to coming and going to work with minimum outside interaction with other cops. He hung with a couple of people after Krav on Saturdays, but they were beat cops and all a lot younger. He pointedly ignored the gossip rampaging its way through the department, especially since he was the focus of a lot of it. It could very well be he was not in the loop. Maybe no one else cared she was a danger on wheels. Maybe no one else let her drive.
The first exit off the freeway landed them at the north end of Medina, a little city comprising mostly big homes owned by rich Microsofties and other techies. He was impressed by Ivy’s ability to navigate the area without aid.
He would be lost without GPS.
The streets dwindled from four lanes down to two. They turned onto a winding downhill street barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other. The houses were an interesting mix of old and new, each hidden to some degree by varying levels of shrubbery. They were oriented to take advantage of the spectacular views of Lake Washington. The sunset view from the western decks must be mesmerizing.
Ivy slowed to a stop and peered up the hill toward an older house. Mature arboretum-quality plantings filled the terraces in a profusion of early fall color. The architect must have visited Tomorrowland when designing the house, in which every curve and line of the structure echoed Disney’s imagined future.
“Is this it?” he asked. He expected the Drummonds to live in a modern marvel closer to the lake, not a spaceship embedded into the hill.
Ivy eased the car forward a little bit, slowing for a better view of the virtual time-capsule. “No. They’re closer to the lake. My grandparents built this place in 1960 as a weekend house, then moved here permanently after the bridge was built.”
Her face softened a little bit, and Court got a glimpse of the Ivy other cops talked about—the Ivy Langston that was a good and easygoing partner.
“They sold it for a fortune ten years ago.” She sounded bitter. “My husband and I wanted to buy it. Keep it in the family. But we didn’t have the money. You know what the pay grade is like, and he doesn’t make much more than me.”
Court hadn’t realized Ivy’s family had been in the area for so long. Something in common, then, except he had moved away from his family. “The only reason I have the place I do is that my dad sold the house my great-grandparents built in the twenties,” he said. “He didn’t have the heart to stay in it after my mom died last year, and he split the proceeds between us kids. We were on the edge of Chinatown. Almost a hundred years old. The developer bought up the block and tore everything down to put in apartments.”
Ivy took her foot off the brake, letting the car get up to speed on its own as they went further downhill. She kept her eyes on the house until it was out of sight. “I get why they sold it, but I wish it could have stayed in the family.”
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