Again, Decker went quiet. When he spoke, his voice was hushed.
“And no one else has made this connection?”
“I don’t think anyone else has had reason to look, Captain,” Ryan answered. “The killings took place in different divisions, several months apart. And because of the van crash, details on the first one were delayed. There was no reason for urgency at the time. I only made the link because I’ve been poring over this stuff for weeks, looking for any cases that fit our profile.”
“But by tomorrow, that will change,” Decker noted. “The detectives on the original case involving this Hartung kid will review the report and they’ll put it in the system. The detectives handling Jenavieve Holt’s murder—if they’re halfway decent cops—will find it. They’ll claim ownership.”
“Possibly, Captain,” Ryan said, squirming slightly at Decker’s fixation on who knew, “but I have a bigger concern. If this is a serial killer, he’s probably keeping abreast of developments. He surely knows about the coroner van crash. I suspect he’s unhappy that his first murder didn’t get the recognition he thought it deserved. He knows that as far as LAPD is concerned, there’s only been one X-Acto murder. I’m worried that he’s planning another one, so there’s no confusion anymore.”
Decker nodded, lost in thought, unconsciously straightening his already-straight tie. Eventually he fixed his gaze back on Ryan.
“That’s why you need to take over the case today, before there’s a pissing contest over jurisdiction. A suspected serial killer falls under the HSS mandate. It’s ours.”
“Yes, Captain,” Ryan said, trying to think of a diplomatic way to make his next point. “But maybe we can wait until later in the day to stake our claim. I’d like a little more time to get my ducks in a row if there’s going to be sniping. I want everything airtight when I submit to take over the case. Until then, I think we should keep things under wraps.”
He didn’t mention that he feared that Decker might go straight to the folks at headquarters, trumpeting HSS’s triumphant return before Ryan had a chance to get the ball rolling. Hyping an HSS investigation and then not being able to solve it might do more harm than not having a case at all.
“That’s fine,” Decker said, “especially since you’re desk-bound. With this hostage thing, I don’t have the resources right now for you to send officers into the field to follow up leads.”
“That’s okay, Captain,” Ryan said. “I think we’re more in research mode right now anyway. Maybe I can connect with Jamil Winslow and we can see if we can’t make some progress here.”
Decker’s eyes lit up, but Ryan could tell it wasn’t because of what he’d said.
“You do that for now,” he said approvingly. “Winslow hates taking days off anyway. He’ll be excited to come in on a Sunday. But I just remembered something else. Trembley returns from vacation today. Call him in. he’ll be well-rested. He can be your man in the field, pursuing whatever leads you dig up.”
Alan Trembley was another detective in HSS. Young and eager, he was a guy Ryan was confident would be happy to take point, even if meant cutting his last day of vacation short.
“Yes, sir,” Ryan said. “I guess I better get going then.”
“Yes, you better. And remember, we’re officially pulling rank on this thing no later than this afternoon, got it?”
Ryan nodded as he carefully extricated himself from the chair. He shuffled slowly out of the office, trying to hide his concern. He was happy to have his boss’s full support but he worried about him too.
Roy Decker was his mentor, the man who had believed in him and promoted him through the ranks. But the captain’s intense need to save HSS was starting to border on desperation. His tunnel vision seemed to be blinding him to the political risks of getting this wrong.
He was pushing so hard that he was risking alienating not just other station captains and division commanders, but the higher-ups at headquarters too. If he hyped this case too much and it didn’t pan out, he wasn’t just putting the unit at risk. He was endangering his own career.
As Ryan went to his office to call Jamil, the station’s brilliant young researcher, he wondered if bringing this case to Decker so early was a mistake. Even if it was, it was too late now. He was committed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
No amount of coffee helped.
Jessie had gotten used to the more leisurely academic lifestyle over the last six months, and staying up for over twenty-four straight hours was taking its toll. She sat listlessly in the lobby, listening to Barksdale call all the guests from last night and asking them to assemble in the bar. As she waited with Peters and Deputy Heck for them all to arrive, she sipped at her third cup in the last hour.
Despite the caffeine hit, her eyes simultaneously stung and drooped. The inside of her mouth was coated in some kind of filmy substance that no amount of mouthwash from the hotel pantry could remove. And her ability to marvel at the beauty of her surroundings had clearly been compromised.
Now that the sun had risen, she could see the hotel and its surroundings. In her head, she knew that the elaborate rose garden out back was gorgeous, despite Theo Aldridge’s unwanted addition to it. The light streaming in through the shutter slits from the east made the lobby floor appear to glow. The perfectly manicured golf course, only steps away from the back of the hotel, stretched off into the distance toward a series of rolling hills. The ocean was now visible, with gentle waves dying softly as they collapsed where the bay met the seawall.
Intellectually she admired all of it. But she was too tired to really appreciate any of it. Peters and Heck didn’t look much better. Barksdale approached them, looking annoyingly fresh. Apparently the years of being a night manager were paying off now.
“I think everyone is here,” he said. “I’ve been checking them off as they entered the bar.”
“Thanks, Vin,” she replied, easing from her chair and shuffling to the center of the bar so she wouldn’t have to yell.
She was about to speak when her phone buzzed. She looked at the text and sighed involuntarily.
“What is it?” Peters asked.
She showed it to him. It was message from the desk sergeant at LAPD’s Central Station that read: West L.A had squad car pass by Aldridge home three times in last two hours. No indication of any unusual activity.
“I guess Ariana Aldridge isn’t planning to make a quick getaway to Brazil after all,” she muttered.
“You weren’t really pinning your hopes on that, were you?”
She shrugged. Of course she wasn’t. But if that lead had panned out, she could have avoided the unpleasant announcement facing her now. Shaking off the disappointment, she looked out at the irritated crowd before her. It was essentially the same twenty people from the ballroom last night. Some were actively scowling at her. Others were clearly trying to hide their frustration. A few had hopeful expressions. They all looked exhausted.
“Thanks for coming down here so early, folks,” she said, trying to get off on the right foot. “I know it wasn’t easy after such a late night. We wanted to give you an update on the status of our inquiry and what that means for you.”
“It means I’m going home,” said a rat-faced-looking guy in the back.
Jessie chose not to respond to him. Reacting to one comment would lead to a torrent more and she wasn’t up for that.
“We’re still investigating the death of a guest here last night. That means this hotel is still an active crime scene and we have more interviews to conduct,” she said, then moved on before anyone could balk. “However, some of you have been approved to leave the island on the first ferry, with the understanding that you may face additional questioning at a later time.”
“Who gets to leave?” an older woman near the front wanted to know.
“But others will need to stay a bit longer,” she continued, pretending not to have heard her. “Deputy Heck will be announcing the names of those who may go when I’m done. If you
don’t hear your name, you’ll need to remain here until we’re comfortable discharging you.”
“How long are we talking about?” Richard Ferro asked, apparently making his peace with the reality that he was in the second group.
“Hard to say for sure,” Peters interjected, upending her “ignore the peanut gallery” philosophy, “but we hope that just about everyone will able to go by the end of the day.”
As Jessie feared, a few hands went up and she saw several fuming faces. Doing her best not to look annoyed by the detective, she kept her focus on the guests, deciding to short-circuit the protest now.
This was probably her last, best chance to lay down the law. It was one thing to hold people overnight on an island when they had no way to leave and no one to complain to. But in the daytime, with access to transportation and legal advice, her strict tone wasn’t likely to restrain people up for long.
“Lastly, some of you seem to have already forgotten what I said last night. Attempting to leave before you’ve been cleared to go may result in you spending some quiet time in the Avalon Sheriff’s Station lockup. If you think spending a few extra hours in a nice hotel on a Sunday morning is a hassle, imagine what an overnight stay behind bars will do for you. Don’t find out.”
She looked out at the group. Most faces seemed to have softened, though not all. Deciding she couldn’t push any harder than that, she nodded at Deputy Heck and left without another word.
As he began listing names behind her, she quickly exited the bar, hoping to avoid any personal entreaties. Peters kept pace, apparently thinking the same thing. She didn’t comment on his unhelpful interjection. It wasn’t worth the effort. When they got back to the lobby reception couches she began to take a seat, only to hear a gasp from the detective.
“What is it?” she asked, looking up.
She knew before he said a word. A fifty-something man with a potbelly and a shock of white hair was marching toward them. He was wearing a Sheriff’s Department captain’s uniform and a scowl.
“Let me do the talking,” Peters muttered under his breath.
Jessie wanted to mutter back that he should know better than to expect her to hold her tongue but the older man was on them before she could.
“Captain,” Peters said with forced enthusiasm, “it’s good to see you. I’d like to introduce you to Jessie Hunt. She’s the profiling consultant on loan from LAPD. Ms. Hunt, this is Captain Ted Hawley, Avalon Station.”
“Nice to meet you, Captain,” Jessie said, using her best professional voice.
She was taller than him so he had to look up at her, but not before letting his eyes do an extended examination of the rest of her. Her urge to be professional was suddenly gone.
“Honored to have you with us, Ms. Hunt,” he said with unvarnished insincerity before turning his attention to Peters. “My phone has been ringing off the hook with irate calls from mainland lawyers, demanding that their clients be allowed to leave the island. Others have said we’re not to question those clients without them present. Some of these lawyers have names you would know. This isn’t what I wanted today.”
“No sir,” Peters said amicably. “I can assure you that the vast majority of guests will be able to leave on the nine a.m. ferry. Deputy Heck is informing them now.”
“The vast majority?” Hawley balked.
“Captain,” Peters replied softly, trying to keep the temperature down. “A few guests were pretty toasted last night. We wanted to give them an opportunity to clean up their statements this morning, to avoid any messiness down the road. That might take us past the first ferry. But I’m confident that we can get them out before noon as well, barring something unforeseen.”
“What might be unforeseen?” the captain demanded.
Jessie bit her lip so as to not reply with “that’s why it’s called unforeseen.” Glancing over at Peters, she saw that he was struggling and didn’t want to make his job any harder. Now she understood why he was so malleable with island visitors. It came from the top.
“As you know,” Peters answered, “a woman was murdered last night, a guest at this hotel. As much as we want to avoid alienating our other guests, I know you don’t want Avalon to be seen as an unsafe place or one where a victim’s death is swept under the rug.”
“Is that what you’re suggesting I’m doing?” Hawley blustered.
“No sir,” Peters said hurriedly, “of course not. I just think that handling this diplomatically but with professionalism and empathy might allow us to come out of the situation all right. We don’t need the folks at headquarters coming out and bigfooting us. We don’t need oversight.”
That seemed to make Hawley reconsider. Peters saw it too and kept going.
“Employing a single profiler from a coordinating law enforcement agency leaves a light footprint and may help everyone get out unscathed. And truthfully, a few angry attorneys squawking from over twenty miles across the ocean isn’t the end of the world. By the time they decide to really do something, we’ll be letting everyone go anyway. Just give us a little more time, Captain.”
Hawley, who seemed to be softening slightly, turned to Jessie. “What about these interrogations without representation? I hear you’re big on them.”
“Absolutely not, Captain,” she assured him. “No one we’ve questioned has been treated as a suspect. We’re just interviewing witnesses, trying to create a timeline of events while they’re still fresh in people’s minds. Of course, I’m just a civilian consultant. As such, I’m not officially law enforcement, so I’m not formally bound by those rules. But I take your point. Should someone’s status change from witness to suspect, Detective Peters would of course follow proper procedure when it comes to Miranda and all other matters.”
Hawley stared at her hard. She couldn’t tell if he sensed that she was massaging the truth or if he was always this agitated-looking. Finally, he responded.
“It’s seven fourteen a.m. right now. I want to be able to tell these people’s attorneys that they’ll be leaving on the twelve twenty ferry. That gives you five hours. After that, I pull the plug. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Peters said.
“I hear you, Captain,” Jessie added, technically agreeing to nothing.
Hawley nodded brusquely, spun around, and dashed out before any hotel guests could accost him.
“That was pretty solid, Peters,” Jessie said admiringly. “I thought I could see your spine growing before my very eyes.”
“Shut up,” he replied, though not with any real pique. “So I guess now we have to decide who to go at first.”
She was wondering the same thing herself, though she had some prime candidates. Just then, her phone buzzed. It was her daily reminder to take her multivitamin. Considering that it was in the pillbox on her kitchen counter that would be hard. As she silenced it, she noticed that she’d missed a text from Ryan, sent at 6:45.
It read: Good morning, hope your case is going well. Leaving for the station to research mine. Hannah still asleep. I have the over/under for her waking up at noon. Keep me posted. I love you.
She was about to reply when a call came in. There was no name attached to the number but it looked vaguely familiar. She picked up.
“This is Jessie Hunt.”
“Hello, Ms. Hunt. I’m returning your call. It’s Ariana Aldridge.”
Jessie reminded herself not to let her excitement seep into her voice when she replied.
“Mrs. Aldridge,” she said as if discussing the weather, putting the call on speaker so Peters could hear too. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Thanks for getting back to me.”
“What can I do for you?” Aldridge replied, cutting to the chase.
“Right. Well, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
Aldridge cut her off.
“I know—Gabby Crewe is dead.”
Peters turned to her, his eyes wide, and mouthed the words Is she confessing?
She decided to
find out.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jessie phrased her response carefully.
“How do you know?” she asked simply, though she wanted to say much more.
“I was checking voicemail this morning and got one from Theo. He told me.”
It was a good thing Ariana Aldridge wasn’t able to see her face because Jessie couldn’t hide her disappointment, not so much at the answer as at her own inability to discern if the woman was being deceptive. Whether it was the fuzzy cell connection or just being too tired to pick up on vocal nuances, she didn’t know what to make of the response.
“I see,” she said after a moment to regroup. “So you only learned of her death this morning?”
“That’s right,” Aldridge said. “I was obviously devastated. I hadn’t known her that long but Gabby and I hit it off right away. It’s a real loss.”
“Of course,” Jessie replied. “It’s too bad you weren’t here. I think Steve and the others could have used another friendly face.”
“Speaking of,” Aldridge replied, “I’m not even sure why you’re calling me. I was long gone by the time this happened. I’m not sure what use I can be to you.”
Jessie noted that the woman had entirely evaded the topic of being a source of support for her supposed friends. She decided not to pursue that until she could look Aldridge in the face.
“You’d actually be surprised how useful seemingly irrelevant information can end up being. That’s why I want you to come in for a formal interview when I get back to the city. How does that sound?”
“I’m happy to do it,” Aldridge replied, “though I don’t think it’ll do you much good. I just have to square it away with my mother, who will need to watch my daughter.”
“Oh yes, little Ginny,” Jessie said. “How did she do the first time being away from you for an extended period?”
“Okay,” Aldridge said, sounding taken aback that a stranger knew details about her personal life. Jessie decided that this might be the perfect time to throw a few extra questions at her, when she was back on her heels.
The Perfect Impression Page 10