“Any chance you can get a license plate off the car?” he asked Jamil.
“Not from this angle,” the young researcher said, frustrated. “But I have another idea.”
“What’s that?” Trembley wondered, leaning in so close that Ryan could smell the aloe vera he’d rubbed on his burned skin.
Jamil’s fingers flew across the keys as he typed a series of instructions into the system that Ryan couldn’t pretend to understand. After about thirty seconds, a small image popped up in a box at the top corner of the screen.
“Here we go,” Jamil said. His voice was calm but Ryan sensed an undercurrent of anticipation in it.
“What have we got?” he asked.
“I input the car’s image into the system and asked it find any matches in the area in the days around the murder. This is what it gave me. It’s from earlier that day.”
He hit “play” and they watched as what looked like the same car from before passed slowly through an intersection. Jamil froze the image. It wasn’t great quality but the driver certainly looked like the man in the Holt footage.
“Where is this from?” Ryan asked.
“It’s a convenience store about two blocks away from Hartung’s house,” Jamil said. “I wonder if he went there earlier in the day to scout it out.”
“That’s not a crazy theory,” Ryan said, more impressed with Jamil every moment.
Jamil smiled shyly but said nothing. After a few more seconds of searching, another box popped up. It was a video clip from two hours after the initial one.
“Freeze it!” Ryan shouted, and then added, “Go back a little.”
Jamil scrolled back several frames and stopped on a fairly clear image of an elderly man. The quality wasn’t good enough to discern many details. But one jumped out to Ryan.
“He’s got a long scar across his forehead,” he pointed out, reluctant to say the words out loud because of what they meant. “In the exact spot where Garland Moses slashed the Night Hunter the night they fought. It’s him. There’s no doubt.”
All three men were silent for a second. Trembley recovered first.
“This is awesome,” he said. “I mean, obviously not awesome for the victims, but great for us. We can bring this to Decker now. We can save HSS.”
“Not so fast,” Ryan warned. “I don’t want any of this leaving this room yet. News like this could have serious consequences. Decker will want to use it to bolster the unit. Invariably word would leak out and that might tip the Night Hunter off. The last thing we need is for a guy who’s been hiding for decades to go back underground. The best thing we have working for us is that he doesn’t know that we know it’s him. We have to find a way to get ahead of him somehow.
“I might have an idea for that,” Jamil said, forwarding the footage a couple of seconds to a wider shot of the car. “Look, the license plate is visible. With a little digital cleanup, I think we can get the whole thing.”
Trembley looked perplexed.
“It’s hard to believe a guy who stayed off the radar this long would use his own car to do this,” he said. “That seems awfully sloppy. I realize he’s older but he has to know we have cameras that can grab plate numbers.”
“I’m sure he does,” Ryan said, “which is why I doubt that’s his car. I wouldn’t be surprised if he bought an old junker like that for cash from a private seller. He’d want something that was impossible to trace back to him.”
“And impossible to track in other ways—a vehicle that old wouldn’t have GPS,” Jamil noted. “But at his age, and if he’s been out of circulation for a long time, he might not be aware of some of our other tricks.”
“Like what?” Trembley asked.
“Like that regardless of who the vehicle is registered to, we can track the license plate location.”
“Oh yeah,” Trembley said. “I forgot all about that. The database logs plates periodically, right?”
“That’s right,” Ryan confirmed. “We’ll give you a pass since you’ve been on vacation. And remember, it’s not just periodically. Traffic camera feeds hold onto that data for months before dumping it. And since both these murders took place in the last month, the vehicle data should still be available.”
“They will be,” Jamil assured him as he started typing again. “Better than that, if we give it enough time, the system should be able to pinpoint patterns of movement. We should be able to determine where this car went most often. That might give us leads on where he’s been holed up.”
“And who he might be targeting next,” Ryan added. “Great work, Jamil. How long do you need?”
“It’s a lot of data but it shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”
“Excellent,” Ryan said. “I want to focus on locations the car has frequented often—at least ten times to start with. That should narrow the search a bit when we go out.”
“Wait a second,” Trembley said. “Is that a good idea? I thought the whole reason Decker brought me in was to be your feet on the ground.”
Ryan smiled broadly.
“Just because I can’t kick open a door or even drive doesn’t mean I can’t come along for the ride. I’ll keep you company. If we find anything suspicious, we’ll call it in.”
“Maybe we should make sure the captain is cool—” Trembley started to say.
“Let’s get to it,” Ryan instructed, bulldozing through the detective’s objection as he headed for the door. “We don’t know how close this guy is to killing again.”
He hurried out of the room as fast as his recovering legs would allow. In part he wanted to short-circuit any more protest from Trembley. But there was another reason.
He needed time alone to think about the two questions that were central in his mind: Why had the Night Hunter started killing again? And why here, in Los Angeles?
There was actually a third question eating at him, one he was deliberately avoiding: Why did the thought of this septuagenarian killer fill him with a dread that murderers half his age did not? If he was honest with himself, he knew the answer. It was because the Night Hunter and this version of Ryan Hernandez—hobbled, weak, uncertain—were equal matches. If they met in a dark alley tonight, he wasn’t sure who would come out on top.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Things had deteriorated badly.
Just as Jessie had feared, once the Ferros lawyered up, everyone else did too. More dominos fell after that. All the members of the group—the Ferros, the Landers, Steve Crewe, and Theo Aldridge—quickly returned to their suites to pack up in time to make the 12:20 ferry.
Unless she was willing to insist that Peters arrest someone, there was nothing she could do about it. Considering that she didn’t have a suspect, she wasn’t prepared to do that. Even if she had one in mind, she was skeptical that Captain Hawley would approve such a move.
There was one positive development. Maura the bartender was able to at least partially confirm Rich Ferro’s alibi.
“I do remember him saying he’d take Phil up to his room because he was a little wobbly. He asked me to hold his stool because he’d be back soon. I pretended not to hear him because that was easier than telling a guest we can’t save seats at the bar.”
“Who’s Phil?” Jessie asked.
“Last name is Baker? Blake?—something like that. It was his first time here so I don’t remember it that well.”
“Do you recall when they went up or when Ferro came back down?” Jessie asked as she texted the name info to Peters, who was with Barksdale at the check-in desk.
Maura shook her head.
“Not definitively,” she said. “It was closer to eleven than to ten for sure. I don’t think he was gone that long because the barstool was still open when he got back. I remember he thanked me for holding it for him and I let him think that I had.”
“Do you remember how he looked when he returned?”
“Looked?” Maura asked. “What do you mean?”
“Was he more dishev
eled than when he left? Sweaty, nervous, short of breath?”
“Not that I recall,” Maura said, “but I wasn’t paying close attention. I’ll tell you what. Let’s exchange numbers and if I remember something, I’ll call. Or you can reach out if you have more questions. Or we could just chat.”
She said that last line with an almost audible wink.
“Maura,” Jessie said, laughing at her brazenness. “I don’t know if that boyfriend I told you about earlier would love your version of chatting with me.”
“What?” Maura replied, mock offended as she wrote her number on a cocktail napkin. “It’s just two gals talking. No harm in that. Maybe I could even get you and your fella a discount if you wanted to come back for a weekend. I could show you the sights.”
This time she actually did wink. Jessie didn’t have a clever comeback but was saved from needing one when Peters walked up.
“The ferry leaves in ten minutes,” he reminded her. “We better head over there.”
“I’m ready,” she said, tossing her backpack over her shoulder and handing her card to Maura. “Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime,” Maura said as they left the bar, “literally!”
They got in a sheriff’s department golf cart and zipped down the road in the direction of the dock.
“Philip Blake,” Peters said once they were out of earshot of anyone at the hotel. “That’s apparently the guest Richard Ferro helped to his room.”
“Why is that name familiar to me?” Jessie asked.
“I looked him up on my phone. He’s on the LA County Board of Supervisors. I found multiple articles saying he’s considering running for mayor. He’s supposedly got a good shot.”
“Now I remember him,” she said. “He represents a pretty wealthy district.”
“I didn’t think that being gay was an obstacle to running for mayor over on the mainland, not like for us provincial local yokels,” Peters said, clearly trying to get her goat.
“It’s not,” she replied, refusing to take the bait. “But having an affair with a man being questioned in a murder investigation would be a campaign killer anywhere, even in L.A.”
“So are we going to interview him?”
“We?” Jessie asked, taken aback.
“Yeah, we,” he said. “You didn’t think I was just going to bail on this thing once everyone left town, did you? I’ve got a go bag at the station. We’ll make a quick pit stop there and be on our way.”
“Captain Hawley approved this?”
“I convinced him that it would actually make for good press if a member of Avalon law enforcement played a role in apprehending the murderer. It shows how committed we are to keeping the island safe for visitors. In the meantime, Deputy Heck is going to do follow-up interviews with all the relevant hotel staff to reconfirm their alibis. He’ll let me know if anything pops.”
“That’s not bad work,” Jessie said admiringly as he pulled up at the station.
“Be right back,” he said, hopping out.
While she waited, Jessie pondered Peters’s question about interviewing Blake. What she hadn’t mentioned to him was that the Board of Supervisors had an influential role in overseeing the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department. If they questioned Blake and it went badly, or if his supposed secret got out, the Supervisor might seek retribution against members of the tiny Avalon department. She didn’t want to be responsible for putting the detective’s job at risk if she could avoid it.
Peters emerged from the station and dashed back to the cart. Behind him, Jessie saw someone pull back a curtain in the window. It was Captain Hawley, scowling at her. He was clearly happy to see her go. The sight of him made her think that maybe visiting the island with Ryan wasn’t such a bad idea. She wasn’t interested in Maura’s unsubtle personal offer, but it might be fun for them to hang out with her. And if they decided to drop in on the captain to pay their respects, then that could be nasty fun too.
“We’re off,” Peters said, more excited than she seen him the whole time (admittedly only twelve hours) that she’d been here. She couldn’t help but give him a bit of a hard time.
“You really had a go bag waiting in that station all this time, Jason Bourne? Better wipe the dust off it.”
The sheepish look on his face gave her an unexpected burst of energy.
*
It didn’t last long.
Once the ferry pulled out and began to rock on the large winter waves, Jessie found her eyes drooping involuntarily. Peters had agreed to stay in the cargo hold to help the CSU folks ensure the security of Gabby Crewe’s body, so she sat alone in a corner of the boat, as far from the gang of swingers as she could get. Without any definitive evidence against them and reluctant to talk to them now that lawyers were involved, she thought it best to steer clear of them entirely.
Before she drifted off, she texted both Ryan and Hannah to let them know she was headed back and ask how they were doing. Hannah’s response was short and to the point: Doing fine. See you later. Instead of texting back, Ryan actually called.
“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.
“Not a wink,” she told him and briefly walked him through the developments of the night.
“That’s sounds rough,” he said. “Maybe you should take a nap on the boat while you can.”
“I plan to as soon as we hang up,” she said. “But not before you tell how your investigation is going.”
He hesitated so long before responding that she thought the call had dropped.
“We’re making progress,” he said vaguely. “Jamil has been invaluable. He’s living up to your hype. And Trembley’s helping out too. As always, he’s enthusiastic, even after getting a vicious sunburn on his vacation. He won’t admit it, but I think he fell asleep on the beach.”
Jessie could tell he was being evasive and called him on it.
“Why do you need Trembley around if you’re just doing research?”
“I don’t really,” he said way too casually. “Decker just assigned him to help out if I need any field work done. He’s basically a glorified errand boy.”
“Ryan,” she replied, not buying his laid-back front, “I’m starting to get the sense that you’re withholding details from me just so I don’t get stressed and can’t sleep.”
“That’s quite a charge,” he said.
“And that’s not a denial,” she pointed out.
“Listen, everything’s fine,” he said in his most reassuring voice. “The work is coming along. I promise to fill you in on all of it later. But you already have one case taking up space in that brain. You don’t need another. And I really do want you to try to get a little sleep.”
“Fine,” she said with more of a pout in her voice than she’d intended.
“I love you,” he told her. She could tell he was trying not to laugh at her through the phone.
“I love you too,” she said.
The phone had only been back in her pocket for a couple of minutes before she got another call. She startled to attention, realizing she must have drifted off in that brief stretch. She was tempted to ignore it but knew herself too well to think that would work so she pulled it out again. It was Kat.
“What’s up, Philippa Marlowe?” she asked, trying to hide the exhaustion she felt.
“Hey, Jessie,” Kat said, not joining in the playfulness. “Do you have a couple of minutes?”
“Considering that I’m stuck on a ferry boat from Catalina Island back to the city, sure.”
She sensed something was off with her friend but decided to let her share the issue on her own schedule.
“Normally, I’d ask what that ferry thing is all about,” Kat said, “but I need to talk to you about something else.”
Okay,” Jessie said, noting her body involuntarily tense up. There was a long pause during which Jessie could feel Kat working up the courage to say what she had to say.
“It’s about Hannah—”
“Is she okay?” Je
ssie interrupted, unable to keep her voice from rising.
“Yes. She’s safe,” Kat assured her quickly. “I just saw her a little while ago. This is about things that have already happened, things I should have told you about but didn’t.”
“What things?” Jessie demanded.
“Listen—you have to allow me to get through this. You’re going to want to yell at me. You may hate me when I’m done. But just let me finish first, okay.”
“Okay,” Jessie agreed, despite every instinct she had.
Kat proceeded to tell her about the day she’d brought Hannah along on a supposedly safe surveillance operation with her last summer. Jessie had a vague memory of the day. She recalled that Kat had suggested the idea because Hannah was going stir crazy. She had said it would be uneventful, just sitting in a car for hours.
The goal had been to use that down time to get Hannah to open up about the trauma of recently seeing Ryan stabbed and almost dying herself. But apparently she had instigated a confrontation with a drug dealer who would likely have assaulted her if Kat hadn’t intervened at the last second.
Then Kat told her about a more recent incident, one she’d just uncovered. Hannah had snuck into her office, gotten information on a case about a missing girl, and gone to the home of a potential suspect in the case—a convicted child rapist out on parole—trying to find proof of his guilt. She’d ended up in a physical altercation with him, barely escaping.
As Jessie listened, doing her best not to blurt anything out, she recalled how Hannah explained a massive bruise on her back by claiming she’d gotten injured falling backward into a shelf at a store. That would have been the same day she confronted the ex-con.
“I’m really worried about her, Jessie,” Kat concluded. “She’s got something going on where she seems to need to put herself in danger. Like I said, I stopped by to see her this morning. I begged her to get help. I thought she was going to come clean. Instead she threatened me, said that if I told you, it would ruin our friendship. She said you’d never forgive me for keeping this from you for so long.”
The Perfect Impression Page 16