He hooked his thumb on his pocket. “She gets thanked every month with an alimony check these days. We split up last year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
And she was sorry. The pain of her own divorce wasn’t something she’d wish on anyone.
Danny shrugged and scratched at the back of his neck. “Seems like it’s just part of this job. No one ever gets all of us, do they?”
“You ever tell her the truth about this case?”
Danny shook his head. “You?”
“Yeah, actually. Not that it was a good idea.”
Stella recalled the arguments with her ex-husband about her “delusion” after she had finally opened up to him. To be fair, he had played along with the idea of time travel existing in the beginning—put it down as a harmless eccentricity. He made occasional jokes but mostly left it alone. It was only when he had discovered the growing files she kept at home and the years of research she had done that he questioned her sanity.
“I think everyone has a case that never lets them go,” Danny said. He raised his own file folder.
“Are you officially on the case?” Stella asked.
“My chief didn’t want me anywhere near it. Not my job. But I called in a few favors and he said as long as I don’t get in the way I’m all right. How about you? You tell the feds in Vegas you were coming out?”
“I’m on vacation,” Stella said. “Not that they’ll ask. I’ve been left to die a slow death in the video fraud department.”
“Ouch. Hunting down porn pirates?”
“That would probably be a step up.” Stella gestured toward the little house they were parked in front of. “So, you still have the search warrant for this place?”
The detective checked his watch. “We actually only have a few minutes left on it, but since you’re in town I wanted you to see it.”
He stooped and picked up something from the ground. “Oh yeah. Found at least a dozen of these laying around out here too.” He held up the item for Stella’s inspection. It was a matchstick with several teeth marks at one end.
“Like the van,” Stella said.
Danny flicked away the matchstick and gestured with the file folder toward the door. “After you.”
They walked up the steps of the bungalow and Danny fished the key from the lockbox. “Stenger had this place as a short term rental. Deal was done over the phone though. Landlady never saw him in person.”
“She’s cooperating with the investigation?”
“Wanted us to keep her out of the papers, which we did. Can’t blame her.”
The door swung open. Stella found herself inside a cozy, unassuming vacation rental. The furniture was slightly dated but clean and unremarkable. She wandered into the living area.
“We took pictures of everything when we first got here, lifted a few solid prints. We did find a couple of strange things.”
“Like what?”
“For one, the fridge is stocked with enough food and beer to last a month. But according to the landlady, he only rented the house for two weeks.”
“So he was planning on entertaining guests?”
“I suppose he could have wildly overestimated what the Poist girl would eat while he held her hostage. But I’m guessing maybe he thought it would take longer than it did to off Carson Bradley. The creepy thing was that he had a spread of news articles set up over here on the desk. Some about himself. The rest were about famous serial killers.” The detective laid the file folder on the desk and opened it.
Stella looked it over and examined the photos he had taken. “Dahmer, The Nightstalker, The Zodiac Killer. This is a regular Who’s Who. You’re thinking he has idols?”
“Or competition,” Danny said.
Stella flipped through a few more photos from the night the evidence was collected, browsing the shots as she walked the various rooms. “So he had Jessica Poist tied up in the back bedroom. Carson Bradley comes to rescue her, most likely with some kind of ransom to trade. The exchange goes badly and somehow Carson gets killed?”
“The girl never saw the action unfold. She was blindfolded as well as tied up in the other room. Says she heard some shouts from Bradley so she starts screaming. She hears a struggle. She knocks the chair over and ultimately gets herself loose, but by then Bradley is dead and Stenger is gone. She’s the one who called for police.”
“We have any idea what Stenger wanted as a ransom demand?”
“Bradley never contacted the authorities about the kidnapping. Maybe he had something to hide and this guy was blackmailing him. Hard to say. All we know is it went badly for him when he got here.”
Stella studied the photos of the initial crime scene, then scanned the main room again, trying to get a feel for how it looked at the time. Carson’s body was gone and the room had already been cleared of whatever evidence the investigators thought relevant. After a brief tour of the main features, she donned a pair of rubber gloves and started poking around more thoroughly. Danny browsed the scene as well. It was only when Stella had dropped to her knees to peer under the recliner that he seemed to fidget. “The team already had a pretty good look at the room.”
“I’m not saying they didn’t,” Stella replied. “But it never hurts to have a second one.” She clicked on her flashlight and scanned the floor. Finding nothing but dust bunnies, she shuffled a few feet to the couch and repeated the process.
“We’ve already got the murder weapon.”
Stella’s light illuminated a rounded shape behind a leg of the sofa. She moved around the side and nudged the coffee table aside to retrieve the object. When she pulled it loose, she discovered it was a miscellaneous knob from a piece of furniture. She was vaguely disappointed. She dropped it into an evidence bag anyway.
“Death by door knob?” Danny quipped.
Stella set the evidence bag on the desk and resumed her perusal of the room’s nooks and crannies. After a few minutes, she straightened up and poked her head into the other rooms. Finally she returned to Danny. “What’s it from?”
Danny cocked his head quizzically. “What’s what from?”
“That knob,” Stella said. “It doesn’t match any of the furniture.” She wandered back into the kitchen and double-checked the cabinets.
Danny picked up the evidence bag with the loose knob in it. “Maybe it was from a piece the landlord no longer has.” He studied the metallic finish on the knob. “Maybe I should check it for prints though, just in case. Looks like there might be a pretty clear partial on this side.”
The digital clock on the oven changed from 11:59 to 12:00.
Stella slowly removed her gloves as Danny led the way toward the door. “We have any clue where Stenger has been all this time?” she asked. “How’s he been able to stay off the radar since St. Petersburg?”
“I’m hoping we find out when we ask him,” Danny replied. He held the door for her. “Assuming he ever shows his face again.”
Stella buttoned her jacket. “I have some ideas on how to arrange that.”
The L.A. County Coroner was in early the next morning but Stella was already waiting for him in the parking lot with a second cup of coffee.
“You must be the agent Detective Briggs told me about.” The coroner had a friendly face partially obscured by a graying mustache. He wore a tan windbreaker over his alligator polo. He cautiously accepted the extra coffee from Stella. “This from the gas station?”
“No. Maria’s Bakery. On Marengo Street.”
The coroner’s eyebrows lifted and he took an enthusiastic sip. “Oh, okay then.” He extended a hand. “Mel Odenkirk”
“Stella York.”
He let her inside the employee entrance and they traversed the hallways to the stairs.
“I’ve been coming in early to stay ahead of the press. Every time we get a celebrity death around here, they hang around like buzzards. But I hear you knew the deceased before he got famous?”
“We were acquainted briefly in St. Petersburg, Flo
rida, but that was years ago.”
“I have an old aunt who lives near there. She calls it ‘God’s waiting room.’”
“They do have a lot of seniors.” Stella followed Mel to his office. “What can you tell me about the homicide? I heard you examined him.”
“Some of my staff did. I only got involved due to all the press scrutiny. But I do have copies of the photographs from the autopsy.” He rummaged through items on his desk and came up with a folder. “You’re welcome to read the report.”
Stella thumbed through the file, pausing at the description of the wounds the victim had received. “You mention in here that his left wrist got scratched up. Some sort of defensive wound?”
“No. Best we can tell, that happened after he had already been killed. We think the killer had trouble getting something off his wrist. We assume it must have been an expensive watch he wanted. Makes sense with as much money as Bradley was worth.”
The Nokia ringtone sounded from Stella’s jacket pocket. When she retrieved the phone and answered it, Danny Briggs was on the other end of the line.
“Hey, I got the results back on that partial fingerprint from the furniture knob from last night. Guess who they match?”
Stella mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Odenkirk, then retreated to the hallway before returning her attention to the phone.
“Don’t tell me it was Stenger.”
“Nope. Carson Bradley.”
“Weird,” Stella muttered. “So what, he brought it from home and somehow dropped it there? Was anything stolen from his home or from his person?”
“Not that we know of. Unless you count the kidnapping of the girlfriend.”
“What about his wallet and car keys? That sort of thing.”
“All still on him. Good bit of cash in there too.”
“So if the killer wasn’t after money, why did he take the watch?”
Danny exhaled loudly into the other end of the phone. “Beats me. It had to be personal. Some kind of vendetta and the watch was part of it.”
The watch.
Was it possible that it was the same watch Carson had been wearing a decade ago?
When she got back to the car, Stella checked the still photos taken from the video surveillance tapes that Danny had given her. The man caught in the frame was grainy and poorly defined, but definitely Elton Stenger. Even with the grainy shot, she knew it wasn’t the guy they had arrested in Florida.
Elton Stenger was still alive, still on the loose, and Carson Bradley showed up to meet him with a furniture knob.
“What did his girlfriend say when she got picked up? Did she visually identify her kidnapper?”
“I wasn’t part of that interview. I only know what we have in the report.”
“I need to talk to the girlfriend. She’s the only one who made direct contact with Stenger.”
There was a clattering of clipboards on his desk. “She moved in with a friend in the valley after the incident. I think I have the address. Don’t know if she’ll want to talk though. From what I hear, she’s a bit of a mess.”
“Can you blame her?”
“I’ll get you that address.”
Stella pressed the button of the call box of the Beverly Hills Luxury Apartments but after three attempts and subsequent waiting, decided no one was home. It was only when she had turned to walk away that the speaker crackled.
“What do you want?”
Stella turned back toward the door. “Jessica? I’m Special Agent Stella York from the FBI. I just wanted to talk for a few minutes.”
“I told them I was done talking to cops.”
“I knew him. I knew Carson. I’m the one he tried to call.”
After a long few seconds, the door buzzed.
It was three flights up, but when she reached the apartment, the door was cracked. She pressed on it until it swung open, then stepped inside.
The place smelled of patchouli and the lingering scent of pot smoke.
She found Jessica in the living room, sunk into one corner of a sagging, faux leather couch. The woman was only in her late twenties, with her blonde hair styled to match the latest of Jennifer Aniston’s “Rachel” hairdos.
“That smell isn’t from me,” she said, as soon as Stella had entered the room. “Some people just left.”
“I’m not DEA,” Stella said. “You mind if I sit?”
Jessica made no objection, so Stella perched on a nearby ottoman.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Jessica. For the brief time I knew him, Carson seemed like a good guy.”
Jessica chewed her lip and fidgeted with a strand of her hair. “He was unlike anybody I ever knew.”
Stella leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Can I ask you about the watch? The one that was stolen?”
“I already told the cops. I don’t know how much it was worth.”
“That’s not what I want to know,” Stella said. “I’m more interested in what it could do.”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve seen that watch, Jessica. I know it wasn’t just a trinket that someone would have tried to resell. Did Carson tell you anything about what it was for? You were together for quite a while. I’m guessing he trusted you with his secret.”
Jessica was studying her intently now, trying to read the truth in her face. Stella met her gaze and didn’t look away.
“He told me some of it.”
Yes. Now she was getting somewhere.
Stella resisted the urge to press for more and instead let the silence do the questioning.
Jessica fidgeted with a bit of loose thread on the armrest stitching. “I didn’t get to go with him or anything, but he told me about where he got the songs, and . . . some of the money. It’s not like anything he did was illegal.”
Stella shot for her center target. “Was the watch that was stolen off his wrist what let him travel in time?”
Jessica chewed her lip again, possibly waiting for a follow-up joke or dismissive explanation. When none came, she nodded. She crossed her arms and tucked her legs in closer, balling herself up in the corner of the couch. “I knew no one would have believed me if I told them what it really was.”
“I believe you. And I get why you’re so scared that Elton Stenger has it,” Stella concluded.
“He’s a psycho crazy person,” Jessica said. “And there’s nothing the cops can do to catch him. They think he’s caught already.”
“I don’t.”
Jessica met her stare again. “But you’re one person. No one else will ever believe you. How are you going to stop him?”
“I’ve seen someone do it before. We can do it again. But, Jessica, I’m going to need your help.”
14 Jessica
Entrance to Carson Bradley’s Bel Air mansion involved an electronic key pad and a security gate. Jessica typed the six digits without even having to look.
The grounds of the sprawling Tudor-style mansion were gorgeous and utterly silent, secluded from the road by high brick walls and an even higher barrier of trees.
Stella had been among wealthy people before, but had never been to a mansion with this much celebrity history. Before Carson had purchased the luxury home, it had apparently belonged to Tom Jones, and Dean Martin before that.
Jessica parked the convertible BMW near a fountain where sun bleached stone lions spit water from their mouths into a circular pool. Once she shut the car off, she simply stared out the windshield at the ivy-covered facade. From the passenger seat, Stella had no trouble reading her body language.
“I know it can be stressful coming back to a place like this after a trauma. Take your time.”
Jessica clenched her jaw and opened the door. Stella joined her around the front of the car and the two of them approached the mansion together. Jessica exhaled audibly, then kept her head down, leading the way through the front door with a look of stark determination on her face.
Stell
a didn’t know Carson Bradley well, but she was still surprised by the interior of the mansion. Wood floors were mirrored by polished wood beams, and in some rooms, intricately carved ceilings. The elaborate moulding on the walls and fancy chandeliers spoke of a bygone era of opulence. It seemed a far cry from the carefree young man she had seen belting out karaoke tunes in a St. Petersburg bar.
Jessica was out of place here too, like she had been playing the role of a wealthy celebrity’s girlfriend but now that Carson was gone, she no longer wanted to keep the act up. She seemed to be shrinking inward as if the pressure of being inside the mansion was causing her own exterior to crumble.
It wasn’t until they entered the library that Jessica seemed to relax. “It’s this way.”
Jessica walked around a mammoth desk, then moved to the mantle of the fireplace. A series of trophies stood sentinel atop it.
Stella’s eyes widened. Was that a Grammy?
Jessica took hold of one of the awards and carefully twisted the base.
To the right of the fireplace, a cleverly disguised bookcase door slid open to reveal a hidden room. Jessica gestured for Stella to follow.
“The secrets just keep coming,” Stella muttered as she stepped inside.
The room was roughly fifteen feet square and covered in wall-to-wall shelves that were loaded with a wild assortment of strange knickknacks. Metal figurines, components from lamps, and loose bricks sat beside old shoes, doorknobs, and bits of plumbing pipe. It had the clutter of an antique store but with the organization of an office supply closet. Each strange and seemingly unrelated item was categorized on a shelf, and each shelf held dates and other letter-number combinations that she didn’t understand.
The object that caught her eye, however, was a metal stand in the center of the room. The single steel pole rose to about the height of her waist before culminating in a shallow, wire basket. Inside the basket, erected on its end, sat a metal cabinet knob that was an exact match to the one she had found under the couch in the rental house.
“What on earth is that doing here?” She immediately strode over to the basket and picked up the knob.
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