by Blake Pierce
“I just mean…” he started.
“I think we know what you mean, Gray,” Ryan interrupted. “You don’t mind if I call you Gray?”
“Actually, I prefer…”
“So Gray,” Ryan continued, blowing through Longworth’s protestation, “we’ve established that you’re not as bland as Wooten thinks, that you aren’t super fond of him, that you were sleeping with his wife, and that you don’t seem all that broken up over her death.”
“That’s not true,” Longworth protested, trying to stand up but prevented by the cuffs attaching his hand to the table leg.
“You just made a crack about family vacations,” Ryan noted. “That strikes me as pretty callous.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“But you have to admit,” Brady chimed in, sounding sympathetic, “that sounded kind of cold. You don’t seem very devastated about Penelope’s death.”
“I’m still in shock. A person I was involved with is dead and I’m sitting in a police station, handcuffed, being asked about it. I haven’t had much time to process what happened to her, what with trying to prove that I wasn’t involved in it.”
“Fair enough,” Brady said generously. “Then maybe you can answer the question we were trying to get resolved back at your office—where were you between the hours of six and eight a.m.?”
Longworth sat still for a moment, his face scrunched up as if he were trying to recall. Jessie found it unconvincing that he would be struggling to remember something that happened less than eight hours earlier.
“I spent the night in a hotel. This morning I came back to our neighborhood, parked on the street a block from our house, and went for a run on a nearby trail. After the run, when I knew Eliza had taken the kids to school, I went to the house to try to shower, change, and grab some fresh clothes. But she had changed the locks. So I went to my gym to clean up. Then I came into work.”
“Did you take your phone with you on your run?” Brady asked.
“No, I didn’t have the armband I use to hold it so I just left it in the car.”
“How long was the run?”
“I don’t know the exact mileage,” Longworth said. “But I’d guess about five miles. I know it was less than an hour.”
“Mr. Longworth,” Brady asked, almost apologetically, “would you be willing to hand over your phone so we can confirm its location at that time using its GPS data?”
Jessie stood up. Ryan hadn’t motioned for her but she saw an opportunity and wasn’t going to wait for permission to take advantage of it. As she walked out, she heard Longworth answer.
“I don’t have a problem with that,” he said.
She stepped over to the interrogation room door, knocked, and poked her head in.
“Mind if I join you for a moment?” she asked.
“Be our guest,” Brady said, as if inviting her to a dinner party.
“Thanks so much,” Jessie said as she walked over. Ryan instinctively got up and she took his chair, moving it so that she was only two feet away from Longworth.
“Hi, Mr. Longworth,” she said, her voice all sweetness and light. “We haven’t actually spoken yet. But I have a question for you. Would that be all right?”
“Of course,” he answered, though he looked uncomfortable with how close she was.
“Great. I was just wondering why, in your text message to Penny, you called her a bitch?”
“I didn’t…did I...?” he said, then started over. “Listen, I was upset. I just found out that my whole life had been blown up. I lashed out. I said some stuff I regret now.”
“You were pretty angry with her, huh? For blowing up your whole life?”
“In that moment, sure—I was upset. But it doesn’t mean…”
“You knew Eliza was going to be pissed, right?” she said, mowing over him and leaning in close so that their faces were only inches apart. “You knew that what you’d done was far worse than stepping out with some escort, didn’t you? This was your wife’s best friend since they played with dolls and had slumber parties. It was unforgivable. There was no way you could repair it. That must have been so frustrating, to watch your perfect life disintegrating right before your eyes. Isn’t that right, Gray?”
Longworth took a deep breath, as if trying to suck in an extra reservoir of patience. It didn’t seem to work.
“She could have just ended it,” he blurted out. “She didn’t have to tell everyone. Now two families’ lives are ruined because of what she did.”
“Because of what she did?” Jessie repeated. “Did she tie you down and force you to cheat on your wife? Were you a passive observer in this process? Were you the victim, Gray?”
Longworth shook his head in frustration, inadvertently bumping Jessie in the nose with the crown of his head. Going with it, she threw her weight backward and toppled off the chair, crumbling in a heap on the ground.
She looked up at him, feigning shock and a bit of fear. He looked completely discombobulated, as if he hadn’t totally grasped what had happened.
“I didn’t mean to…”
Ryan aggressively jumped between them.
“You just assaulted a law enforcement officer for the second time in less than two hours, Mr. Longworth,” he said. “While Detective Bowen attends to her, I’m going to accompany you to one of our cells, where you are less likely to harm anyone else.”
Within ten seconds, Longworth was uncuffed from the table and hurried out of the room. He was already halfway down the hall when Jessie heard him plaintively plead, “It was an accident.”
“Swift thinking,” Brady said. “I think we would have had to let him go soon if he hadn’t ‘assaulted’ you like that.”
“Thanks. But it will probably only buy us a day. He’ll be out tomorrow for sure. We need to use that window to see if he’s more than just an asshole.”
“What do you think?” Brady asked her as he offered a hand.
“I think he’s got a lot of pent up anger,” Jessie said as pulled her up. “The question is, was he mad enough to kill?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“So, are you ready to tell me what’s up with you now?”
Ryan asked her the question on their mid-afternoon drive back to Central Station. Both of them, having missed the seafood lunch he promised, were shoving gas station sandwiches into their mouths.
Longworth was in custody overnight. Officers tailing both Colton Wooten and Eliza Longworth reported that neither was acting unusually. Colton was still at work and Eliza, after being released from the hospital, had picked up her children and gone home. It wasn’t clear that she even knew her husband was under arrest.
Gray Longworth’s phone and car GPS data confirmed that both were in the same spot from 6:18 to 7:27 a.m. After that, they moved to his house briefly, and then his office. There was no official way to confirm where he was during that hour. But tomorrow morning officers planned to canvass the running trail to ask if other joggers had seen him. In the meantime, they could keep him locked up for at least twenty-four hours.
The preliminary coroner’s report wouldn’t be available until tomorrow either. So there was no reason to stay on the west side. After promising Brady they’d return in the morning, they headed back downtown, which was when Ryan began his own interrogation.
“What do you mean?” Jessie asked, playing for time.
“No games, please,” he insisted. “You promised that you’d tell me why you’ve been so jumpy today. You almost leapt through the roof of the car when that vagrant tapped on your window this morning. And later on, you dropped to the ground after a car backfired. Something has you on edge. Fess up.”
Jessie looked over at him from the passenger seat and silently debated how forthcoming to be. Ryan was one of only a half dozen people in the world who knew the truth about her family history and her relationship to a never-caught serial killer. He also knew about her father’s connection to Bolton Crutchfield, though he wasn’t as deep
ly read in on all the minutiae as Kat Gentry.
It wasn’t that she didn’t think he could handle it. She just didn’t want to burden another person with an update to the nightmare that was her personal history. Still, he deserved to know. If she was going to be working with him a lot, then he might be at risk too. If her father found out where she was, there was no telling who he might hurt to get to her.
“Here’s the short version,” she said, finally relenting. “Remember how I told you last winter that my father, Xander Thurman, was the Ozarks Executioner?”
“I vaguely recall hearing something about that,” Ryan said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“And you recall,” she continued, not acknowledging his tone, “that I’ve been meeting intermittently with Bolton Crutchfield, who viewed my father as a mentor.”
“That also strikes a dim bell of recollection.”
“And,” she pressed on, impressed that he could muster a sense of humor considering the topic, “I mentioned that Crutchfield said my father was looking for me.”
Ryan’s half-smile disappeared.
“I remember,” he said quietly.
“Well, I went to see Crutchfield yesterday and he told me that while I was at Quantico, he somehow spoke to my father again and gave him information about my whereabouts.”
“He gave him your address?” Ryan asked incredulously. “He knows your address?”
“He was more cryptic than that. He admitted that he didn’t know where I live. But he implied that he’d given Xander enough details so that he could find out.”
Ryan was quiet for a second.
“When did they have this talk?” he finally asked.
“We’re not sure. Kat is going back through the surveillance footage from the last eleven weeks to try and pin that down.”
“So your dad could potentially know your exact address by now? Could have known for weeks?”
“It’s possible,” Jessie admitted. “But I have my doubts that he’s figured it out yet. I have pretty robust security measures at my place, some of which were installed by people you recommended. Nothing indicates that they’ve been breached or that anyone has even tried. I take a circuitous route to access my building. My mail doesn’t go there. In theory, he doesn’t even know my current name, my job, or what city I live in. I know he found out that I entered Witness Protection years ago. But he may still think I’m living somewhere in Southeast Missouri.”
“You don’t think Crutchfield gave him any of that?”
“I can’t say no for certain,” Jessie conceded. “But somehow I don’t think so. It’s weird to say this. But I don’t think he’d consider that very…sporting.”
“Okay, so assuming you’re right. What happens now?”
“Now, I use caution. I stay on alert. I hope Kat finds something in the footage form NRD. And I lead my life as best I can.”
“That’s a pretty healthy attitude,” Ryan marveled. “You learn that at the FBI?”
“Maybe not that specifically. But I did learn not to sweat the things I can’t control. I feel physically stronger than I ever have. I’ve developed investigative skills I didn’t have before. I don’t feel like I’m faking it…as much. If my father comes for me, I’m about as prepared as I can be. Beyond that, I can’t let it consume my life. Although I wouldn’t mind having that gun I registered for.”
“I’m working on that,” Ryan assured her. “The red tape should be cleared up soon.”
“That would be great,” Jessie said tartly. “Because self-defense classes are nice and all, but a bullet is a solid resource too.”
*
“Update for you. Call me ASAP.”
That was all Kat’s text had said.
It had come in the middle of the meeting in which Jessie and Ryan were updating Captain Decker on the status of the case. As soon as they left his office, she beelined it to a corner of the station’s outdoor courtyard and called back.
“What’s up?’ she asked as soon as Kat picked up.
“He wasn’t lying,” her friend answered immediately. “They did meet.”
“How did that happen?” Jessie asked in disbelief.
“He disguised himself as a detective from Rampart Division named Joe Capsione, one who had met with Crutchfield previously. He wore a wig and a mustache and what looks like some kind of padding to make him appear heavier. More importantly, he had Capsione’s ID.”
“Oh god,” Jessie muttered.
“Yeah. We’ve informed his captain and they’re sending a team to his apartment now. But obviously, it doesn’t bode well. Capsione is single and lives alone and was supposed to be on vacation for a week. No one was looking for him.”
“So my father might have planned all this out and waited until the detective’s vacation started to maximize his head start.”
“It’s very likely. He didn’t just luck into this.”
“When did they meet?” Jessie asked.
“Last Friday,” Kat said. “They only talked for about ten minutes.”
“What did they say?” Jessie asked.
“I have no idea. Conveniently enough, the meeting took place on the day when the tech guys were doing audio upgrades because of the new cells. So there’s no recording of the conversation. I was going to have a friend who can read lips look at it but Cortez pointed out that both men cover their mouths for much of the conversation. So that’s a dead end.”
“But Crutchfield said they had to talk cryptically because people were listening in,” Jessie reminded her. “So why cover their mouths?”
“I’m not sure. It’s possible Crutchfield didn’t know the audio was out,” Kat suggested. “But considering who we’re dealing with, I think it’s more likely he straight-up lied so we’d have trouble pinpointing when the conversation took place.”
“The timing can’t be a coincidence, Kat.”
“I know. When I’m done with you, I’m going to review the personnel files of everyone from security down to the janitorial staff. I hate to admit it, but we definitely have a mole. What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. It’s Tuesday now,” Jessie said. “So he’s had whatever information Crutchfield gave him for over four days. One would think that was enough time to track me down if the info was in any way specific.”
“Yeah, but you’ve only been back in town for about twenty-four hours, Jessie. Maybe he went to your place while you were gone. Even if he sat on it all weekend, he wouldn’t have found you.”
“I guess,” Jessie allowed. “But something makes me think whatever Crutchfield told him was as enigmatic as the clues he gives me. The second he gives up my name or job, he loses all his leverage. Xander Thurman is his hero, but Crutchfield is no sap. He knows that he holds the cards and I don’t think he would just lay them all out on the table, even for the Ozarks Executioner.”
“You’re making a pretty big assumption there,” Kat noted.
“I know. But something about what he said to me, about ‘home is where the heart is,’ makes me think that he’s not done playing his little games. I think he wants to give me a fighting chance.”
“I hope you’re right, Jessie,” Kat said skeptically. “Because your life may depend on it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
In addition to a brutal headache, Jessie’s whole body throbbed.
She was back at her apartment, finishing up dinner and trying to decompress. But nothing seemed to help. She wasn’t sure if it was her extra-intense workout last night or the long, emotionally exhausting day of interrogations, but she felt like she’d been through a meat grinder. She decided to take a few aspirin and a hot shower to soothe her muscles and clean the stink of the case off her.
When she got out, she noticed that she’d missed an hours-old call from her mom. It must have gone straight to voicemail when she was in the Palisades, where cell service was spotty. She played it as she dried off and got dressed.
“Hi, sweetie. It’s Ma. Pa told
me you called yesterday. Sorry I missed you. I’m so proud of your for passing the FBI thingy. Pa won’t tell you this but he’s been beaming all day. He told all the guys from the cop crew that he plays poker with. I also want you to know that, despite Pa’s joking, I didn’t vomit once at dinner last night. Now that I say that out loud, it seems like an odd way to end this message. So how about this? I love you. Talk soon.”
Jessie considered calling back, if only to give Ma grief for calling the National Academy program “the FBI thingy.”
She glanced at the time. It was 7:30 p.m. here, which meant it was 8:30 in Las Cruces. Under normal circumstances, that wasn’t too late to call. But with everything Ma was dealing with physically, she decided to hold off until tomorrow when she was sure she’d be fresher.
She put on sweats, settled in on the couch, and turned on the TV. The shower had helped and the pain medication had kicked in to the point where she only felt mild discomfort now. She stared at the screen as her mind drifted elsewhere.
She actively tried not to think about the meeting between Bolton Crutchfield and her father and what it might have yielded. That path would only lead to a sleepless night.
Instead, she tried to distract herself by focusing on the comparatively cheery topic of Penelope Wooten’s murder. As things stood now, she wasn’t sure how much progress on the case they’d be able to make in the next day or so.
All three of the primary suspects seemed locked into their stories and unless one of them suddenly confessed, they’d need to wait for the forensic evidence to offer more clues. That wouldn’t likely be available until sometime tomorrow. They were in a holding pattern.
Jessie settled in on the couch, trying to imagine Penny’s last moments. Based on the defensive wounds on her palms, she had clearly seen the attack coming. How terrifying must it have been to see that large knife coming at her as she realized the threat came from someone she knew, someone she trusted?
Jessie backed up mentally, remembering to employ the tactics she’d learned at the academy and not make assumptions not based on evidence. It was not a certainty that she knew her attacker. While it was unlikely that she would have let a stranger into her home, it wasn’t impossible. Or the culprit could have been an acquaintance she knew well enough not to be suspicious of.