“You think the killer is a woman.”
“I think the killer is very likely a woman,” Clark said. “Hackett had lipstick on his face and neck.”
“And she ran across the beach?” Megan looked out. Crime scene tape divided the beach in half.
“Yes, south. But we were only able to track her footfalls for about thirty feet before they became too integrated with the other prints.”
“Heels in the sand?”
“No, she took her shoes off. Come here.” He opened the door and they walked to the small patio that fronted the sand. “No prints, so she probably had gloves on-”
“Wait,” Megan said. “If this is the same woman Hackett was getting cozy with in the bar, how could he have not noticed she was wearing gloves?”
“Maybe she drugged him,” Hans suggested. “Or used a towel or cloth to touch anything.”
“Regardless, she didn’t leave prints, but there is blood on the back of this chair, and a few droplets of blood that has me thinking she stood in the sand, took off the heels, and carried them with her. We’re scouring the garbage cans and beach between here and the pier, and so far nothing. No shoes, no knife, no evidence.”
Holden came out to the patio. “The bartender who served Hackett and the woman last night is here.”
“Let’s talk to him,” Hans said. “Do you have a sketch artist available?”
“Already on site,” Holden said. “We also have a witness. He sounds legit, swears that he saw Rosemont at a diner outside Blythe yesterday morning. He and his family are in San Luis Obispo and I was going to send an officer up there for a formal statement, but maybe one of you would like to go?”
“Agent Elliott will accompany your officer,” Hans said.
Before Megan could protest, Holden said, “Terrific. I’ll call Officer Dodge and have her swing by and pick you up. It’s only an hour and a half away. You’ll be back before dinner.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jack couldn’t find Megan anywhere in the hotel. He was about to try her cell phone again when he saw Hans Vigo walk into the main lobby with the same plain-clothes cop who had picked Hans and Megan up at the airport earlier that morning.
“Where’s Megan?” Jack asked as Hans approached.
Jack had been worried about Megan, unable to reach her, her cell phone busy or going directly to voice mail.
Hans Vigo looked at Jack oddly, then walked past him and said, “She’s on her way to interview a potential witness.”
“Witness? Who?”
“A family. They saw Rosemont in a diner only a few miles from where the Hoffmans were killed. They said a woman was with him. It’s a solid lead, so I sent her to follow it.”
Jack glanced at Holden. He didn’t need to say anything, but the cop understood and excused himself with a vague comment about checking on the canvass for witnesses.
“Where did she go?” Jack asked.
“San Luis Obispo. It’s an hour or two north.”
“On her own?”
“With an SBPD uniformed officer. What’s the problem, Jack? I didn’t realize I had to clear my orders with you.”
The tension wasn’t lost on Jack. “What does that mean, Vigo?”
“I don’t have to explain myself.”
“Right. Because you’re the senior agent.”
The federal agent’s face hardened. “What do you care? Your friend’s killer is dead. You can go back to Hidalgo and fight somebody else’s wars for them. I’m sure you’re in demand.”
“And I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Why hadn’t Megan called him? Jack pushed the thought aside. She was doing her job. He’d have liked to have known she was leaving town for the day, but she’d be back in a few hours. Still, Hans Vigo’s animosity was palatable. What was his problem? Did he know that Jack had slept with Megan? Was it possible that this agent, who was almost old enough to be Megan’s father, was jealous? Or was it something else? Jack didn’t know Vigo well enough to decide, though Megan had said he’d been acting unlike himself recently.
“You can wait for her in-”
“No,” Jack interrupted. “There’s still a killer on the loose. What’s going on with the search for Rosemont’s partner?”
“You’re not a cop, Jack.”
“You can’t just use me when it’s convenient.” Jack turned to leave, not wanting any more of a confrontation. He would keep trying Megan, to confirm she was safe, then he’d follow up with Padre and see what was taking him so long with the police artist. They needed something to go on, and right now Jack hated not having anything to do. The waiting would kill him.
Vigo asked quietly, “What’s your interest in Agent Elliott, Jack?”
Slowly, Jack faced Vigo and assessed him. He couldn’t tell if the question was because Vigo was jealous or protective. Or both.
He simply said, “I like her.”
Vigo relaxed and nodded. “I’m about to interview the bartender who served Hackett and the woman. You can join me if you like.”
Megan got the call from the Orlando field office ten minutes before reaching the San Luis Obispo city limits.
“Agent Elliott, this is ASAC Todd Zarian. Assistant Director Stockton asked me to contact you regarding the Ken Russo homicide.”
“Thank you. Stockton explained the situation?”
“Yes. We spoke to the local detective in charge and he opened up the files to us. I have them here in my office. Looks pretty open and shut to me. Guy comes home and surprises a burglar.”
“Do you know what was taken?”
“Nothing big-television and stereo were still there. But according to friends and neighbors, a high-end camera was missing; the guy had receipts for an iPod and some other small electronics that were never found. Possibly money-his wallet was found in a Dumpster several blocks away, no money or credit cards. The cards were used once, two hours after the murder, where the killer withdrew the daily maximum.”
“Any security cameras at those sites?”
“Yeah, but the killer wore a mask and there were no identifying features or clothing. The police note that there was a lock-box in the bedroom that was busted open. It was empty and may have contained cash. We have no way of knowing.”
On the surface, classic signs of a robbery. But Russo was also part of the Delta team targeted by a killer and the same individual who had possession of the George Price dog tags. If those tags weren’t an obvious red flag, Megan wouldn’t even be asking these questions. “Evidence?”
“None that has led anywhere. No prints. No one saw anything suspicious, but this happened between midnight and twelve-thirty. Russo arrived home at twelve-thirty and shortly thereafter gunshots were reported.”
“How many times was he shot?”
“Three. Twice in the chest and once in the head.”
“Three? That sounds like overkill.”
“Maybe the robber didn’t have a mask on when he was in the house. Didn’t want to be identified. It happens a lot. We have the bullets from the autopsy and found three nine-millimeter bullet casings that match, but so far nothing has hit. They’ve been logged into the AFIS database, so if the gun turns up in any other investigation, it’ll pop.”
Zarian continued. “There are a bunch of reports, witness statements that don’t seem to mean much of anything. Neighbor said she saw him leave alone at six while she was walking her dog. Another neighbor-”
“She said alone? Was she prompted?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t do the interview.”
“Is there anything in there about a girlfriend? Wife? Friends?”
“Single, never married. Dated, but I don’t have any names. Maybe he was between relationships. No one identified as a girlfriend was interviewed.”
“Can you contact that witness and ask her if she knew whether Russo dated, and the name of his most recent girlfriend? Anything else she might know about such a person?”
“Sure, but-”
Megan interrupted. “It would probably be easier if I made the call.”
“I’ll send you the name and number.”
Megan wasn’t sure it would lead anywhere, but the recent seduction of General Hackett had her wondering if Rosemont’s partner was truly a woman. At first, she’d been more concerned about the woman’s safety-if Rosemont and his partner were surprised by two people, the UNSUB could have kidnapped General Hackett’s female drinking companion, and possibly dumped her body elsewhere. But then Megan realized that wasn’t possible. The cabin had been rented to Ethan Rose. The woman who brought Hackett to the cabin had been part of the conspiracy to murder. Was it possible that this woman was even colder and more calculating than Barry Rosemont himself?
Megan asked, “One more thing. Do you have a ballistics report handy?”
“There’s one in here somewhere. It’s in the log. Why?”
“This is a big favor, I know, but the murders I’m currently working aren’t yet logged in AFIS.” Not one hundred percent true-Johnson and Perry were in AFIS, but they only matched each other, not any other ballistics in the system. But Megan was convinced that Russo was connected to these murders, if only by the thin thread of AWOL soldier George Price’s statement, which said he had left his dog tags with Russo. “I’d like to get the crime techs something to compare with ASAP. Can you fax or e-mail the reports to a couple different counties?”
“I’ll do it,” Zarian said. “Where?”
“Texas Rangers based in McAllen, attention Ranger Hern; Riverside County Sheriff’s Department, attention Deputy Sheriff Warren; Santa Barbara County Forensics Unit, attention Dr. Ian Clark.”
“That it?” He sounded irritated. It was grunt work, but it had to be done.
She was about to say yes, but then realized that Sacramento wouldn’t have had time to run ballistics since CID returned John Doe’s body. “Sacramento Crime Lab, attention Simone Charles. I’ll e-mail you the contact numbers.”
“Thanks. I’ll get on this now. We’re short-staffed right now. How can I reach you later? This number?”
“I’m on my way to interview a witness, but you can leave a message or e-mail me.” She was still angry with Hans about this assignment. There was no reason she should be spending three hours on the road-ninety minutes each way-to interview a witness when it would have been easier to send a lower-ranking agent or to call the SLO sheriff and ask him to send a deputy over. Megan would have been happy to brief the officer. It was more than obvious Hans didn’t want her around, and it both pissed her off and upset her. That he had gone to Rick Stockton-her boss’s boss! — made her stomach queasy, and the fact that he refused to even discuss the matter made it worse.
Zarian said, “I just sent you the contact information for the neighbor, Mrs. Anne Lyons.”
“Thank you, I really appreciate your help.” She hung up and asked her driver, Officer Barbara Dodge, how long before they arrived. “We’re in the city limits. Five, ten minutes probably.”
“Thanks,” Megan said and dialed Mrs. Anne Lyons. She wasn’t holding out hope that Mrs. Lyons would be home, so was pleasantly surprised when an elderly female voice identifying herself as Anne Lyons answered.
“Mrs. Lyons, my name is Megan Elliott. I’m an FBI agent in Sacramento, California. I have some questions regarding your neighbor, Kenneth Russo.”
“Kenny? What a nice man. A tragedy. We’ve always had a safe neighborhood. And then, well, many of my friends moved after that horrible incident.”
“Yes, ma’am. I-”
She interrupted. “Have you found the person who killed him?”
“Not yet, but-”
“The police were very nice, very diligent, but they don’t come by anymore.”
A cold case robbery/homicide after nearly ten months wasn’t going to keep the police on their toes, Megan knew. There were plenty of crimes to solve.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m following up on a lead-”
“All the way from California?”
“Yes.” Before the witness could interrupt again, Megan spoke quickly. “My colleague in Orlando reviewed your statement and you mentioned that you saw Ken Russo come home alone the night he was murdered. Did he normally bring someone home with him? A girlfriend?”
“Kenny was a handsome retired military officer. Always helped me take my garbage out, fixed my fence when it fell down in that awful storm three years ago. Of course there were always women who wanted to go out with him. He was a confirmed bachelor, though. Enjoyed the ladies, of course, but he liked to ‘play the field,’ as you kids say now.”
Megan wasn’t sure she’d use that phrase. She asked, “Did he have a regular girlfriend? Or do you remember who he was seeing when he was killed?”
“You aren’t suggesting that one of his girlfriends had something to do with his murder! It was a burglary. They took his computer, his camera, his money-”
“You knew he had money in the house?”
“That’s what the police said. They asked me about it, so I assumed he had some money.”
“And his girlfriends?”
“Well, all the ladies here wanted to date him, but he was too young.”
“Excuse me,” Megan asked, “what type of community do you live in?”
“It’s a private, gated community. Active Fifty. No minors. Joe and Liz have a college-aged daughter living with them, but-”
The community was gated? Why hadn’t Zarian mentioned that fact?
“Were there any other burglaries in your community around the time Mr. Russo was robbed and killed?”
“Goodness no. This is one of the safest areas of Orlando. Well, there was Sergio Roper. He’s senile. He used to go into houses at random and make himself lunch. Walked in one afternoon while I was napping. I woke up and found him eating a ham and cheese sandwich in my kitchen-”
“Mrs. Lyons, you’re saying that Mr. Russo’s was the only major robbery in the community?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And his girlfriend?”
“Poor thing, his girlfriend broke up with him right before. They had a rather public argument, and she left crying.”
“When was that?”
“Oh, gosh, I’m not sure. A week or two before Kenny was murdered. I called her to tell her, and she was heartbroken. I thought there was something special between them. But she couldn’t come to the funeral. She had taken a job out of state. That’s what the fight was about, apparently. She wanted him to move with her, and Kenny, he was happy with us old folks. He was only fifty-three, but he was an old soul.”
“Do you have her name? Contact information?”
“In my address book. Just a minute.”
Several minutes later, Mrs. Lyons came on the phone. “Hannah.”
“Hannah what?”
“I don’t have her last name, but here’s the number.”
After Mrs. Lyons recited the digits, Megan said, “That’s a New York exchange.”
“She’s from New York, and she went back. It was her cell phone-I hear you can keep the same number no matter where you move. Isn’t that amazing?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “Hannah had moved here to be with her parents, who were getting on in years and needed some help. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing? I know so many people who have children too busy to even visit, let alone help with grocery shopping and transportation. I can’t drive anymore because of my eyes.”
“I’m sorry,” Megan said as she finished writing down information. “Your eyes?”
“I’m blind. Well, not blind as a bat, but I can’t see more than two feet in front of me even with my glasses. So you can understand why I would love to have some help, but I never was able to have children. Though some of my friends have several children and none of their kids help out-”
“Mrs. Lyons, I really appreciate your time and information. I may call you again, if that’s okay.”
“Yes, of course, anytime. Please.”
“One more th
ing, how long was Mr. Russo involved with Hannah?”
“Several months. They met at a community mixer.”
“How old is she, would you say?”
“Young. Forty, forty-five.”
“I thought you had to be fifty to live there?”
“Yes, but she was taking care of her parents-didn’t I say that? I’m sure I did.”
“Are her parents still there?”
“Oh no, when Hannah left for her new job, they went to a nursing home. They were in their eighties, I think Bernard was close to ninety. He had a pretty good head, but didn’t say much of anything. Millie had advanced Alzheimer’s. Couldn’t remember anything, bless her heart. I don’t blame Hannah for moving on. Bernard never made much money working for the county, though they had a nice retirement. I think Hannah was struggling to make sure their bills were paid. Before Millie was diagnosed, she’d bought thousands of dollars of stuff she didn’t need off that shopping channel. Finally, Bernard cut up the credit cards. At least, that’s what I heard.“
“Do you have the name of the home?” “Sunny Day Adult Living. It’s one of the nicer places in Orlando. If any of those places are nice.” “And their last name?” “Rubin. Bernard and Millie Rubin.” “Was that their daughter’s last name as well?” “I suppose so. I honestly don’t know.” “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Lyons.” “We’re here,” Officer Dodge said after Megan hung up. “Ready?”
“One minute. Let me make a quick call.” Megan dialed the number Mrs. Lyons gave her for Hannah, Ken Russo’s ex-girlfriend. Her head was abuzz with questions, namely did Hannah know if Russo had been threatened or seemed distracted prior to their breakup. Megan was shocked when Mrs. Lyons told her the community was a private, gated development. Only one major theft, with a murder attached, and the police weren’t suspicious of a more personal motive?
An automated voice mail system picked up and Megan debated leaving a message. When the beep sounded, she said, “Hello, my name is Megan Elliott and I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I spoke with someone who said you used to date a Mr. Kenneth Russo in Orlando, Florida, who was murdered in a robbery last year. I’m following up on the case and have a couple questions, and would appreciate a call back.”
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