“There was blood on Tessa’s clothes. It’s probably not hers—she had some minor cuts, but this was a substantial amount of blood. She was sexually assaulted. There’s some evidence that she was on a beach. Security cameras show that Chase Flores was the one who dropped her at the emergency room early Saturday morning. Why the Long Beach hospital? There were half a dozen between Newport and Long Beach with twenty-four hour emergency service.”
Before Scarlet could comment, Bishop continued.
“There were prints on the knife that killed Cresson. They weren’t in the system, but I sent in both Tessa and Valerie’s prints to Irvine PD this morning. I hope to rule them out. In fact, the only one of the seven students who were at the bar on Friday who had a record was Skip Oliver. He had a drug possession charge three years ago when he was twenty-one. Got a fine and community service, but we have his prints in the system and they don’t match any that we found at the crime scenes.”
“Look at what we know,” Scarlet said. “We know Chase, Parker, Valerie and Tessa left the bar at approximately 8:30 Friday night.”
He stared at her. “How do we know that?”
“Process of elimination. I saw Juan and Skip waiting for Richie while he confronted Isaac. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, but deduced it after Valerie gave me the photos.”
“Right.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“And we know that Valerie and Tessa were at the beach at some point because of the evidence found on their persons. Valerie was at the house after two in the morning and called 911 to report the shooting. I heard one gunshot at 2:10 a.m. and it had to be the Richie Sanders shooting because Juan Robertson was killed earlier.”
“That’s inconclusive. The preliminary coroner’s report puts time of death for Robertson at one-thirty in the morning.”
“And we only have Valerie’s word that she was upstairs passed out or sleeping during Richie’s shooting,” Scarlet mused. “Was a gun found?”
Bishop shook his head. “Ballistics confirmed that the gun used was a nine millimeter.”
Scarlet tried not to show her relief. Isaac had a .357. He wasn’t completely in the clear, but one more piece of the puzzle confirmed he hadn’t been involved.
Bishop added, “We have one more timeline fact. Parker Cresson has an alarm system at his house. He disarmed it just after ten on Friday night. He never re-engaged it, but according to his neighbors, he never set it when he was home.”
He reached into his pocket and handed her a one-page print out of text messages from Friday night. “That’s from Cresson’s phone, a text exchange between him and Chase Flores from early Saturday morning.”
FLORES: Is Val with u?
CRESSON: I left her & Tessa at their apartment at 10.
FLORES: They’re not here.
Ten minutes later, the conversation resumed.
CRESSON: Did u find them?
FLORES: Not yet. I’m going to kill Richie for feeding them those fucking drugs.
CRESSON: I can look.
FLORES: Maybe. Hold on.
It was nearly thirty minutes later, after Cresson sent a series of unanswered messages, when Flores finally responded.
FLORES: It’s fucked. I got Tessa. She’s a mess. I’m bringing her over. I’ll be there in 10 min.
CRESSON: Where’s Val?
FLORES: I gotta get Tessa someplace safe and go back for her.
Scarlet read the exchange twice before handing the sheet back to Bishop. “That last message was at two-fifteen. Right after I heard the gunshot.”
“I’ve put an APB on Flores. He’s our best suspect right now.”
“Why don’t you sound good about this?”
“What’s good about this situation?” He was angry—not at her, but at the mess before him.
“There are extenuating circumstances.”
“His life is over,” Bishop said. “You know it. He’ll do time, maybe a reduced sentence because of the situation, but he’s twenty-two and he killed his best friend.” Bishop frowned.
“What?”
“If Flores killed Richie Sanders at two-ten Saturday morning, why did he take Tessa to Cresson’s townhouse instead of the hospital?”
“And why would he kill Cresson? He wasn’t part of the plan to rape Valerie and Tessa, at least from what we can figure out.”
It was clear when they both reached the same conclusion several seconds later.
Scarlet said, “Say he went back to his house to search for Valerie, maybe not knowing she was inside when he shot Sanders, and saw the police. He would have seen her outside if he got close enough.”
“Definitely possible.”
“He waits, then at some point goes back to Cresson’s place. Finds his friend dead. Either Tessa is there or she’s left and he finds her again, takes her to the hospital. It would explain the delay.”
“It’s a good theory. It would work.”
“But?”
“I don’t know. There’s something missing. I need to find this kid.” He paused, then added, “Your brother said this behavior may be caused by a designer, ketamine-based drug which can have a psychedelic effect. He’s seen it on the streets lately and it’s extremely dangerous. I suppose it could make an average-sized female able to take down a larger man, but repeatedly stabbing him?”
It was a rhetorical question, and none of the answers satisfied either of them. Scarlet said, “Like you said, the drug is dangerous. She might not have known what she was doing. You’ve faced perps on PCP—I know I have. It’s not pretty, and they don’t stop even when injured. And,” she added, “he was stabbed in the back. Maybe taken by surprise.”
“Hmm,” he said without elaborating. He stretched and stood, towering over her again. She didn’t like it, and rose from her seat. He was still taller, but at least they were more on an even playing field. “Now that I’ve filled you in, and Valerie is going home with her mother, there’s nothing more you need to do, right? I can go and know that you’re not going to interfere with my case?”
“I’ve helped,” she said. “You can’t tell me that talking this out hasn’t helped you as well. I haven’t interfered.”
He didn’t say anything.
She added, “Besides, I have my own case. Nothing to do with any of this.”
“Good. It’ll keep you busy. But if you see Chase Flores or Skip Oliver, call me. Got it?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I already put you on speed dial.”
Chapter Twelve
Scarlet was determined to help Bishop, whether he wanted her help or not, and tried to put herself in Chase Flores’s shoes. So angry about what his roommate had done to his on-again, off-again girlfriend—maybe because he knew Valerie and Tessa, or maybe because he was basically a decent guy who couldn’t fathom drugging girls and taking advantage of them. Too often the crowd mentality surfaced where if a couple people condoned illicit behavior, the others went along even though they’d never do anything like it on their own.
Chase seemed to be one of the good guys willing to protect his female friends—but would he then turn on the others and shoot them in cold blood? It’s possible. People snapped. Isaac had seen his daughter’s molester and snapped. He’d paid his debt to society, but he was still paying it every day. Scarlet didn’t want to feel compassion toward Chase. If he was a killer, he deserved just punishment. But she could understand how he might have been driven to such a desperate act.
Where would he go? If he had killed his friend Juan and shot Richie, why didn’t he turn himself in and claim self-defense? The running, the sneaking, not walking Tessa into the hospital…
Psychology wasn’t her bailiwick, but it seemed that Chase and Parker were close. If Tessa had been the one to stab Parker in the back, why hadn’t he turned Tessa into the police? Had he found her at Parker’s place or somewhere else?
Too many questions, and she felt she was circling around the answers.
Her cell phone rang. It was Mac
.
“Hey, Mac. What’s up?”
“What do you mean what’s up? You’ve sent me enough work for days.”
She winced. “Sorry. I was distracted.”
“I have a couple of things. First, you were right about Richard Sanders. It’s really Richard Sanders Junior, and his father is a major developer in Riverside and San Bernardino Counties. From a cursory glance, they’re loaded. I can’t get anything on the rental or finances until tomorrow, but I did a financial news search and there are no flags that the family is in trouble. They had a dip during the mortgage fraud crisis a few years back, but seem to have recovered.”
“Good work.”
“The others seem to be from similar backgrounds. You should probably know that Sanders and Chase Flores graduated from high school together and are in the same fraternity. Parker Cresson was also in the frat and he and Flores were roommates for two years.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“And one more—on that other situation, with the stalker chick?”
“Wendy Anderson.”
“You asked me if she had any problems with past boyfriends. I couldn’t find anything at first, but then I looked at where she went to college in Boston. I called the Boston PD and they actually talked to me.” He sounded surprised.
“You used my advice, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, you said it was all in the attitude.”
“And?”
“They had a file on her. Wouldn’t send it to me without going through proper channels, but told me enough. The teaching assistant for one of her classes filed several police reports against her for harassment and vandalism. She allegedly keyed his car, followed him on dates, harassed his girlfriends, joined his gym and showed up every time he did. There was a restraining order against her, but then she graduated and left town.”
“Thanks, Mac. I appreciate it.”
Jim Douglas had left a message for her earlier that he was on his way to stay with friends in San Diego, and she tried calling him. His phone went to voice mail. The whole thing with Wendy made her squeamish—so she hopped in her Jeep and drove over to Jim Douglas’s apartment. She checked it out; his car was gone and he wasn’t answering his door. She drove slowly through the complex looking for a sign of Wendy; she wasn’t there, either.
Jim’s apartment was only a few minutes from Valerie’s, so she drove over there without a clear plan. She knew the police had talked to her neighbors and Tessa’s roommate, but in light of the new information, maybe Scarlet should broaden the questions.
Jim returned her call while she was walking up the stairs to Tessa’s apartment.
“I just got to San Diego,” he said.
“Did you know that another guy in Boston, her teaching assistant, filed a restraining order against her during her last year in college?”
He didn’t say anything at first. “She told me that he was obsessed with her.”
“Not according to Boston P.D.”
“Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t know why I believed her. She wasn’t always so obviously crazy before.”
“You’re certain she didn’t follow you?”
“I know she didn’t. I rented a car while mine is getting fixed. I looped around a couple times before leaving town.”
“Smart.”
“I called in sick for tomorrow. I hate missing classes, especially at the beginning of the year. When can I come back?”
“Give it a day or two. Get the restraining order. It seemed to work for the guy in Boston. She eventually left him alone. I’m emailing you photos I took of Wendy parked outside your apartment, and my statement, which should help. Did you talk to her parents again?”
“They haven’t seen her in over a week. I read them the letter she gave me and now—finally—they’re worried about her. I think they’ll help me.”
“I know this is hard on you, but stick with the plan. I’m hoping the situation will diffuse itself.”
She wasn’t holding her breath, but between her statement, the CHP, and Wendy’s parents, Jim could probably get a rock-solid restraining order, and maybe—finally—Wendy will get some help. It was much harder to force an adult into mental therapy—or commit them—than a minor. And too often, Scarlet had learned, parents ignored early warning signs of future problems.
She told Jim to call her if he heard from Wendy at all, then knocked on Tessa’s door.
Mandy answered. A distinct aroma of marijuana flowed from the door. “Yeah?” she said.
“Mandy, I’m Valerie’s friend from yesterday.”
“I remember.” Her eyes were red and she leaned heavily against the door. “What’s up?”
“Tessa’s in the hospital and Valerie asked me to get a few things. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” Mandy said, letting Scarlet walk in. “What happened to Tess?”
It was a casual question, not much concern, as if asking about the weather.
“I don’t really know,” Scarlet lied. She remembered the misinformation Mandy had spouted only yesterday; she didn’t want to give the girl any more fodder for the gossip mill. “Which room is hers?”
“Tess is really weird about people going into her room,” Mandy said.
“You haven’t been in there this weekend?”
“I haven’t been in there since we moved in together.” Then she shrugged. “But she and Val are tight, go ahead. She’s the door on the left.”
“Thanks.”
The door was closed. Scarlet opened it, unprepared for what she saw.
The room was a mess, as if someone had literally tossed the place. At first, Scarlet thought someone had been looking for something, but it didn’t seem quite that methodical. Nothing in the desk seemed to be touched, but nearly everything had been pulled from the closet. She supposed Tessa was a slob, but the pictures were neatly hung—except for one framed photo that was smashed on the floor. She carefully picked it up—it was a photo of Tessa, Valerie, Chase, and Parker at Disneyland. It looked to have been taken on the same trip that Valerie had pictures of downstairs.
Scarlet then saw the blood smears on the wall, bloody women’s sandals in the corner. It looked like someone had wiped bloody hands on the sheets.
Something clicked. Tessa had come here after she killed Parker. Maybe to change, though Scarlet didn’t see any bloody clothes on the messy floor.
Did Chase find her here? Follow her here? Had she called him? They had Patrick’s cell phone, but a warrant for Chase Flores’s cell phone records would take longer to execute. Did he have Tessa’s phone? Was it in her possessions at the hospital?
She was about to text him and ask when she saw an iPhone with a smashed front on the floor, as if it had been thrown against the wall. She was already walking in dangerous territory here, even though she hadn’t actually touched anything. She considered her options, then said, “What the hell.” She pulled on latex gloves she always carried in her pocket and picked up the phone. She pressed the circle. It was nearly dead, showing five percent battery life. She quickly looked through the call log.
Starting at three-fifty Saturday morning, she’d missed fourteen calls from Chase Flores. There were other calls later—from Valerie, from Bishop, from other people—but those fourteen calls were telling. Had she been so frustrated with the repeat calls that she’d tossed the phone against the wall? Or had Chase come in, found the phone and his calls, seen all the blood, and threw her phone in frustration?
Scarlet put the phone back down where she found it and was about to call Bishop when her phone vibrated in her pocket.
She pulled off her gloves. “Moreno,” she answered.
It was Heather, and she sounded worried. “Scarlet, we need you at the bar.”
She turned the ignition and pulled out into the street. “What happened?”
“One of those kids came back. From the other night. He looks awful.”
“I’ll be right there.” She waved to Mandy, who didn’t seem to care that she was
leaving, and ran down the stairs to her Jeep. “Fifteen minutes, max. Call Detective Bishop.”
“Okay. Hurry.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No, but Isaac—he’s antsy.”
“Put him on.”
By the time Isaac came on the phone, Scarlet was in her Jeep and pulled out of Tessa’s complex. She sped through traffic in what might be deemed reckless if someone didn’t know she’d been a cop and was used to navigating through cars.
“What?” Isaac snapped.
“Bishop is on his way. Don’t do anything to land yourself in jail, Isaac.”
“I’m not.”
“Why am I not instilled with confidence?”
“Dammit, I didn’t want to let him in, but Heather said you told her to? What the fuck is going on, Scarlet?”
“What’s going on is Bishop needs to talk to that kid. We’re thinking he knows something about these murders.”
“We?”
“You know what I mean. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I hope. “Keep him there, no matter what.”
“Another one just came in.”
“Another one?”
“Are you deaf? I’m not—”
Suddenly the phone went dead.
“Dammit!” Scarlet tried the bar again, but there was no answer.
She called Bishop.
“Are you on the way to the bar?”
“Should I be?”
“Heather said she’d call you—but now no one’s answering. Skip Oliver and Chase Flores are there.”
“Are you sure?”
Almost. “Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“Five minutes out.” Ten.
“Wait for me.”
“I can’t. There’s something going on. I’ll go in through my apartment.”
“I thought you said there was no way in or out of your apartment except through the bar.”
“I lied.” She hung up. She didn’t want to get in a discussion with Bishop as she sped through traffic.
She parked two blocks away in the first available slot she could find. She ran to the bar. While most places near the beach had outdoor seating, Diego’s was old-school. No windows, no outdoor tables. She couldn’t see what was going on inside, but there was a sign on the door that said closed. Closed at four on a Sunday? Never.
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