by Dana Killion
Moments later I saw her in the smoothie line at Raw, a scarf wrapped around her neck but no sign of a jacket. I left my coat at the table and grabbed my wallet, then caught her at the counter.
“Can I buy?”
“Okay, sure,” she said. “Sorry, this was the soonest I could get away. I only have a couple minutes.”
I paid for her drink, something pink that I wasn’t familiar with, and we returned to the table.
“I’m glad you came down,” I said, watching her scan the nearby diners for familiar faces. “I had a feeling it wasn’t the best time to talk upstairs.”
“Did you really see her dead?” Stacy asked, after assuring herself that no coworkers were within earshot. Her pale skin was blotched pink from the cold and the tears.
I nodded solemnly. “She was nearly gone when I found her. I called 911 and tried to stop the bleeding, but there wasn’t anything more I could do. It was too late.”
“Is it true that she was all cut up? I read that online.” Her voice held the fear of someone who wanted to know the truth but wasn’t sure she could handle it.
“Yes, her face had been cut, just her mouth.”
Stacy stared at me, reeling, covering her mouth with her hand and letting the tears flow again. “Why?” It was the only word she could get out.
“I don’t know. CPD hasn’t released anything yet, but it’s hard not to wonder if the cuts to her mouth were a message, or punishment, or perhaps even retaliation?”
“You mean he killed her because of something she said?”
“I don’t know why she was killed, but the slashing of her mouth wasn’t what killed her. It was a message. At least that’s what I find myself wondering about.”
Stacy sat quietly, wiping her tears and letting that possibility sink in. As did I. Had Gavin Wright orchestrated her manner of death? Or had the killer gotten creative, leaving his own message? Although I had no reason to believe it, in some ways the cut marks to her mouth suggested a warning.
“Did Elyse ever speak to you about problems in her marriage?”
“A little bit. I guess they fought a lot.”
“Fought how? Was he physical? Did he hit her?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently at first, then seemed to reconsider. “At least I don’t think so. She never talked about it. I didn’t see bruises or anything.”
“But they argued a lot?”
“I think they were both just that way. Hot-headed. Emotional. Big egos. They’d have a fight, and a day later everything would be fine.”
“I know this is an awkward question, but did Elyse ever say anything about Gavin having an affair?” I asked, thinking about the tracking software.
“No, I don’t think it was anything like that. That’s just how they were.”
“Do you know if she ever felt threatened? Did she mention that?”
“By her husband?”
“Yes. Or by anyone else.” I left the question open, wondering if the man Gavin had hired had ever contacted her prior to breaking into her home.
“I don’t know. I can’t really think right now. My brain hasn’t wanted to work since I heard about Elyse.”
“Was there a client who was angry?” I prodded. “A coworker she had pissed off? A stranger who left messages? I know I’m grasping, but this stuff just doesn’t happen out of the blue, and I’m trying to figure out if there were any signs of someone wanting to hurt her. Anyone who was angry with her, other than her husband.”
“She pissed a lot of people off along the way, but usually it was just a fleeting thing. Sexist, really, because the men around here are the real ballbusters. Elyse had high standards and she could be tough, but everyone in the office was cool with that. It’s not like anybody held a grudge or took it personally.”
“How about clients?”
“Well, the biggest scandal, if you can call it that, was a campaign we did a few months ago. It was for one of the heart associations. They wanted to get the message out about how women are underdiagnosed, or more often called ‘hormonal’ and just flat-out ignored by their doctors. Elyse did a thirty-second spot that got a little controversial.”
“In what way?”
“Well, the image showed a woman in a doctor’s office, and she’s talking about these symptoms she’s having that could be signs of heart disease or a mild heart attack. Anyway, the doctor in the spot is like a total chauvinist and tells her she needs to get a hobby or agree to have sex more often. Totally downplayed the seriousness of her concerns. They intended it to be a little infuriating. But that’s the reality—women are often treated dismissively. Elyse loved the ad. Thought it was right on point. But she had to work pretty hard to convince the heart association to run it. In the end they agreed. It was active for about two weeks all across prime-time cable. And the minute it started, the social media idiots just blew up over it.” She shook her head, disgusted by the outcome. Her voice had strengthened in recounting the incident, and I had the sense it had been a big blow.
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“Doctors were mad because they thought they looked dumb. The crazy sexists on Twitter started making a fuss. The association got calls, we got calls, it got pretty ugly, so they yanked it. You know how those lunatics are on social media. When a woman doesn’t stay in her lane, suddenly she’s a lesbian bitch who needs to die. Elyse got the brunt of that. Julian was mad at her. After that the client dumped us. Said their reputation had suffered.”
“Needs to die? Did someone say that? Were there threats on her life?” I asked, keeping my tone light, but inside my blood pressure was jumping.
“Yeah, but it’s Twitter. You can’t take any of that seriously. It’s just a bunch of lonely, emotionally stunted pigs who blame the world for their unhappiness. Maybe if these guys got a life, they wouldn’t have to spend their time fabricating hate about why women won’t date them.”
Funny, Julian Metz hadn’t mentioned the incident. I guess it didn’t meet the image he wanted for his firm.
“Look, I really need to go. They’ll be wondering what happened to me. Thanks for the drink.”
“Call me if you think of anything else I should know,” I said. She nodded and headed back upstairs.
I turned back to my phone and began scrolling Jennus Creative’s social media accounts.
17
Social media was the ultimate Band-Aid rip. It had a way of yanking away or building up the reputation of companies and individuals alike, usually in unexpected ways. The Jennus Creative accounts had largely been scrubbed clean. I didn’t blame them; few companies would want that hate speech attached to their brand, certainly not an ad agency where image is what they sold. But they couldn’t suppress what they didn’t control.
A chicken banh mi, also known as The Hen House at Saigon Sisters, under my belt, and eyes fuzzy from staring at my phone, I packed up my things. I’d found some of the hateful rhetoric online that Stacy had referenced, but Brynn had skills in technology deeper than anything I possessed.
As I walked out to the street, I put in a call and asked her to use her magic to do a deep dive into the social media accounts. If she couldn’t find it, we’d have to figure out how to hire a Russian hacker.
Jocelyn Lawrence seemed the next logical target. Although she’d been the one to bring Wright’s financial shenanigans to the surface, she’d seemed reticent. I’d gotten the feeling during her testimony that while she appeared to answer questions directed to her, she wasn’t completely forthcoming. Was she holding back because she knew more, or was she concerned about her own vulnerability?
Not a cab in sight. I walked to the corner, stood in front of the Jennus Creative building, and scanned the street, hoping for better luck. As I waited for the taxi gods to smile on me, I adjusted the scarf around my neck, then checked my phone for messages, blinking away the eye fatigue. A text from Ryan about rescheduling our meeting had just come through. I popped the phone back in my bag without ans
wering. He could wait until I was out of the biting wind.
A black SUV pulled up to the curb, spattering dirty, melted snow up to my knees. As I looked up to growl at the driver, Michael stepped out of the vehicle with Janek right behind him.
I put my hands on my hips and gave Janek The Glare. “I hope that wasn’t intentional.”
He looked at my soiled legs and shrugged. “Have you thought about wearing boots?”
I shook my head and sighed. “Let me guess, you’re heading upstairs for a chat with Elyse Wright’s employer. Well, you’re getting a late start on the day, gentlemen.”
Janek huffed. “As if our job isn’t hard enough, we have to battle reporters for face time with subjects. Do you wanna tell us who you’ve already spoken to? Did you learn anything relevant?”
“Quid pro quo. Tell me the cause of death, and I’ll consider sharing.” As much as Janek loathed our ongoing dance of wills, I found it amusing. It reminded me of my days as a prosecutor, when “give, give, get” was something of a mantra. No reason for me to give up anything for free. I hadn’t learned much from Metz, but Janek didn’t know that. Would he be a little looser with his tongue when he had a cop in front of him instead of a reporter? In my experience, a cop in your face either scared you so much you spilled every minor childhood secret or it shut you up. I was betting Metz was an experienced bullshitter and Janek would hear the same nonsense I had.
“There were two stab wounds just below the breastbone. Deep. Big honkin’ knife. She basically bled out,” Janek said.
“And the slashes to her face?”
“Superficial wounds. Didn’t help slow down the bleeding, but that didn’t kill her either,” he added.
“The mouth wound was inflicted after she was stabbed in the gut and probably already down,” Michael said.
“Why do you think he bothered?” I asked. “If she was already down and bleeding to death, why cut her face?” I saw it purely as a message. As far as I could tell, there was no other way to interpret it. Although the official CPD statement had mentioned wounds to the face, they had withheld the details. That meant they thought it was important. Withholding information was one of the useful little interrogation tricks they could pull out later when they needed to up the heat on a suspect.
Michael looked as Janek, then back at me. “It’s hard to tell. Maybe she was making too much noise? An impulse in the heat of the moment? I don’t think we know enough yet to speculate.”
“Or this is what happens when a woman talks,” I said, wrapping my mind around that particular horror. I shuddered, again imagining Elyse Wright’s final moments. How could a husband hate his wife that much?
The men stayed silent but didn’t contradict me. We stood awkwardly, reflecting, none of us wanting to tip our hands.
I broke the silence. “I met with her boss, Julian Metz. According to him, everyone loved her, they know nothing about her personal life, yada yada. But I don’t think he’s being honest. He’s slick and a salesman. He doesn’t want this to in any way reflect on his firm. But if I were you, I’d ask him about the heart association campaign.”
“What about it?” Janek asked.
“You should be able to take it from here,” I said, raising my arm to flag a passing cab.
Jocelyn Lawrence lived in Lakeview, just a half a block off Halstead on Roscoe. From the looks of it, the building was a classic brick three-flat. Railroad layout, one unit per floor, vintage charm, a sunroom in the front, and an exterior stairway out the back. I entered the vestibule, found a mailbox nameplate for unit two, and headed up the stairs.
A wreath of lavender decorated her red painted door, and a coir doormat printed with “Welcome” sat in front. I knocked, listening for footsteps. A moment later, the door opened several inches, and I could see Jocelyn peer at me through the crack. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore no makeup, giving me the impression she was under the weather or hiding from the world.
“Ms. Lawrence, my name is Andrea Kellner. I’m a reporter with Link-Media. I’d like to speak to you for a few minutes about the Gavin Wright trial.” I held out my business card.
“I don’t have anything to say.” She began to close the door.
“Were you aware that Elyse Wright was murdered earlier this week?” The door stopped its momentum, and I saw what little color that had been there drain from her face.
“No, I…oh, my God.” Her hands went to her chest, and her breathing became rapid.
“It looks like you should sit down,” I said, getting worried that she was about to hyperventilate. “May I come in?” She nodded and opened the door the rest of the way. I followed her into a sunny living room. Wood floors, crown molding, plants dotting the space everywhere. It was warm, inviting and utterly feminine.
“If you point me toward the kitchen, I can get you a glass of water,” I said, fearful that she would pass out. She nodded and fluttered her hands toward the back, then took a seat on a love seat in the sunroom.
The vintage kitchen was painted a sunny yellow, with glass-doored cabinets that looked original to the space filling one wall. Shelves had been added to the window over the sink, and small pots of herbs grew there, scenting the room with rosemary. I found a glass and opened the tap till the water ran cold, then returned to Jocelyn.
“Here you go. Are you feeling any better?”
She took the cup, mumbled her thanks, then took a big sip. “Yes, a little better.”
“May I sit down?” She nodded. Her skin was still looking a little pasty, and her hand was trembling when she drank.
I sat across from her in an oak Windsor chair while she regained her composure, removing my coat as the sun beat down on me.
“I haven’t been watching the news,” she said. “It’s been too much for me. The trial was so awful. I couldn’t listen to it anymore. You were there, weren’t you? I think I remember seeing you.”
I nodded. Her voice was sounding a little stronger, but the woman was clearly shaken.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Elyse was stabbed in the chest. In her home.” I paused to see if she was ready to hear the rest. “They have arrested Gavin for her murder.”
She gripped the arm of her chair as if it were the only thing keeping her from collapsing. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” She stared at the floor, repeating the words as if unable to comprehend what I had said.
“Are they sure it was Gavin?” she asked, once able to catch her breath.
“Sure enough to arrest him. CPD says he hired someone. That he didn’t do it himself.”
“At least that makes more sense,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice was icy.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just that stabbing is messy, too easy to pin on someone. Gavin isn’t the type who likes to get his hands dirty. He keeps his misdeeds behind closed doors. But you never really know about people. What they show to the world is often a big, fat lie.”
Her jaw was set, and she stared out the window. I had the feeling that we were talking around something. Was I sensing her general dislike of Gavin, or was there something else?
“I know that you worked for Gavin for quite some time—eight years, wasn’t it? Would I be correct in assuming that you’d met Elyse, maybe had contact with her occasionally?”
“We’d met.” She didn’t elaborate. Interesting.
“Did she come into the office often? Or did you meet at social functions? I assume there were Christmas parties, company picnics, perhaps?”
“No, we didn’t do much of the social stuff as a group outside of work. There were only a handful of us. But even then, Gavin was too cheap to buy us a meal. You’d think he could have parted with a couple hundred bucks for a little morale building, but no, he had other priorities. Himself.”
This time the edge in her voice was unmistakable. Resentment? It was also obvious that she hadn’t expanded on her interactions with Elyse.
/> “It sounds like Gavin was a difficult boss.” The trial had touched on procedural aspects of reporting and money management and Gavin’s strict managerial style. But I didn’t know how Jocelyn felt about the man prior to the embezzlement charges.
“He wasn’t afraid to raise his voice, if that’s what you’re asking, and the pay was pathetic, but most of the time he let me do my work and didn’t hassle me, so I put up with his ranting. No job is perfect.”
She took another drink of water and pushed a stray strand of hair off of her forehead.
“Frankly, I wasn’t sure where else I could go. I don’t have a degree or anything. A couple of times I tried to find another job, but I never got anywhere with it. There was always somebody else with the right degree or more experience. All I had on my resume was my time at Gavin’s firm. My title may have been administrative assistant, but basically I ran the office. Employers would rarely get past my title, especially with all the screening software that’s used these days.”
She shrugged, apparently feeling the need to explain her long tenure.
“Did Gavin ever direct some of his hostility toward you?” I watched her face closely for a response, hoping I could read what was being left unsaid.
She looked at the floor, chewing on the inside of her lip for a moment.
“I suppose if he’s in jail, there’s no reason I can’t talk about it anymore. Gavin Wright is an awful man. I just didn’t know how awful for a long time.”
“What happened?”
“He started coming on to me. He’d say things, inappropriate, suggestive things. At first it started out innocent. He’d tell me I looked pretty or would compliment my dress, stuff like that. Then he moved into talking about my body and blatantly staring at my chest. Then one day it went further than that. He touched me. He reached over and grabbed one of my breasts. No pretense, no mistaking it as an accidental brush.”