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Jessie got out of the car and stretched.
The drive from Tabitha Reynolds’s Venice loft to their current location in Mar Vista only took ten minutes. But in between they’d made a forty-five minute pitstop at a local diner to review the case file they’d been sent on the first poisoning victim, Clarissa Langley.
Jessie had noshed on a stale blueberry scone, a far cry from the chicken and Brussels sprout skillet she and Ryan had originally intended as tonight’s meal. But their time in the diner had proved somewhat fruitful.
While there, they reviewed the file over the phone with the HSS researchers, Jamil Winslow and Beth Ryerson. Jamil, a short, skinny twenty-five-year-old with thick glasses and no sense of fashion style, headed up the two-person department.
He was the unit’s resident genius, capable of filtering through massive databases, sorting surveillance video into manageable buckets, or making complex financial records understandable, all seemingly in the blink of an eye. His social skills didn’t always match his intellectual ones, which is where his sole employee came in.
Beth Ryerson, also twenty-five, was as adept with people as Jamil was with numbers. Her perpetually chill, friendly vibe was the complete inverse of Jamil’s constant, jittery intensity. And while not a human supercomputer like Jamil, she had an incredibly sharp mind, which people tended to underestimate because she was an attractive, six-foot-plus former college volleyball star.
Working together with the researchers, Jessie and Ryan quickly confirmed multiple similarities between the crime scenes. They’d also learned that the colleague of Clarissa Langley who’d discovered her body last night lived only five minutes from the diner they were in. Ryan called to see if she was home. She was, and despite the fact that it was approaching 9 p.m., invited them over, which is why Jessie and Ryan were now standing in front of her place.
The woman, Raylene Florence, lived in a six-story, cookie-cutter complex on the edge of Mar Vista and Venice. But by living on the Mar Vista side of Walgrove Avenue, her rent was several hundred dollars cheaper than if she lived on the Venice side. They buzzed her apartment at the front gate, and she let them in. They took the elevator up to the fourth floor, and Ryan knocked on her door. She must have been waiting on the other side because she opened it before he”d even pulled his hand back.
“Hi,” she said nervously, “come on in.”
She stepped aside to make way for them. As Jessie passed by her, she noted that Raylene Florence had a very diffident way about her. She was wearing gray sweatpants and a navy sweatshirt without any logo. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore glasses. She carried herself with a meekness that was reinforced by her apartment.
The entire place was a collection of inoffensive choices, from the standard issue, IKEA-style furniture to the bland floral prints on the walls. It was hard to tell yet if these was Florence’s personal style or just a woman in her mid-twenties doing the best she could within her budget.
“Thanks for seeing us so late,” Jessie said, stepping into the living room and taking a seat on a hard-backed wicker chair. Ryan took the matching chair and Florence sat on the edge of the adjoining loveseat.
“Of course,” she replied. “I was a little surprised to hear from you because I already talked to those other detectives but if it helps, I’m happy to tell you what I can.”
“As I mentioned on the phone, we’re taking over the case from them,” Ryan said. “We’ve read your statement in their report but just wanted to review a few things.”
Raylene Florence nodded and waited for their questions.
”So, just to be clear, you worked with Clarissa Langley?” he began.
“More for her than with her,’ Florence explained. “I’m an administrative assistant at the marketing firm she worked for, Creative Concepts West.”
“Our understanding is that Ms. Langley was a senior executive at the firm.”
“That’s right,” Florence confirmed. “She was one of the top people there.”
“So why were you going to her home?” Ryan wondered.
”She had a big presentation the next day,” Florence explained. ”Normally she would have just stayed at the office, but I was told that she was feeling run down so she decided to work from home that afternoon. Apparently, she called and said she”d left some materials at her desk. It wasn”t pressing but she wanted someone to drop them by that evening. I was assigned to do it.”
“This was last night, Wednesday,” Ryan noted. “The police report said you arrived around seven, right?”
Florence nodded.
“And our understanding is that she called to request her materials around 3 p.m. that afternoon?” Ryan continued.
“I didn’t get that call,” Florence said. “I was just told to take over her stuff. But if that’s what they said, then I’m sure it’s right.”
“And she was alone?” Jessie asked, even though she knew the answer.
“Yes,” Florence replied. “I didn’t know it at the time but apparently her husband had taken their son out of school early that day. They spent the afternoon downtown before going to an L.A. Clippers game, so she had the place to herself.”
“And you discovered the body, correct?” Jessie reconfirmed.
“Yes,” Florence answered. “When I got there, I rang the bell, but she didn’t answer. I knocked on the front door too but still didn’t get a response. I knew she was home because I recognized her car from work. It was in the driveway. I thought maybe she was in the bathroom or something, so I waited a little bit and called her on her cell. I could hear her ringtone coming from inside. I started to get worried that something was wrong. I knew it was a little weird, but I walked along the side of the house, peeking in. That’s when I saw her lying on the floor. So I called 911.”
“And this is how you found her?” Ryan asked, holding out his phone to show her an image taken by the crime scene folks.
It showed Clarissa Langley, thirty-nine, still in the black skirt and beige blouse she’d worn to work that day, lying on her side in her bedroom. Her sleek black hair partially obscured her face. Raylene Florence glanced at it for a second, nodded, then looked away quickly.
“What was she like?” Jessie asked, her soft tone suggesting she was more interested in getting Florence’s personal impressions than something official.
“I mean, I didn’t know her super well,” she replied. “I know that she was considered great at her job, a real shark. No one wanted to cross her.”
“Did people resent her for that?” Jessie pressed.
“I’m sure they did,” Florence admitted. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead or anything, but she could be pretty harsh. She reamed me out more than a few times, not always fairly in my opinion.”
“Did you ever notice anyone in particular who mentioned animosity toward her?” Ryan wanted to know.
Florence thought about it for a moment.
“There may have been people who did, but they never directly said so,” she said. “Everyone I spoke with was more like me. We just tried to avoid her so as to not incur her wrath.”
“So you must not have been that psyched to be selected to take her the work stuff,” Jessie suggested.
Florence shrugged in embarrassment. When Jessie realized she wasn’t going to get an answer to that one, she moved on.
“So did you head right over or procrastinate because of that?” she asked, wondering if Raylene Florence would pick up on the fact that she was reconfirming her alibi.
“Oh, I went right over from work,” she replied adamantly. “I didn’t want to delay the inevitable and have it hanging over my head. Plus, Ms. Langley knew I was the one assigned, so the later I got there, the more annoyed she’d be. I just wanted to get it over with and move on with my night.”
“So when did you leave work?”
“Just after 6:30,” she said. “From the office to her place took a little less than a half hour.”
Though her answer was forceful, something about her manner caught Jessie’s attention. She was hesitant to make eye contact and squirmed nervously.
“Raylene, I feel like there’s something else you want to tell us,” she said gently, “but you’re hesitant to do so. If that’s the case, it’s better to be forthcoming now, rather than have information come out later that you can’t explain.”
The young woman’s face turned pink.
“There is one thing,” she acknowledged. “I should have brought it up as soon as I realized. But I forgot at first, and then when I remembered, I worried that I’d get in trouble.”
“What is it?” Jessie asked.
“I just want to make sure that I’m not going to be charged with anything,” Florence said. “Can you promise me that?”
“We can’t make that kind of promise,” Jessie said reluctantly. “What I can promise is that your motives and intent will be kept in mind. And in general, coming forward is always better for you than keeping valuable information from us. It’s the withholding that usually gets people in trouble.”
Florence got up from the loveseat and walked over to the kitchen counter. She picked up a business card.
“I found this slid in between the door and the frame when I arrived at Ms. Langley’s house last night,” she said, walking back over. “I pulled it out and was going to hand it to her. But when I started to get worried after I couldn’t reach her, I just shoved it in with the work materials. I forgot all about it and only remembered when I brought the materials back to work today to return to the executive team because they needed to reassign the account. I saw the card in there and realized I should have given it to the detectives last night. I didn’t want to be responsible for taking the evidence that could lead to the capture of whoever did this. I thought I might get arrested or something. But it’s been eating me up ever since. So here it is.”
She handed Jessie the card, who held it out for Ryan to see. It read: Gregory Ashton, Certified Financial Advisor, You do well but I can help you do better. That was followed by his contact information.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick with shame. “I should have brought it up right away. I was just really freaked out.”
“Yes, you should have handed it over immediately,” Jessie agreed. “But better late than never. We’ll look into this.”
She stood up to indicate that the interview was over. While one could never be certain, nothing in Raylene Florence’s demeanor suggested that she was being evasive about more substantial matters. Plus, she already knew about Florence’s alibi before she got here. She was just testing that the young woman wouldn’t vary it.
Florence escorted them out. As they walked down the hall to the elevator, Ryan took a photo of the business card and sent it to Jamil and Beth in research.
“It sounds like we might have dozens of potential suspects at Clarissa Langley’s office,” he noted as they waited for the elevator to arrive. “She doesn’t seem to have been popular among the staff.”
“Yeah, but how many of them have any connection to Tabitha Reynolds?” Jessie countered. “This was a very specific targeting of two women, using a pretty unconventional method of murder. This doesn’t feel like an abused employee getting revenge. There’s something more methodical and cold-blooded about it.”
The doors opened and they got in. Neither of them spoke on the way down, each consumed by their own thoughts. They left the building and were halfway to the car when Ryan got a call. It was from Jamil.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“The financial advisor whose card you sent me,” he replied immediately. “Tabitha Reynolds is a client of his.”
Jessie and Ryan exchanged shocked looks.
“Are you sure?” Ryan checked. “That was really quick.”
“I’m sure,” Jamil said. “I’m looking at her financials and it’s not hidden in any way. She hired him last year. Apparently he specializes in wealth-building for the newly affluent.”
“But he wasn’t working for Clarissa Langley?” Jessie asked.
“Not yet,” Jamil answered. “Maybe the card was his first step to changing that.”
“Can you send us his home address?” Ryan asked.
“Doing it now,” the researcher replied.
“Thanks, Jamil,” Jessie said, before turning to Ryan. “It looks like we’re making a house call.”