Chapter 3
I parked outside the San Luis Obispo Police Department a little after nine the next morning and headed inside, the familiar scent of burnt coffee and printer toner greeting me the moment I stepped through the door. Some things never changed, no matter how many years passed.
Whitlock’s desk sat near the center of the bullpen, and he spotted me before I made my way across the room.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little troublemaker,” he said, pushing back from his chair with a grin.
“Good morning to you too,” I said.
He stood and pulled me into a quick hug, something he’d been doing ever since he’d come back into my life several years earlier. His sandy hair had gone gray in the years since then, but the warmth in his eyes was constant.
“If I had to guess, I’d say you’re here about the Bennett case,” he said.
“You know me all too well.”
“Word travels fast around here.”
“Is Foley around?”
Whitlock tipped his head toward Foley’s office. “He just got in. I’d venture to guess he’s made it through his first cup of coffee of the day and has already found a reason to be irritated.”
“I bet you’re right.”
He laughed and gestured for me to follow him.
We found Foley sitting behind his desk, his glasses perched low on his nose as he read through a stack of paperwork. He glanced up when we entered, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance.
“I spoke to Mia Bennett this morning,” he said. “She told me she’d hired you.”
“She did.”
Foley sighed, removing his glasses and setting them on the desk. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you got involved.”
“Mia came to me, not the other way around, if you’re wondering.”
“You know we’re capable of solving crimes without your assistance, right?”
Whitlock snorted at the comment, and Foley shot him a disapproving look.
“What?” Whitlock said. “You know she’s going to work the case whether we like it or not.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is the point.”
In the years since Foley’s promotion to chief of police, I’d grown used to the banter that surfaced whenever I told him someone had hired me to investigate one of his active cases.
By now it had become a kind of ritual between us, one he seemed to enjoy, even when giving me a little pushback.
The truth was, Foley had a soft side. He just wanted to feel like I respected his position, which I did.
And if it helped him to think he was still in charge, it was fine by me.
I, on the other hand, with the utmost subtlety, knew I was about to take over.
Foley exhaled, a faint smile crossing his face as he said, “I’m guessing you’re here for information. What do you want to know?”
“I spoke with Mia yesterday,” I said. “She mentioned you believe the murder might have been the result of a robbery gone wrong.”
Whitlock and Foley exchanged glances.
“That was our first thought,” Whitlock said.
“He’s right,” Foley added. “At the beginning, it looked that way. There were no signs of forced entry. But a house with a visible safe in the living room that can be seen from the outside? Well, it wasn’t a stretch to think someone targeted the place.”
“And now?”
Foley folded his hands on the desk. “Now we think it’s more complicated.”
“Why?”
Whitlock leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Nothing was taken. Not jewelry or electronics. It doesn’t rule out a robbery, but it makes it less likely.”
“Did you tell Mia that?”
Whitlock shook his head. “We don’t want to speculate until we have something solid. The last thing she needs right now is a bunch of theories that aren’t true.”
It was a fair comment.
“What has Mia told you so far?” Foley asked.
“I’m guessing the same things she told you. Wren was house-sitting while Mia attended a work conference in Las Vegas. The last contact between them happened Monday night. Tuesday morning Mia texted her several times and didn’t hear back.”
“That lines up with what we know,” Whitlock said.
“She also mentioned Wren had separated from her husband right before she died,” I said.
“The ex, yes,” Foley said. “Cooper Mayfair.”
Whitlock pushed away from the wall. “We spoke to him two days after the murder.”
“And?”
“He seemed devastated.”
Foley nodded in agreement. “Nice guy. Soft-spoken. Works as a financial advisor out of Paso Robles. Volunteers at his church. Coaches youth baseball.”
“Brought doughnuts for the entire office when he came in for his interview,” Whitlock added.
I studied their faces. “You two sound like you’re describing a golden retriever.”
Whitlock laughed.
Foley didn’t.
“He was cooperative,” Foley said. “Answered every question without hesitation.”
“Sometimes the nicest people are the ones hiding the most,” I said.
Whitlock raised a brow. “You talk to him yet?”
“I plan to today.”
Foley leaned back in his chair. “Well, when you do, you’ll find it hard to believe he’s capable of murder.”
“You know as well as I do that sometimes the people you least expect are the guiltiest of them all.”
Whitlock rubbed his chin. “That they are.”
“Who else have you questioned?” I asked.
“Wren’s coworkers,” Foley said.
“What did Wren do for a living?”
“She managed an elderly care facility, a place called Golden Harbor Senior Care.”
“Nice name,” I said.
“Seems she ran a tight ship.”
“Meaning?”
“Everyone we spoke with had good things to say about her. They described her as responsible, organized, and compassionate.”
Whitlock lifted a finger. “Not everyone had good things to say. Remember?”
Foley sighed. “Almost forgot about Clive Simmons.”
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“A former employee. Worked as a medication technician. Wren fired him about a month before the murder.”
“For what?”
“Repeated mistakes with the patients’ medications,” Foley said. “Wrong dosages. Missed doses. Things that could have caused serious harm.”
“That’s not something you overlook in a place like that.”
“Wren documented everything, and when it kept happening, it seemed she had no choice other than to terminate him.”
“He didn’t take it well,” Whitlock added. “One of the other employees was there during his exit interview. She said Clive raised his voice, called her a few names, and told her she’d regret her decision.”
“That’ll do it,” I said.
“We’ve spoken to him,” Foley said. “He’s sixty-seven, lives with his wife, and has a minor record for disorderly conduct twenty years ago. We’re keeping an eye on him.”
“What about Mia’s house?” I asked. “Did you find anything unusual at the scene?”
“Not at the scene itself, but one of Mia’s neighbors mentioned something interesting, though it’s not been confirmed. Suppose it’s still worth mentioning.”
“The neighbor lives two houses down,” Whitlock said. “She’s an older woman with insomnia who says she saw someone the night before the murder.”
“And?”
“She thought she saw someone across the street from Mia’s house, sitting in their truck. She said it was about half past eleven.”
“Did she get a good look at the person?”
“Doesn’t seem so, not enough to give us a physical description or tell us whether it was a man or a woman.”
“What about the vehicle they were driving?”
“She believes the truck was dark blue or black.”
“When she first noticed the person sitting in the vehicle, she said the house was dark, the only light coming from the television. Fifteen minutes later, the truck was still there, so she turned on the porch light to get a better look. That’s when the driver started the engine and took off up the street. ”
“Going back to Cooper, did he say anything about reaching out to Mia after he and Wren split?”
They shook their heads in unison.
“Not a word,” Foley said. “Why?”
“Mia said Cooper called her after the separation a couple of times. He asked her if she would try to convince Wren to get back together with him.”
For a moment, the room fell quiet.
“Well, that’s a nice little piece of information,” Whitlock said.
“Why?”
“According to him, splitting up had been the right decision. He said he wished her well and that the feeling was mutual. At least, that’s the story he told us.”