CHAPTER FOUR
Just before Jessie entered the pool house, she took a second to remind herself of the political fragility of the situation. Under normal circumstances, the husband of a murder victim was suspect number one. And technically, Edward Cain was no exception.
Based on what she knew so far, he was in the house at the time of the murder. And his claim that he’d gone straight to the golf course the following morning, completely missing the bloody kitchen, was already dubious.
But she had to remember that Cain was also a massive benefactor to the LAPD.
Not that his status would protect him if he killed his wife.
But if he hadn’t, treating him too harshly and alienating him could have consequences for the department.
And of course, if he was innocent, then she was about to talk to a grieving widower. That needed to be her starting point.
Once she and Sam stepped inside, it didn’t take long to assess the situation.
One officer was waiting by the door. Another stood awkwardly by a sofa where a man in his forties sat, staring off into space.
Wearing golf attire, he was ruggedly handsome with hair that was more salt than pepper.
Even from across the room, she could see that his eyes were puffy and red.
She looked over at Sam to see if he wanted to take the lead, but he gestured that she should feel free to do so. She approached slowly and stood near Cain, waiting for him to register her presence. When he looked up at her, the dullness in his eyes changed.
“I know you,” he said, his voice raspy and tired. “You’re Jessie Hunt, the profiler.”
“That’s right, Mr. Cain,” she told him, hoping she sounded comforting enough. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. May I sit down?”
He nodded at the sofa and she settled in at the far end of it. Then she indicated that Sam should join her. He stood at the edge of the couch.
“This is Detective Goodwin,” she said. “We’re working the case together.”
Cain nodded absently at Sam before turning back to Jessie.
“Did Chief Decker assign HSS to this case because of my connection to the department?”
“I think that was part of it,” she conceded. “But it was probably also due to the—explosive nature of the crime scene.”
“You mean the green card on the plate?”
“I do,” she told him. It was clear from Cain’s questions that the usual gentle handling of a spouse wasn’t necessary when explaining the situation to him.
“There’s the personal tragedy you’re facing.
And then there’s the volatility something like this could cause in the community.
I believe the chief wanted Maria’s case handled by a unit used to challenging dynamics.
But that’s not your concern. And it’s not our top priority.
Our focus is on finding out what happened to your wife and we’re hoping you can help us with that. ”
“How can I do that?”
Jessie settled into the sofa cushion, hoping to project a non-accusatory appearance.
“Let’s start by talking about you and Maria,” she said, careful not to sound like she was questioning a suspect. “Tell us how you met.”
He sank into his seat, seemingly overwhelmed by the memory.
“It was three years ago,” he said, seemingly hoarse from crying.
“I was at a gala at the Getty Center, celebrating an exhibition on modern South American art. Maria was helping curate it. Her degree was in art history back in Colombia and she had moved here the year before on a work visa as part of a joint project by the Getty and a museum in Bogota. A member of the Getty board introduced us. We hit it off immediately. I asked her out that same week. We started dating. I proposed to Maria after three months together and our wedding was nine months later. We’ve been married for two years now. ”
“It sounds like it was a real whirlwind romance,” Jessie said softly.
“I thought so,” Cain replied, choking up slightly. “It was so easy. We fit like hand in glove. I think our biggest argument was over whether to share buttered or unbuttered popcorn when we’d stream a movie.”
Jessie thought it odd that Cain would mention how little he and Maria fought right off the bat. He didn’t sound defensive but she clocked it anyway.
“That sounds lovely,” she said, before pressing ahead. “We heard a little from Sergeant Brasov already, but we were hoping you could give us a little more detail on yesterday evening.”
Cain nodded as he wiped away a tear. “Of course. I’m the chairperson of a scholarship fund for children of LAPD officers.
We held a dinner here with six other couples, hoping to secure contributions.
It all went very well. But I was pretty wiped out by the end of the night.
I guess Maria could tell because she said I should go up to bed before I fell asleep on my feet.
I offered to tough it out and help put the clean dishes up.
There were a lot. But she said it was okay. That was our last conversation.”
He paused for a moment to regroup. As he did, Jessie made a mental note to ask the research team to do background checks on all the dinner guests. Cain continued.
“I went upstairs and got ready for bed. It takes a few minutes because I use a CPAP machine and it’s a hassle. But once I got everything squared away, I zonked out pretty quickly.”
“And this morning?” Sam wondered.
"Right. Even with the CPAP I had a bad night sleeping. I ended up hitting snooze a couple of times. When I looked over at my phone, it was already 6:30. My tee time was at 6:55, so I started running around like a chicken with my head cut off."
He stopped suddenly at hearing the phrase he’d used.
“It’s okay,” Jessie assured him. “Please go on.”
“I hurried downstairs, grabbed my clubs in the garage, and took off. Didn’t even have time to make coffee or grab a snack.”
“You didn’t look around for Maria?” Jessie asked, tying to keep her tone neutral and not critical.
“She wasn’t in bed but that wasn’t unusual.
I get up early on weekdays but she’s almost always up before me on weekends.
She does a 4-mile speed walk through the neighborhood three times a week.
I thought that’s where she was. I called her from the car on the way to the club but didn’t get an answer.
I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now—. ”
Again, he stopped to take a deep breath.
“Mr. Cain, I have a tough question for you,” Jessie said. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask it.”
“Okay.”
“Would you be okay providing us with the data from your smart watch from last night?”
“Why?” he asked before he suddenly got it. “Oh, you need to confirm my alibi.”
“Your sleep data could prove very useful,” she said, not answering directly.
“Of course you can have it,” he said. “Same with the CPAP. It has all kinds of sensors that track my sleep patterns, any apnea events—all kinds of stuff. You’re welcome to it all.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “Now we need to address another sensitive issue.”
“Don’t feel like you need to treat me with kid gloves, Detective Goodwin,” Cain said. “I get that my contributions to the department make questioning me tricky. But I want to know who did this to Maria. If I can tell you anything that helps do that, I will. So just ask.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sam said. “Do you recall if Maria had any conflicts with any of your guests last night? Terse words exchanged? A political argument of some kind? Perhaps a thoughtless comment that escalated?”
“You’re wondering if anyone said something offensive to her? Maybe even racist?”
“It doesn’t have to be that overt,” Sam said. “Any dispute could be notable.”
Cain offered a sad smile.
“Truthfully, I’m sure a few of them entertained some ungenerous thoughts.
But I think they were less about Maria’s ethnicity than the fact that she was a decade and a half younger than me and we got married so fast. I think some of them thought she was taking advantage of an older man.
But no one said anything. It just wasn’t that kind of crowd. ”
“Okay,” Jessie said. “What about other folks? It seems pretty clear that whoever did this either had some kind of problem with Maria’s immigration status or wants to give that impression. Did she ever mention anyone else giving her a hard time?”
Cain shrugged dejectedly. “Sure. She told me she would sometimes get snide remarks when walking on the street. People shouted for her to go back to Mexico even though she’s Colombian.
There were some catcalls too. But they were all one-off comments from strangers.
No one she actually knew personally ever said anything like that. She would have told me.”
“Are you sure?” Jessie asked. “Maybe she didn’t want you to overreact considering your influence.”
“I doubt that,” he said. “First of all, Maria was very proud of her heritage. Secondly, she was no shrinking violet. She wouldn’t have gotten into an arguments with a stranger because who knows what they might be capable of?
But if someone she interacted with regularly said that stuff?
She would have said something to them and to me. ”
“All the same,” Sam said, “would you give permission for us to search the house, as well as her emails, texts, and social media? You never know.”
“Of course. I’ll sign whatever you need to make that happen.”
Sam looked over at Jessie, clearly wondering if she had any additional questions. She couldn’t think of any right now. Mostly, she wanted to dive into Maria’s recent history. Like Sam, she wasn’t as sure as Edward Cain that his wife was telling him about everything she faced on a daily basis.
Hopefully, somewhere in her digital conversations, there was a clue as to who did this and why.