CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“What?” Jessie asked vaguely.
“I was asking if you wanted another coffee,” Sam said. “But I think your reaction gave me my answer.”
“Yes please,” she said sheepishly.
By the time she got to the station, she found that Sam was already here, as were both Jamil and Beth.
Jamil was running some kind of database search that he wasn’t yet ready to discuss.
Beth had analyzed the phone and vehicle data from Dr. Williamson, which so far reinforced the timeline he’d given them and offered no evidence that he was anything other than a grieving widower.
Sam had spoken to the Williamson’s private investigator and gotten info on the three wannabe European stalkers so he could do his own follow-up.
That left Jessie to mostly twiddle her thumbs as she circled her theory that these killings might be more personal than political.
Of course, that meant they had to find someone with personal connections to all three women, something they were missing so far.
She decided to check in on the research gang.
Sam would eventually figure out where she went and bring her coffee there.
When she entered the research department, she could immediately tell that Jamil was excited about something. He was doing that thing where his right foot bounced rapidly without him even being aware of it.
“What have you got, Jamil?” she asked, startling him.
He half-jumped out of his chair but hadn’t even resettled before he started talking.
“Getting Anastasia Williamson as a victim gave us a whole new data set,” he explained. “As unfortunate as her death was, it offered unexplored potential sources of connection among the women.”
“And did you find any?” she asked.
“Possibly,” he said, though his tone suggested he felt more strongly than that.
“Since they lived in three distinct parts of the city, there isn’t a lot of overlap in terms of places they frequented, clubs they’d joined—that sort of thing.
Since they were all different ethnicities, we didn’t focus on clubs or organizations that emphasized that kind of thing.
But I did find one group they were all involved with.
It’s called IILA, or Integration & Immersion Los Angeles.
It’s a non-profit that does exactly what it sounds like.
They help foreign-born residents become more assimilated into the community, so they don’t feel like such outsiders.
It doesn’t cater to any particular ethnicity, though it does emphasize assisting women.
Two of the three victims—Tanaka and Williamson—were on the executive board, and Cain was a member as well. ”
“That sounds promising,” Sam said. Jessie turned around to see that he’d found her. He handed over the coffee he’d gotten her.
“Thanks,” she said, before returning her attention to Jamil. “So are we thinking that someone hacked into their membership rolls and is using it as a hit list?”
“There might be a less conspiratorial option,” Jamil said.
“The program director, a woman named Elena Martinez, was fired three months ago, after allegations that she was embezzling IILA funds. She was removed after a vote of the board. Both Tanaka and Williamson voted to let her go and Cain spoke in favor of her dismissal at the meeting where she was fired.”
“Wow, that feels like a pretty good motive,” Beth said from her desk.
“It could be,” Jamil agreed, before adding, “although it may be more complicated than that. The board has 11 members, including the president. So if it was Martinez who did this, I’m not sure why these three women—including one who wasn’t a board member—were targeted.”
“Maybe they were just the first ones and the other eight are at risk too,” Sam theorized.
“Should we send out warnings to the other board members?” Beth wondered. “Or to everyone who supported her firing at that meeting?”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Jessie cautioned. “before we assume that Elena Martinez is on a killing spree targeting the people who fired her, maybe we should have a chat with her.”
“I have her home address,” Jamil said.
“That’s great,’ Sam said, “but since it’s approaching 8 A.M., maybe we can get her work address too.”
Jamil shook his head. “Based on everything I’m seeing, she hasn’t gotten another job since she lost the IILA one. I think the home address is probably your best bet.”
Jessie turned to Sam. “I guess I’m taking this coffee to go.”