CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jessie was wired on caffeine and adrenaline.
“Should we request backup?” she asked as they got out of the car.
“I think we should be okay if we proceed with caution,” Sam said.
“I figure that there’s no reason to overreact.
After all, if she’s innocent, she should still be willing to share information on the victims, even if she resented them.
And if she’s guilty, us showing up shouldn’t automatically freak her out.
She’d have to assume we’d want to question her, considering the IILA connection. Still, I’ll have my holster unsnapped.”
Jessie was less sanguine. If Martinez was their killer, that meant she’d assaulted three women with just a pair of scissors.
That didn’t suggest someone who would automatically react rationally if the cops showed up at her door.
But Sam was the detective, and when it came to stuff like police procedure, she was inclined to defer to his experience.
Martinez’s apartment was in a modern, six-story complex in the heart of Hollywood, at the corner of Sunset and Vine.
Each unit had a good-sized balcony. The building had an exterior entrance, along with a locked interior one manned by a security guard at a desk in the lobby.
Sam held up his ID when they got to the vestibule separating the entrances and the burly, bearded guard buzzed them in.
“We’re here to speak with Elena Martinez,” he said. “Do you know if she’s here?”
The guard’s eyes widened a little at the request. This might have been more excitement than he expected on a Monday morning.
“Actually, she is,” he said. “I just let her in about twenty minutes ago.”
“Do you know where she was coming from?” Jessie wondered.
"Yeah, there's an indoor rock climbing gym two blocks east of here," he said. "She likes to go there early most mornings before work."
“Before work?” Sam repeated, surprised.
“Yeah, I think she works at some immigration non-profit or something. She said it’s tough work and climbing is a stress-reducer.”
Jessie and Sam exchanged a knowing glance.
Apparently Elena Martinez was keeping her employment status a secret, at least from the security guard.
Whether that was out of embarrassment or fear that if word got out, it could put her home at risk, who knew?
But she was clearly trying to keep it under wraps from some folks.
“We have her living in unit 404,” Sam said. “Is that correct?”
“Yeah,” the guard said. “Should I call up to let her know you’re coming?”
“Actually, we’d rather you not,” Jessie told him with a firmness that let him know it wasn’t up for debate.
“Okay,” he said, apparently choosing not to ask any more questions. “I have to authorize access for non-residents, so head over to the elevator and I’ll push the button for her floor from here.”
“Thanks,” Jessie said.
They got in the elevator and waited for the doors to close. Once they did, Sam unsnapped the cover on his gun holster.
“Just in case,” he muttered.
Jessie decided to do the same. When the doors opened, they stepped out and looked down the empty hallway. That was preferable. If things got messy, the last thing they needed were curious onlookers in the line of fire. They walked halfway up the hall to unit 404.
“You ready?” Sam asked.
Jessie nodded. Sam knocked on the door, then stepped to the side so that he wasn't visible in the peephole. He didn't want to be an easy target. After about fifteen seconds, he lifted his hand to knock again when a female voice called out from the other side of the door.
“Who is it?”
“This is Detective Goodwin and Ms. Hunt from the LAPD, Ms. Martinez,” he said, holding out his badge and ID in front of the peephole. “We’d like to speak with you.”
There was silence on the other side of the door for several seconds. “How do I know that you’re legit cops and that this isn’t some home invasion attempt?”
“You should feel free to call LAPD’s Central Community Police Station, ma’am,” he said. “Give them my badge number and they should be able to confirm my identity and set your mind at ease.”
A moment later, they heard the deadbolt slide and the door opened slightly. Jessie could see the chain on it. A woman’s eye peeked out.
“I was just checking to see if you’d offer that,” she said. “A fake cop wouldn’t.”
Elena Martinez unlocked the chain and opened the door wide.
It was clear that she’d only just gotten out of the shower.
She was holding a small towel and her short black hair was wet.
Her cheeks were flushed, either from the heat of the water or her recent climbing workout.
She was wearing black yoga pants and a loose tank over a black sports bra.
Her exposed arms were tan and sinewy, suggesting that she’d been at this climbing thing for a while.
“Thanks for seeing us,” Jessie said, stepping into the apartment before adding, “you should normally call the station to confirm the badge number anyway. We are legit but you shouldn’t assume that just because someone seems accommodating, they’re real police.”
“Noted,” Martinez said. “Who are you, by the way?”
“My name is Jessie Hunt. I consult for the department.”
“That name sounds familiar.”
"I've worked on some high-profile cases," Jessie acknowledged, understating things significantly.
“Okay, that sounds serious,” Martinez said apprehensively, leading them into the expansive living room that had floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the Hollywood Hills. “Why are you here with little old me?”
“We had a few questions about a case we’re pursuing,” Sam said. “May we sit?”
The woman waved at the expensive-looking leather couches as she sighed heavily.
“Please do,” she told them. “And you don’t have to be so coy.
If you’re here about my case, I’m going to have to call my lawyer.
He told me not to say anything to law enforcement outside his presence.
He also said that since I’m free on bond until the trial, I shouldn’t have to deal with cops. Has that changed?”
“This is about a different matter,” Sam said, apparently not yet ready to dive into specifics.
“That sounds involved,” Martinez said. “Do you mind if before we talk, I dip back into the bathroom real fast to dry my hair a little more. I just showered and with the A/C, my neck is getting a little chilly.”
“No, but please be quick,” Sam said.
“Two minutes max,” Martinez said, heading into the bedroom and leaving the door half open.
“Keep an eye out,” Sam warned under his breath. “We don’t want to get surprised by her running out here with scissors or worse.”
Jessie nodded as she glanced around the room.
It was tastefully decorated with furniture, art, and even appliances that gave off a southwestern Santa Fe vibe.
As the hair dryer blasted in the other room, she got up to get a closer look at one painting on the wall that looked like it might have cost thousands.
At least the money Martinez embezzled was being well spent.
As she looked at other pieces on the wall, Jessie kept half an eye on the bedroom door as a precaution.
She had to admit that Martinez was handling the intrusion surprisingly well.
Whether it was a result of having dealt with law enforcement repeatedly in recent months or the inappropriate arrogance exuded by someone who’d stolen money from a non-profit, the woman seemed unexpectedly relaxed.
Some might view that as a sign that she was innocent of what they were investigating, but not Jessie.
In her experience, lack of nerves had less to do with guilt than sociopathy.
Movement on the balcony caught her eye and she turned her attention in that direction. Elena Martinez was out there, barefoot. She had removed her tank top and was wearing only her sports bra and yoga pants. But that wasn’t what made Jessie’s jaw drop open in shock.
In one swift, deft move, Martinez swung her legs over the top balcony rail, climbed down the next three, and disappeared from sight.