CHAPTER EIGHT
Jessie rubbed her exhausted eyes.
She couldn’t believe how little progress they’d made in the six hours since interviewing Olivia Townsend. It wasn’t for a lack of effort. Joining forces with Jamil and Beth, she and Susannah had checked 71 people on Jamil’s “close contacts” list. They’d been able to reach 53 of them, none of whom were overtly suspicious on their first pass.
The 18 they hadn’t yet got in touch with could theoretically be hateful, violent murderers, but so far, they had no way of knowing. And that didn’t account for other 32 close contacts on Jamil’s list whom they had yet try to connect with. It was already 5:45. Jessie was dubious that they’d get to all of them tonight.
Usually by now, they had at least few promising hits, folks they could justify interviewing in person. But in a rarity, no one had met the criteria for that. And interestingly, virtually every person they’d spoken to had nothing but praise for the Hartleys as warm, decent people. The worst that Jessie had heard was from a real estate developer that Richard Hartley had done a deal with, who said, “I didn’t really get to know him personally, but he seemed nice enough.”
Jessie was about to call the next person on their list when Gaylene Parker, the captain of Central Station, walked in. It wasn’t just the first time that Jessie had seen her today, but in over a week, when Parker had stopped by the house to check on how they were both doing.
She was shocked at how tired the woman looked. Part of it may have been that Parker was still new to the job. Until five months ago, she had run the Vice unit. But after Ryan had resigned as Central Station’s captain to return to running HSS full-time, he’d recommended her for the position.
She was eminently qualified. Parker’s impressive resume was well-known. A forty-four-year-old mother of two, she had worked her way up from street officer to an undercover detective with the Vice unit, where she often posed as a prostitute. Eventually, she was promoted to head up the unit, which she led for four years before becoming captain at Central Station.
After taking over, she seemed to be comfortable in the job, though her micro-managerial style rubbed some of them, especially Ryan, the wrong way. The two had reached a rapprochement of sorts after his near death from poisoning, but still weren’t buddy-buddy by any stretch.
The increase in the sheer volume of work she faced after transitioning from Vice to running the whole station was enough to wear anyone out. Jessie had seen the job do the same thing to Ryan before he begged off. But she suspected that wasn’t the only reason that Parker looked worn down.
Right around the time of the poisoning, two weeks ago, the HSS team had learned that Parker’s middle-school aged son had suffered a panic attack at school. Apparently he’d been bullied for months and kept it to himself because he didn’t want to look “weak” to his cop mother.
But it all exploded one day when he locked himself in a bathroom stall and refused to come out. Parker had to go to the school to talk him down. Even though neither Jessie nor Ryan had been in the office since then, she’d been kept in the loop.
Apparently, the boy had taken a leave of absence from school and was having daily therapy sessions, some of which Parker attended. The woman was burning the candle at both ends in both her personal and professional lives. It was a wonder that she came in at all. But here she was, and she looked intent on getting answers.
“How’s Ryan doing today?” she asked, impressively checking in before diving right into case questions.
“Last time I spoke to Hannah, he was napping,” Jessie said. “But he’s definitely getting stronger. I think he’ll be ready to come back soon.”
She wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but she knew it was what Ryan would have wanted her to say, and she had no intention of suggesting otherwise, especially considering his still-delicate relationship with Parker. She considered asking how the captain’s son was doing but decided that the question might not be appreciated, so she let it lie.
“Glad to hear that,” Parker said. “Sorry to switch subjects, but I’ve been in and out all day and am not up to speed. How’s the case coming?”
Susannah filled her in on the status of their close contact hunt, and it was clear from her pronounced frown that their lack of progress had her disappointed.
“Is there any good news?” she asked.
“We’re investigating possible symbolism related to the masquerade ball masks they were wearing,” Jessie told her. “But it’s a lot to take in. Frankly, it feels like we’re doing a one-day audit of an entire art history course. We’ve established that they’re beautiful and pretty elaborate. But so far, we haven’t found any connection between the masks and anything they might represent, but we’re not giving up hope.”
“We have been trying to trace their origin,” Beth added. “With all the jewelry and fine detailing, it’s hard to imagine that there are too many places to find items like this. In fact, I was only able to find three places in the entire city. I have calls into all of them. If those don’t prove fruitful, we can expand the search zone.”
“Excellent,” Parker said, though her tone was less enthusiastic than what she said. “Anything else?”
“The GPS location data for the Hartleys doesn’t show anything immediately unusual,” Susannah said. “We’re still going through months of data, but there’s nothing that jumps out. No trips to underground jewelry merchants. No stops at the homes of known criminals.”
“I guess that’s not a shock, considering how squeaky clean these folks seem.” Parker said.
“What about last night?” Parker asked. “Did they go anywhere odd—someplace that might be connected to what happened?”
“Not as far as I can tell,” Jamil volunteered. “There movements are a little strange but not overtly suspicious. They were bouncing around the city last night, but not in their car. Their phones show them traveling together all over the place for about three hours, mostly in the Loz Feliz, Silverlake, Koreatown, and Echo Park areas. It’s possible that they took some kind of nighttime L.A. bus tour or something similar. I’m searching for ones that focus on those areas.”
“Good,” Parker said. “Keep on it.”
“Another thing,” Beth piped up. “We’re not finding that any of the other usual suspects are proving to be credible—well, suspects.”
“What do you mean?” Parker asked.
“We checked the criminal records of everyone who worked at the security company that installed and operates the Hartleys system. We didn’t find a single violent offense. One guy had a DWI a few years ago. Two others were delinquent in their child support payments. That’s about as bad as it got.”
“Same with Olivia Townsend,” Jessie added. “I checked her husband’s death to see if maybe there was foul play, figuring that if she killed one person for money, maybe she did again.”
“And?” Parker asked.
“He died of cancer over the course of fourteen months,” Jessie said, “and his will had her as the primary beneficiary for the entirety of their marriage, so there was no financial reason for her to hurt him.”
None of this is very promising,” Parker noted glumly.
“We did get some information that might help down the line,” Susannah said. “The medical examiner got back to us a little while ago. As he suspected, the same pillow was definitely used to suffocate both victims. Don’t know what conclusions to draw there, but it’s a data point.”
As she spoke, Jessie noticed Jamil squirming excitedly in his seat. She could tell he was itching to add his two cents.
“Go ahead, Jamil,” she said.
“We finally got access to some of the Hartley’s financial data,” he announced. “It took forever because it’s a Sunday, and a lot of the banks they deal with were reluctant to help without a court order. Luckily, Detective Valentine was quite forceful in suggesting they offer us their assistance. We’re just starting to dive in, but I’ve already noticed one interesting tidbit.”
“What’s that?” Parker asked, perking up.
“The records show large, regular cash withdrawals from the Hartley’s joint account.”
“How much and how often?” Parker pressed..
“$22,000, around the same time every month,” he said. “But so far we haven’t been able to tie the money to any specific purchases. I’m hopeful that once regular business resumes tomorrow morning that we’ll get better answers.”
“Well, that sounds promising at least,” Parker said.
“Even without knowing what it was for, the withdrawals are telling,” Jessie noted.
“How so?” Parker asked.
“Regardless of what the money was for, it came from their shared account,” she said. “So whether it was legitimate or nefarious, they both knew about it. It wasn’t a secret. That reinforces the image we’ve been getting from everyone about them. The Hartleys appeared to have been a devoted couple who were usually on the same page. Whatever this money was for, they were both on board with using it.”
“Maybe it was for the masks,” Susannah suggested. “If they were collectors, it’s possible that they had to pay in cash.”
“We may be able to get an answer to that question sooner rather than later,” Beth said excitedly.
“What do you mean?” Parker asked.
“I just got a text back from the owner of one of the three shops in the city that makes them,” she said. “His name is Marcel DuBois. Apparently he was on an international flight and just arrived back at LAX, so he didn’t get his messages until just now. He says that he designed the masks. He offered to meet with you at his place in the morning.”
“Tell him that’s not good enough,” Susannah said sharply. “Where’s his shop?”
“Beverly Hills,” Beth told her.
“Tell him we’ll meet him there in an hour.”
Susannah then looked at Jessie with a slight hint of reservation.
“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t think about Ryan. Do you want to push this until tomorrow?”
“No, he’ll be okay for a while,” Jessie said, just as pumped as her partner. “What I want is to catch this killer, and this is the first good lead we’ve had in hours. Let’s go