CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was still only 6:52 a.m. when they rang the doorbell of Callum Clay’s Culver City cottage house, but Jessie didn’t care.
When he didn’t answer at first, Susannah proceeded to ring the bell non-stop for a full minute before they finally heard a voice yelling from inside, “hold on! I’m coming.”
The door opened a moment later. They were faced with a handsome but bewildered-looking young man who generally matched the description they’d been given on the way over. His ID photo had shown a 27-year-old with wavy brown hair and large brown eyes. Only now, the hair was smushed against his skull, bed-head style and his eyes were bleary. He wore a loose robe over boxers and a t-shirt that read “Pepperdine University.”
“What?” he demanded irritably.
Jessie cut him the tiniest bit of slack since it wasn’t yet seven in the morning, but not much.
“Mr. Clay,” she said, holding up her ID, “I’m Jessie Hunt with the LAPD. This is Detective Valentine. We need to talk. Maybe we come in?”
His expression suggested he hadn’t totally comprehended what she said, or perhaps that was just the impression he wanted to give.
“Did you say that you’re the police?” he asked, still irked but less overtly confrontational.
“That’s right,” Susannah chimed. “We’re investigating a high priority case, and we’ve determined that your assistance is essential.”
“It’s not even 7 a.m.,” he objected.
“So it’s obviously important,” Susannah countered. “Now, why don’t we go inside so you don’t have to stand out here in your underwear.”
His eyes became more focused, and he squinted hard at the two of them.
“You need to tell me more than that,” he said. “I know my rights and I’m not just going to invite you into my home without knowing what this is about.”
Susannah looked over at Jessie, deferring to her to see how much she wanted to reveal.
“It’s about Evelyn Channing,” Jessie said.
He looked momentarily surprised before responding.
“Listen, we broke up a few months ago, so whatever issue she has, it’s not with me. Talk to whoever she’s…spending her time with now.”
Jessie decided that this was when to drop the hammer. She could better gauge the sincerity of his reaction before he had too much time to settle in.
“Evelyn is dead,” she said simply.
For a moment, it looked like he hadn’t heard her. But she knew he had when he stumbled backward slightly and reached out for the door to steady himself.
“What?”
“Let’s go inside,” Jessie said softly. His reaction was impressively convincing. Either he was truly stunned, or he was an excellent actor.
He nodded and opened the door wide for them.
“Lead the way,” Susannah said, not wanting him behind them. “Let’s go to the living room.”
He walked ahead of them slowly as if giving himself time to process what they’d said. They entered a cozy room with an oversized sofa and a large flat screen TV in the corner. Jessie knew the guy worked as an executive at a payroll company that specialized in the music industry. But his wealth at an early age apparently hadn’t translated into style yet. His décor suggested that he was still living the post-collegiate single guy lifestyle. He sat down on one end of the couch. Jessie took the other. Susannah remained standing, looking guarded.
“Evelyn is dead?” he repeated as if making sure it was really true.
“Yes,” Jessie said. “She was murdered last night. Since you were her longtime boyfriend until recently, we thought you might have some valuable insights for us.”
For now she left out that he was also an intriguing suspect.
“I don’t know what I can tell you,” he said. “We haven’t been seeing each other for over three months, since January. Other than a couple of texts about dropping off stuff that one of us left at the other’s place, we hadn’t been in touch at all lately.”
“Why did you break up with her?” Susannah asked, ripping the Band-Aid right off.
“Is that appropriate to be talking about at a time like this?” he asked, taken aback.
“It’s the perfect time,” Susannah assured him. “Was it because she dumped you a few months earlier? Were you trying to get back at her?”
“What? No!” he said, offended. “Look, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here. You’re asking me a really intimate question, and I feel like it would be disrespectful to speak ill of Evelyn now that she’s passed on.”
“She didn’t pass on,” Jessie told him. “She was murdered in her own apartment. We’re trying to catch her killer. So, let’s dispense with the diplomatic platitudes. How about you just tell us the truth?”
“Okay,” he said, chastened. “Here’s the thing. Evy—Evelyn and I dated for most of last year. But just before the holidays, she told me that I was too much of a straight arrow, stuck in my ways, that I wasn’t willing to try new things, and she needed someone who was willing to explore the world more.”
“How did you take that?” Jessie asked.
“I was hurt,” he conceded, “but she wasn’t wrong. I’m more of a traditional guy, and she definitely liked to get…a little wilder. I accepted her decision, and we parted on amicable terms. But then, right after the New Year, she told me that she’d changed her mind, that she wanted to give it another shot.”
“And you agreed to it,” Susannah said.
“Yes, she was very convincing,” he said. “She told me that she’d just gotten cold feet and that our time apart taught her that she really needed the stability I offered. I still had my doubts that it would work, but Evelyn is—was—a lot of fun and really beautiful. I always felt like a more interesting version of myself around her. So I said yes.”
“But you broke up with her three months later,” Susannah reminded him. “Why?”
He looked reluctant to answer.
“Callum,” Jessie said, her tone like a teacher addressing a recalcitrant student, “remember what I said. This is a murder investigation. Just be honest.”
He sighed and then, after swallowing hard, replied.
“I found out that she wasn’t being straight with me,” he said.
“What does that mean?” Jessie asked.
“I’m still not a hundred percent sure,” he admitted. “Most of the time, she was fun and open-hearted. But sometimes, I couldn’t get hold of her for long stretches. She would just disappear. I actually got worried a few times. After the fact, she’d say she was in meetings and couldn’t talk but this was often late at night, and we’re talking three or four hours of radio silence. She’d also sometimes cancel when we had plans, and her explanations were vague to the point of infuriating.”
“You got furious?” Susannah pressed.
“You know what I mean,” he insisted. “Eventually, I called her on it and said that whatever it was—an affair, drugs, who knows—that she needed to tell me, or I couldn’t be with her. I said I couldn’t handle a relationship where one person kept so many secrets.”
“And how did she respond?” Jessie wanted to know.
“She admitted that she hadn’t been honest but that she couldn’t tell me why or what she’d been doing. I offered her an out. I said that if, from now on, she could just stop doing whatever she was hiding from me, that maybe there was chance that we could find a path forward. But she said she knew herself—that she wouldn’t be able to stop whatever this was. So I had to end it. I just couldn’t go on that way.”
Jessie and Susannah exchanged a look that they both understood. They’d have to learn Evelyn’s secret some other way. But even though it felt like a formality, they still need to put a button on Callum Clay’s story.
“Where were you last night from seven to eight?” Jessie asked bluntly.
His face sagged.
“You need my alibi,” he said slowly as if it hadn’t occurred to him until now that he might be a suspect. “I understand. I work for a payroll company. That’s where I was until one in the morning. And that’s why I was so tired when you rang my bell. Because April 15 th fell on a weekend this year, the IRS extended the filing deadline until tomorrow. We’ve been slammed.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?” Susannah asked.
“About eight or nine people,” he said.
“We’ll need all their names,” Susannah told him.