Chapter Twenty-Three #2
She tugged his suit coat, stopping him just before they got to the front door. In here, they could have a personal relationship. Once they walked outside, it had to be professional.
She leaned up on her toes again, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Thank you for understanding.”
He smiled at her. “You’re welcome.”
She liked that answer. Liked that he hadn’t downplayed his care. That he hadn’t said It’s nothing.
Because it was far from nothing.
It could be everything.
Fort Bragg, California
Wednesday, February 4, 10:15 a.m.
“Are you ready?” Howard asked Elle from across the table in the Fort Bragg conference room. It wasn’t the interview room they’d used before, and Elle seemed calmer. Ronan thought it was the absence of the one-way glass.
He’d seen how she’d stared at it the last three times she’d been in an interview room—once in Ukiah and twice here in Fort Bragg.
She’d been suspected for vehicular homicide in Sarasota and for the murder of Cathy Martinelli in San Francisco—both investigations short-lived.
Still, she’d seen the inside of an interrogation room both times, so some PTSD when it came to a similar situation was completely normal.
Elle drew a breath. “I’m ready. His aunt’s name is Janice Dempsey. I texted her this morning, and she’s expecting our call.”
“What did you tell her?” Gary asked.
“That I wanted to catch up with how she and Ashton were doing. I texted her a few times after the accident, checking up on Ashton.”
“She visited Ashton in his hospital room once he’d come out of his coma,” Ronan added. “He was highly distressed to see Elle.”
“So I stopped contacting them at his aunt’s request,” Elle finished. “My texting her today may have surprised her, but she doesn’t appear to be upset about it.”
That, Ronan thought, would soon change.
“Elle, you and Ronan lead the call,” Howard instructed. “Get as much information as you can before you reveal the murders. Gary and I will listen.”
The door opened a crack and a familiar face peeked through the gap. Howard turned around and motioned Dr. Jessica Bowers to enter.
Howard made the introductions. “Elle, this is Dr. Bowers. She’s a psychologist we have on call. She’s read the reports so far, so she’s up to speed. I want her to listen on this call and tell us her opinion of Ashton Dempsey. Dr. Bowers, this is Elle Randolph.”
“Sorry I’m late. I got stuck behind a logging truck on the way from Ukiah.
” Jessica extended her hand to shake Elle’s.
“Call me Jessica. When you speak with the aunt, see if you can get a read on Ashton’s current mental state and whether he’s been seeing a psychiatrist. TBIs can cause psychiatric disorders, which of course don’t make Ashton less guilty but could provide insight into his thought process and help these guys catch him faster. ”
“I’ll try,” Elle said, then clicked the link to start the video call, and Ronan could feel the tension suddenly pouring out of her.
“It’s going to be okay, Elle,” he murmured. “Don’t forget to breathe.”
She sucked in a breath just as Janice Dempsey joined the meeting.
Janice was in her late fifties, with tanned skin like leather. She must play a lot of golf or sun herself often, Ronan thought.
He hoped for Elle’s sake that the older woman wasn’t involved. And that she wouldn’t take Ashton’s side.
Either way, he had Sarasota PD officers waiting with a search warrant outside Janice’s house in a place called Bird Key. Elle said it was one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Sarasota. Ashton lived a few blocks away from her, in the home he’d inherited at his parents’ passing.
It appeared that the surviving Dempseys weren’t hurting for cash.
Unfortunately that gave Ashton a big advantage. Money would be no object in his quest for revenge against Elle.
“Elle,” Janice said with a smile. “You look good, honey.”
“So do you, Ms. Dempsey.”
“I always told you to call me Janice. Please.”
“Janice. I hope you’ve been doing well.”
“Can’t complain. Who is your young man?”
“This is Ronan. He’s a detective.”
Her smile disappearing, Janice swallowed nervously. “Oh?” she asked, now overly cheerful. “Why is he with you?”
“Because we have to talk to you about Ashton. He confronted me at a café near my house.”
“In Sarasota?” she asked brightly. “I thought you moved away. Were you visiting with your parents? Why do you have a detective with you?”
She knows. Ronan was certain of it. She might not know the specifics, but she definitely knew that something was wrong with her nephew.
“Not in Sarasota,” Elle said, kindly but firmly, and Ronan realized that this was her lawyer persona. He hadn’t seen her speak this way before. She ignored Janice’s other questions. “In San Francisco.”
“San Francisco? That’s where you live now? Why would Ash go to San Francisco? That’s ridiculous. Why do you have a detective with you?” she repeated.
“I think Ashton came to San Francisco to find me. He was very angry. I didn’t engage with him and he left, but he was definitely angry.”
Janice nodded cautiously. “That he’s angry is understandable.”
“I know. But I was rattled, Janice.”
Janice stiffened, appearing outraged. “He would never hurt you.”
Elle didn’t confirm or deny that statement. “He does hate me, though.”
“Yes,” Janice said reluctantly, “he does. I tried to get him to see a therapist, but he refused. He just stays in his house morning, noon, and night. Only comes out for his clubs.”
Elle frowned. “I thought he was going to USF.”
Janice shook her head. “That…didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Elle murmured. “What kind of clubs?”
Ronan would come back to the change in Ashton’s college status if Elle didn’t cover it.
Janice crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s this about, Elle?”
“What kind of clubs?” Elle asked again.
Janice hesitated then set her jaw. “He’s a member of a target shooting club. He competes. Goes all over the country. He’s won awards. I’ve seen the trophies,” she added defiantly.
That was an interesting cover story, Ronan thought. Janice must have noticed Ashton’s absences. It would also provide a believable explanation for all the firearms Ashton had collected.
Janice knew a lot more than she was letting on.
“Any other clubs?” Elle asked.
“No,” Janice admitted. “He used to be active in so many clubs when he was in school. Before the accident. He played football and sang with the school choir. He lost both. His leg was shattered and his vocal cords were damaged. He had a football scholarship but he lost it. He graduated high school with a 4.0 average, but he couldn’t pass a simple math class now because the head injury has slowed his ability to process information.
The target shooting is all he has now. He says it helps him focus. ”
The way she said all this made Ronan’s hackles rise. It was as if she was blaming Elle for the damage done to Ashton.
Her words had found their target, because Elle’s breathing had begun to quicken, but her voice remained calm. “I’ve seen some of your Facebook posts. I thought he was doing well. You’ve repeatedly said that he’s fully recovered.”
“That…well, Ashton asked me to. He didn’t want pity.”
“I see.” On the table, Elle twisted her hands more tightly but continued to speak calmly. “Does he have any friends in this target shooting club?”
Janice lifted her chin. “I’m sure he does, but I don’t know any names. I’m not nosy. I don’t get into his business.”
Ronan watched the woman’s cheeks flush as sweat began to bead on her forehead. It might be the Florida heat, but it was more likely due to the stress and guilt of lying.
She knew the names of her nephew’s friends—or whatever they were to him. Maybe not friends. Maybe accomplices.
Ronan would get their names before this was over.
“We’ll come back to that,” Elle promised. She was nervous, but she shouldn’t have been. She was doing a damn fine job. “A photo of me went viral two years ago. I was on my new job. Do you know if Ashton saw that photo?”
“How should I know what he’s seen or not seen?” Janice snapped. “Is your ego that huge that you need to know if he’s heard of your successes? Haven’t you taken enough from him without wanting his admiration, too? What is this about?”
Elle clasped her hands together even tighter, her knuckles going white, and Ronan knew she was heading toward a panic attack. But her voice was steady when she replied. “This is about crimes it appears that Ashton has committed.”
Janice gasped. “Crimes? You’re even more insane than you were three and a half years ago. I don’t have to listen to this.”
Ronan wanted to object on her behalf, but Elle remained unflustered by the insult. At least one might think so by looking at her face. He was sure her fingers were aching with how hard she was twisting them.
“No, you don’t,” she said quietly. “But I think you know that something has been off with your nephew. Can you describe his state of mind?”
Janice glared at them through the virtual connection. “No. I won’t. You want to talk to me, you go through my lawyer. This conversation is over.”
“Wait,” Elle commanded, and surprisingly, Janice did so. “We have a bad situation here in California, Janice. Lives have been taken, and Ashton is somehow involved. Trust me, it gives me no pleasure to be having this conversation with you, but I need your help. Will you help me?”
“You want me to tell you bad things about my nephew,” Janice said shakily.
“I want you to tell the truth,” Elle countered. “What’s Ashton’s mental state been like recently?”
Janice briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them, Ronan saw complete weariness. “Irritable,” she murmured. “Depressed. Sometimes he’s fine, though. Sometimes he’s almost like his old self. He’ll have a lot of energy then.”
Across the table, Jessica motioned for Elle to keep going.
“Has he been diagnosed with any mental illnesses since the accident?” Elle asked, gentling her tone.
“I can’t tell you that. That’s Ashton’s business and no one else’s.”