CHAPTER EIGHT
Jessie wasn’t impressed.
As she and Karen got out of the car, she surveyed the strip mall that housed David Lamb’s real estate office. If it was representative of the man’s current situation, he wasn’t doing great.
Unlike the Griffin-Malone office, which was in the tony Larchmont area, Lamb’s tiny storefront was in a crowded section of Koreatown.
It was technically close to the neighborhoods he wanted to sell in, but nowhere near as upscale.
Jessie suspected that he chose this zip code because, while on paper it was nearby where he wanted to work, the rent was significantly cheaper.
But it looked like he’d gotten what he’d paid for. As she and Kat approached his office, she took note of his neighbors in the strip mall. They included a tobacco shop, a payday lender, and a pizza delivery joint that, according to the dilapidated sign above the door, was named ‘Piza Palac.’
“Doesn’t look all that appetizing, huh?” Karen noted as they passed by the delivery place.
“I don’t know,” Jessie said. “If I hadn’t already had lunch and I was carrying a vat of Pepto-Bismol, maybe I’d give it a try.”
“Hard pass,” Karen said with an upturned nose.
They stopped in front of a nondescript sign on Lamb’s office door that read simply “Lamb Realty.” Karen’s nose stayed upturned when they entered the office, but for a different reason, which Jessie soon discovered.
As a small bell above the door tinkled, she quickly took note of a musty, dank scent that made her wonder if a water leak had done something to the carpet.
The interior was no more impressive than the outside.
The thick gray carpet felt spongey under her feet.
The tiny waiting area was comprised of four metal folding chairs and one plastic coffee table with a tattered, months-old copy of Architectural Digest and a two-week old sports section from the Los Angeles Times.
A second door that she assumed led to Lamb’s inner office appeared to be made out of particle board.
Jessie was contemplating how resentful Lamb might be about his circumstances when the door opened.
Standing in front of them was a short, slender man with thinning black hair. Jamil had sent them a small dossier on the guy on their way over, including his driver’s license. Jessie thought that this was the rare time when someone’s license photo looked better than they did in person.
Lamb was 32, with no criminal record, unless one counted the three speeding tickets he’d gotten in the last five years. Beth had checked the home listings on his website and found them wanting.
“They’re technically in the same neighborhoods that Griffin-Malone serves, but all his places look to be in disrepair or are generally uninspiring. I think he’s getting the leftovers.”
If his office was any indication of how his work was going, Jessie believed Beth’s analysis.
“How can I help you ladies?” he asked, sounding almost surprised to have anyone come into his place unexpectedly. “Are we looking for a cozy landing spot for the lovebirds?”
Jessie was immediately put off. It seemed fairly presumptuous to make any assumptions about the nature of their relationship without knowing anything about them.
Not the most diplomatic start to the interview.
Karen looked equally startled that he’d just barrel into his first interaction with them so clumsily.
Jessie briefly considered playing into his assumption to lull him onto complacency and then catch him off guard. But Karen shut that down immediately.
“We’re with the LAPD, Mr. Lamb,” she said sharply, pulling out her badge and ID. “I’m Detective Bray and this is Ms. Hunt, a police consultant. We have some questions for you.”
Lamb looked taken aback before seeming to regroup.
“About a home, I’m hoping?” he said with a thin smile.
Jessie half-admired the sad attempt at humor but knew it wouldn’t win any points with her partner.
“No,” Karen said. “About Lauren Mitchell.”
David Lamb’s face fell upon hearing the name.
“What about her?” he asked coldly.
“We’ve recently uncovered a series of text messages you sent her, several of which could be reasonably construed as threats,” Karen told him, not yet ready to talk about her murder.
Like Jessie, she was likely hoping that he’d reference the woman’s death, implicating himself.
The killing wasn’t yet public knowledge.
“Threats?” he snorted. “If you mean calling her out as the cheating snake she is, then I guess that’s what we’re calling threats these days.”
“How is she a cheating snake?” Jessie asked, not yet interested in arguing about what constituted a threat.
“Oh, you know, little stuff,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Like taking the full commission on a sale for a house that we represented together. Or convincing a client to switch from me to her by spreading rumors about me.”
“That must have really upset you,” Jessie prodded. For now, she wasn’t concerned whether his allegations had merit. Her priority was what he did about them.
“You better believe it,” he said heatedly.
“Why do you think I’m relegated to this dump?
I assure you it’s not by choice. After starting a firm together and teaming up on nearly two-dozen sales, she basically got me blackballed from Griffin-Malone.
All because she didn’t want someone around reminding her of her pre-celebrity days.
So yeah, I was pissed. Wouldn’t you be?”
Karen answered his question with one of her own as she looked down at her phone. “Is that why you texted her that: Someone should put you in your place? Or that: one of these days, karma is going to get you. Or maybe someone will expedite it. Payback is a bitch, just like you.”
He looked unbowed. “First of all, someone should put her in her place. She’s gotten a little too big for her britches, in my opinion.
And that second text was after I found out that she’d swiped my one remaining big fish.
I was prepping to put a house on the market with a starting price of $3.
2 million. The commission on that alone would have sustained me through the rest of the year.
But Lauren wanted it, so of course, Lauren got it.
So, excuse me if I’m a little hot under the collar.
Typical of her to call the cops on someone for an angry text or two. ”
Jessie decided now was the time to throw him off guard and see how he reacted.
“Lauren’s dead.”
She watched closely as Lamb processed her words. At first, he didn’t seem to have heard her, cocking his head in apparent disbelief. Then his jaw dropped. It took a couple of seconds to say anything.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“Lauren’s dead,” she repeated. “She was murdered. That’s what we’re investigating, not just some ‘angry texts.’ So, we thought we’d give you the opportunity to explain yourself, Mr. Lamb.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, stumbling back against his wall. “You can’t think I did it.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Karen told him. “To find out. Now’s your chance to disavow us of that notion.”
Lamb seemed on the verge of hyperventilating and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. Jessie thought he was putting on a convincing show of being truly shocked by the news. But she knew from experience that someone capable of murdering a person was often capable of feigning innocence too.
“Look, I admit that I was pissed at Lauren,” he said.
“She screwed me over multiple times. But I would never hurt her. We’ve known each other for a decade.
We were like brother and sister—sometimes at each other’s throats but still connected.
I was actually hoping that me being so harsh in those texts would lead her to apologize and we could get back on solid ground again. ”
“You thought that saying payback is a bitch, just like her was going to lead to contrition?” Jessie asked in disbelief.
“It sounds stupid when you put it that way, but yeah, I did,” he said, seeming to belatedly comprehend how clueless that sounded. At the realization, he asked weakly, “am I under arrest or something?”
“Not yet,” Karen told him. “If you didn’t kill Lauren, the best thing you can do is give us all the information we need: access to your phone and GPS data, along with verification of where you were last night.”
“Last night? That’s when she was killed?”
“Please answer the question, Mr. Lamb,” Karen instructed.
“Okay, um, last night?” He looked to be searching his memory.
“Oh, right. I was showing a few places to a guy who just moved here from Phoenix. He’s renting right now.
We visited three houses from about 5 to 6:30.
Then I ordered some Thai food, which I picked up on the way home. After that, I spent the evening in.”
“Doing what?” Jessie pressed.
“I watched a few episodes of a show on Netflix. Then I went to bed, maybe around 11.”
“Was anyone with you?” Karen asked.
“No,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping.
“Did you interact with anyone at all once you got home?”
He shook his head sadly, but then his face suddenly brightened.
“Wait, yes. I live in an apartment complex with a garden courtyard. The guy across the way was blasting some music. After a while, it got super-annoying, so I went over to tell him to turn it down.”
“Did he?” Jessie asked.
“Yeah. He was pretty high and said he didn’t even realize it was that loud.”
“What time was that?” Karen asked.
“It’s hard to remember exactly, but I’d say around 9 maybe. Does that help?”
Jessie considered the question darkly. If it helped him, then it hurt them and their chances of finding the killer.
“Mr. Lamb, grab one of your notepads on that desk in your office and write it all down,” she said.
“We need the timing of everything you did from 5 P.M. onward. Who you were showing the houses to and his contact information. The name of the Netflix show you watched. The name and contact info for your neighbor. And we’ll want you to sign a release letting us access your communications and GPS data.
If you do all that, and everything you said bears out, then yes, it might help you. ”
“I’ll do it right now,” he said hurrying back into his office.
As he did, Jessie exchanged a look with Karen and knew they were on the same page. There was still a lot of confirmation to be done, but if David Lamb’s alibi held up, they were back to square one.
And a killer was still out there.