CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Special Agent Carl Webb was tired from the long drive.
After parking, he walked into the lobby of Central Station and headed straight for the front desk. He was tempted to interrupt the older woman talking to the desk sergeant. Whatever her issue was, it wasn’t as pressing as his.
But he’d been reminded before he left San Diego that he was supposed to work in concert with local authorities rather than antagonize them, so he stood behind the woman patiently as she described how her neighbor played “loud heavy metal rock music” at all hours of the night.
She wanted him arrested. The desk sergeant gave her a form to fill and out asked her to take a seat. Once she left, Carl stepped forward.
“Special Agent Carl Webb,” he said, holding out his ID. “I’m with the California Department of Justice’s Bureau of Investigation. I’m here to speak with Detective Karen Bray and Jessie Hunt.”
“Okay,” the desk sergeant said, less impressed by the title than Carl would have liked. “Give me a minute and I’ll find someone to take you back to HSS.”
“Please hurry,” Carl said. “This is a pressing matter.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied, giving a sarcastic salute.
Carl was tempted to brush him back but held off. He didn’t need this guy dragging his feet to make a point.
“Thank you,” he said and stepped off to the side.
“Hey, Johnson,” the sergeant called out to an officer at a small table in the corner behind the front desk who was finishing up the last bite of a sandwich, “Can you take this guy back to HSS when you’re through? He’s looking for Bray and Hunt.”
The officer nodded and wiped the crumbs off the table into a trash can below. “Follow me,” he said, his mouth still full.
As he led Carl down a long hallway, they had to dodge multiple people hurrying past them.
The officer seemed unbothered by all the activity but Carl was slightly thrown by the frenzied nature of the place.
He reminded himself not to react that way when he got to HSS.
After all, he was a special agent with a state agency.
Even though Homicide Special Section was well-known and highly regarded, they were still just local cops. Hunt wasn’t even that.
“That’s them,” the officer said, pointing as they emerged from the hallway into a giant, fluorescent-lit bullpen. Different units had their own sections with desks pushed together and cheap cubicle dividers were supposed to offer some modicum of privacy The HSS section was halfway across the room.
“You’re not going to take me over?” he asked, mildly offended.
“You’re a big boy,” Johnson said with a snort. “I’m sure you can handle it.”
He turned and left without another word. Carl allowed himself a moment to get over his pique, then tugged his suit jacket down to straighten it out and walked over.
There was one man and three women at the collection of pushed-together desks. Carl had heard of Jessie Hunt but didn’t know what she looked like. And he had no idea who Karen Bray was.
The male detective was aggressively devouring a wrap of some kind.
One of the women, who had dirty blonde hair and was likely in her late thirties, was on the phone, having an animated conversation.
Another, probably closer to 30, had shoulder-length brown hair.
Her bright green eyes studied her computer monitor. Neither of them looked up.
The only one who paid him any attention was a dark-haired woman who looked more like a model than a detective. The neckline of her V-neck sweater was plunging and it appeared to be about two sizes too small. He couldn’t help but be drawn to her assets, which were on full display.
“Hey, fancy suit boy!” she barked at him. “My eyes are up here.”
He tore his own eyes away from her chest, feeling his cheeks suddenly get hot.
“I’m looking for Bray and Hunt,” he said, pretending that he hadn’t just been caught in an embarrassingly awkward display.
“Who’s looking?” the buxom, belligerent woman demanded.
“Special Agent Carl Webb,” he said, holding out his ID for her as he had done for the desk sergeant. “California Bureau of Investigation.”
“What do you want, Agent Webb?” the woman wanted to know.
“It’s special agent,” he corrected. “Are you Bray or Hunt?”
“They wish,” she said with a smirk before looking over at the brown-haired woman, who had turned her attention away from her screen to stare at him skeptically.
“Thanks, Susannah,” she said sarcastically to the beautiful but annoying brunette. “I’m Jessie Hunt. That’s Detective Bray on the phone. What can we do for you, Special Agent Webb?”
Just then, the blonde hung up. She too stared at him expectantly. He knew they weren’t going to like what he had to say but he didn’t really care.
“CBI is taking over your case,” he told them. “It’s now part of an interjurisdictional investigation, which I’m leading.”
“Why the hell are you taking over their case?” objected the woman that Hunt had referred to as “Susannah.”
“It’s probably because there was another murder, only this one was in San Diego,” Bray said. “Isn’t that right, Special Agent Webb?”
On the surface, the detective’s question was reasonable, but the way she almost spat his title back at him was borderline insulting.
“You can just call me Webb,” he replied coolly. “And yes, once SDPD informed us of Sarah Winter’s manner of death, we made the connection to your case and decided it met our criteria for involvement.”
“So, you think it’s the same killer?” Hunt asked.
“If it’s not, then we’ve got quite a coincidence on our hands,” Carl said. “Just like your victim, Winters had her throat slit and there were signs that she was tased before her death.”
“Well, Webb,” Detective Bray said. “You may have driven all the way up here for nothing.”
“Why is that?” he asked, dubious that he had.
Bray gave him a condescending smile.
“Because it looks like both Sarah Winters and Lauren Mitchell have a personal connection to the same man.”
“Who is that?” Carl asked. This was new news.
“His name is Jason Mannix,” Hunt told him. “He was ‘married’ to Mitchell and it looks like he spent at least part of the night of her murder at Winters’s home.”
Carl screwed up his face in confusion. “That’s an interesting connection. But if he was in San Diego at the time of Mitchell’s murder, that seems like a pretty ironclad alibi.”
“His phone and car were at Winters’s place,” Detective Bray said. “We’re not sure that he was there. Just like it appears that his phone and car were at the Peninsula Resort in Palos Verdes last night while Winters was killed in San Diego. But we have yet to verify that he was there.”
“Wait, you think that he left his GPS-enabled devices in one city while taking a different vehicle to another city to commit murder? And that he did that on two consecutive nights?”
“We don’t know what to think,” Hunt told him. “But his connection to both women is curious to say the least. That’s why we’re having him brought in. An officer should be back here with him within the hour.”
Webb crossed his arms in frustration.
“But wouldn’t this guy Mannix know that he’d be the prime suspect in both killings once his GPS data was unearthed? What could possibly be the motive for taking such a risk?”
“Who knows?” Bray told him. “Maybe he was having an affair with Sarah Winters and realized that she could destroy his alibi, so he decided to shut her up? He’s already made one mistake by lying about where he was staying on Tuesday night.
He said he was at a buddy’s. It’s possible that he was trying to cover that lie up. Maybe he just panicked.”
“Or maybe it’s not him at all,” Hunt proffered. “Maybe someone is setting him up to take the fall for these women’s murders. We’re hoping to get some clarity when we talk to him.”
Carl wanted to revisit something else Hunt had said earlier. “When you referenced Mannix’s marriage to Mitchell earlier, you used air quotes. What was that about?”
Hunt sighed at the question. Clearly the topic bothered her in some way.
“It looks like they weren’t officially married,” she said. “They had a wedding, complete with guests. But so far, it looks like it was a sham, perpetrated by Mannix to make Lauren Mitchell think it was legitimate when it wasn’t.”
“Why would he do that?” Carl asked, befuddled.
“I have no idea,” Hunt told him.
“Okay, do you have any proof of this potential affair with Winters that might serve as a motive to kill her? Phone calls between them maybe?”
“Not a single one,” Bray replied, “which is kind of suspicious, don’t you think?”
“We’re wondering if he maybe had a burner that he used to communicate with Winters,” Hunt suggested.
“Well,” he said, tugging at his suit jacket again, “if he is the guy, then this should be an easy case to close. I appreciate all your hard work. It will come in handy when I interrogate Mannix.”
“You mean when we interrogate him,” Bray said.
Under normal circumstances, he would have felt a little bad about what he had to say next. But Detective Karen Bray had been dismissive and rude, and he actually took some churlish pleasure in breaking the news.
“Nope,” he told her. “I’m relieving you. You’re more than welcome to continue to do research to lock down helpful details, but as far as frontline case work, CBI will handle things from now on.”
The stunned looks on the faces of Bray, Hunt and even that Susannah person told him he might have been a little too harsh.
“Don’t feel bad though,” he said quickly, trying to compensate. “It sounds like we may be close to a confession, right?”
“You’re a real piece of—,” Susannah or whatever her name was started to say angrily before Hunt cut her off.
“I wouldn’t make that assumption, Special Agent Webb,” she said.
“Why is that?”
“There’s just too much we don’t know at this point. Nothing adds up. If Mannix planned all these details out in advance, why was he so sloppy in other ways? And having met the man, he doesn’t give off the vibe of a double murderer. That doesn’t prove anything, but it’s worth keeping in mind.”
She had made a fair point.
“I will keep it in mind, Ms. Hunt,” he said. “And if you want to tag along for my interview, I wouldn’t be opposed. I’ve read your file. I know you participated in the FBI’s 10-week training program. I did as well. So, your input may be of value.”
Hunt looked over at Bray. She was clearly uncomfortable about being allowed to participate when her partner was being left in the cold.
“It’s fine, Jessie,” Bray said. “If you ‘tagging along’ helps catch a killer, you should do it. Besides, it will allow me to get to Calvin’s soccer game this afternoon. I thought I was going to have to miss it.”
Carl didn’t buy her excuse for a second, but if that’s what helped ease the blow for her, so be it. It was clear that Hunt wasn’t convinced either. She was obviously torn between loyalty to her partner and her desire to stay on the case.
“Are you sure, Karen?” she asked.
Bray nodded.
“Great,” Carl said, “now that that’s settled, maybe we can find somewhere a little less chaotic, Ms. Hunt, so you can fill me in on what I need to know about Jason Mannix before our interview. I want to be as prepared as possible.”
The male detective, who had seemingly been focused on nothing but his lunch wraps up to this point, finally swallowed the last of it in one big gulp.
“You know, Special Agent Webb,” he said, speaking for the first time, “you’re a real asshole.”
Hunt closed her eyes. Apparently, she didn’t think the comment was especially constructive. But Carl simply smiled at the weathered, unkempt cop.
He knew. He just didn’t care.