Chapter 28
"Jesse's DNA is not a match in the Sydney Hollister case," Brenda said. “It was too degraded to get a result.”
"What's the good news?” I asked.
"He did match the DNA found under the fingernails of Polly Madison. You've got your killer.”
I grinned. "Excellent news."
“But there’s something else."
"I'm listening.”
“I’m not sure Jesse is responsible for Sydney's death. The fiber pulled from her body was mohair. I'm looking into the dye lot and manufacturing process. Hopefully, I can narrow down the vendor. This is a high-end fabric. This isn't something a vagrant would wear, unless he came by it secondhand.”
"Always a possibility.”
“I think we’re looking at two distinct killers. The size of the handprints around Sydney’s neck doesn’t match Polly’s. I’m no detective, but I think Sydney’s killer is in her social circle.”
My mind raced with possibilities. "Thanks. Keep me posted."
"You know it,” she said before ending the call.
I left the galley and banged on the hatch to JD’s stateroom. "Hey! Get up. We’ve got a murder to solve."
I went back to the galley and finished grilling up breakfast.
Jack joined me a few moments later. We dished up plates and ate on the sky deck. I filled him in on my call with Brenda, and we plotted out our day.
"I don't think Jesse Doyle has a mohair suit stashed in a closet somewhere," I said. "All of his worldly possessions were on him when we made the arrest.”
"To be fair, he could have ditched any mohair clothing after the first murder.”
"I'll bet Fletcher owns a mohair suit,” I said.
With a grin, Jack said, “Let’s find out.”
After breakfast, we left and headed to Coconut Capital Partners. At the reception desk, I flashed my badge. “We need to have another word with Fletcher.”
She frowned. "He's not in at the moment."
"Do you know where we can find him?”
"He said he was going to the Hollister residence.”
A look of surprise washed over my face. "Why is that?"
She cringed. "I don't think this is public knowledge yet, but Preston Hollister passed away this morning. Fletcher wanted to be there to personally offer his condolences to the family. They were so close for so long.”
"I'm sorry to hear that."
I thanked her for the information before leaving. We hustled back to the Porsche and drove to Palm Haven.
Several cars were parked in front of the Hollister residence.
Jack pulled to the curb at the neighbor’s house. We climbed out of the car and strolled the walkway up to the front porch. I rang the bell and waited.
A figure approached and pulled open the door a moment later. Judy looked at us with weepy eyes.
With a solemn face, I said, "We are so sorry for your loss."
Judy's face tightened, and she nodded, tears brimming. "Thank you.”
Judy wore an elegant navy pantsuit, and her hair was pulled back into a stylish updo. With someone as notable as Preston, the press would be here, wanting a statement from the family. I'm sure Judy wanted to look presentable. It was only a matter of time before the vultures showed up.
"Please come in," she said, stepping aside. She looked past us to the street as we walked into the foyer.
“We just heard the news and had some questions for Fletcher. Is he here?”
"No. He just left. I called the funeral home. They said they are en route.“
“I know this is a difficult time, but we have a few more questions to ask.”
"Certainly,” she said, still dazed.
Another gentleman in his early 40s stepped into the foyer. He wore a stylish charcoal suit and a red tie. He looked at us with curious eyes.
Judy introduced us. "This is Bryce Van Allen, my father's attorney.”
We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.
Bryce had wavy dark hair, narrow brown eyes, and a trimmed mustache and goatee.
"Bryce came by for a quick visit with my father," Judy said.
"I'm so glad he did," I said.
"It was almost like he waited just to see you," Judy said.
A solemn frown tugged Bryce's mouth. "Preston was a special man. I am honored to have been at his side all these years.”
“I know he appreciated everything you did for him. Father was very fond of you. Thought of you like a son.”
Bryce looked touched.
"Is there somewhere we can talk in private?" I asked Judy in a hushed tone.
"Bryce is like family," Judy said. “Anything you can say to me, you can say in front of him.”
I hesitated, then said, "New evidence has come to light.”
"What kind of evidence?” Judy asked, her brow knitting.
"A clothing fiber. That's all I can say at this time. More and more, I believe the perpetrator was someone Sydney knew. Fletcher has popped back up on our radar again.”
Judy dismissed the notion. "I know Fletcher. He could never have done something like this.” Then she added, "I thought I heard on the news there was an arrest made. Another girl was strangled in the same fashion. Don't you have someone in custody?”
"Yes, ma'am. At this time, we believe those cases are unrelated.”
Her face twisted, and she looked at me like I was crazy. "How can you say those cases are unrelated? The methods are identical, aren't they?”
"Like I said. New evidence has come to light.”
She sighed. "Well, I know you know what you're doing.”
The front door opened, and another gentleman in his 40s stepped into the foyer, followed by a woman in her late 30s.
They both hugged Judy, long and tight.
"I can't believe he's gone," the woman said.
They both said hello to Bryce, then Judy made introductions. "Deputies, this is my brother, Hamilton, and my sister, Claire.”
Hamilton had a square face and chiseled features. Dressed in a designer suit, he looked sharp and crisp. Hamilton stood about 6 feet tall with slicked-back brown hair, powder blue eyes, and a clean shave. The resemblance to Preston was striking.
Judy and Hamilton had won the genetic lottery.
Claire, not so much.
She had puffy blue eyes, auburn hair, and looked a little disheveled.
"I'd like to see him," Hamilton said.
"He's in the bedroom," Judy said in a whisper.
Hamilton stepped into the living room, and Claire followed.
Not long after, the funeral director arrived. He was a tall gentleman in a dark suit with a thin build. He had narrow eyes, a receding brown hairline, and a saggy chin. Mr. Forrester spoke in a soothing tone and offered his condolences to the family.
“He’s right this way,” Judy said, leading Forrester into the living room.
There was an awkward moment alone in the foyer with Bryce.
He sucked his teeth and shook his head. "I feel terrible for the family. That's a lot of loss to deal with in the span of a week.”
“Indeed," I said.
"Do you really think Sydney was killed by someone she knew?"
"Most people are."
"That's what they say. Still, what's the motive?”
"Passion. Jealousy. Betrayal. Who knows?”
Bryce gave a grim nod.
"Well, I guess we'll get out of your hair,” I said. “I know this is a private time. Please give my condolences once again to Judy and the rest of the family.”
“I will," Bryce said. He dug into his pocket and handed me a card. "In case you need anything. I do family planning, estates, family law, that kind of thing."
I thanked him and slipped the card into my pocket. Bryce was the kind of guy who always hustled for business.
We stepped outside and walked back to the Porsche. By that time, Paris and her crew had arrived on the scene. Her cameraman closed in and focused the lens.
"Can you confirm that Preston Hollister has passed on?" Paris asked.
I gave her a look. "It's a little soon, don't you think? Give these people some peace.”
She motioned to her cameraman to cut.
JD and I continued toward the Porsche.
Paris chased after us. "Sorry. I'm just doing my job.”
"Yeah, well, I'm sure they'd appreciate a moment."
"Are you looking into this at all?"
"What do you mean?”
"I mean, the guy is worth billions of dollars, and he’s giving it all to charity. At least, that's what he's said publicly.”
"What are you getting at?”
"I don't know about you, but if I was in line for a fortune like that, I'd be pretty pissed off if I got cut out."
"Not everybody puts money first in their lives."
She sneered at me. "You know, the people who say money doesn't matter are always the people with money."
"I'm sure Preston’s kids have all done well for themselves."
She stifled an eye roll. "Are you kidding me? They’ve been sponging off Preston for years. None of them have accomplished anything of note.”
"Are you suggesting there was foul play involved in Preston’s death? If he's giving it all away, what's the motive?"
Paris shrugged. "Resentment.”
I considered it. “If what you say is true, it seems like his kids were better off when he was alive.”
“You know me, I think about all the angles.”
"I don’t think there is an angle here.”
“You might want to think again.”
“You’re looking for a story.”
She smiled and sang, "That's my job.”
JD and I climbed into the Porsche while Paris and her crew camped out on the lawn, waiting to get a shot of Brenda and her team rolling out Preston’s body.
My phone buzzed with a call as Jack pulled away from the curb. I slipped the device from my pocket and looked at the screen. It was an unknown number, but I answered anyway. "This is Deputy Wild."
"I need some help, buddy.”
“Shane?”