Deep tide, p.16
Deep Tide, page 16
“Fine. Thanks for taking a break with me.”
“I only have twenty minutes or so. Our event starts at five.”
They walked together down the stairs, and she dropped his hand to remove her sandals. She’d painted her toenails pink, he noticed. The other night they’d been silver.
She left her shoes at the base of the steps.
“Thanks for the drink.” She sipped from the straw and then offered him the cup. “Want some?”
“I’m good.”
They walked toward the water, passing a beach blanket where a family had set up for the afternoon with what seemed like a crazy amount of gear: three umbrellas, two coolers, six beach chairs, plus a wagon filled with foam pool noodles. A group of kids ran back and forth between the water’s edge and a giant pit where they were building a sandcastle.
Leyla sipped the lemonade and stopped to gaze at the surf. “Tide’s out.” She glanced at him. “You get a chance to fish today?”
“Nope.”
They started walking, and she looked at him, clearly hoping he’d elaborate on what he’d been up to since she’d last seen him.
“I spent the day inside, mostly,” he said. “Online, on the phone. It’s been pretty tedious. How about you?”
“Saturdays are always busy. After the lunch rush, I decorated a cake for a christening that’s tomorrow.” She handed him the cup and then bent to roll the cuffs of her jeans. “And then I fried forty crab cakes and made a remoulade sauce for tonight’s gig.” She straightened. “So, if I smell like cooking oil, that’s why.”
He stepped closer and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You smell amazing.”
“Right.”
He gave her back the lemonade. Then he took her free hand again and they strolled down the beach, passing a boy and his dad trying to get a shark-shaped kite into the air. Most of the families out today had small children who were probably still too young to be tied to the school calendar.
They walked along in companionable silence. His condo was just up ahead, and he had the urge to take her upstairs and make her late for her event. Sean was dying to get her alone. Truly alone, where they wouldn’t be interrupted by crowds or co-workers or cell phones. Maybe when this op wrapped, he could tack on some vacation time. He wanted a real vacation, where he could turn his phone off and give Leyla his undivided attention.
He wanted to get to know her. Really get to know her, beyond the stuff she’d been willing to share so far. He already knew she kept her guard up with most people, and he got that, but he wanted to be different. He wanted to learn what made her happy, and frustrated, and turned on. He wanted every detail. He’d never been so intrigued by anyone, and he was trying not to feel bitter over the fact that they lived so far apart. He was trying to focus on her instead, but the logistical stuff kept eating away at him. He couldn’t help it. That was how he was. When he saw a problem, he homed in on it.
She looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Stuff I don’t want to talk about right now.” He squeezed her hand, and she gave him an amused smile.
“So”—she sipped her lemonade—“you know there’s a golf tournament tomorrow over at Playa del Rey? It’s this big event for charity.”
Something in her voice put him on guard. “What about it?”
“Luc Gagnon’s assistant called me. Her name’s Jillian.”
Sean halted.
“She asked if we might be able to cater a dinner party after the tournament,” Leyla said.
“She just called you out of the blue?”
“I’ve worked with her before. Remember I told you about the breakfast meeting at the Windjammer?”
Sean stared down at her. “And she just randomly called you?”
“Well, she was returning my call. I’d left her a message yesterday letting her know our catering firm was officially launched and then I sent her a menu.”
Sean’s gut tightened. “You’re actively marketing to him?”
“I’m marketing to everyone at the moment. I’m trying to get my business off the ground.”
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“Anyway, it’s a small group for dinner. Jillian said she was glad to hear from me because the headcount unexpectedly jumped from twelve to twenty at the last minute so—”
“Where is this dinner?”
She pulled back, clearly startled by his tone. “At his house.”
Sean shook his head and looked away.
“What? I thought it might be a good opportunity.”
He glared down at her. “How’s that?”
“Well . . . it’s his big new house, and almost no one’s been inside,” she said. “He brought in an architect and a decorator from Seattle. He travels with his own staff. I thought, I don’t know, this might be a good opportunity for someone to poke around a little and maybe eavesdrop.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not an agent, Leyla.”
“Not me. I meant you could send someone in. They could pretend to work for me.”
“No.”
She huffed out a breath. “You won’t even consider—”
“No.”
“Fine.” She started down the beach again.
“And you shouldn’t consider it either,” he told her. “Luc Gagnon is not the kind of client you need.”
“What, you mean wealthy people who entertain? That’s exactly the kind of client I need.”
Sean gritted his teeth. Now she was just trying to piss him off. He couldn’t believe she’d come up with this scheme.
But then again, he could. She’d been nosing around his work ever since she’d figured out about the possible link between Amelia and his investigation.
“Forget it,” she said now. “It was just an idea. I haven’t even accepted the job yet. I can always tell her it’s too last-minute and we’re booked.”
“That sounds good. Tell her that.”
“I hate leaving people in the lurch, though.”
What she probably hated more was sending people to her competition. Sean glanced at her. She seemed annoyed by his reaction, but he didn’t give a damn.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the screen. “Siena’s texting me. I need to get back.”
They turned around and headed back toward the bridge in silence. He trudged through the sand, absorbing everything she’d told him. All of it made him extremely uneasy.
Luc Gagnon was a thirty-six-year-old jet-setter who routinely did business with some of the most notorious lowlifes on the planet. Sean didn’t want Leyla anywhere near the man, or near anyone in his orbit, for that matter. Just the idea of her inside Gagnon’s house, waiting on a bunch of rich assholes who’d been getting loaded all day, put a tight knot in the center of Sean’s chest.
“It was just an idea. Relax.”
“I am.”
“Sean, I can hear your teeth grinding.”
They neared the bridge and she veered away to toss her drink into a trash bin. Watching her, he wondered whether she’d really had a text from Siena. Maybe she just wanted to get away from him because he’d pissed her off again.
They reached the steps, and she unrolled her cuffs and slipped on her sandals.
“So . . . I was thinking.” She smiled up at him. “Does that dinner invitation to the Nautilus still stand?”
“Yes.”
“How about Monday night?”
She gazed up at him with those big blue eyes, and he considered how to respond. He couldn’t believe he’d even hesitate. Since the moment he’d met her, he’d been on a mission to get her to spend time with him.
But the more she did, the more she became intrigued by his work. Leyla wouldn’t even know about a possible link between Amelia and Luc Gagnon if she hadn’t been at Sean’s place the other night. Leyla was observant, she was intuitive, and she was deeply interested in the case he was working on. It was a dangerous combination.
And to make things worse, Sean continued to show bad judgment. He’d allowed himself to get distracted, resulting in dumb mistakes. Letting the gas tank get low. Inviting Leyla up to his apartment when he’d left his computer out. Bottom line, he was distracted as hell by everything about her. He needed to get his head in the game before he did something really stupid that couldn’t be undone.
She looked up at him expectantly.
“I’ll let you know,” he said. “I may have a late-day meeting at the Brownsville office.”
“Oh.”
It was a lie, but that was too bad. Giving her the truth—even little scraps of it—had backfired.
She dusted the sand from her palms and tucked her hands into her back pockets. She looked at him, and he got the distinct feeling the whole dinner-date conversation was an attempt to change the subject.
“What are you going to tell Gagnon’s assistant?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’ll probably just tell her we’re booked.”
Probably.
He gritted his teeth, and the knot in his chest was back again.
She reached up and stroked her fingertip over his jaw. “Don’t clench. It’s bad for you.”
“I’m not.”
She went up on tiptoes and kissed him, and he slid his arm around her waist before he could stop himself.
She eased back, smiling. “Thanks for the lemonade. Let me know about Monday night.”
* * *
• • •
Nicole hurried past the reception desk, where Denise was filing her nails.
“They started yet?”
Denise buzzed the door open. “Five minutes ago.”
“Crap,” Nicole muttered, rushing through the bullpen. Brady’s office was empty, and so were most of the desks, including the ones for Emmet, McDeere, and Lopez, who was the rookie they’d pulled in to help with some of the legwork.
Nicole was thirsty from being in the sun all afternoon, plus she was hungover from her little bourbon binge last night. She swung into the break room and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before hurrying into the conference room.
All heads turned her way as she walked in.
“Hi. Sorry I’m late.”
No one responded, and she took the closest empty seat. It was next to Lopez, and he eyed her curiously as she set her stuff down and slowly lowered herself into the chair.
“I was just filling them in on Luc Gagnon,” Brady said.
Nicole looked at the chief, surprised. “All right.”
“And the possible connection with the two Saledo hit jobs back in the fall.” Brady leaned back in his chair. “Anything new from the lab?”
The chief had sent her on yet another squeaky-wheel mission, but this one had been more successful. The lab supervisor had given her a preview of several results that had just come in. She’d also had a chance to personally drop off the beer can Sean had asked her to run for him.
She cast a glance at Emmet. His cool gaze told her he’d picked up on the fact that she’d had some inside info that she’d neglected to share with him. How much had Brady revealed to the team? And how much did he even know? Nicole hadn’t discussed Operation Virgil with anyone here. She’d gotten the distinct impression from Sean that she wasn’t supposed to know about it.
“Some interesting updates.” She scooted her chair in, wincing as fire shot up her rib cage. Biting back a curse, she opened her file folder.
“The tox report came in,” she said. “No drugs in her system. Also, the rape kit came back. Nothing there, no foreign DNA or anything.”
Whatever terrors Amelia Albright had been subjected to before her death, they hadn’t included sexual assault.
“They did come up with some interesting DNA evidence, though. This is from the swab the ME took from the site of the knife wound.” She looked at Brady. “The swab shows a second DNA profile that doesn’t match the victim.”
“Like, the killer nicked himself?” Emmet asked.
That’s what Nicole had thought, too. A knife handle could get slippery during a bloody struggle, and it was possible the perpetrator could cut himself and leave blood on the victim.
“Weirder than that,” she said. “The DNA profile matches Jose Rincon.”
Brady’s eyebrows arched. “Rincon?”
“Sorry. Who’s Jose Rincon?” the rookie asked.
“One of the two San Antonio victims,” she said. “The other one is Sandra Massey.”
“Wait. Back up. How would some dead guy’s DNA end up on Amelia Albright?” McDeere asked.
“The murder weapon,” Emmet said, staring at Nicole. “He didn’t clean it.”
“Didn’t clean it enough,” she said. “Some trace amount of a previous victim’s blood was transferred to our victim.”
“Interesting.” Brady steepled his hands together under his chin.
Nicole felt a swell of pride that she’d managed to get a decent lead. And on a Saturday, no less. The squeaky-wheel strategy seemed to be working, and she was developing a good rapport with the lab supervisor.
She cleared her throat and continued. “Combined with the blue cordage—which isn’t totally conclusive evidence. I mean, that could have been a coincidence—but combined with that, we can now confirm that whoever carried out the hits in San Antonio is responsible for Amelia Albright,” Nicole said.
“Well, at least we know they used the same murder kit. Same knife, same bindings. Could have been a different hit man,” Emmet pointed out.
Nicole nodded. She hadn’t thought of that, but he was right.
“At any rate, it definitely connects the three crimes,” she said. “So, that’s big.” She glanced at Brady, looking for confirmation.
He was still watching her over his steepled hands.
“The San Antonio detective, he give you any details about the MO?” the chief asked. “Besides the killing itself?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“How did they track the vics?” he asked. “The Massey woman was dumped behind her apartment building, right? But the other guy—Rincon—he was ambushed after leaving a bar. How’d they know he’d be there?”
“Yeah, I asked that,” Nicole said. “The detective told me they assume whoever carried out the hit had been following the guy around. It wasn’t a place Rincon frequented, so they figured he must have been followed there. And based on some fiber evidence, they believe he was picked up while walking to his car, then bound, beaten, and questioned in the back of a vehicle before being stabbed and dumped in the alley behind the bar.”
“Fiber evidence?” Emmet asked.
“Yeah, some carpet fibers,” Nicole said. “And that’s a good detail for us to be aware of, too. San Antonio recently got the lab results back on the carpet fibers. They were run through a national database, and the fibers came back to a Dodge minivan. We don’t have an exterior color, unfortunately, because a lot of the vans have black carpet inside. But that’s where they think someone held Rincon and questioned him.”
“The van could have been a rental,” McDeere said.
She nodded. “True. Also, we don’t have any reason to think Amelia was held inside a vehicle. Based on the blood traces inside the coffee shop storeroom, it looks like she was held in there.”
Silence settled over the room as she looked around.
“Where are we on those security cams?” Brady asked, turning to McDeere.
“I’ve talked to every business in the area,” McDeere said. “Surf’s Up, the gas station across the street, the souvenir shop, even the grocery place three buildings down. No one had any outdoor cameras that picked up anything near the alley or the parking lot behind the Island Beanery. We’re out of luck on that front. Too bad the Beanery didn’t have any cameras.”
“They do now,” Emmet said. “I was in there yesterday. Leyla just had some installed.”
“Okay, what about the boyfriend angle?” Brady asked Emmet. “You were going to reinterview some of her friends.”
“I did. One of them told me Amelia went on a few dates with some tech CEO who was down from Seattle,” Emmet said. “We’re assuming that’s Luc Gagnon.”
“Who is this friend?” the chief asked.
“One of the baristas she worked with. I hadn’t interviewed her before. Turns out they had a bunch of shifts together, so they talked a lot.”
“She say where Amelia met this guy?” Brady asked.
“She didn’t know,” Emmet responded. “Could have been at the coffee shop or a bar or anywhere. We know from Amelia’s friends that she liked to go out a lot.”
“So far, nothing on the sketchbook. I mean, in terms of fingerprints or whatever.” Nicole opened her file again and shuffled through until she found a printout of the sketches she’d discovered in Amelia’s apartment. She’d also found some photos online of Luc Gagnon. She’d printed several shots, including profiles and straight-on angles. “Here are some pictures for comparison.” She slid the printouts across the table to Brady and Emmet.
They leaned forward to study the pictures, and Nicole waited expectantly. She knew what Brady was going to say even before he said it.
Brady looked up. “Inconclusive.”
“He has dark hair,” Nicole pointed out. “And a similar body type.” She nodded toward the sketch of the man stretched out in bed. If she’d been in a room full of women, she would have made the obvious observation that the guy in the drawing was hot. “The sketch shows someone muscular, and we know Luc Gagnon is athletic.”
“How to we know that?” Emmet asked, and she detected a trace of snark in his voice.
“According to People magazine, he does mountain biking. And surfing. And he plays golf.”
