He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead he turned and headed for the parking garage. As he walked, he went over the plan for the night in his head. It was true that he would be having sushi but there would be no wine.
He needed to keep his head clear because he was going out tonight.
*
Jessie was so anxious that she could barely eat.
They were in a holding pattern right now, unable to take any tangible steps until they heard back from others. They were waiting for any results from the fingerprinting and DNA testing at Carl’s place.
They’d convinced the local D.A. to ask a judge to approve a warrant to search all the unoccupied homes on the Strand but the Homeowners Association was fighting it. Apparently they didn’t think that the police marching up and down the Strand searching homes was a great look. Meanwhile Jessie was waiting for a call from an eager young MBPD researcher named Jamil Winslow, who was following up on a hunch she had.
In the interim, they’d decided to have a light bite in sight of the Pacific Ocean. They sat on the outside patio at a hipster gastropub, waiting for their food.
“I feel like, even though we’re only in our thirties, everyone here is looking at us like we’re old-timers,” Ryan said, trying to break the tension.
Jessie smiled tightly. She didn’t feel chatty but she didn’t want to be rude. They both sipped iced tea silently. She tried to give herself a mental break and appreciate the slightly lower temperature that arrived as late afternoon began to bleed into early evening. The break didn’t last long.
Ryan got a call just as their food came.
“Bad news,” he said when he hung up. “There were no unusual prints found at the Landingham house and DNA results won’t be back until tomorrow.”
Jessie shook her head in amazement.
“That’s stunning if he was squatting there,” she said. “It means he’s been extremely diligent about wearing gloves and wiping surfaces down.”
“He can wipe up prints,” Ryan agreed. “But not DNA. Remember, I ordered the killer’s clothes and shoes be sent to forensics. Between that and whatever they pull from the bed sheets and stocking, it’s not crazy to think we’ll have something to go on tomorrow.”
Jessie sensed a note of uncertainty ion his voice.
“But…” she prodded.
“But if what they find doesn’t match someone already in the system, we’ll still be stuck.”
Jessie took a bite of her turkey wrap and chewed slowly.
“How is it?” Ryan asked.
“Not bad at all,” she said, finding the chewing motion unexpectedly relaxing. “But not worth fourteen bucks. What about you?”
“Same. I feel like we’re being charged half for the food and half for the view.”
“It is a nice view,” she admitted.
“Mine’s better,” he said.
It took Jessie a second to figure out that he was talking about her.
“So debonair,” she said, batting her eyes elaborately. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Because his original dress shirt was ripped and bloody, he had borrowed an extra T-shirt from one of the officers until they stopped at a local shop and picked up a new work shirt. Jessie had insisted he buy the sea foam green one. Despite his initial protestations, he eventually agreed. She knew he secretly liked how he looked.
“Thanks,” he said, blushing slightly.
Jessie had a brief flash of taking the shirt off him again later tonight but pushed it away. The way this case was going, the chances that they’d have any opportunity for intimacy this evening were somewhere between slim and none.
Suddenly she felt a wave of shame at having thought about her own pleasure when Garland had been dead less than twenty-four hours. She knew the old guy wouldn’t take offense. In fact, he’d probably be happy that she was allowing herself a few moments unconsumed by grief. But knowing it and believing it were two different things.
“I’m going to call Dolan,” she said out of the blue.
Ryan, who was still lingering in their romantic moment, looked confused but nodded. Jessie pretended not to notice and dialed the FBI agent’s number. When he picked up, she dived right in.
“Hey Jack,” she said. “How’s it going? I need an update on Kyle.”
“Nice to hear from you, Jessie,” he replied laconically. “I’m well. Thanks for asking so sincerely. How are you?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Yes,” he said, dropping the sardonic tone. “I heard about Garland. I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks, Jack. I appreciate that. To be honest, I’m working a case, the one he was handling when he was killed, and staying focused on it has been good for me. It’s been a helpful distraction; keeps me from losing myself, you know?”
“I do. That’s what alcohol did for me until a few months ago when I decided to focus on big waves exclusively, if you’ll recall.”
Jessie did. When she’d first met Jack Dolan while working on an inter-jurisdictional case, he was almost as focused on getting sauced as solving the murder they were investigating. But soon afterward he’d quit drinking entirely. Now he used surfing, always a hobby, as his method of escaping the madness. She could picture him on the other end of the line as they spoke, his silvery hair wet, his skin salty and his face tanned and crinkly from hours in the sun.
“Unfortunately, Jack, I don’t balance very well on a surfboard, so I’ll have to use work as my mental vacation.”
“I just want you to take a moment to process that. You’re saying investigating murders is your way to de-stress and navigate grief. Maybe you should let me give you a lesson. I promise we’ll start with baby waves.”
“A discussion for another time,” she told him. “Right now, I need you to tell me where my ex-husband was this afternoon.”
“Why? Is everything okay?”
“Actually, Ryan was attacked this afternoon here in Manhattan Beach. At first we thought it was related to the case we’re working, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Hold on a second,” he said, obviously reading something. “I just got the field notes from our day surveillance team. They handed off to the night guys about a half hour ago. It looks like Voss spent the whole day in the Claremont area. He was mostly home in the morning. The he ran some errands in the afternoon, spent several hours reviewing finance textbooks at the college library in the afternoon. He’s home having sushi right now.”
“How do you know that?” Jessie asked, surprised.
“He told my guys. Despite my repeated requests that they not engage directly with him, they couldn’t help themselves. He tends to taunt them with his waves and smiles when he’s driving around. Anyway, there was a little chat outside the library, during which he mentioned his dinner plans.”
Jessie felt a surge of frustration rise up in her throat and tried to swallow it down before responding.
“I don’t know what to do with the fact that your agents sound like they’re getting uncomfortably chummy with the man who tried to kill me. But I’ll set that aside for now. Where exactly was Kyle from about two p.m. to four p.m.?”