“Like maybe he doesn’t exist. You saw Easton pause when I pushed him on it. He could have made up a perfect suspect to deflect attention. While we chase down a cipher, he’s going to bolt.”
“You were pushing him to confess he suspected an affair to support your assumption of guilt—and now suddenly you think there was no affair, no lover, and he killed his wife for … what? Fun? Make up your mind.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. There was an affair, and I think he knew about it before this morning. But I’m not sure he saw anybody.”
She tossed her notebook on his lap. “He says he saw this guy, Dawson Lightner, he ID’d him from the website. Check him out and we’ll go from there.”
Chapter Forty-four
DAWSON LIGHTNER WAS SLUMPED IN A chair in his hotel room at the Ritz Carlton in Marina del Rey, struggling to hold it together. Nolan was genuinely worried he was going to regurgitate his room service all over the nice carpet. From the looks of the remainders on the trolley, it had been salmon with some sort of vegetable medley, and she didn’t want to see it twice.
He didn’t have a criminal record, and a search of his social media revealed a man who was passionate about his work, sailing, and rock climbing. Unsaid in his various profiles, but just as obvious, was the fact that he was equally passionate about posting flattering shots of himself. Muscles, sweat, and blinding white smiles were the predominant features in all the photos. Another boring narcissist.
Lightner was in LA for a legitimate business trip and had checked into this glorious hotel last night. But he’d eschewed the luxury and boundless amenities for much simpler lodging at Yukiko Easton’s rental cottage a mile away, which struck her. Affairs were almost always conducted in a neutral place, and who could resist a clandestine roll between satiny, million-thread-count sheets, followed by room service in the morning? Familiarity was one explanation. They hadn’t been engaged in a capricious fling. It had been something more serious. There was history here. Maybe history Sam Easton knew about.
She thought about her most recent ex, something she rarely did. They’d spent plenty of mornings in her apartment or his, drinking coffee and reading the paper, and it had been comfortable, intimate, like playing house. On the one-year anniversary of their first date, he’d gotten a room at The Peninsula in Beverly Hills, an astounding act of sentimentality. As a detective, she should have immediately recognized it as suspicious.
Her hatred for her apartment had stemmed from that remarkable twenty hours in another world, another life. Her hatred for the ex had stemmed from his serial philandering, which she’d found out about a week later. The gesture hadn’t been sentimental, it had been an act of contrition. And maybe Remy was the same kind of scoundrel, but she would never let things get far enough to find out. Just a drink with a colleague, no harm done. Right.
Lightner finally looked up, his handsome face diminished by the gray cast of his flesh, but he wasn’t swallowing and licking his lips anymore, which was an encouraging sign that his nausea had passed.
“She told me she was getting a divorce.”
Self-justification. Nolan loathed it as much as her apartment and her ex. It was another narcissistic trait, thinking your morality or lack thereof really mattered to outsiders. It really didn’t, unless, of course, you were talking about murder. “Tell us again about this morning.”
He folded his hands together and gazed down at them as if they were two unfamiliar objects that had suddenly ended up in his lap. “I left her house at eight and came here. I had a conference call, then went to the hotel gym, showered, and ordered room service. I’ve been here ever since, working on a proposal for tomorrow.” He offered his phone. “Yukiko texted me at nine-thirty. She was still alive then.”
Nolan took the phone, held it so Crawford could read, too.
Can’t do tonight. Tomorrow? Romeo had texted back immediately. Meeting in Dana Point. Come with me. I love you. Juliet never responded. She either didn’t reciprocate the sentiment or had been in the process of being killed.
“We haven’t found her phone. Maybe she didn’t send this text,” Crawford said tonelessly.
Lightner’s handsome face got a little ugly. “You think I killed her, took her phone, and then sent myself a text as an alibi?”
“You said it, not me.”
“That’s insane. I’m not your killer. I loved Yukiko. We were talking about her moving in with me when she got to Seattle.”
Nolan didn’t have a particular feeling about his guilt or innocence, but she was going to enjoy picking him apart like a crab. “Tell us about your relationship.”
“I met Yukiko two years ago. Our firms frequently work together. We became friends. When she separated from her husband, we … well, we began seeing each other.”
“When was that?”
“About four months ago.”
Nolan cringed inwardly. Sam had been clueless, that much she now believed, even if Crawford didn’t. “Do you know her husband, Sam Easton?”
“No, I don’t. I know of him, but we’ve never met.”
“She was going to have dinner with him tonight. Did you know about that?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you were jealous.”
“I told you, I didn’t know about it, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have cared. In fact, I would have encouraged it. Closure is important.”
Nolan hated the word closure and she was beginning to hate Lightner. “So it was your opinion the marriage was over?”
He swallowed and licked his lips again. Handsome or not, it reminded Nolan of a reptile. “She told me it was, otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten involved with her.”
“You said you didn’t know Sam Easton, but knew of him. Did Ms. Easton talk about him to you?”
“Yes.”
“And what did she say?”
“She never spoke ill of him, but she confided that he’s struggling. He has severe PTSD, and she felt she had to move on before they destroyed one another. It had become a toxic environment.” His eyes narrowed. “I know you have to question me, but I hope you’re looking at him. I have tremendous respect for his service and sacrifice, but he’s not well.”
“Did Ms. Easton ever express fear of her husband or concern about her well-being?”
“Not to me.” His brows lifted in revelation. “But at dinner last night, something was bothering her. She was quiet, distracted, very unlike herself. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but at the time I wondered if she and Sam hadn’t been arguing.”
“Did they argue often?”
“I couldn’t really say, but I know their separation was difficult. For both of them.”
“Where did you have dinner?”
“At the restaurant here.”
Nolan closed her notebook. “But you two didn’t spend the night here.”
His mouth went slack, then he looked away and shifted in his seat. “That was the original plan.”
“What happened to that original plan?”
He began twisting his hands together. “I brought up the subject of her moving in with me. I was excited about starting a future with her. She got upset and left.” His shoulders slumped. “I should have known better than to press her.”