“He would’ve known her habits,” Jack said. “He watched her just like he did his victims because he needed the car. Put a deputy on the girl and her family just in case he has her targeted as a potential victim.”
“Already done,” Cole said. “I ran the dad as a precaution, but he’s clean. He reported his daughter’s car stolen on Sunday morning before they left for church, and then they went to Richmond to have dinner at his in-laws’ and didn’t get back until late.”
“We just finished talking to Bruno Corelli,” Jack said. “He and Juliet went to high school together. And guess who their theater teacher was?”
“Liza Minnelli,” Cole said.
I snickered and glanced at Jack. We’d all been working long hours, and there was always a point where you either got a little delirious or a little annoyed with everyone you worked with. Cole and Jack apparently fit into each of those categories.
Jack pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes at me. “Jody Burkett.”
“Even better,” Cole said. “That’s an unfortunate coincidence for Mr. Corelli.”
“It gets better,” Jack said. “There’s a possibility Juliet’s baby was his.”
Cole whistled. “And look who just moved into the prime suspect spot.”
“Yeah, except for one problem,” I said. “Bruno Corelli doesn’t fit the witness description for Jack the Ripper. And he doesn’t fit Doug’s description of Son of Sam.”
“Makeup, wigs, costumes,” Cole said.
“He’s built like a lumberjack and has a nice beard,” I said. “That would be one heck of a transformation.”
“Stranger things have happened with makeup and actors. Look at Gandalf. Just pull on the beard next time and see if it comes off.”
Jack looked at me and grinned, his point made. “Good idea on the beard pulling,” Jack said. “It’s been a while since we had a lawsuit.”
“The city attorneys don’t have anything better to do,” Cole said.
“We’re headed to go see Peter Trest,” Jack said. “We talked to him Monday morning. He had every opportunity to come and go as he pleased while he kept Jody Burkett captive and tortured her. He owns the theater, and he’s the right height and build. Facial hair, sideburns, wigs. All easily accessible for a man in his position. And he told his assistant he was holing up in his studio to paint all weekend. Covering all his bases.”
“Plus, you just don’t like him,” I chimed in.
“That too,” Jack agreed. “And I get annoyed when judges delay warrants because of who their friends are.”
“Ahh,” Cole said. “You must have gotten Judge Whittmer.”
“Bingo,” Jack said. “Let me know if you find anything interesting.”
“Will do,” Cole said. “We’re combing the exterior now while the rain has stopped.”
They disconnected and we were driving around the park toward Danbury Street and Trest’s gallery when Betsy’s name lit up on the dashboard screen.
“Betsy,” Jack said.
“Got your letter,” she said. “Just like you said. Someone wrote your name on the front in big block letters.”
“Put it in an evidence bag and lock it in your drawer unless you see Cole or Martinez,” Jack said. “We’re in Newcastle and headed back your direction. Stay alert, Betsy.”
“I’m a bullfrog,” she said and hung up.
I snorted out a laugh and looked at Jack. “She’s a bullfrog? What the heck does that mean?”
Jack grinned and pulled into a parking space across the street from the gallery. All the businesses were open as usual and afternoon traffic was back to normal.
“Bullfrogs can go months at a time without sleeping so they can stay alert,” he said.
“Betsy the bullfrog,” I said. “That’s a new one.”
“She’s outlasted forty years of sheriffs,” Jack said. “Must be working for her.”
Jack opened the gallery door for me and we went inside to the comfortable warmth. Now that I knew what Trest’s beginning of life series was, all I could see were the tiny sperm all over his canvases.
“Disturbing,” I said.
Jack countered. “Please don’t ever buy that for my office.”
We could hear the hushed voices coming from another gallery room, and we wound our way through the room featuring King George woodworkers until we found the source.
Lina stood stiffly with her arms crossed over her chest and her chin defiant. She wore a skintight sleeveless sheath in cherry red and matching heels, and I was envious of the definition in her shoulders and arms. She looked like she could take care of herself.
Rick stood facing her, with his back to us, in a similar outfit he’d worn the day before—pressed khakis and a blue-and-white check button-down, only this time he’d added a navy sweater vest. He held his jacket over his arm.
“I’m sorry, Rick,” Lina said. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
Rick made a sound of frustration and paced back and forth like a caged lion. “He can’t do this to people.”
“Oh, Sheriff Lawson,” Lina said, once she noticed us. Her brow furrowed in brief irritation, but the lines smoothed out and she gave us a polite smile. “I’m sorry if you’ve come by to see Mr. Trest, but he’s not in today.”
Rick rolled his eyes at that and kept up his pacing.
“That’s okay,” Jack said cordially. “We’ll just catch him at home.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Rick said. “The almighty Trest has spoken and he’s decided to take off for an unspecified mourning period. That’s what you get when the owner has a god complex and likes to pretend everyone else on earth is just a puppet on a string. It’s not like he loved Juliet. He could barely remember her name half the time. But women don’t seem to care. They just throw themselves at him anyway.”
“Is Mr. Trest planning to leave town?” Jack asked, directing the question at Lina.
Her mouth dropped open in surprise at the question. “I…I couldn’t say,” she said. “Mr. Trest moves to his own whims. He messaged me late last night and told me he needed to take some time to mourn the loss of Juliet.” Then she gave an arch look at Rick. “They were very close.”
Rick finally stopped his pacing and faced us. “And he called me last night to say that the theater should remain closed indefinitely. This is just typical. We’ve got cast and staff and plays already lined up, tickets presold. But he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He’s just going to hole up somewhere for God knows how long, and then when he decides to grace us with his presence again he’ll wonder why things aren’t running as smoothly as he left them.”
“Rick,” Lina said warningly.
Rick turned on Lina. “No, I’m not doing it. I’m not putting all those people out of work. Get on the phone and talk to him. I know you have his direct contact.”
“Mr. Trest is entitled to his privacy, and these are his businesses to run how he sees fit,” Lina said. “If you’re not satisfied you can find employment elsewhere.”