“There’s no need for threats,” Lane said huffily. “I’m just conveying the position of my superiors.”
“Maybe your superiors should have thought twice before selecting a resort manager who hires guys with lengthy criminal records,” Ryan pointed out.
“That wasn’t my doing,” Lane objected.
“Are you trying to pin the blame on Hugo’s team?” Ryan asked.
“No,” Lane said, glancing over at the security officer uncomfortably. “Mr. Nance, along with several others, was hired over the objections of our security staff.”
“Why?” Jessie demanded.
Lane sighed, as if deeply pained that he had to answer the question.
“Peninsula underwent a change in ownership about six months ago,” he said. “The new owners established a revised hiring doctrine intended to increase the diversity of the staff. It’s been a smashing success. We’re very proud of it.”
“Sounds great,” Ryan said. “So what’s the problem?”
“We may have been a victim of our own success,” Lane answered. “Three months ago, the owners, one of whom has a brother who was once incarcerated, decided to up the ante and open the resort to hiring people who had served time. They started slowly, with young people who had been convicted of a crime while a juvenile. We have a committee that vets prospective candidates and makes recommendations. As of now, we have seven employees hired through what we call the ‘Second Chance’ program.”
“That’s admirable,” Jessie said. “And in general I think it’s a great idea. But Ronnie Nance doesn’t just have a juvenile record. He’s been convicted of two crimes as an adult and served hard time.”
“Yes,” Lane conceded, “There seems to have been a hiccup somewhere in the vetting process. We’re trying to determine where. Nonetheless, there is no evidence suggesting that Mr. Nance stole anything, much less killed someone. To make those kinds of accusations is reckless and unfair.”
“He ran when we tried to talk to him,” Ryan pointed out. “That’s evidence that he has something to hide. We were trying to find out exactly what when you interrupted.”
There was a long, awkward pause in which Lane seemed to be struggling to think of justification for his actions. Jessie jumped in to give him a lifeline.
“Despite that,” she said, “I have an idea that may solve both our problems.”
“What do you propose?” Lane asked, his eagerness trumping his attempt to maintain a stately bearing.
“My understanding is that you have on-site staff quarters,” she said. “Since they are resort property, you can allow us to search Nance’s living space without a warrant. Let us do that and collect any evidence we find. Maybe there are ‘missing’ items in there. Maybe there’s a picture of Scott Newhouse with a big red “x” through his face. Maybe there’s nothing at all. It won’t necessarily answer all our questions, but getting a look at Nance’s stuff could get us part of the way there. What do you say?”
Even before Lane responded, Jessie knew he would say yes. It was an eminently reasonable suggestion, one he couldn’t oppose without seeming obstructionist. Even his body language seemed to soften a bit before he spoke.
“I suppose we could allow that.”
*
They all marched down a long basement hallway to the staff quarters in a single file line.
Hugo led the way. Next was the resort manager, Peter Lane, followed by Ryan. Then came Ronnie Nance, hand-cuffed and fidgety. After him was a giant security guard, appropriately named Spike. Jessie walked right behind him with Kat bringing up the rear.
Jessie kept her eyes on Ronnie, looking for any signs of anxiety or fear beyond what he’d already displayed. He was definitely nervous, constantly licking his lips and tugging at his handcuffs. But she couldn’t say with certainty that his behavior suggested he knew that some major secret was about to be uncovered.
“You really think we’re going to find anything?” Kat whispered in her ear as they walked. “Unless he’s an idiot, it’s hard to believe he would have stashed anything in his room.”
“We don’t have firm evidence that he’s not an idiot,” Jessie said. “Besides, if he’s been stuck at the resort until his next extended time off, where else could he put something incriminating without worrying that it might be found? Until a half hour ago, he had no reason to think anyone was looking at him for murder or theft.”
“What if we don’t find anything?” Kat asked.
“That’s not our only play,” Jessie reminded her. “According to Hugo, all staff nametags are geo-tagged. That might not help solve your thefts, but if he was near the spa when Newhouse was killed, it should show up in the resort’s system. Hugo has his tech people checking now.”
“Let’s hope they’re as good as Jamil,” Kat said.
“That’s not possible,” Jessie noted. “But for something like this, they don’t have to be.”
They walked on quietly for a few seconds before Kat spoke up again.
“By the way, I’m sorry about the whole tracking thing.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jessie muttered back. “You can make it up to me with a nice bottle of red or paying for a pedicure.”
“You’re really not pissed?”
“Sure, I’m a little pissed,” Jessie admitted. “But you’ve saved my ass often enough that I’ll let it slide this time. And truth be told, if I was in a tough spot, I might have done the same thing. Oh, by the way, we got LAPD to authorize you as a temporary consultant so that you can help out on our case if we need it.”
“Are you serious?” Kat asked, sounding as giddy as was possible for her.
“I am,” Jessie said. “You’ll even get a check when it’s all over.”
Kat squeezed her shoulder appreciatively.
“You didn’t just put another tracker on me?” Jessie asked wryly.
Before Kat could reply, they arrived at the appropriate door. Hugo knocked politely.
“Who is it?’ came a startled male voice.
“It’s Hugo Cosgrove from security, Marlo. Please open up.”
They heard a string of muttered profanities on the other side of the door, followed by what sounded like some kind of aerosol being sprayed.
“Now, Marlo!” Hugo repeated, banging on the door louder. “Don’t make me open it myself.”
The door popped open a second later to reveal a scrawny–looking teen with bed head in shorts and a t-shirt.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was taking a nap and needed a second to get dressed.”
His red-tinged eyes, along with the combined scent of Lysol, a vanilla candle, and the unmistakable smell of pot, suggested he’d been doing more than napping.
“Can you step outside for a moment please, Marlo?” Hugo requested, not commenting on either the scent or the excuse.
“Yes, sir,” Marlo said, trudging out with his head slumped, as if he was headed for the guillotine. Jessie didn’t care what he was smoking and she doubted anyone else here did either, with the possible exception of Peter Lane.