Jessie recognized the name immediately and pulled up a photo of the man. Newhouse was a Los Angeles mainstay. The scion of a well-known local family, he had his hand in many pots. He was on several philanthropic boards. He had a wing named after him at the Museum of Modern Art. He was a minority owner in two local sports teams. Most importantly, for the sake of this conversation, he was good friends with Police Chief Richard Laird, at least according to the caption below one photo of the two men at a recent gala.
He was good-looking in a serious, distinguished way. His brown hair was cropped conservatively, like someone’s senior yearbook photo circa 1962. Even in this picture, where he seemed to be on the verge of laughing, there was a hint of solemnity in his brown eyes. Mostly, he looked sad.
“The spa has been shut down and a team from the local sheriff’s station is holding down the fort until you get there,” Captain Decker continued. “I’m having our best crime scene unit deployed, along with the deputy medical examiner. They should be there by the top of the hour. Hopefully you won’t arrive much later.”
Jessie looked at the clock in the car. It was 10:53 a.m. Even with mid-morning traffic and using the light and sirens, it would take them close to a half hour to get there.
“Yes, Captain,” Ryan said confidently as he shook his head at her from the driver’s seat. “We’ll do our best. What else do we need to know?”
“What you need to know, Detective,” Chief Laird interjected, “is that Scott Newhouse’s death is an enormous loss for this city, not to mention me personally. You will have all the resources you need at your disposal on this case.”
“Thank you, Chief Laird,” Ryan said.
Just as it was clear to Jessie, Ryan obviously sensed that there was something more coming.
“I would never make any improper requests,” the chief said carefully, “so please don’t misinterpret what I’m about to say. Our first priority as a department is without question to determine exactly what happened in that steam room. But I would ask that if the investigation hints that the nature of his death might prove to be in some way…embarrassing, that you would give me prior notice of that. To be crystal clear, I don’t want you to massage your conclusions in any way. But because of Scott’s high profile and his imprint on the city over the last two decades, the nature of his passing will be of enormous interest in many quarters. All I want is a little time to prepare the department’s formal statement before the results of your inquiry are made public. Is that reasonable?”
Jessie was impressed. There were many reasons that Richard Laird had ascended to police chief of the second largest city in America and one of them was his ability to be diplomatic about his demands. He wanted to be looped in on this case early and often so that he could soften any unpleasant outcome. It was an unusual request, but there was nothing technically inappropriate about it. Of course, what he did after he got the results was another matter entirely.
“Of course, Chief Laird,” Ryan said, well aware that he didn’t have any choice but to accede to the “request.” “We’ll let you know as soon as we have something to share. And both Ms. Hunt and I would like to offer our condolences. We know that Mr. Newhouse was a friend of yours.”
“Indeed he was,” the chief acknowledged. “If it wasn’t a questionable decision, I would have already called his wife, Bridget, to console her. She’s all alone now, left to raise their three young ones by herself. But as you’ll almost certainly need to speak to her while you’re there, I didn’t think it would be acceptable to reach out just yet. Assuming you clear her of any wrongdoing, please pass along my sympathies to her and let her know I’ll be in touch.”
“We’ll do that,” Ryan assured him.
“All right then,” Chief Laird said, “that’s all I have. I’ll leave you and Captain Decker alone to coordinate your plan of attack. Good luck on this one.”
He hung up before either Ryan or Decker could reply. Once he was off the phone, Decker piped up.
“I’m sorry if that was awkward,” he told them. “It goes without saying that you shouldn’t do anything differently than normal as you investigate, other than to update me more frequently than you otherwise might. I’ll do my best to run interference with the chief.”
“Thanks, Captain,” Ryan said.
“What’s he worried about?” Jessie asked bluntly now that she didn’t have to worry about offending the big boss.
“Not sure,” Decker said. “I’ve never heard of Newhouse being involved in anything sketchy, but you never know. I know he battled depression and was on the board of some charitable organization that dealt with the issue. Maybe Chief Laird is concerned that with the belt found around his neck, this might have been a suicide. That would send shockwaves through the city.”
“I’m glad he didn’t call the wife,” Jessie said. “We don’t need him making promises we can’t keep. We all know that unless she has an iron-clad alibi, she’s going to be at the top of the suspect list.”
“He knows that too, Hunt,” Decker said. “The man didn’t get where he is by being a political idiot.”
“No, Captain,” she said, realizing she wasn’t being especially politically adept right now herself. “Sorry.”
“Just keep me apprised of developments,” he said, before hanging up himself.
“What was that about?” Ryan asked, once she handed him back his phone. “You don’t usually put your foot in your mouth like that.”
“I guess I was just recalling our last direct interaction with Chief Laird,” she said. “Don’t you remember when we were investigating the case of that underage porn actress who was murdered? When one of Laird’s top deputies came under scrutiny and we pursued him, the chief threatened to suspend us without pay and even wanted us arrested at one point.”
“Yes,” Ryan conceded, “but I seem to recall that was because Internal Affairs was already investigating the guy and Laird didn’t want us mucking up their work.”
“That was the official explanation he gave,” Jessie countered, “but I had my doubts that he would have pushed hard on the issue without us.”
“Maybe keep that to yourself for the time being,” Ryan suggested. “In the meantime, we should reach out to Jamil and Beth to have them put together a rundown on everything we need to know about Scott Newhouse.”
“Good idea,” Jessie suggested and made the call.
Jamil Winslow was the head of research for HSS and Beth Ryerson was his newly hired researcher. They were an unconventional pair. They were both twenty-four but the similarities ended there.
Jamil, brilliant when it came to both navigating technology and legal and local government minutiae, was physically unimposing—short and skinny. But his exterior masked one of the sharpest minds Jessie had ever encountered.
Beth, on the job less than a month, was smart and eager to learn, but still learning the ropes. Still, she was infinitely more at ease with herself than her boss. Maybe that was because the former college volleyball player was six feet tall with a ripped physique. Or maybe it was because even with glasses and no makeup, she was unfussily attractive. Jessie liked to tease Jamil that he had a secret crush on his lone employee, which infuriated him and made Jessie think it might actually be true.