“Detectives?” he asked, his voice low and discreet.
“I’m Detective Hernandez,” Ryan confirmed. “This Jessie Hunt, a criminal profiler with the department.”
“Yes,” Hugo replied, nodding. “Now that you say that, I recognize you, Ms. Hunt. I saw how you took down that cult leader—very impressive. My name is Hugo Cosgrove. I’m part of our security team here at Peninsula. I’ve been asked to escort you to the spa. Could you please follow me?”
“Sure,” Jessie said as he led them through the Reception Center. He was seemingly oblivious to Grand Hall’s ornate, detailed floor tiles and the elaborate roped-off sculptures along the way. She was not and tried to steal glances as she walked past.
They passed through a massive archway and out to a huge, well-manicured lawn that was clearly the site of the larger outdoor weddings at the resort. At the far end of the lawn, only yards from the cliff side, was a gazebo for ceremonies. White, wooden chairs were being set out for one that was apparently happening today.
“When’s the wedding today?” she asked.
“It starts just before sunset,” he answered. “They want to exchange vows just as the sun drops below the horizon.”
“That’s nice,” Ryan said and Jessie could see his mind racing.
“The rest of your people are already at the spa,” Hugo told them, stopping at a golf cart at the edge of the lawn. “We tried to keep all the potential witnesses there as well, although we let Mrs. Newhouse return to her casita. She was very upset.”
“Understood,” Ryan said. “We’ll catch up with her there.”
Hugo got in the golf cart driver’s seat.
“We’re not walking?” Jessie asked.
“We could,” Hugo said. “But it’s a bit of a trek and I was led to believe that time is of the essence.”
“It is,” Ryan said, hopping in the back seat. Jessie took the front passenger seat as Hugo settled in behind the wheel.
“Hold on tight,” he said as he started the cart up. “It can get a little bumpy.”
Before she could object, he shot ahead, taking the resort turns the way Ryan had driven down Hawthorne Boulevard. Her wet hair slapped against the back of her neck, leaving a damp mark that gave her an uncomfortable chill when met by the ocean breeze.
They arrived outside the spa less than a minute later. Even before Jessie identified the place, she knew where she was because of the CSU truck and the medical examiner van. The entire area was cordoned off with police tape, and other members of the resort’s security team were doing their best to keep onlookers at bay behind it. Hugo parked the cart and walked briskly ahead of them until they reached the entrance of the spa, where an L.A. County Sheriff’s deputy based out of the Lomita station stood watch.
“I assume you’re good from here?” Hugo asked once they got to the police tape.
“I think so. Thanks, Hugo,” Ryan said.
“Okay,” Hugo replied. “I’ll be waiting out here for you when you’re done.”
Ryan nodded before turning to the deputy, showing his badge, and dipping under the tape. Jessie did the same. They stepped inside the building and looked around. The spa reception area was empty, apart from several other deputies milling about. The walls were all soft variations on yellow and the plush chairs were different shades of light blue. They had the desired effect. Jessie felt immediately more relaxed, if only briefly. Even though a person died here, the place had an air of serenity.
They followed the signage for the men’s lounge, strolling along a hallway with frosted glass walls until they got to the massive oak entrance doors, where another deputy stood guard. They again showed their ID and the deputy stood aside. Ryan pushed open the door and Jessie stepped inside. That’s when the serenity ended.
CHAPTER FOUR
The men’s lounge was organized chaos.
Jessie counted at least a dozen people in the area, many of whom she recognized. Even though Peninsula was within the territory of the L.A. County Sheriff’s Lomita station, it looked like Chief Laird had called in a favor because everyone working the scene was affiliated with LAPD.
The crime scene techs were all folks Jessie had worked with before and the medical examiner was one of the best in the business, Cheryl Gallagher. Jessie handled the case of a murdered social influencer with her a few months back and her work had been top notch. As always, her blonde hair was pulled back tight into a ponytail. Her expression was even tighter. Jessie and Ryan approached her first.
“What do we know?” Ryan asked her, not wasting time with pleasantries.
“He almost certainly died of strangulation,” Gallagher said, “though it’s too early to determine whether it was self-inflicted or done to him. Follow me.”
She led them through the lounge area of the spa, past the locker room, restrooms, and showers to a large, secluded back area. At one end of the section was a giant Jacuzzi-style, whirlpool bath. To the left was a sauna with wooden interior. To the right was the steam room where Newhouse had died.
The door was propped open and several people were moving about inside. Gallagher stopped at the entrance and let Jessie and Ryan take in the scene. The man’s body was lying on the floor in an open body bag. Photographs were being taken and someone was attempting to dust for prints. Attached to a metal handlebar about five feet high, built into the wall, was some kind of thin rope. It had a pattern of navy blue and white, though at one end of it, the white had turned reddish.
“Sorry,” Gallagher said. “I know you like to see the crime scene as it was. But we had to cut him down. I was worried that the pressure on his neck would further damage the throat area, complicating any definitive determination on cause of death. We did take pictures, of course.”
There would be official ones for them to look at later but for now Gallagher pulled up some shots on her phone. They showed Scott Newhouse, naked, slumped to the side. He was on the middle, white-tiled bench, with his torso pressed up against the right bench. The same thin material currently attached to the metal handlebar was around his neck in the photo. It was essentially holding him up. Without it, he would have likely slipped to the floor entirely.
“That handlebar seems kind of low for someone who wanted to hang himself,” Ryan noted.
“I agree,” Gallagher said. “But I don’t want to rule it out. The material could have loosened over time after the fact. It’s hard to say. One thing is for sure, it was wrapped tight around his neck. It had actually cut through the flesh in some areas.”
Jessie winced at the words. Nonetheless, she looked down at Newhouse’s lifeless body. There were nasty, red indentations in his neck, like a bloody choker necklace.
“We were told a belt was used,” she said, “but that looks a lot thinner.”
“Yes,” Gallagher confirmed. “After closer inspection, the material is closer to a thick ribbon of some kind. We’re not sure what it is exactly. There’s nothing like it in the spa. The attendant who found him told the first deputies on the scene that he didn’t recognize it.”
“Any chance you’ll be able to pull DNA off it?” Ryan asked.