“We’ll see,” Gallagher replied dubiously. “That’s really our only hope for physical evidence, assuming this was a homicide and the killer didn’t use gloves. Unfortunately, this room is so hot and humid that pulling prints is virtually impossible. Even determining an authoritative time of death will be hard because the heat in here messed with his body temp.”
That fact alone piqued Jessie’s suspicion. After all, if this was murder, what better place to commit the crime than a place where fingerprints and an accurate time of death were hard to come by?
“Maybe the attendant can help us lock that down a bit,” she suggested. “Where is he?”
“He’s waiting with a deputy in the locker room,” Gallagher told them. “His name is Tony Dante. He’s pretty shaken up.”
“Thanks Cheryl,” Ryan said.
They made their way back to the locker room, where a deputy was standing with his back to them, scrolling through his phone. He had apparently made no effort to comfort the young man, who looked terrified. Tony Dante was sitting forlornly on a bench in the corner, bouncing nervously and fiddling with his fingers. He had olive skin, brown hair, and appeared to be in his early twenties. When he glanced up at them, his eyes were wide with distress.
“Tony,” Jessie said, pushing past the deputy, who could get an explanation of who they were from Ryan, “My name is Jessie. How are you doing?”
She sat down beside him and smiled gently. It seemed wise to ease in with the kid. There was always the possibility that Tony had killed Scott Newhouse, but for now she was operating on the assumption that he was a witness. That could always change based on his answers.
“Not great,” he admitted.
She heard the deputy balk behind her before Ryan murmured something to him that she couldn’t hear. She pretended not to notice.
“I can understand that,” she said softly. “What you saw was pretty awful. I wish I could tell you the memory will fade soon, but that wouldn’t be honest.”
“Who are you?” he asked, apparently curious as to whether he could trust the word of the strange woman who had sat down beside him.
“Like I said, my name is Jessie. I’m a profiler who consults with the police. They bring me in on investigations from time to time. I’m here trying to determine what happened and I was hoping you could help me and my partner, Detective Hernandez, figure that out. Can we ask you a few questions?”
“I already told the other cops what I saw,” he said, clearly dreading the idea of revisiting it all.
“We know,” Jessie said quietly but firmly. “But it’s often helpful for us to hear it in person from the witness. Sometimes they remember new things the second time around. When did you find the victim?”
“A little after ten,” he said.
“Can you be more specific?”
“It was about 10:10,” he said. “My break started at 10:15 and cleaning the steam room is always the last thing on my checklist before I clock out.”
“Did you see him go in?’
“No, but I was running around the lounge a lot. I could have easily missed him. I saw on the sign-in sheet by the door that he checked in around 9:30, so I knew he was around somewhere. But he could have been anywhere—the sauna, getting a massage—and I wouldn’t necessarily have known. It was pretty quiet this morning. I only came across three or four guests since I started my shift.”
“Were any of them around when you found the body?”
“No,” he said, shivering at the memory. “I was pretty sure I was alone because I hadn’t seen anyone for a while and everyone except for Mr. Newhouse had checked out on the sign-in sheet. But I shouted out for help anyway after I called the front desk. No one answered.”
“Are there cameras we can check to see comings and goings?” Ryan asked, speaking for the first time.
“Entering the spa’s main reception area, yes,” Tony told him, “but not in the lounges. They want guests to have privacy.”
“But we could use the reception cameras to determine if guests actually left the spa after signing out in here?” Ryan checked.
“I guess so,” Tony said. “You should check with security to make sure.”
“We will,” Ryan replied. “Is there anything else you can think of that we didn’t ask about?”
“No.”
“Okay, just one last question, Tony,” Ryan asked as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “Did you know Mr. Newhouse?”
“I don’t think so,” Tony answered. “The name isn’t familiar and I didn’t recognize him. But, I mean, I didn’t look that closely at him, you know. I actually tried not to look at him at all.”
“And did you interact with anyone else during the time prior to finding the body?” Ryan pressed, asking more than his promised “one” question.
“Sure,” Tony said, not totally getting that he was being asked for his alibi. “I went to get extra towels at one point and ran into Kree. She’s one of the female attendants. That was about ten minutes before I found Mr. Newhouse. I also stopped by Jerald’s office. He’s the men’s spa manager. I told him we were running low on cucumbers for the mint cucumber water. He said he’d order more from the kitchen. That was just a couple of minutes before I found the guy.”
“Great,” Jessie said. “We just need you to stick around a little while longer. The deputy will release you soon.”
Tony nodded and they left the men’s lounge and headed back to the front.
“What do you think?” Ryan asked as they approached the main exit.
“I think that Chief Laird is going to want an update soon. And since it might be a while until we get the M.E.’s take on whether this was murder or suicide, we’d be smart to talk to someone else who may be able to give us some insight on the matter.”
“Who’s that?” Ryan asked, though Jessie suspected he knew who she was thinking of.
“The same person who might also be our prime suspect: his wife. We need to speak to Bridget Newhouse.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Hugo tore along the golf cart path like he was in a race.
As he drove them to Bridget Newhouse’s bungalow across the campus, he took it upon himself to give them the quick and dirty tour.
“That’s the public nightclub, Breakers,” he said, pointing at a stand-alone building near a cliff edge.
“What do you mean ‘public?’” Ryan shouted from the backseat.
“Anyone can get into that one, even non-guests, if they’re willing to pay the cover, which is admittedly quite steep,” Hugo explained. “But there’s another club underneath it, carved deep into the cliff. It’s VIP only—very exclusive. You have to take an elevator down. They created an artificial cove just above the water line with a massive window facing the ocean. When the waves crash, they slam into the window—it’s pretty intense.”
“What constitutes a VIP?” Jessie wondered.
“That information is above my pay grade,” Hugo admitted. “When I’ve worked the place, I’ve seen major celebrities and people I didn’t recognize that looked like they hadn’t bathed in days. I have no idea what the formal criteria is for entry.”