“I think he said Lee something, I was too busy trying to get away from him to pay attention.”
“Was it a rumor?” Kate asks the woman pointedly, keeping the interview on track.
“Was what a rumor?”
“Well, you mentioned you thought the reporter was trying to blow life into those old rumors. I assume you mean the ones accusing your husband—”
“Ex,” she snaps.
“Ex-husband,” Kate corrects herself. “Of inappropriate behavior with your children’s babysitter?”
“What was the question again?”
The woman is stalling, but Kate is not letting her off the hook.
“Was that a rumor or is that what happened?”
Cassandra turns toward the view.
“I can’t talk about that.”
“Can’t or won’t?” I intervene and her eyes land on me.
To my surprise they look tortured.
“Can’t,” she repeats.
Opal
“Good job drawing her out.”
I’m ridiculously pleased with the compliment as we drive out of the neighborhood, Mitch lifting his hand to the security guard when we pass the gate.
Not that I needed the pat on the back to know that went well, or the confirmation I’m good at what I do, but it’s the kind of thing you’d say to a partner.
An equal.
“Thanks.”
It’s good he knows I can handle myself. It’ll make working with him a lot easier, because I don’t intend to be pushed out of this investigation.
Full credit to him for taking a step back to let me take lead on the interview with the former Mrs. Krebs.
When she’d mentioned being unable to answer my question, I guessed she must’ve been asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement as part of her divorce settlement from Krebs. She confirmed and added she would risk losing custody of her teenage children if she talked out of turn. Then she surprised us by suggesting we ask questions about the time prior to her marriage, or post-divorce. Apparently, the NDA had been limited to any knowledge she might have gained during the time she was married.
Once we crossed that bridge, she turned out to be a fount of information, painting the former athlete as a nasty piece of work.
First of all, he was apparently a habitual philanderer, cheating on her before they were even married. It was something the first Mrs. Krebs had warned her about, but at the time she’d been too in love to listen. She discovered his first infidelity twelve days before their destination wedding in Belize, when she was three months pregnant with their first child.
She confronted him, he claimed it had been a mistake, a girl he’d met at his gym, and it didn’t mean anything. The girl had been underage—something he claims not to have known at the time—and if word got out not only would his life be ruined, but Cassandra’s and their baby’s as well.
She chose to let it go.
When I explained we’re looking into the disappearance of several teenagers and the murder of fourteen-year-old Georgia Braxton, all connected to the center, the woman’s face went hard.
“He has an unhealthy fascination with kids,” she’d said, followed by, “And I already know there isn’t a price he wouldn’t be willing to pay to keep his name clean and his ass out of jail.”
That was big.
When Mitch ended the interview, asking if she knew of any place Krebs might go if he wanted to get away for some R&R, she mentioned a vacation property in the hills of Daniel Boone National Forest south of Irvine.
“What’ve you got?”
Matt’s voice comes over the sound system. I didn’t even notice Mitch dialing.
Mitch updates him on the interview with Cassandra Hogan.
“The guy sounds like a piece of work,” Matt comments.
“No kidding. I’m sure there’s plenty more she could tell us, but she’s bound by an NDA and scared she’ll lose custody of her kids.”
“An NDA won’t stand if it prevents her from reporting a crime,” Matt clarifies. “And it doesn’t supersede the law, so she’d be compelled to testify if subpoenaed. Maybe suggest she get advice from a lawyer about that.”
“We’ll let her know,” I volunteer, planning to give her a call after.
I get the sense the woman would be happy to talk if she could trust there’d be no repercussions from her ex.
“What about you?” Mitch asks. “Any luck locating Kendrick?”
“Nope. We’re in the process of getting copies of security feeds from businesses around the nightclub, but that’s going to take a while.”
“Talk to Pearl,” I suggest. “If it’s server storage, you’d be surprised at what she can do.”
“You mean hack?” Matt wants to know, sounding amused.
“I’d rather think of it as speeding up a process when urgency is a factor.”
And urgency is definitely a factor here. Who knows what Kendrick is up to? For all we know he could be eliminating witnesses as easily as he eliminated their files.
“What about Kaylie?” I ask. “Have you spoken with Onyx?”
“Not yet. I’m waiting to hear from her. Are you guys heading back?”
“No,” Mitch responds, surprising me.
I wasn’t aware of any planned detours and I look at him with an eyebrow raised.
“I think we should go check out that property near Irvine. We now have two suspects in the wind, Kendrick and Krebs, unless you’ve been able to track him down?”
“No luck there either. We’ve got eyes on his house though.”
The sports anchor has a place in the country about fifty miles south of Louisville and about the same distance west from Lanark. As soon as we found out one of the four vehicles listed in Krebs’s name was a navy Yukon Denali, Matt called in for assistance from the Hardin County Sheriff’s Office to do a check at his house.
“He could be anywhere,” I point out.
“True,” Mitch concedes before explaining, “But if I tried to run someone down and failed—getting my vehicle damaged in the process—I might opt to lay low somewhere. Especially if I had such a place readily available to me.”
“No heroics,” Matt cautions.
“Not planning on any. Right now, all I want to do is make sure we’re on the right track. If he’s there and I can get eyes on the vehicle to confirm it was his Yukon at the library last night, at least we know we’re not wasting valuable time.”
“Fine. You focus on Krebs. I’ll stay on Kendrick.”
“Call Pearl,” I remind him.
“Will do. Stay in touch.”
I’m processing all the new information, and I’m guessing Mitch is doing the same since it’s quiet in the car. Until we turn onto the highway, then I speak up.
“How do you plan on finding this property?” I ask.
Cassandra had only been able to give us vague directions once we pass Irvine, involving mostly dirt roads, but she’d only been out there once and that was over a decade ago. So much can change in that amount of time, there’s no guarantee everything is still as she remembered.
“He needs food and supplies. I’m guessing he’s got someone local looking after the place, and—since I don’t see Krebs walking into a grocery store himself—they probably stock up for him.”