“I’m going to step outside for a few minutes,” she told Susannah. “I need a mental break.”

  As she left the conference room, she didn't add that the break was intended to serve two purposes. Often, a breakthrough would come to her when she stepped away from the evidence and let her mind wander.

  She was hoping to get lucky again

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Eleanor Caldwell felt a little guilty.

  She didn’t like invading her daughter’s privacy. When Maggie was a teenager, Eleanor had been a bit of a helicopter parent. Now that the woman was an adult, and a single mother to boot, it didn’t feel right to probe too deeply into her life.

  But as she walked up to the front door of Maggie’s Malibu beach house, Eleanor reminded herself that this was a special circumstance. After all, Maggie had asked her to come by tonight. She had a big date and had requested that Eleanor babysit Devon, her three-year-old son.

  Eleanor was always happy to spend time with her grandson, even if it was sometimes hard to keep up with the little guy. And she was relieved that Maggie was getting back into dating. The divorce from her ex, Teddy, had been acrimonious.

  Yes, she got a nice chunk for alimony and child support in the eventual settlement, along with this house. But the whole thing had been an ordeal, and it had been nearly a year before she was willing to dip her toe back in the dating waters.

  But Eleanor wondered if Maggie was having second thoughts. When her daughter called this morning, she'd originally asked her to come by in the early evening. She said she'd text later with an exact time. But it was 6:15 now, and Eleanor hadn't heard anything. She'd texted three times and called twice, but never got a response.

  So she made the command decision to drive the thirty minutes from her Santa Monica home out here and talk in person. Part of her feared that Maggie had some kind of panic attack and was curled up in her bed with the phone turned off and the curtains pulled shut. It wouldn't be the first time. In fact, during the heat of the divorce, it was a semi-regular occurrence.

  When Eleanor got to the door, she rang the bell once and then a second time. After a couple of minutes, she rapped on the door loudly. Still nothing. Finally, she pulled out her key and unlocked the door herself. She was very careful not to abuse the fact that Maggie had gifted her a key. In fact, the only other time she'd used it was when Maggie took Devon on an Alaskan cruise and asked Eleanor to come over every few days to water the plants.

  “Maggie,” she called out as she stepped inside and locked the door behind her. “It’s mom.”

  There was no reply, so she walked past the small foyer into the massive living room. It was the highlight of the house, with floor-to-ceiling windows that gave an expansive view of the Santa Monica Bay. The crashing waves of the Pacific were less than two hundred yards away. But the room was empty.

  She walked the length of it, then passed through the kitchen before heading into the residential wing. Maggie had gotten the house in the settlement, even though it was far too big for just her and Devon. Two of the four bedrooms were currently unoccupied. Eleanor moved toward Devon's room and heard the distinct sound of something on the television. She knocked on the door and then entered.

  The little fella was lying on his stomach on his bed, his head propped in his hands as his elbows rested on a pillow. He was staring intently at the screen, where an animated film that Eleanor didn’t recognize was playing on full volume.

  She walked over and offered a royal wave to her grandson. He didn’t get the mild sarcasm of the gesture and waved back happily.

  “Can you turn that down for a minute, sweetie?” she asked.

  He nodded and pushed the volume button once, making no discernible change.

  "Actually, can you mute it, please?"

  Instead, Devon reluctantly pushed the pause button and rolled over on his back dramatically, as if he’d been asked to push a boulder up a mountain.

  “You know we’re hanging out tonight, right Devon?”

  “Yeah, Mommy told me.”

  “I’m very excited to spend the evening with my little man. Where is Mommy now, by the way?”

  "In her room getting ready for her friendly dinner," he said, using a phrase that Eleanor suspected Maggie had been regularly employing as her go-to euphemism for dating.

  “Okay, I’m going to go say hi to her. You can go back to your movie for now, but please turn the volume down at least four pushes, okay?”

  “Yes, Granny,” he said heavily, weighed down by the cruel burden of the request.

  Eleanor left his room and continued down the hall to her daughter’s. It sounded like Devon had turned the movie down, but only slightly. She let it slide.

  "Maggie," she said, before knocking on the door, "you never told me what time to come over, so I started getting antsy. Sorry for the intrusion, but I let myself in."

  There was no answer. She knocked again.

  "Maggie, are you awake?" When she still got no response, she went into mom mode. "I'm coming in okay, so if you're not decent, you better throw something on."

  She opened the door and stepped inside. This room also had floor-to-ceiling windows and an impressive view of the ocean. What it did not have was her daughter, who was nowhere in sight.

  “Maggie?” She moved through the room toward the bathroom.

  She was about to step through the open door when she glanced off to her right. She gave a little yelp. On the far side of the bed, two bare feet with toes pointing down were visible. She rushed around the bed, her heart suddenly beating fast. When she got to the other side, she inhaled deeply, trying to make sense of what she saw. Sprawled out on her front, barefoot but wearing a little black dress, was Maggie.

  “Margaret,” she called out as she rushed over, kneeling beside her daughter.

  Had she tripped and fallen? Had some kind of medical emergency? Eleanor tried to stay calm and evaluate the situation. Panic wouldn't help anyone. She reached over and gently shook Maggie on the shoulder, but her daughter didn't react.

  She wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, but she gripped Maggie’s shoulder and her waist and rolled her over. What she saw then made her want to scream. The only thing that prevented it was her knowledge that little Devon was only one room away and would surely come rushing in at the sound.

  She tried to make her brain comprehend what was in front of her. Her daughter, Margaret Gayle Caldwell, was staring back up at her with empty eyes. She didn't seem to have any injuries, but it was clear that something horrible had happened. Even as Eleanor tried to deny it to herself, she knew—her daughter was dead

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It had been a long day free of breakthrough investigative epiphanies, and Jessie was ready for it to be over.

  Susannah was driving her back to Central Station, where she would pick up her car before heading home for the night. She hoped that she might find Hannah at the station, or barring that, back at home.

  Her sister hadn't returned any of her calls or texts and had apparently ignored the request Jessie had made of the research crew to have her call back. She understood that Hannah was upset with her, but giving the silent treatment wasn't a long-term answer, especially considering they were sharing the same house this summer. Jessie was willing to do the heavy lifting of making this whole Finn situation right, but she needed a partner to get the process started. They were less than a mile from the station when her phone rang. It was Ryan.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  "Actually, no. A call just came in to us. There's been another murder, and the folks at the scene think it might be connected to your Brentwood death. I don't have many details, but I'm told the victim is a wealthy woman in her mid-thirties with a young child. They also say they found an injection site on the neck, which is what raised alarm bells. LASD says that they'll hand it over if you determine that the two deaths are connected.

  “LASD,” Jessie said. “Why is the Sheriff’s Department involved?”

  “Because the victim was found in Malibu. That’s their jurisdiction.”

  As he said those words, Susannah, scowling, made a U-turn.

  “Okay, we’re headed back out that way,” Jessie said. “Just send us the address. Maybe you can ask the gang in research to pull up what they can find on the victim?”

  “Already did,” he assured her. “They’re working on it. I guess we don’t know if I’ll be seeing you tonight.”

  "Hopefully," she told him. "It'll depend on how involved this all gets. If I'm not home before you go to bed, goodnight, and I love you."

  “I love you too,” he said. “And tell Valentine not to make any immature faces.”

  Susannah, who had been teasingly sticking out her tongue at Jessie, pulled it back, red-faced.

  “Too late,” Jessie told him. “But as long as we’re talking immaturity, can you please ask Hannah to give me a call tonight? She’s giving me the cold shoulder.”

  "I'll mention, but that's about all I can do. She's as stubborn as you, and if she's going to dig her feet in, there's not much I can do about it."

  “You could remind her that I’m the only sister she’s got and she should appreciate everything I do for her.”

  “Somehow I feel like saying that might be counterproductive.”

  "Then say something else, use your special interpersonal magic to make her see the light."

  “I’ll try,” he said. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I was you.”

  ***

  By the time they got to Malibu, the sun was just starting to set.

  Jessie studied the place as Susannah wriggled into a parking spot just off the Pacific Coast Highway. From the front, it looked more like a cottage than a home. But Jessie knew that could be misleading. Many of these beach homes had modest fronts but were expansive upon entering.

  An officer was waiting for them when they walked up to the front door. They gave their names, and he immediately took them inside, leading them into a massive room with a view of the ocean and the sun hovering low over the horizon. The officer led them over to a craggy-faced guy in a button-down shirt and jeans. His sports jacket was worn, but he didn't seem the type to care.

  "Detective Roy Balmorra," he said, shaking hands with both of them. "Thanks for coming on such short notice."

  “Not a problem. Thanks for the call,” Susannah told him. “What made you think this was up our alley?”

  "It was happenstance, actually. I had lunch today with a buddy who works as a detective at West L.A. Station. He mentioned that some of their guys were working with HSS on a case that involved a rich woman found dead with no injuries. He said they found that she was injected in the neck with some kind of poison. I forgot about it, but when I got here, I couldn't find any injuries on our victim. On a hunch, I peeked at her neck, and sure enough, there seemed to be a puncture wound. When our medical examiner came to the same conclusion, I called your station and spoke to Detective Hernandez."

  "Well, we appreciate you reaching out," Jessie said. "Before we check out the body, do you want to fill us in on what you know so far?"

  "Sure," Balmorra said, leading them through the living room and into the adjacent kitchen. "The victim is Margaret Caldwell. She went by Maggie, according to her mother, who found her. Maggie was supposed to be going on a first date tonight and asked her mother to babysit her three-year-old son, Devon. When Eleanor—the mother—couldn't reach her and it was approaching the time of the date, she came out here anyway. After checking on the boy, who was watching a movie in his room, she proceeded to the main bedroom and found her daughter on the floor beside the bed. That’s when she called 911.”

  “Where is Eleanor now?” Susannah asked.

  “She’s being treated for shock by the EMTs. She was doing okay, all things considered, when we initially arrived. She was able to answer our questions. But when she saw the medical examiner come through in the white coat and with the gurney, she kind of lost it.”

  “What about the boy, Devon?” Jessie asked.

  "He's at the next-door neighbor's right now. The families are friendly and they have a young daughter. He's unaware of the situation so far."

  “Were you able to get anything out of him?” Susannah asked.

  “Nothing very useful. He said his mom told him she was getting ready to go out and put on a movie for him to watch. He was still watching when Eleanor arrived, so he seems to have missed whatever happened entirely.”

  “What was Eleanor able to tell you before she fell apart?” Jessie asked. “Did she know anything about Maggie’s date? Or give you any background on her personal life?”

  "A little," Balmorra said. "She had the date's name as a safety precaution and gave it to us. We called the number, and the guy was actually waiting at the restaurant. He said he was about to leave because he'd been sitting there for half an hour and couldn't get hold of her. He thought she had stood him up."

  “Where’s the restaurant?” Susannah asked, clearly wondering the same thing as Jessie—could he have killed Maggie, then gone to the dinner to establish an alibi?

  "It's in Venice. We were going to check his geolocation data, but I told our people to hold off. I figured you'd want to do that yourselves if you took over."

  “Thanks,” Jessie said. “Anything else Eleanor tell you that you found particularly valuable?”

  “She said Maggie used to work in marketing at one of the studios but took a sabbatical after the divorce. Speaking of that, apparently, it was pretty acrimonious. The ex-husband's name is Teddy Borowitz. He’s an exec with a crypto company. According to the mom, he cheated with the Pilates instructor they both used. Maggie was so upset that she changed back to her maiden name—Caldwell. The divorce was finalized about a year ago. He moved to the Bay Area with the instructor, who is now his fiancée. Maggie got the house in the settlement.”

  “Do we know if Teddy is in the Bay Area right now?” Jessie wondered. “Could he be down here on a business trip?”

  Even as she asked the question, Jessie thought the ex-husband angle was a stretch. It was beginning to look like these murders were the work of one person. Unless they could find a way to tie Borowitz to Veronica Sterling, it would be hard to justify him as a suspect. Then again, whoever was killing these woman was clearly planning ahead. Excluding the ex too early was always a mistake.

  "We called him before we realized this might be a case for you. Partly to question him, but also so he can take custody of the little boy. He said he'd catch the next plane out and gave us the flight information. We were going to have someone meet him at the gate to confirm that he actually flew down. We can still do that or hand it off to your people if you prefer."

  Jessie was impressed with how thorough Balmorra’s team had been so far. She looked over at Susannah to get her thoughts.

  “You guys go ahead,” the detective said. “You sound like you’ve got it covered. You mentioned that the medical examiner confirmed your suspicion about Maggie being injected. Any other revelations?”

  “Just to be clear, he wasn’t ready to officially draw that conclusion yet, but he said the puncture wound and bruising around the area was consistent with a forceful intravenous injection. He was going to expedite the bloodwork to see if there was poison in her system and if it matched what was found in your Brentwood victim.”

  “Do we know the security situation in the house?” Jessie asked.

  "Eleanor says they have an alarm system but that when she came in, it wasn't on. No cameras, unfortunately."

  “Can we see the victim now or she already bagged up?” Susannah asked.

  "The M.E. and crime scene folks are done, but I told them to leave everything 'as is' until you could take a look. Follow me."

  He led them back along a marble-floored hallway to an open door at the end. Jessie knew immediately where the body was because of the small crowd by the other side of the bed. She walked over and they all stepped back silently, as seemed to always happen in these situations.

  “Eleanor found her on her stomach,” Balmorra whispered quietly. “She rolled her onto her back to check on her before she realized she was dead.”

  Jessie looked down at the woman. She was an attractive blonde in her mid-thirties. Her wavy hair looked like it had been recently styled. She was tall and tan, both of which were accentuated by the form-fitting dress she wore. Her blue eyes were vacant.

  Jessie pictured Maggie’s mother walking in and finding her like this. She imagined the pain the woman must have felt in the moment when she realized that the girl she’d given birth to and raised was gone forever. Then Jessie thought of the little boy happily watching a movie, oblivious to the fact that his mother’s life was being snuffed out just one room over.

  She felt a familiar ferocity rising in her gut, that desire to inflict wrathful punishment on whoever had done this. Pretending everything was fine, she knelt down next to the body as if studying it more closely. Everyone took another step back to let her concentrate.

  But instead of focusing on the human evidence in front of her, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was the kind of moment she’d spent two months in Italy preparing for. She briefly considered trying some box breathing or a visualization technique. But she could feel that those wouldn’t work.

  Instead, she recalled the method she’d learned of in passing from baseball player Kai Cody. She thought of how he would focus on the tiniest detail of his game situation in order to shut out the nerves or anxiety that might otherwise interfere with his job on the field. She’d employed the technique in her last case with some success and decided to give it another shot. But what detail could she focus on?

  She opened her eyes again. Then she noticed that she was staring right at it. From where she knelt, she had a clear view of the thumbnail-sized bruise on Maggie Caldwell's neck where a needle had been jammed in. The area around the puncture wound was a mix of purple and blue, like a sick variation on the changing colors of the sky as the sun set.

 

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