by Blake Pierce
The pictures only scratched the surface. There were the straight news articles discussing the various cases she and husband Beto had handled, entertainment trade articles about the firm’s work for their impressive celebrity client list, and finally the tabloid headlines about the couple’s divorce and how they planned to keep the business running smoothly despite the split.
Everything sounded so amicable. But Jessie had long ago learned that things were rarely as rosy as they were presented in the press, especially by lawyers as media savvy as the Estradas. She decided that a visit to Mr. Estrada was in order. And she didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. Showing up unexpectedly at his doorstep on a Sunday afternoon was more likely to generate an honest reaction than some massaged interview down at the station with his own lawyer in tow.
As soon as Hannah got back, she would call on Estrada to see if there were any unexpected thorns on those roses.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jessie had a moment of doubt just before ringing Beto Estrada’s doorbell.
After hearing Karen’s tense phone exchange earlier about soccer parenting, she thought the woman might have other stuff on her mind and decided to do this interview solo. Normally, going to a potential suspect’s home without a partner or backup would make her nervous. But in this case, she hoped that making the encounter casual might bear more fruit than something formal.
She wasn’t going to trick an experienced attorney like Estrada into revealing information that put him in legal jeopardy. But maybe coming to his home by herself, not as a cop but a profiling consultant, would set him at ease enough to get him to lower his guard a bit.
And though she felt a little dirty about it, she suspected that interviewing him while he was potentially in the throes of grief after just losing his wife of seven years, even if they were no longer together, might work to her advantage. Besides, if he tried anything stupid, she had her gun and the self-defense training she’d received while attending the FBI Academy’s ten-week program for local law enforcement.
Beto Estrada, who had moved out of the couple’s house after the divorce, lived in a quaint rental cottage in the Miracle Mile section of Los Angeles, just a few blocks from Museum Row and the La Brea Tar Pits. The place wasn’t much bigger than the guest house they’d found Cord Mahoney in this morning, but it was far more respectable, with a stone paver walkway, a Spanish-style, A-frame roof, and a lemon tree just off the porch.
She pushed any self-doubt out of her head as she rang the bell. Estrada opened the door within ten seconds. Just as in his pictures, he was a vaguely handsome man in his late forties, about a half-decade older than Millicent. He was tall and thin, with black hair and a conservative haircut that reminded Jessie of uniformed British schoolboys.
His eyes were red and puffy, though he appeared to have stopped crying a while ago. Unlike in his pictures, he wore glasses, and had on blue jeans and a sweatshirt with “Rutgers” emblazoned on the front. It reminded her that both Estradas had fought hard to get where they were: New York City public schools, state universities, and finally Rutgers Law School, where they’d first met.
“Please tell me you’re not with the press,” he said. “I was hoping to get at least a few hours of peace.”
“No, Mr. Estrada,” she said, taking off her sunglasses and pulling out her ID. “I’m not with the press. But I’m afraid I can’t offer you much in the way of peace. I’m Jessie Hunt. I’m a criminal profil—”
“I know who you are, Ms. Hunt. I didn’t recognize you at first with the sunglasses. But in this city, you’d have to live under a rock to not be familiar with your reputation. And any lawyer who isn’t probably doesn’t deserve his degree.”
Jessie wasn’t entirely sure how to take that. Was it stopping multiple serial killers that made her memorable? Almost getting killed on numerous occasions? Or having her social media hacked and getting falsely accused of writing racist, vitriolic Facebook posts? She decided not to ask.
“Then you can guess why I’m here,” she said, settling on cool professionalism as her default response.
“Milly?”
“Yes sir,” she confirmed. “May I come in?”
“No detectives or uniformed officers with you?”
“I didn’t think it would be necessary,” she said confidently. “And since I’ve been tasked as the primary investigator, I wanted to get a jump on things while they’re fresh.”
“Of course, come in,” Estrada said, opening the door for her and leading her to the small living room.
The television was paused. On the screen was a frozen image of Milly Estrada in a swimsuit on a beach, holding a glass of a red, tropical-looking concoction.
“What’s that?” Jessie asked.
Estrada looked at the screen.
“That was from our anniversary vacation two years ago. We went to Maui.”
He picked up the remote and pressed play. Milly Estrada came suddenly to life. She sipped from her straw and waved for him to stop filming.
“Are you trying to get me disbarred?” she asked playfully. “If footage of me half-drunk in a two-piece got out, I’d never score another high-profile client again.”
“Are you kidding?” Beto Estrada asked from behind the camera. “If people saw how you look in that thing, it’d double your client list.”
She smiled broadly as her face turned red.
“Turn that thing off and get over here,” she purred.
A second later the clip ended. Jessie looked down at the floor briefly, feeling as if she’d just inappropriately spied on a deeply personal moment. But she quickly shook it off and looked up again, reminding herself that she was here to do a job and couldn’t let sympathy get in the way. The man in front of her could be a murderer.
“I assume that this has been marked as an HSS case because of where Milly was killed?” he asked, quickly wiping away a tear as he turned off the TV.
“Why do you say that?” Jessie asked, taking a seat in a living room chair.
“Well, Milly was a brilliant litigator and represented many well-known clients. But I’m guessing that if she hadn’t been found at Otis Estate, this would be handled by the regular division detectives.”
Jessie saw no point in denying it.
“That’s correct. The high profile of the man who owns the property certainly elevated it to HSS status.”
He sat with that for a moment before responding.
“I guess if that’s what it takes to get a real investigation going, it’s worth it. I’ve heard that the police in that neck of the woods can be…malleable when it comes to aggressively pursuing their more powerful citizens.”
“That perception seems to be pervasive,” Jessie said, pulling out her notebook. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“You know, as unpleasant as that sounds, it’s actually preferable to what I’ve been doing, which is sitting here, alternately going through old videos and photos and punching furniture. So fire away.”
Jessie was slightly surprised at his willingness to engage but didn’t waste any time lingering on it.
“Before we get to your ex-wife’s death, I wanted to talk about you for a minute. Am I right to say that Mrs. Estrada handled most of the criminal work and your purview was more civil litigation?”
“That’s right,” Estrada said. “Our firm, Halsey, Burt, Tyler & Estrada, was previously just Halsey, Burt & Tyler. They handled a lot of contract work for tech companies, big banks, and corporate media. That’s how Jasper Otis is affiliated with them. They represented him when he left All News Network and started News Channel America.”
“When did you join up?” Jessie asked.
“We had our own firm in Secaucus, just across the river from the city. We represented some small media outlets, some second-tier personalities in film and TV. We handled a few deals for Halsey, Burt out there and they brought us in as associates about twelve years ago to help them expand into entertainment. We both made junior partner
seven years ago and became named partners two years ago.”
“So you two headed the entertainment division?” she confirmed.
“Yes,” he said. “At first it was just us but as it expanded, each got our own teams. Last time I checked, Milly’s unit was comprised of eleven attorneys and mine had fourteen. We were planning to hire an additional five in the new year.”
“Okay, let’s talk about her clients. Representing folks as narcissistic as actors, directors, and writers—things must have gotten volatile for her when cases didn’t go her clients’ way,” she said, finally leading him down the difficult path leading up to her death.
He offered her a wry smile, fully aware of what she was doing.
“That’s an understatement. There were some folks who acted as if she had committed the crime they’d been convicted of. But in the end, even her most irate clients had to admit that she served them well. Did you know that in over seventy criminal cases involving celebrity clients, sixteen of which involved felony charges, not a single one served a day in prison? Sure, a few had to spend some time in jail awaiting trial. But when it came down to it, she either got them off, got them probation, or got them time served. Some even got community service. Name another criminal lawyer for celebrities in this town who can say that. You can’t.”
“Did that make you jealous?” she asked.
He smiled once again.
“Do I sound jealous? I was proud of her.”
“And yet you still got divorced.”
Her comment seemed to make him drift off for a moment, as if consumed by a particularly vivid memory.
“Yes,” he said, returning to the present. “It wasn’t what I wanted. But after seventeen years together, seven of them married, Milly felt we’d drifted apart. There were no big fights or screaming matches. She just told me one day over brunch that she loved me but wasn’t in love with me anymore. She wanted more passion in her personal life.”
“How did that make you feel?” Jessie asked, well aware that she sounded more like a therapist than an investigator.
“I was devastated. I was still in love with her, still am actually,” he said, sounding wistful. “But I wasn’t angry, just more wounded and disappointed. I guess that proved her point. If I was more outwardly upset, then maybe she would have never felt the need to end things. But I was more resigned to it than anything. So we worked it out, how we’d still make the firm work, the business side of things. It was surprisingly easy. Other than me moving out, the logistics weren’t that complicated.”
“It never ate at you?” Jessie asked skeptically.
“I can’t say that,” he conceded. “She’d come to work in more provocative dresses and wear a little more makeup than she used to. I didn’t ask about it but I knew she was going to parties and having dates. That stung a little because she seemed to be having such a good time without me. But I also worried about her.”
“Why?”
“She just really threw herself into the new lifestyle. I used to tease her about it, say that she was having the mid-life crisis instead of me. I know she did a lot more drinking and other chemicals, things she generally avoided prior to that. That’s also when she started going to Jasper Otis’s place a lot.”
Jessie was hesitant to press the matter for fear that he’d shut down but knew she had no choice.
“Do you think they were involved?” Jessie asked, shifting uncomfortably.
He sighed as he weighed how to answer.
“I think she just enjoyed the perks of being in his orbit, though she did tell me he hit on her a few times. She said she wasn’t interested, that she always found him to be a little creepy. I don’t think he liked that. He’s not used to being rejected.”
“Is it possible that she was just denying it to avoid hurting you?”
He shrugged.
“I suppose. But she was pretty forthright with me about her other dalliances. I don’t see why she’d hide that one.”
Jessie decided she’s warmed him up enough to go for it.
“Do you think Jasper Otis could have killed her?”
He didn’t take long to respond.
“Yes.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“Like I said, he isn’t used to being told no,” Estrada said, sounding truly worked up for the first time. “That might have set him off. Otis presents a very cool, unruffled vibe, but I’ve seen him pissed off. It’s not pretty. He has this coldness to him. Even if he wasn’t upset, I could see him killing her just for the hell of it, to know what it feels like to snuff out the life of another human being. He’s not wired like the rest of us, Ms. Hunt.”
Jessie sat with that for a moment. Beto Estrada wasn’t exactly an objective analyst, but he knew Otis better than her and his views couldn’t be dismissed, even if they sounded outlandish.
“And where were you last night?” she asked, turning on a dime.
“Is this the part where I need to ask for my lawyer?” he wondered, now calm again.
“You certainly can,” she said.
“That’s okay,” he replied, waving off the idea. “I was here. I did a little prep for a case I have this week, then watched a movie.”
“On a streaming service?” she asked.
“That would have been helpful for an alibi, I suppose,” he answered. “Easier to confirm, right? But no, I threw in an old DVD—Sneakers starring Robert Redford. You ever see it?”
“Can’t say that I have,” she said.
“Oh, you should check it out. It’s a fun thriller.”
“But unable to be verified,” she noted.
“I suppose not. It’s still in the machine, if you want to check. But I guess that doesn’t help. I could have watched it a month ago and just left the DVD in there and you’d never know.”
“You understand the problem,” she said.
“Well, Ms. Hunt, I wish I could provide you with a more rock solid alibi to prove I didn’t murder my ex-wife, but I didn’t know I’d need one. Can’t you just ask people who were there, show my picture around? There must be security footage. Surely my presence would be noted. As you know, we were a pretty high profile couple.”
“Rest assured, we’ll be doing all of that, Mr. Estrada,” she said, standing up. “Something else I’d like to do is look through Millicent’s work files. Are you able to help with that?”
He thought about it.
“I can’t permit you to actually look in the files. That would be a breach of client confidentiality. But I don’t see why you can’t review her client list and what their cases were. Of course all of that is public record, but it would save you time to go straight to the source. If you think that would help with the investigation, I can expedite it.”
“I’d appreciate it,” she said.
“You should go today then,” he told her as he walked her to the door. “It will be quieter on a Sunday, with fewer bureaucratic hoops to jump through. We have a weekend receptionist. I’ll tell him to expect you. Security will have to remain with you at all times to ensure client privacy. But with those limitations, you’ll have free access to whatever you think will help.”
“Thank you,” she said, hiding her surprise. Either Beto Estrada was sincere about wanting to find his ex-wife’s killer or he really wanted to project that image.
She got in the car and was about to back out of the driveway. As she tried to think of the best route to the offices of Halsey, Burt, Tyler & Estrada, a sudden, terrifying thump on her window made her jump in her seat.
Beto Estrada was standing by the car. He looked winded and his eyes were wild. He had something in his hand, which he raised in her direction. She thought about going for her gun but knew she didn’t have time. If he wanted to shoot her, he wasn’t likely to miss.
CHAPTER NINE
Though she knew it was pointless, she dived forward, hoping the steering wheel might offer some protection from a potential bullet. She was preparing to put the car in rev
erse and punch the accelerator when a voice called out.
“It’s not a gun.”
She looked over. The object in Estrada’s right hand, which he held out to her with a wildly flailing arm, was a thumb drive.
Jessie, ignoring the rush of adrenaline that made her extremities tingle, put the car in park and rolled down the window.
“You almost got shot,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said, breathing heavily. “I wanted to make sure to catch you.”
“What is this?” she asked, a little short of breath herself.
“I wasn’t going to tell you about this, but then I asked myself why I was holding onto it and I realized it was cowardice.”
“You’re not making sense, Mr. Estrada,” she said, turning the car off.
His brow furrowed as if he was debating if he really wanted to go through with this. But he clearly knew, as she did, that it was too late to go back now.
“There’s another reason I think Jasper Otis might be capable of killing someone,” he said quietly. “I know what else he’s capable of.”
He pressed the thumb drive into her hand.
“What’s on the drive?” she asked. A flutter of excitement rose in her chest.
“An interview.”
“Care to expand on that?” she asked.
“I can’t,” he said, “other than to say it’s extremely sensitive. I can’t answer any questions about it. And I need you to swear that you won’t reveal where you got it. If you say it was me, I’ll deny it.”
Jessie looked at Estrada, who seemed to almost be a different person from the man she’d talked to in the house. He was nervous, even a little scared.
“Why?” she asked.
“You’ll understand when you hear it,” he said. “Just be careful where you listen. And be careful who you share it with.”
“Mr. Estrada, I can’t make any promises—”
