by Blake Pierce
“Not necessarily,” Jessie countered. “It’s possible the killer came over for some other reason and things escalated. If so, the key is finding out what that reason was.”
“Diplomatically,” Brady reminded her, “without turning this into a media circus.”
“Diplomatic is my middle name,” Jessie assured him.
“It’s a good thing you’re not under oath,” Ryan muttered under his breath, before adding out loud, “Let’s interview some witnesses!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jessie tried to hide her frustration.
Beth Copeland, the yoga teacher, wasn’t much help. She was understandably rattled but even considering that, she just didn’t seem to know much. She had arrived at exactly 8 a.m. as usual. She saw Eliza Longworth walk into the house as she pulled up.
“Are you sure she wasn’t coming out of the house?” Jessie had asked.
“I thought she was going in. But now I’m not so sure.”
She had discovered the body and started screaming. Eliza, who was looking for Penny upstairs, came running in and slipped on the blood. She tried to give her CPR even though Penny was obviously dead.
“Did she seem upset or could she have been faking it?” Brady had asked, more clunkily than Jessie would have liked.
“She seemed totally freaked out,” Beth had answered. “I know they’ve been best friends since elementary school. Eliza lives on the next hill. She was devastated. I mean, she kept trying to resuscitate her, bawling the whole time, long after most people would have given up.”
When they were satisfied they’d gotten everything they could, Brady authorized her to be taken to the hospital to get checked out. As they walked to the dining room where Colton Wooten was waiting, Jessie threw out a theory.
“Awful convenient that Eliza Longworth slipped in all that blood. Now she has a perfect excuse for having the victim’s DNA all over her.”
“Wow, you really have a dark view of humanity,” Brady said.
“You’re a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department,” Jessie retorted with surprise. “Are you telling me you think most people are suffused with sweetness and light?”
“Of course not,” he replied defensively. “But maybe we talk to her before drawing a conclusion like that.”
“I’m not drawing any conclusions,” Jessie said. “I’m just brainstorming. It’s all a process, boys.”
“Well, maybe we keep our ideas to ourselves when we interview the potential future district attorney,” Brady suggested as they stepped into the living room.
“I think the FBI warped your soul,” Ryan muttered to her quietly under his breath.
She was about to come back at him when she saw a crooked grin on his face and realized he was teasing her. There was no time anyway, as Colton Wooten was standing up to meet them.
The man was exactly what one would expect of a white-shoe lawyer with obvious political ambitions. Immaculately dressed in a three-piece navy suit, Wooten was at least two inches taller than Ryan and almost as chiseled. His thick, wavy black hair was parted down the side and his square jaw was set. He looked like a brunette Ken doll.
But there were a few cracks in the visage. His face was too perfectly tanned, as if it had been meticulously curated in a salon. There were blemishes on his cheeks, hidden by makeup, which Jessie recognized as mild Rosacea, often a sign of heavy drinking. And his eyes were extremely red. That could have been from crying, lack of sleep, or perhaps even stress after killing a loved one. He looked agitated, which wasn’t unreasonable under the circumstances.
“I’m Detective Brady Bowen,” Brady said, extending his hand as they approached. “We’re terribly sorry for your loss, Mr. Wooten.”
“It took you long enough to get to me,” Wooten said, pointedly not shaking hands. “I’ve been sitting here forever. No one will tell me anything.”
“We apologize for that, sir,” Brady said, ignoring Wooten’s tone. “As I’m sure you know better than most, it’s important to get a sense of the crime scene early on, before anything might be disturbed. Unfortunately, that meant you had to wait longer than we would have liked. But we’re here now. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”
“Only if I can ask you one first,” he countered sharply.
“Of course,” Brady said, though he was obviously taken aback.
Jessie was surprised at how confrontational Wooten was being. He didn’t strike her as particularly grief-stricken. But, she reminded herself, people grieve in different ways. She was determined not to make snap judgments or let her gut alone guide her conclusions. Otherwise those ten weeks of FBI training would be for nothing.
Let the evidence guide you more than the husband’s jerky demeanor.
“Why the hell has my wife’s murder been assigned to a junior grade detective?” Wooten demanded. “I looked you up, Bowen. Your record isn’t exactly overflowing with meritorious service commendations. And I don’t even recognize these other two.”
Jessie felt the urge to blurt something out but managed to force it down with a large gulp.
“Sir,” Brady replied, doing his best to keep his voice level, “I was assigned to this case because I was available and, to be honest, because I have a reputation for discretion. The department knows that this is, in addition to being a tragedy, a delicate situation involving a high-profile public figure. My job is to keep it from becoming a circus.”
Wooten looked at him for a long second and then, apparently satisfied with the answer, turned to Ryan and Jessie.
“What about these two?”
“This is Detective Ryan Hernandez. He actually works out of downtown but we’ve brought him in because of his experience in dealing with high-profile murder cases. He was instrumental in the capture of the serial killer Bolton Crutchfield, among others. We also used to be partners. I have great confidence in him.”
“And the girl?” Wooten demanded dismissively.
Jessie’s spine stiffened involuntarily and only an almost imperceptible head shake from Ryan kept her from kneeing the guy in the groin.
“This is Jessie Hunt, sir,” Brady began. “She is among our most skilled forensic profilers. She has trained with the behavioral science team at the FBI and her track record is impeccable. She specializes in these kinds of cases and was specifically requested to assist on this one. She’s an invaluable resource and we’re lucky to have her.”
Jessie stood there silently, shocked at what she’d heard. Not only did she barely recognize the description of herself, but nothing about Brady Bowen had led her to believe he was capable of coming up with it. Wooten sniffed in reluctant acceptance before saying.
“You had questions.”
“Yes, sir,” Brady said, diving in. “We’ve gone over your statement to the initial officer and just wanted to make sure you stand by all of it. Your wife was in bed sleeping when you got up at five thirty this morning and you believe she remained so when you left to take your children to school at six forty-five, is that correct?”
“It is.”
Ryan piped up.
“No chance that, in your sleepy state as you got up, you mistook a rolled up comforter or pillows for your wife?”
“Not unless the pillows were snoring,” Wooten answered. “She took a sleeping pill last night and she always sleeps heavily after that. I let her be.”
“Did your wife take sleeping pills often?” Jessie asked.
“Sometimes,” he replied, clearly irked by the question, “if she’s stressed. Our son is autistic and occasionally the challenges of the day catch up with her. We all have our coping mechanisms.”
His voice caught slightly at that last line but Jessie couldn’t decide if it was a genuine moment of emotion or for show.
“Did your wife ever mention feeling threatened by anyone?” Brady asked.
“No.”
“Had she recently had a falling out with anyone?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Mr. Wooten,” Ryan said, “it’s an open secret that you’re seriously considering running for district attorney. How did your wife feel about that?”
“To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t ecstatic about the idea. Things were stressful back when I worked in the prosecutor’s office several years ago. They’ve settled down since I entered private practice. She was worried the strain of such a public job would be tough on the family, especially with Colt’s challenges. He’s doing really well since Eliza, her best friend, found his new school. But any dramatic change is hard for him. She had started to warm to the idea a bit. But that’s the reason I hadn’t announced anything yet. I wanted to make sure she was genuinely on board.”
“Did you argue about it?” Jessie asked, looking at him closely.
“Sometimes,” Wooten answered, meeting her stare with a glare of his own. “It wasn’t an easy decision. Nothing in a marriage is easy. Are you married, Ms. Hunt?”
“Not anymore. It was too hard,” she said, and then added without missing a beat, “Why didn’t you know the password to her phone?”
“What?”
“When the officer asked for the phone code so he could access the Ring footage from your front door, you gave him an old one. Why didn’t you have the current one?”
“She must have changed it and forgotten to tell me,” he answered warily.
“Forgot or intentionally kept it from you?”
“What are you suggesting, Ms. Hunt?”
“I’m just asking a question, Mr. Wooten. Do you think her not telling you was an oversight or intentional? Did your wife keep many secrets from you?”
“Yeah,” he snapped belligerently. “She was a swinger who loved key parties but didn’t invite me because I’m too square. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Is that your answer, sir?” she demanded, not backing down an inch despite sensing the discomfort in the detectives near her.
“No,” he said, relenting slightly. “Look, I don’t know why she changed it without telling me. Maybe one of the kids saw her punch it in and was accessing the phone. That’s happened before. Cole makes a habit of it. Frankly, I can’t remember half the codes we have in this house. Maybe she figured it was just one more I’d forget. She probably would have been right. We had a good marriage. Not perfect, but good. I don’t think she was keeping anything from me.”
They asked a few more questions but all Wooten’s answers were ones they had heard before or already knew the answers to. As Brady concluded the discussion with the standard promises to keep him in the loop, Ryan and Jessie walked back outside.
“What do you think?” he asked her.
“I think he’s an asshole,” Jessie replied.
“Thanks for the keen insight. What do you think of his story?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying not to let his bad attitude color my opinion of the facts. I’ve been known to get rolled by charming personalities. I don’t want to go too hard in the other direction with this guy. What do you think?”
“I want to see that Ring camera footage. I think it will really help us nail down the timeline more. And we should get the GPS data from his phone. Maybe that will offer a clue. As to his credibility, I just don’t know. Hard to believe his wife just neglected to give him her phone code. If I did that, before the separation I mean, Shelly would have given me holy hell.”
“Yeah,” Jessie said, not wanting to probe that subject too deeply. “You know who almost certainly would know if Penelope Wooten was keeping secrets from her husband?”
“Who’s that?”
“Her best friend since elementary school—I say we pay her a visit at the hospital.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Eliza Longworth looked wiped out.
By the time Jessie, Ryan, and Brady got to her room at UCLA Medical Center in Santa Monica, she had showered and was resting in a bed with a tube in her arm. Her light brown hair, loose and straggly, blocked part of her face.
“I thought you requested she not be cleaned up,” Jessie said to Brady more accusatorily than she intended.
“I did,” he replied, looking at the doctor.
“I got your request but I made a command decision,” the doctor told them as they peeked through the small rectangular window in the door to her room. “She was really hysterical for a while there—covered in her friend’s blood, going on about how she could have saved her if she did CPR a little longer. We had to sedate her.”
“Are we able to talk to her?” Ryan asked.
“Yes. She’s only napping. But to the extent you can, please go easy on her. It was really taxing getting her to settle down. It would be great if you didn’t rile her up again too much.”
“We’ll do our best,” Brady assured him as they opened the door and stepped inside. The noise made Eliza stir slightly, though she didn’t wake up.
“I’ll do the honors,” Ryan said, walking over to the bedside and speaking quietly. “Mrs. Longworth, can you please wake up? We need to speak with you.”
Eliza repositioned herself slightly but her eyes remained closed. Ryan looked over at Jessie with an expression that suggested he was hesitant to push too hard. Jessie walked over and gave it a try.
“Mrs. Longworth,” she said in a slightly louder voice than Ryan had used as she gently touched the woman’s shoulder. “Please wake up. We need to talk to you.”
The physical touch seemed to do the trick. The woman started slightly and her eyes snapped open.
“What?” she muttered, slightly disoriented.
“Mrs. Longworth,” Jessie said, “we’re with the Los Angeles Police Department. We need to ask you some questions about what happened this morning.”
At those words, recognition seemed to fill Eliza’s eyes. She settled back into the bed, her head collapsing on the pillow.
“Oh god, it was real,” she moaned, clenching her eyes shut as if to push the memory away.
“I’m sorry to have to revisit what happened with you,” Jessie said delicately. “But we need to get your statement while it’s still fresh in your mind. Do you think you’re up for that?”
Eliza Longworth squeezed her eyes even tighter than before, then suddenly opened them and nodded.
“Whatever it takes,” she said, her voice now stronger than before.
“Okay,” Jessie began. “I’m Jessie Hunt, a profiler with the LAPD. And these are Detectives Brady Bowen and Ryan Hernandez. We’re investigating the case. Can you tell us what happened in your own words?”
Eliza forced herself to sit up slightly and took a moment to compose herself. Then she walked them through the particulars of what happened when she arrived at Penelope’s house, from the moment she got there until the paramedics arrived. She had to stop a few times when describing the scene in the kitchen but eventually got through it.
“When was the last time you saw her before the kitchen?” Ryan asked.
“The previous day,” Eliza said. “She was at my place for coffee around mid-morning.”
“Did you notice anything unusual at that time?” Brady asked.
Eliza was silent for several seconds, as if weighing a big decision. Then she let out a huge sigh and nodded.
“I did,” she said quietly.
“Please tell us,” Brady said.
Eliza waited a moment, as if screwing up her courage. Then she dove in.
“We were on my balcony. When she went to get more coffee, she got a text on her phone. I glanced at it. It was from my husband, Gray. It revealed that…that, well, it showed that they’d been having an affair.”
The three law enforcement officials stared at her open-mouthed, stunned at the revelation. Jessie realized that either Eliza was stunningly honest or the sedative she’d been given must be acting as some kind of inadvertent truth serum.
“For how long?” Ryan, the first to recover, asked.
“She said it was about a month.”
“What happened after that?” he aske
d carefully.
“I freaked out. She said that she was ending it. But I told her she had betrayed my trust and that our friendship was over. I kicked her out. And then, when my husband got home that night, I kicked him out too.”
“But you went over to her house the next morning,” Jessie pointed out.
“Yes. You have to understand. We’ve been friends since third grade. We went to the same college. Our families go on vacations together. Our daughters are best friends. So, after a long night in which I didn’t sleep, I made a decision. I couldn’t just throw all of that away without trying to find a way to forgive her. She had told me she hadn’t seen him in three days and that she was planning to break it off. I texted but she didn’t reply. So I decided to go over there and face things head on. We had a yoga class scheduled for later that morning. I hoped to talk to her before Beth arrived, to say we could discuss things after the lesson. But I couldn’t find her and…you know the rest.”
“So you were just going to give her a pass for sleeping with your husband for the last month?” Jessie asked incredulously.
Eliza looked at her indignantly.
“No way,” she insisted. “I felt like, well, if you want to know the truth, I felt like killing her. I know I shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. And yet, she’s like a sister to me. I’m an only child but it never felt that way because of Penny. What was I supposed to do—just pretend like the last twenty-five years of our lives together were meaningless? I had to try to find a way past it.”
“Let me get clarification on something,” Jessie said, refusing to allow herself to be swayed by the emotion of the moment. “When Beth arrived, were you going into the house for the first time or coming out?”
“I was going in. I saw Beth pull up and I wanted to get in to talk to Penny, even if only for a few seconds. Otherwise it would have just been too awkward, going through an hour-long yoga session with this unspoken thing between us.”
“But you couldn’t find her?”
“No, I only got to the living room before Beth walked in. We were calling out for Penny. I thought maybe she was upstairs and started to go look when Beth started screaming from the kitchen. That’s…that’s when…”
