by Jordan Dane
“Well, now I’m making it my business,” she said. “Olivia Davenport was murdered, and you left an angry message on her answering machine. You see me connecting the dots here?”
“Murdered? When? What happened?”
“Let me explain how this works. I ask the questions, and you answer them.” She leaned across the table. “Now why did you call Olivia? And why the attitude?”
“That bitch had a mean streak.” He heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his short hair, scratching his head. “She got off on doing shit to a friend of mine.”
“Give me a name. What friend?”
“Ethan Chandler. We knew each other from Juilliard. He’s helping me out. I hit a rough patch.”
Without much effort, she’d gotten Peterson to admit he knew the violinist. She’d learned about their relationship from Ethan in their clandestine meeting last night. Angel had made sure his time at Juilliard had been included in his background check so she wouldn’t have to explain to her partner how she’d known about their connection.
“So why the call to Olivia? What were you going to talk about?”
He stalled to take a drink of water, hesitating long enough for her to be skeptical of anything he’d tell her.
“I wanted her to break it off with him. For Ethan’s sake. I got tired of seeing the games she played, but everything backfired. The more I begged her to let him down easy, the more she dug her heels in. I think she got off on making me miserable.”
“So you’re telling us you were being a good friend, is that right?” Gabe’s low voice echoed in the small space. “You were looking out after your buddy.”
For the first time since her partner had walked into the room, he spoke up. Angel had to admit that his timing had been perfect.
“Well, yeah.” Peterson’s voice cracked. “I owe Ethan a lot. He’s good to me. He gave me a place to stay and helped me into rehab. The guy’s real solid.”
“You consider Ethan a friend, but not Olivia?” Gabe asked.
“Guess you could say that, yeah.” Peterson shrugged.
“Out of curiosity, have you ever been to Olivia’s home? I mean, since you didn’t exactly get along.”
“She would never have invited me. I drove Ethan once, and we picked her up for a charity gig, but I never got past the front door. Didn’t want to.” He smirked. “He called to tell her we were out front, and she came out to us.”
“So you’ve never been inside, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
When Gabe was done, Angel shifted gears to keep Peterson off balance and talking.
“Tell me about this event.” She shoved a photo across the table in front of him. The photo they’d taken from Olivia’s home. “You took the photo. When and where was it taken?”
Angel pretended to know more about the photo than she did. After Peterson looked at the photo, he rolled his eyes.
“That was a charity thing Olivia had put together. She was always doing that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?”
“She always made a big show and flaunted Ethan like he was a prize bull.”
“That must have been tough for you…to sit back and watch her use your friend like that. Was that what she did? Take advantage of him?”
“She used him, sure.” He sucked down more water. “Using people, that was her thing.”
“Maybe with a blind guy…that’s an easy thing to do,” she said. “Or maybe he loved her.”
When Peterson snorted a chuckle and kept his head down to avoid her eyes, she decided to press him.
“You don’t think he loved her?”
“No, I think he did, but that bitch wasn’t capable of returning the favor. She didn’t deserve a good guy like him.” He spun the bottle in front of him.
“Did Olivia do drugs?” she asked.
“What? No, she never did anything in front of me, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t into it.”
“She never scored anything from you?”
“Oh hell, no. I’m in rehab. I’m no dealer. Never have been.”
With Peterson knowledgeable of the drug trade, he would know about burner phones, but unless they found him with the phone that had texted Olivia on the night she was killed, they had no way to connect him with any message to Olivia.
“Where were you on Tuesday evening?” she asked.
“Is that when it happened?” He laughed. “She didn’t even make hump day? That’s ironic.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying she screwed around and cheated on Ethan?”
Peterson glared at her and tightened his jaw, but he didn’t answer her question until—
“You got firsthand information on that, sport?” Gabe stepped closer to Peterson and walked behind him, forcing him to turn. “Maybe you were the one sticking it to Ethan by getting a piece of Olivia. Is that it?”
“No, that’s not the way it was. I swear.”
Gabe leaned down and got into Peterson’s face to whisper in his ear, “Hooking up with Ethan’s girl was easy. The bastard’s blind in more ways than one. What happened? Did Olivia threaten to tell him? She liked playing games. Maybe she screwed with both of you. Around here, we’ve got a word for that.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“Motive.” He stood and stepped around the table to face Peterson. “Maybe you’re the one Ethan should have watched out for. With friends like you, who needs a conniving girlfriend?”
“That’s not what happened.”
“If you’re telling the truth, you won’t mind me taking this to my forensics guys.” Gabe reached for Peterson’s water bottle, preserving any evidence with a hanky in his hand. “You see, we found fingerprints and DNA evidence at Olivia’s place. If the prints and DNA off your saliva match what we found, we'll know you were lying. You still denying you two were making it behind Ethan’s back?”
Peterson looked as if he wanted to puke. Angel knew her partner was right. Pulling DNA and prints off the water bottle would give them something to compare against what they’d taken from Olivia’s home and her secret stash of sex toys. They’d have all the evidence they’d need to either exclude Peterson as a suspect or prove he lied. If he lied about being at Olivia’s place, then what else had he stretched the truth on? From Peterson’s expression, Gabe had triggered a reaction.
“That bitch. Even after she’s dead, she still gets her way.” He chewed on his thumbnail and avoided their stares. “Okay…I was involved with her, but I swear to God I didn’t kill her.” His eyes watered. “Ethan is gonna freak. Does he have to find out? I mean, I don’t want to hurt him.”
“You should have thought about that before you tapped his girl,” Gabe said.
“No, it wasn’t like that. She came on to me. If you knew Olivia, you’d know she didn’t take no for an answer. That bitch had a cruel streak.”
“So you lied about not being at her place?” he asked. After Peterson shrugged and nodded, he pressed for more. “If we check your DNA against her play things, are we gonna find you’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places?”
“She hit on me. The girl liked it rough, and I gave it to her.”
Bryce Peterson went on to admit to having sex with Olivia Davenport and told them the wealthy young socialite liked role playing and props. Gabe had grimaced when he heard Peterson’s version of the truth. Angel knew her partner hadn’t bought into the BDSM set up, but the evidence was mounting.
“She treated me like I was some dumb ass and she was the clever one, pulling it over on Ethan like he was a chump. You ask me, she got what she deserved.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t kill her. On Tuesday, I was at my rehab group session. You can check. People saw me there.”
He gave them the name of his counselor and the address of the rehab center, an alibi they had to confirm.
“Once I got involved with Olivia, she found ways to mess with my head. Guess she figured she could force me to do anything she wan
ted, ‘cause I didn’t want her telling Ethan about us. She recorded one of our sessions, without me knowing it. Her proof, otherwise I would’ve told her to fuck off.”
“You actually saw this recording?” Gabe asked.
“Yeah, she gave me a copy. The bitch set it to music, too. Ethan’s music. He may be blind, but anyone could see my face and tell him that I was the one sticking it to her.”
“You still have the recording?”
“No. I destroyed it. God, I didn’t want anyone to see it.” He crossed his arms. “She made it look as if I’d raped her. Her sick fantasy, not mine.”
“Yeah, she took advantage of you,” Gabe said. “You’re nothing but an innocent bystander.”
“That’s how it was, man. I swear.”
“If she recorded you, she might have done others. Where did she keep her home movies?” Angel asked, with a glance at Gabe. They hadn’t found any recordings at Olivia’s place.
“If I knew, I’d have trashed them.” Peterson glared across the room, not looking either of them in the eye. “That bitch made up nasty lies. She sent Ethan those letters. That’s the real reason I called her and left that message. When I found out about them, I got pissed. She’d been sending them to Ethan all along, messing with him. I had no idea what she wrote. I only heard about ‘em.”
“What letters are these? And who told you about them?” Angel pushed, noticing Gabe’s stern reaction in the mirror.
“From what I was told, Olivia pretended to be a stalker. But that whole thing rang true, ‘cause I could see her getting off on that,” Peterson said. “Ethan’s PR lady told me about ‘em. Rachel has the letters.”
Gabe shot her a look in the mirror, and Angel knew in an instant that Rachel Blevins would have some explaining to do. This time Gabe would do the talking.
Chapter 9
Grand Central Police Station
They had no reason to hold Bryce Peterson, especially after he had asked for a lawyer, and his alibi had checked out. It would have been interesting to see if he had the balls to call Ethan asking for his help to find a mouthpiece, but Cronan had had enough of pathetic for one morning.
Slouched at his desk, he swiveled his chair and kicked around ideas with his partner.
“You think Peterson destroyed that recording of him and Olivia?” Cronan didn’t wait for her to answer. “Guy strikes me as someone who’d want a memento. Maybe he did the recording and got Olivia to play along. If his alibi hadn’t checked out, we could’ve gotten a warrant to go hunting, but these people, this case. It’s really messed up. Nothing’s at face value.”
“Yeah, and now these letters,” Angel said.
Cronan had to admit he was hot under the collar after he heard Rachel Blevins had instigated the fallout between Bryce Peterson and Olivia Davenport. Although the publicist was fully capable of playing her own nasty head games, he gave her the benefit of the doubt and checked whether a police report had been filed on the stalking, but came up empty. Now as he sat at his desk, his juices were flowing and scenarios played in his head.
“No police report on the stalking,” he told Angel. “If Rachel was so protective of her client, why wouldn’t she have reported a stalker?”
“Maybe because she invented the whole thing,” she said, saying what he thought. “Peterson said she told him about those letters. Why would she do that unless she knew about him and Olivia? I’ve got a hunch she told him to get a rise out of the guy. He looks like the volatile type. Rachel could have been counting on that.”
“You mean she used him like an attack dog, knowing he’d go off on Olivia so she wouldn’t have to get her hands dirty?”
“Yeah, it’s a theory.” She nodded. “And here’s something else. Looking through Olivia’s phone records, I see a series of calls between Rachel and Olivia, including one on the day Olivia was killed that lasted five minutes. I find it interesting that Rachel didn’t mention this to us when we talked to her. We were there to find Ethan’s name, but once she found out Olivia was dead, she had her chance to bring it up, and she didn’t. Maybe she did more than protect her client.”
Cronan pursed his lips and considered her point before he threw out another idea.
“Let me ask you this.” Leaning across his desk, he narrowed his eyes. “You think Rachel’s got a thing for Ethan? Maybe something he doesn’t even know about?”
Angel thought about his question before she said, “It’s possible. He’s a pretty charismatic guy, and her eyes really lit up when she talked about him being her client. Maybe it goes beyond that.”
“Yeah, you’re reading my mail. Let’s check her out. And no call in advance this time.” He crooked his lip into a half smile. “If she’s got those stalker letters, and she thought Olivia had something to do with it, she’ll have to produce them on the spot. They’d be considered evidence, and we can ask about that phone call to Olivia on the day she died, too. Let’s see how well she thinks on her feet.”
“Making up a stalker. That’s pretty conniving, even for a slick, fast talking operator like Rachel Blevins.”
“Never underestimate the female of the species, Ramirez. You heard it here first.”
“Yeah, I’ll try and remember that, Gabe. Thanks for the heads up.”
***
Trump Tower - Downtown Chicago
Cronan saw a young receptionist at the desk outside the office of Rachel Blevins. She smiled as he and Angel walked into the agency suite. Rachel’s door was closed, but that didn’t deter him. Cronan smiled at the administrative assistant and didn’t slow down as he walked through the waiting area.
“She in?” He asked and didn’t wait for an answer. “Thanks.”
“Sir, you can’t go in there.” The receptionist came out from behind her desk. “She’s on a conference call and can’t be disturbed.”
“If you think she can’t be disturbed, you haven’t seen me at work” He grinned.
Cronan barged into the office with Angel next through the door. The publicist was caught mid-sentence with the phone to her ear. She made her excuses to someone on the other end of the line and hung up before she stood.
“What the hell is this all about?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Blevins. I tried to stop them.” The receptionist blushed with embarrassment.
“It’s okay, Claire. I’ll take it from here. Please close the door behind you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before Rachel sat, Angel had already claimed a seat in front of her desk. Cronan stood way too close to the publicist. He returned her glare until she sank into her chair.
“What can I do for you, Detectives? I already told you everything I know.”
“Ah, but you see, that’s the problem.” He leaned across her desk and stared down at her. “You didn’t.”
Cronan glanced down at her desk. After Rachel saw him eyeballing her nameplate, she swiped it off her desk and shoved it into a drawer. But he wasn’t discouraged by the smug look on her face. Searching for something to mess with her head, he spotted a colorful vase on a shelf and picked it up. When her body tensed, he tossed the decorative showpiece between his hands and paced her office, keeping his eyes on her.
Pigheaded as usual, Rachel sank into her chair and didn’t give him the satisfaction of demanding he put down her property.
“That urn is an antique,” she said. “It’s inlaid in gold and gemstones…and probably worth your annual salary.”
“That low?” He smirked. “I would have thought a woman like you would have better taste.”
“What would you know about women like me…or good taste?”
“Just that women like you and good taste don’t always go hand in hand.” He narrowed his eyes. “That’s about all I care to know.”
“Why are you here? I’m busy.” She directed her glare at both of them.
“Bryce Peterson told us Olivia was stalking your client, and that you had letters to prove it,” He told her. “We came to pick t
hem up. They’re evidence in our murder case.”
Rachel tried to hide her reaction, but failed. Even from a distance, he noticed she had stopped breathing.
“Are the letters real? Or did you make the whole thing up to get Bryce angry with Olivia?” Angel took her shot. “Because no matter how you gloss over this, you’re looking like a woman with something to hide.”
“I didn’t need to stoke the fire between those two. If Bryce is accusing me of having anything to do with Olivia’s murder, I’ll sue his sorry ass.”
Rachel gritted her teeth and shifted her chair to stare out the window. No doubt she was considering how much to cooperate, but Cronan had enough of her attitude.
“Why didn’t you report the stalking to police?” he demanded. “We have anti-stalking laws. If what Bryce Peterson told us is true, those letters are evidence of a repeat offender.”
When she hesitated and kept her silence, he pushed her.
“Don’t bother to lie about what you told Bryce. Lying now will get you arrested,” he threatened. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be hauled out of here in handcuffs.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Rachel poured a glass of water and took a long sip. She looked shaken, and her hands trembled. “I didn’t lie to Bryce when I told him that I believed Olivia had sent letters to Ethan, pretending to be an anonymous stalker. That’s why I didn’t report it. I thought I could handle it myself. I had my reasons for accusing her.”
“You better share those reasons or I’m gonna think you don’t trust us,” he pressed.
After she opened a drawer and retrieved a small key from her desk, Rachel stood and went to a file cabinet. She unlocked a drawer, slid it open and pulled out a thick folder. Cronan returned the vase he’d been juggling and waited to see what she had.
“Ethan has a post office box to keep his home address private. From time to time, he’s gotten strange letters in the past. Whenever he got anything suspicious, I kept them. But the ones on top were different.”
“Different how?” he asked.
“You have to understand that I was convinced Olivia wasn’t good for my client. She had a pedigree and came from money, but she didn’t love him. Not like he loved her.”
