“After Holly’s funeral, I went by the house. I thought about going inside, but I was stopped by a detective. Think he said his name was Whittaker.”
“Could it have been Whitlock?”
“Oh, yeah, Whitlock. That’s the one. Nice guy.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
“We chatted for a while, and then again a couple of days later, when he called with some follow-up questions. He was nice enough to share a few things with me. He said the next-door neighbor found Holly. She heard a sound or something, and she went over to see if Holly was all right. Guess she was already dead. She’d been shot, but she also had some bruising on her face.”
“Did he say anything else?”
She ran a hand through her hair. “He said they found Holly’s purse on the table. Her wallet was still inside, and her credit cards were still in it.”
So it wasn’t a robbery.
I paused a moment, allowing the information to settle. The details pulled at me in familiar ways, stirring up stories in my mind as I explored the various possibilities of who murdered Holly and why.
“I may have more questions for you later,” I said. “But I believe we’re done for now.”
She nodded and stood, shoving her cell phone in her pocket. “Please, say you’ll find the person who did this to my friend.”
I snapped my notebook closed and put my pen to the side. “You came here for help, and you found it. I’ll take your case, and I’ll bring Holly’s killer into the light.”
4
I dropped Luka off at home and drove to the San Luis Obispo Police Department to talk to Foley and Whitlock. Stepping inside, I noted the faint smell of old coffee in the air. A young officer behind the front desk straightened when he saw me and smiled.
“I’m assuming you’re here for Foley and Whitlock,” he said.
“I am.”
He pointed toward the hallway. “They’re in Foley’s office.”
I thanked him and stepped into the hallway. Voices drifted through the cracked door as I approached, Foley in his usual deep, clipped tone, and Whitlock’s mellower voice beneath it.
I stepped in and both men looked up.
Chief Foley leaned his weight on the edge of his desk, looking like a man who liked order and ran his department with the kind of discipline that made rookies sweat. His hazel eyes landed on me and he said, “Georgiana, what brings you in today?”
I closed the door behind me. “Wren Fairfax came to my office this morning. She’s hired me to investigate Holly Honeywell’s murder.”
Foley mumbled something under his breath, then pushed off the desk. “We have a full team working the case, as you’re aware.”
“I am, but it’s like I always say on cases like this one, it doesn’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes.”
Whitlock, who was leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed, smiled at me and then gave Foley a brief look that said: let’s hear her out, even if you hate it.
“What did Wren tell you?” Whitlock asked.
I removed my notebook from my bag and opened it. “She told me about Holly’s relationship with her mother, the adoption papers she found, and about Holly feeling like she was being watched in the week before she died.”
“Followed?” Foley asked. “Did she see someone?”
“It was more of a feeling, but she had it more than once.”
Whitlock’s jaw tightened the way it always did when he was concerned about something. He walked over to the desk, took a seat, and motioned me to join him.
“This is the first time we’re hearing that Holly thought someone was watching her,” Whitlock said. “Makes me wonder why Wren didn’t tell me when I spoke to her.”
