There was another pause. Then the call ended.
"She hung up before identifying herself," Kari said. "Got scared and ran."
"And we've got nothing on her. No name, no description beyond what we can infer from her voice—female, probably twenties or thirties, educated. She said 'I just got here,' which makes you wonder why she was showing up at Sheridan's house at eight PM on a Tuesday night."
"Maybe that was something she didn't want to explain to police." Kari replayed the woman's words in her mind. "She called him 'someone,' not using his name. Distance, maybe? Or she genuinely didn't want to identify him for some reason."
"Or she was in shock and couldn't think straight." Maria closed the audio file. "We pulled the phone number from the 911 system. It's a mobile number, registered to a prepaid account. No name attached, bought with cash at a convenience store three years ago."
"Smart. Or paranoid. Or both." Kari studied the crime scene again. "Can we track the phone? Get its current location?"
"That's what I'm working on. I've got a call in to a prosecutor about an emergency authorization for location tracking. The argument is that she's either a material witness who might be in danger, or potentially a suspect who fled a crime scene. Either way, we need to locate her."
"How long for the authorization?"
"Could be an hour, could be not until morning. Judges don't like approving real-time tracking without solid justification." Maria looked frustrated. "And even if we get it, she might have ditched the phone by now. If she's smart enough to use a prepaid account, she's probably smart enough to dump the phone."
Kari walked through the scenario in her mind. A woman arrives at Victor Sheridan's house at eight PM. She has a prepaid phone—suggesting she values privacy or has reasons to avoid leaving a trail. She finds Sheridan dead, calls 911, gives the address, starts to identify herself, then panics and flees. The whole sequence took maybe ninety seconds, just enough time to get out before police arrived.
Maria pulled out her notebook. "Sheridan was a widower, lived alone. No girlfriend that we've found so far, no regular visitors that the neighbors mention. He was relatively private, kept to himself, focused on work."
"Did any of the neighbors see her?"
"I've got officers canvassing the neighborhood now. We're also checking if there are any security cameras on neighboring houses that might have caught something." Maria checked her watch. "But this neighborhood is spread out, big properties with lots of space between houses. It's entirely possible someone could come and go without being noticed."
Kari studied the wine glass fragments again, the shattered pieces scattered across the floor near Sheridan's body. It looked like he'd been pouring wine, comfortable and relaxed, when thekiller arrived. No signs of struggle, no defensive wounds visible on his body. Just like the other two victims—caught off guard.
By a stranger, or by someone they knew?
"Walk me through the timeline again," Kari said. "Sheridan was killed when?"
"Medical examiner estimates time of death between seven-thirty and eight PM, based on body temperature and lividity. The 911 call came in at eight-seventeen. So our mystery woman arrived somewhere in that window, probably closer to eight based on her statement that she 'just got here.'"
"Which means the killer was already gone when she arrived. Sheridan had been dead for at least fifteen, maybe thirty minutes." Kari looked at the blood pooling, the way it had started to dry at the edges. "The killer shoots him, collects the shell casing, leaves. Then our witness arrives, finds the body, panics."
"And now she's out there somewhere, probably terrified, definitely not planning to come forward voluntarily." Maria's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and frowned. "That's the chief. Press conference is confirmed for nine AM tomorrow. They're going forward with the accomplice theory, asking the public for tips about who might be working with Hatathli."
"Even though it makes no sense."
"Even though." Maria looked suddenly tired. "The department needs a narrative that doesn't involve admitting we arrested the wrong person. Multiple perpetrators is the only way to maintain Hatathli's involvement while explaining why murders continued while he's in custody."
"So we have until nine AM to find something that changes that narrative."
"Or to at least cast enough doubt to make them delay the press conference." Maria started toward the front door. "Comeon. Let's see what the canvas team has found. Maybe someone in this neighborhood actually noticed something useful."
They walked outside together, where patrol officers were systematically working their way down the street, knocking on doors, asking questions. The night was warm, the kind of Phoenix evening where wealthy residents sat in their air-conditioned homes and rarely ventured outside unless absolutely necessary.
Kari watched the officers work, knowing that most of these interviews would yield nothing useful. Paradise Valley residents valued their privacy as much as their security, and both tended to make them notoriously poor witnesses. They didn't watch their neighbors, didn't pay attention to unfamiliar cars, didn't involve themselves in anything that might create complications.
"The woman who called it in," Kari said. "She's our best lead right now. Maybe she knew Sheridan and can lend some insight into his world: his business relationships, his connections to the resort project, things that could point us toward why he was targeted."
"If we can find her." Maria checked her phone again. "Still nothing from the prosecutor on the tracking authorization. I'll keep pushing, but it's going to be tight."
One of the patrol officers approached them, notebook in hand. "Detective Santos? We've got something. Resident three houses down says she saw a woman leaving Sheridan's property around eight-fifteen, eight-twenty. Professional-looking, light-colored blazer, dark hair. Got into a sedan parked on the street—she didn't catch the make or model, just noticed because it's unusual for anyone to park on the street in this neighborhood. Most visitors use the driveways."
"Did she get a plate number?" Maria asked.
"No, sorry. She only noticed because her dog was barking at something and she looked out the window. The car was already pulling away."
