“Yeah,” he said with a hopeful smile, apparently under the misimpression that she was going to soften.
“I don’t know how serious this is, but until I see that footage, I recommend you stay inside the house, maybe even inside your room.”
“Why?”
She did her best not to roll her eyes when she answered.
“Because if someone really does want to hurt you, it’ll be a lot easier out there than in here.”
She managed to keep a straight face as she saw the color drain from his face. She and Finn were heading back down the hallway when Finn muttered under his breath.
“Were you for real about him being in danger outside the house or were you just screwing with him?”
Hannah paused and turned to him without smiling.
“Finn, my dear boy, two things can be true at once.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
As time ticked away and the late afternoon bled into evening, Jessie felt her chest starting to tighten. They were now in the window when the killer might be locking in on their next victim.
Richard Paulson’s building was in a gleaming tower at the edge of downtown. And even though it had only taken them a few minutes to get there from Central Station, by the time they pulled up in front, it was almost 5 P.M.
They checked in with the security guard and quickly dashed to the elevator, which led them to the 18thfloor. Sam took the lead as they marched down the hallway, past two large units. The next one, 1803, seemed much smaller.
Sam knocked on the door. There was no answer. He was about to try again when they heard someone inside.
“Who is it?” a male voice asked.
“This is Detective Goodwin with the LAPD,” Sam answered loudly. “We’d like to speak to Richard Paulson.”
The door opened and a man stepped out to meet them. They already had the basics on him even before seeing him, but in person Paulson looked all of his 52 years. His hair was ninety percent gray and his haggard face was marked by deep worry lines. He had likely once been good-looking but perhaps because of long hours spent in conference rooms and courthouses, he was pasty and a little paunchy. He was dressed in khaki pants and a partially untucked dress shirt.
“I’m Richard Paulson,” he said, unruffled. “What has the police knocking at my door?”
His tone suggested that while he would be polite, he was anxious to be done with them.
“We’re investigating several murders and hoped you might have helpful information for us,” Sam explained.
“Murders?” Paulson said, taken aback. “Who was murdered?”
“Two of your clients, Mr. Paulson,” Jessie said flatly. “Maria Cain and Yuki Tanaka.”
“Wait, what?” He looked appropriately dumbfounded.
“We’re sorry to be so abrupt about this,” Jessie said, “but we have reason to believe other killings might be imminent and we need some details from you.”
“You’re saying that they were killed by the same person?” Paulson asked, incredulous.
“It certainly appears that way,” Sam told him. “And we believe their deaths may be connected to their immigration status.”
“I don’t understand.”
“May we come inside?” Jessie asked. “We’ll try to clarify things there.”
“I’m sorry but who are you?” he demanded.
“This is Jessie Hunt,” Sam said. “She’s a criminal profiler working the case with me. Now if we could please come inside.”
