Her gaze twitched to the bird trying to get out. “Because of what you said the other day—” She swallowed. “You said you cared.”
“What about those earlier rapes, Merry? You’vegotto give me details on those.”
She shot another furtive glance at the windows and the pathway outside that led to the road. Then she leaned down toward Angie, lowering her voice to a barely audible whisper. “I know about them becauseIwas one of his victims, okay? It happened tome. Five years ago. Red crucifix. Knife at the throat. Missing lock of hair. And it was why Allison Fernyhough agreed to speak to me. And she told me about Sally Ritter.”
“What about the other—” A middle-aged male came along the path and up the restaurant stairs. Panic flared in Winston’s face as he entered the door.
“I gotta go.” She spun around and was gone. Out the door. Down the stairs. Through the windows, Angie watched Winston scurry along the breakwater path toward the road, her black hoodie pulled up over her head, hiding her profile. She approached a green Volkswagen Beetle, got in. Angie reached for her phone.
Maddocks answered on the second ring.
“I’ve got it,” she said softly as she watched Merry Winston climbing into her Beetle. “Amanda Rose.It’s a luxury yacht. And I have photographic evidence of Norton-Wells boarding that yacht with Faith Hocking’s pimp on Friday night—a pimp who has been seen in the company of a blond male in his early twenties who drives a black Bimmer.”
CHAPTER 67
Angie squared her shoulders, hesitated, took a deep breath, and entered the Operation Limpet incident room carrying the envelope Merry Winston had given her at the Wharf Bistro.
The place was abuzz, detectives shuffling through files, conversing with techs, who worked furiously at the computers on tables and desks arranged on one side of the room. The air was hot and smelled of burnt coffee and doughnuts that someone had brought in for Sunday breakfast. No one even looked up as she came in—her absence long forgotten in the excitement of the investigative discoveries now unspooling before them at warp speed. And they all knew from her phone conversation with Maddocks that the clock was ticking down toward Merry Winston’s prescheduled exposé and photographs, which would launch on Christmas Eve. Relief was a punch to Angie’s gut.
Maddocks looked up from where he was examining papers on a table at the front of the room with Holgersen. He motioned for her to come over, and he smiled as she approached. She read approval in his eyes. She’d set the ball rolling from the bistro, then gone home for a speedy shower and change of clothing—it was going to be a long day and then some, and she’d been nervous about returning to the station, of the scrutiny she expected to see in the eyes of colleagues like Leo. And she’d wanted to feel fresh and look her power-best.
He took the envelope from her and started spreading Winston’s photographic evidence out on the table.
“Where’s Leo?” she said, scanning the bustle in the incident room.
“Sent him with Smith to watch theAmanda Rose,” Maddocks said, studying Winston’s photos. “Got techs digging into the yacht’s ownership history—she’s registered in the Caymans, so that could be a problem—but I want to keep surveillance on her twenty-four/seven in case she decides to pull anchor. Don’t want her heading into international waters before we’ve got a handle on this. Got Metro harbor units on standby in the next cove in case she bolts.”
Angie smiled to herself and caught Holgersen’s eye. Leo on surveillance duty. She could only imagine his grousing at being sidelined like that. One–zero to Maddocks. He glanced up from the photos.
“Well done. Thank you,” Maddocks said.
Her eyes held his for a nanosecond, and she thought of the trust he’d placed back into her hands with her gun, at no small risk to himself. She had more to thank him for than he had to thank her.
He gave a small nod, pinned the Winston photos up onto the board, picked up a Sharpie, then turned to the room. “Okay, let’s get to this. Gather around.”
The team moved into position, focusing on the board.
“Are we going to try to stop that Winston interview from running sir?” someone from the group asked.
“We don’t have cause,” said another detective. “Freedom of speech and press and all that.”
“Yeah we have cause, if what she says is going to compromise the investigation.”
“We don’t have evidence of exactly what she is going to say,” added another.
Maddocks banged the table. “Here’s how we play it. Christmas Eve and the scheduled Winston exposé is eight days away, counting today. We’re going to focus on getting this wrapped before then. Got it?”
Murmurs.
“Right.” With the back of his Sharpie he tapped Winston’s photograph of Jayden Norton-Wells and Damián Yorick boarding theAmanda Rose.
“Norton-Wells, the ADAG’s son. Black hair. Seen boarding the high-end Caymans-registered yacht with Faith Hocking’s pimp, Yorick, on Friday, December fifteen. Yorick is known to police, has a record—street drugs, assault charges, has done time. Also black hair. He’s allegedly been seen in the company of a blond male in his early twenties who drives a black BMW.” Maddocks drew a line from the Yorick photo to the one of Jon Jacques Jr.and made a question mark under the image. “We’re working on the assumption that the blond male is this man, son of a dentist, Jon Jacques Senior, also blond.” He drew another line.
He tapped the photo of Faith Hocking. “Homicide victim Hocking, seen recently with Yorick and Mr.Blond Bimmer. Hocking had her meth-mouth fixed with expensive dentistry. She had a card for dentist Jon Jacques Senior in her apartment.” He drew another line, linking the dentist and his son to both Hocking and the pimp.
“Mr.Blond Bimmer seems to have picked Gracie Drummond up at the Oak Bay Country Club after she was dumped by her boyfriend from school.” He drew a line linking Drummond to the cluster through Jon Jacques Jr., and he turned back to face the room.
“After meeting Jacques Junior, Drummond seems to have come into money, makes many, very expensive, unexplained purchases. She also expressed to her priest that she had guilt issues with the number of men she was sleeping with. We’re working on the assumption she was recruited into the sex trade.”
