“By Baby Jacques,” said Holgersen. “He could be the scout. He brings girls like Drummond to the pimp, Yorick. I’m guessing he breaks them in. And the ones who need cleaning up, like Hocking, Daddy the dentist lends a hand.”
“What’s in it for the dentist?” said someone in the group.
“Maybe business share,” offered another. “This is a dude who’s been investigated numerous times for financial connections to organized crime and laundering, but nothing stuck.”
Maddocks said, “We’ve got techs combing through the notes of that investigation. So far, Dr.Jon Jacques Senior appears to be linked to numbered accounts in the Caymans, and one of those accounts appears to share a business interest in the same account that is linked to the ownership of theAmanda Rose.”
“Fuck me,” whispered someone, and a rustle of energy moved like wildfire through the group—they were getting somewhere now. Somewhere big.
“So maybe there’s some kind of high-end sex club on theAmanda Rose?” said another. “What about this Lara Pennington, also up on the board?”
Angie cleared her throat, thinking of her own club and the sex she routinely acquired there. “Drummond’s calendar indicated that she had regular dates with Lara P.” She picked a marker up off the table and wrote under Pennington’s photo:
Lara P., Amanda R., B.C.
She turned to face the investigators. “We’re working on the assumption that Pennington is also involved in a possible prostitution ring aboard theAmanda Rose. B.C.—we don’t yet know what those initials stand for, but in the course of our investigation we came across a matchbook with a ‘B.C.’ logo on the front. That same book had Drummond’s cell number scrawled on the inside of the cover.” She paused, holding the attention riveted on her. “That book was seen in the office of Zach Raddison, personal aide to Mayor Jack Killion.”
A whistle came from the back of the room, and again, that rustle of adrenaline as investigators physically shifted with the energy of the unfolding details.
“And Mayor Killion,” said Holgersen, nodding to the photo Winston shot outside AKASHA, “is having an affair with ADAG Joyce Norton-Wells, mother of Jayden Norton-Wells, who was seen boarding theAmanda Rosewith a known pimp.”
“Holy clusterfuck,” said someone.
“Yeah, becoming the go-to word for this investigation,” replied another. “This is going to tank those two—the mayor and the ADAG—one way or another. Maybe the ADAG pressured her lover to push for those concessions he’s making for that huge waterfront development of her husband’s.”
“And Law-Boy Jayden Norton-Wells—he’s confessed that he knew and cared for Drummond, and that heiscalled J.R. by those who know him,” said Holgersen. “And it’s likely that he gave Drummond a Saint Christopher medallion for safe passage—whatever that means to him. He also lied about the mysteriously missing Lexus, which showed up on the iron bridge before and after Drummond’s abduction near the Blue Badger Bakery and on the 7-Eleven surveillance camera outside the Ross Bay Cemetery where Drummond was found.”
Angie crooked a brow and stared at Holgersen, stunned that the dudecouldactually speak in grammatically coherent sentences when it came down to it. Had he slipped? Was this the default Kjel Holgersen? Or was he just trying really hard to put on a show for these veteran investigators?
As if suddenly realizing his character slip, Holgersen continued, “An’ when Law-Boy’s confronted by police abouts his missing Lexus, he spooks and flees in his dinky red Porsche straight to city hall and Mayor-Boy Zach Raddison, here—” He pointed to the photo of Raddison. “With his black hair, B.C. matchbook, and Drummond’s phone number.”
“What do you figure the mayor’s affair has got to do with this?” said Dundurn—who’d been brought in from the sex crimes unit along with Smith, who was now out with Leo at the Uplands Marina.
“Probably bad luck,” said Angie. “One of those personal or family secrets that gets exposed when lives intersect with crime and the onion layers are peeled back by investigators.”
A knock sounded, and the door to the incident room opened. Everyone swung around.
“Dr.Padachaya?” Maddocks said. And the crackle of anticipation was instant—they’d all been waiting for the DNA profile of Jayden Norton-Wells.
She came forward with a smile and a spark in her eyes that told Angie Sunni Padachaya had it—she had Norton-Wells.
She handed a folder to Maddocks. “Copies of all the results—from his hair, blood, and saliva samples.”
He waited, ever the gentleman, allowing the small doc to drop her own bombshell.
“It’s him,” she said. “Jayden Norton-Wells is Black-Haired Male One. His body hair was found in pubic combings from our floater, Hocking, inside her tarp, in fibers of the ropes from the Thetisby Island crime, and on Drummond’s clothing.”
“Whoa, Law-Boy, we gotcha,” said Holgersen with a victory pump in the air. “We gots him by the short-and-curly black ones. Let’s go bring him in!”
“Not so fast,” came a reedy, scratchy voice.
Everyone whirled around. Inspector Frank Fitzsimmons stood at the back of the room. Angie glared at him.
How long had he been standing there, the creep?
He came forward, thunder in his face, his hands tight at his sides, his focus lasered on Maddocks. As he neared, Angie saw he was actually vibrating with anger. He had papers in his hand that quivered with the tension emanating from his body.
“Sergeant Maddocks,” he said, coming to a stop in front of Maddocks. “Ray Norton-Wells and his team of attorneys have received a motion from Judge Lofland to quash his son’s DNA evidence. They claim he was forced to give it under duress. In no way, shape, or form can you use anything that comes from those DNA samples.”
