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“What’s goin’ on?” he asked.

“Craig just called with some interesting news from Lake Tahoe. We seem to have a dirty cop, or should I say ‘sheriff,’ involved in the murder of Gretchen and the missing contestant. He overheard a conversation today between him and some other men. From what he’d heard, the still missing contestant is already in San Francisco. He also said one of the men sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place who it was.”

“No shit?” he replied as he stood and came around his desk. “What’s he planning on doing now?”

“He’s already set up a meeting with our dirty sheriff for tomorrow morning to look at the rooms the women were in. He’ll play along as if he knows nothing and get back to me. I need to let Davis know what he just told me.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sean said, slapping my shoulder.

We told the captain about the new developments, and he immediately contacted the FBI’s violent crimes unit. Davis was impressed that Craig had gotten information from simply overhearing a conversation while he remained hidden. Before we left his office, he stopped me. “By the way, I just got word that the forensics lab found the cause of Raymond Chandler’s Jaguar accident. His brake line had been intentionally severed. It’s now premeditation and not an accident.”

I blew out a puff of air. “I guess we need to have another chat with Mrs. Chandler. I don’t think Craig will be pleased to hear about this.”

Once at my desk, there was a message to contact Lieutenant Anderson about tomorrow's pageant security meeting. After calling and confirming that Sean would join the team, my next order of business was to corral my partner, drive us to the Chandler estate, and ask her more questions.

The size of the estate was impressive at first glance, and Sean let out a whistle as we drove up the long drive. “Look at this place.” I had to agree with his assessment.

We knocked on the door and were greeted by a uniformed housekeeper. We showed our badges, told her we needed to speak with Mrs. Chandler, and were let in. Brooke appeared with another woman who was slightly younger. We introduced ourselves, and Brooke introduced us to her sister, Beatrice. The resemblance was there, in the same poise and confidence.

After several questions, and with her sister corroborating Brooke’s alibi, she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to cause the damage. I asked if they had security cameras outside and if we could look at where the Jaguar had been parked. She said they had cameras, but she hadn’t considered looking at any footage that might have been captured after she’d returned from Sacramento.

“Do you think someone might have come here to cut his brake lines?” Brooke asked.

“It’s a possibility. This is why we’d like to see where the car was parked and where the cameras are located,” I replied.

“Sure,” she said. “Follow me.” She pointed to the cameras by the garage and entered a code at the door, raising it. I noticed the garage was separate from the main house.

The concrete had stains from years of use where the car had sat, but I noticed recent drips that didn’t look like old motor oil. I swiped my finger through it, and it felt slick and oily, definitely not motor oil. I couldn’t be sure, but it felt like brake fluid. I needed to get it tested.

“How far back does your camera footage go?” Sean asked.

“I’m not sure. I know it’s stored on some remote cloud from what Raymond said,” Brooke replied.

“It would be helpful if we could take a look at it.”

“Let me find out how to locate it and get back to you if that’s okay.”

I pulled out my business card and told her to get back to me the same day, and we’d send a technician out to take samples. Sean had hurried to the car to retrieve evidence-seal tape so we could secure the scene. Brooke pointed out that there was also a side door to the garage. Sean sealed all the doors after they had been closed. We thanked her and headed back to the car.

“Are you sure that was brake fluid you felt?” Sean asked, buckling his seatbelt.

“I think so. We’ll know for sure after it’s tested. It seemed relatively fresh.”

We remained silent for a bit until Sean asked, “What are you thinking, Jonesy?” He always knew when something bothered me.

“Right now, her alibi is solid with her sister’s aid. But I think we should dive into her finances. She might not have had her hand on the tool that cut the line, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have paid someone to do it for her.”

“I’ll get on that when we get back to the precinct,” Sean said.

We arrived in the late afternoon, and as promised, Craig had emailed me his account of what he’d overheard. I printed a copy for the file and forwarded the electronic copy to Davis. Brooke had also sent me the link to the remote footage and the password to access it.

It had been a long day. I was ready to get out of there, and knew word of the incident at The Brass Rail had spread through the precinct. There were a couple of dirty looks from patrolmen and a hearty backslap from a fellow detective, who thanked me for putting Flanigan in his place. Not feeling proud, all that did was twist my stomach.

Sean left after going through the legal hoops to access Brooke Chandler’s financials. We knew it wouldn’t be easy or quick, but we felt we had a good case to get a subpoena.

Reviewing the security footage from the Chandler estate, I went back to last Friday, when Brooke got home after her meeting with Craig. I noted the timestamps as I breezed through the recording. The next time I saw Brooke leave was later that evening, carrying a small suitcase. She got in her car in the three-car garage and left. She would not have had time to do anything to the Jaguar. Shortly after she’d left, I saw Raymond Chandler leave in his Jaguar. He returned about an hour later, so I continued to scan the footage.

By the time it got dark, it was difficult to see the front of the garage except for the outdoor lamps, but as I fast-forwarded, there was a timestamp at one-thirty when a motion light came on. From the corner of the screen, I could see what looked like a male figure, all in black with a hoodie, working the keypad. The door rose, and he slipped inside using a flashlight as I watched him drop to his knees to get underneath the car.