That, of course, only worked if the perp was known. But as far as anyone could tell, the only connection the women had with each other was the sorority. Lily Ann and Tiffany knew each other from Cascade University. That was well documented. But while Sheraton Wilkes was a BZ girl, she didn’t know either one. At first, it was thought they’d been to the same Pan-Hellenic conference in Washington, D.C., but it turned out that Lily Ann had boyfriend problems and had stayed home.
Was it a coincidence that Jenna Kenyon knew well two of the three dead girls and just happened to be at the scene of the third girl’s murder?
Kellie Jasper didn’t think so. She got Jenna, now home, on the phone in Cherrystone.
“There has to be something here with you and Sheraton. Think. Think.”
“I’ve told you, we just met.”
Kellie pushed harder. She had to, there was nothing else. “But she’s in your sorority. You must have met her. You must have been connected.”
“There are three thousand girls nationwide who have pledged BZ.”
“Think. Please. We need to catch this guy before he kills again.”
Jenna could feel her blood pressure rise. “You think I haven’t thought of this, Detective Jasper? This is all I think about.”
“Fair enough. I’m sorry. But I’m counting on you.”
After the call ended, Jenna found her mother in the kitchen. She was making a chicken dish with olives and diced dried tropical fruits.
“It smells really good in here, Mom.” There was a flatness to Jenna’s voice.
Emily picked up on it and her smile faded when she looked up to see her daughter’s worried expression.
“What is it?”
Jenna let out a long sigh, one she meant to help her relax and lessen the stress of the call.
“The detective from Dixon called again,” she said. “She thinks that I must know something about Lily Ann, Tiffany, and Sheraton. There really isn’t anything to know, Mom. I don’t know what connects the three of them, beyond their pledge to Beta Zeta.”
Emily set down her spoon and put the lid over the chicken sautéing on the gas range. She lowered the heat, bending down to check the level of the blue flame.
“There’s a link,” she said. “Let’s talk some more at dinner.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
Cherrystone
Chris Collier had always been partial to the task of following the money in a criminal case. It was the surest way to catch a killer when insurance, payoffs, and, of course, murder for hire were the suspected motives, even though this time, neither he nor Emily suspected any of those scenarios. He’d done it more than a time or two as detective for the Seattle PD.
His most famous “follow the money” collar was made when he proved that the wife of a Seattle city councilman had hired a hit man to kill her husband. The scheme was as simple as it was dumb. She asked her brother to do the job (“nothing like keeping stupid in the family,” Chris told Emily over coffee the morning the case broke), promising a small down payment and a fat insurance check later. Chris worked the finance angle sorting out the multiple accounts and discovered ten checks of $500 all made out to her brother. She was convicted and given a life sentence for murder and conspiracy to commit murder. Now she was an inmate at Washington Corrections Center for Women in Purdy, where she taught accounting classes to other inmates.
Tricia Wilson’s recent influx of cash as related by Fatima was likely related to the lie she told about her ex-husband.
The question was just how? And, more important, who had given her the dough?
Chris drove his rental PT Cruiser on the highway to Spokane. As he looked out across the orchards and ranch-land and drank his coffee from Java the Hut, he grinned. It wasn’t the wet side of the state; it was green only where irrigation ditches and enormous sprinklers deigned it to be.
He was ready for a change. He hoped Emily was, too.
When he arrived in the parking lot at the bank in Spokane, Chris knew that without a warrant, getting any information at all would rest on who he selected to ask. He was tired from the night of wine and files, so charm would have to be forced. Not always a good mode in which to win over a potential witness.
As he entered the bank, he noticed a circular counter with a young woman named Britannia Scott smiling from the center of her Lucite and brushed-steel domain. She was the bank’s personal greeter. Her wide eyes and warm smile as much as her name-tagged role made her the best shot for the first approach.
The first approach without a badge to back him up.
“Good morning! Welcome to your personal banking center!”
Chris immediately returned her smile. This girl is over-drive-friendly. Good. That’s what I need.
“Hi, Britannia,” he said. “I see you have coffee there. Could sure use a cup. What have you got today?”
“Viennese roast. Let me pour it for you,” she said, walking to the other side of her circle and pumping the cinnamon-scented coffee from a black carafe.
“A real cup,” he said, as she handed over a blue ceramic mug with the bank’s name in silver. “This is better than Starbucks.”
“We try a ton harder than anyone. What can we do for you today? We have new rates on equity loans and free checking specials.”
“I’m actually here for some other kind of help.”
“What’s that?” Her tone was suddenly wary.
Chris slid a photo of Mitch Crawford toward Britannia. She looked at it, and it was clear she recognized the man.
“Are you a police officer? My manager can help you. I’m not authorized to do anything like that.”
“Well, I am a cop. But I’m not here as a cop. I’m here helping another jurisdiction with an investigation.”
“I can’t help you,” she said.
“All I need to know is whether or not this man is a customer of your bank.”
Britannia pushed a button on the console under the counter. For a second, it flashed in Chris Collier’s mind that she was activating a silent alarm and in three minutes he’d be on his stomach with a Spokane police officer’s gun bearing down on him.
Instead, a small woman with dark birdlike eyes, a sharp, pointy nose, and close-cropped hair that made her look like a boy—a bird boy—clacked over from her desk across the room. She looked completely irritated.
“What is it now, Britannia?” The woman was impatient before she even knew the problem. “I told you the helium tank is empty, a replacement is on its way from the Valley branch, and you’ll have to make do.”
Britannia shrank with embarrassment and Collier felt sorry for her. “It isn’t that, Ms. Davis. This man is seeking some information. He’s working on that case from Cherrystone.”
Chris hadn’t said where he was from and he knew that meant Britannia had ID’d the photo.
“Where’s your subpoena?” she asked, virtually spitting out her words.
“I don’t have one. Look, I just want to know if this fellow is a customer of the bank. What would that really hurt?”
“Either open an account or leave,” Ms. Davis said. “We might be the friendliest bank in town, but we follow every rule. And really, would you want to bank with an institution that didn’t?”
She calls this friendly? I’d like to see her when she’s not so congenial.
Ms. Davis spun around, and called over her bony shoulder, “Britannia, review the employee handbook. See the section on information requests. It starts on page thirty-two.”