“Even if it’s not random, it doesn’t mean he’s the perp,” Martinez said. “If you want to pin it on him, you’ve got to come up with some proof, Bledsoe. Do your job.”
Just then Hayes spotted Rick Bentz, who strode into the squad room and made a beeline for his desk. “Looks like you’ll get a chance to ask him about it yourself.” Hayes smiled for the first time that day. “Knock yourself out.”
“I will.” Bledsoe stepped away from Hayes’s desk, making way for the detective from New Orleans. “Bentz,” he said by way of greeting.
Bentz was having none of it. He sent Bledsoe a scathing glance as he brandished a large manila envelope. “I received this at the motel this morning,” he said and dumped the contents of the envelope onto Hayes’s blotter. A photograph of a terrified woman staring through bars settled near his calendar.
Every muscle in Hayes’s body constricted.
Bentz looked over his shoulder to Bledsoe and said, “My wife.”
Martinez didn’t say a word, just stared at the frightened, captive woman.
“And this is a tape from the So-Cal Inn, where the package was left. The security camera caught a runner who dropped the envelope at the door and took off. I’m hoping you can check the local traffic cameras, find out if they photographed her image anywhere. Maybe caught her getting into a car.”
“Her?” Bledsoe said, his eyebrows becoming one line.
“I think so. The tape is inconclusive, but I thought you might be able to enhance it, get a close-up of the face, though it’s mainly turned away from the camera.”
“Another jogger,” Hayes said.
“That’s right. You can compare the image to the photo taken by the webcam at Santa Monica.” He shook his head. “As for the runner I saw on the street at Lorraine Newell’s house the night she was killed, I don’t know. It was too dark. But I’m willing to bet my badge that she’s involved.”
“Is this the woman who you drove up above Devil’s Caldron?”
“No.” Bentz appeared sure of that fact. “But, trust me, they know each other.”
“Holy shit,” Bledsoe said.
“Come on, Jonas.” Bentz stared straight at Hayes. “Let’s nail this jogger. Let’s go find my wife.”
Hayes’s phone rang. He held a finger up to indicate for Bentz to wait a second, then answered. “Detective Hayes.”
“Hey, yeah, this is Dr. O’Leary,” the forensic dentist on the other end of the connection said. “I’ve got your results, detective. No big surprise here. We’ve got a match. The woman you exhumed this morning is definitely Jennifer Bentz.”
CHAPTER 36
Bentz was stunned. And yet it was what he’d expected. Of course the body in the grave was Jennifer. So everything he’d believed for twelve years had been the truth. Jennifer was dead and the imposter had only been a part of a wide scheme to get him to return to Los Angeles.
Why?
To torment him?
To kidnap and torture Olivia? To start a killing spree?
“So this whole thing has been a wild goose chase?” Bledsoe shook his head.
“A smoke screen,” Bentz corrected.
“And you dragged your wife into it? For the love of Christ, it’s dangerous being married to you, Bentz. Not only for your spouse but for the people who knew her.”
If Bledsoe wanted to twist the knife, he was doing a damned good job, Bentz thought. The glint in Bledsoe’s eyes told Bentz the L.A. detective was enjoying his discomfiture. “So let’s go after the person who’s been staging this debacle,” Bentz said.
“Meaning of course that you’re not a suspect.” Bledsoe took a swallow of his coffee to hide his smile.
“I didn’t kidnap my own wife.” Bentz warned himself to play it cool; Bledsoe was just looking for a reason to make him the scapegoat. Again.
To make matters worse, he saw Dawn Rankin walking through the squad room. She caught his gaze and her lips tightened a bit before she forced a smile and approached. “Back again?” she asked. “You just can’t seem to stay away, can you?”
“It’s business,” Hayes cut in, saving him. Dawn, as always, ran hot and cold. One minute Bentz thought she was long over him, had buried the hatchet; the next she was hissing with a forked tongue. He felt lucky that their relationship had been short.
“Let me know if I can help,” Dawn said with just a touch of sarcasm before she left.
“Piece of work,” Bledsoe said. “Maybe you were lucky to have hooked up with Jennifer Nichols after all.”
Bentz didn’t buy the other detective’s stab at camaraderie. Bledsoe, he knew, would just as soon kick him to the curb as help him. Fortunately Bledsoe’s cell phone rang and he drifted off, cradling a cup of coffee.
“So this is what we know,” Hayes said once he, Martinez, and Bentz had a little privacy. “The body in the grave was Jennifer’s. The prints on the Chevy are many and varied, but other than yours, Bentz, they don’t match anyone in the system. We’re still trying. There was no other evidence in the car and our search-and-rescue team did not recover the body of the fake Jennifer in the Pacific Ocean.”
“That’s because she’s alive. I saw her again.”
“What?”
“This morning,” Bentz said. “At the cemetery.”
“And you didn’t think it was important enough to tell anyone?” Martinez said.
“I wasn’t sure, okay?”
Hayes waved the dissension away. “So now we’ve got this photo and the envelope it came in. Since our perp has been careful so far, I’d be willing to wager these materials will be clean, but we’ll check for prints or DNA. And then there’s this.” He held up the security tape. “Let’s have a look, compare it to the pictures we got from the webcam at the Santa Monica Pier. And you,” he said to Bentz, “file a report with Missing Persons. Make it official. I’m sure the FBI is going to want to talk to you, too.”
Hayes as ever was dotting all his Is and crossing his Ts. Running the case by the book. All of which wasted time. As he had from the beginning of this madness, Bentz felt the grains of sand running in a river through the hourglass. The more time that went by, the more likely he would never find Olivia and that thought brought him to his knees. “What about Yolanda Salazar and her brother?”
“Still trying to locate him. He didn’t show up for work today, skipped his early class.”
“On the run.”
“Looks like.”
Damn! He’d thought Fernando was the key. The kid was the one person who would know the identity of the Jennifer imposter. He was probably working with her, an accomplice. They had to flush him out.
“He has to surface some time,” Bentz said. “Let’s go.”
Martinez hopped off the desk.
Hayes rolled his chair back and said, “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Martinez was already walking down the hallway, but she paused to throw a glance over her shoulder at Hayes. “Oh sure. And maybe my boyfriend, Armando, will get down on one knee with a three-carat diamond ring and propose tonight.” She snorted a laugh. “Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.”
The boat had never been set on fire. Not before or after her captor’s visit.
Olivia did not know why she had been spared a fiery death, but now that the day had worn on and she was still alive she felt calmer. Slightly. She knew the maniac who had duped and abducted her would eventually kill her, but not before she got what she wanted.
Which was…what?
Olivia had no idea, but she would be damned if she’d give the woman the satisfaction of killing her.
Reluctantly, Olivia had eaten the sandwich, which she’d half expected to be tainted. But no, she’d survived. And she’d drunk the can of soda as well as used the bucket to relieve herself. It was gross, but worked.