“Like I said on the call with the captain, I think she was killed in the Black Marlin Club with the jade sculpture,” he said. “Her body was hidden in there somewhere until the middle of the night, when it was moved to the Emerald Sea. The next day, it was taken out to the bay and dumped.”
“In broad daylight?” Sampedro asked.
“It’s twenty-plus miles from the coast,” Stilwell said. “A lot of open water out there once you’re out of the harbor.”
“And you’re saying the current just brought her back in?” Ahearn asked. “Like some kind of underwater ghost returning to haunt the scene of the crime?”
Ahearn had dropped the snark but put in a note of disbelief.
“I don’t know about underwater ghosts, but I do think the tide brought her back,” Stilwell said. “Avalon Harbor has a wide mouth and strong tidal currents.”
“Well, I do like a wide mouth,” Ahearn said. “Okay, what else?”
“Like, where’s the jade statue?” Sampedro asked.
“Probably ended up in the bay with her,” Stilwell said.
“That was stupid,” Sampedro said. “If she was killed at the club, why wouldn’t the killer just clean it up and put it back?”
“I was thinking about that,” Stilwell said. “Maybe he panicked. It’s possible none of this was planned. Or maybe the thing broke when he hit her. Then he couldn’t put it back.”
“It’s all conjecture until we know more,” Ahearn said. “We need something solid to move on right now.”
“Her cell phone,” Stilwell said. “She had to have had one and it also probably ended up in the bay when she was dumped. But we need to get her calls, texts, and contacts. And the GPS might give us the location where she went into the water.”
Ahearn wrote cell on the board on the County side.
“We’ll take that,” he said. “What else?”
“Leigh-Anne’s friends,” Stilwell said. “Anybody she might have told who she was involved with on the island and in that club. Hopefully her phone or Galloway can lead us to her friend group over here. And I still need to find out where she stayed on Catalina. There could also be dating apps and social media to check. My office manager found her on Instagram but the account hadn’t been updated recently.”
Ahearn put it all on the board, including the first additions to the Catalina column: friends and address.
“And then Colbrink, the guy who owns the boat,” Stilwell said. “He’s got an alibi for the weekend in question. Was over here in Malibu for his wife’s birthday. We need to confirm all of that, and then we need to talk to his mistress, someone named Bree or maybe Breezy, who was on the boat with him on Catalina this past weekend. Maybe she saw something amiss on the boat. We just need to cover all the bases, and she’s one of them.”
Ahearn dutifully wrote it on the board on the County side.
“That’s going to keep us busy,” he said. “You’re looking a little light, Stilwell. Anything else for over there?”
“Yeah,” Stilwell said. “I’ve got to get into the Black Marlin Club.”
“You’re talking about a search warrant?” Ahearn asked. “Good luck with that.”
“We’ll see,” Stilwell said. “I know a judge who might go for it.”
24
After Sampedro dropped him off, Stilwell caught the last Express back to Catalina. It was dark by the time of his arrival at the pier. He stopped by the sub to pick up the Gator and check on things. He had to use a key to enter because the p.m. watch deputy wasn’t there; he was likely out on patrol or answering a call. Stilwell checked his office and the bulletin board for messages and found none. He took a two-way out of a charger and, after consulting the personnel schedule on a separate bulletin board, radioed the deputy on duty.
“PM One, come up.”
A few seconds later Deputy Eduardo Esquivel responded.
“Here, boss.”
“What’s your twenty?”
“Up at the Zane Grey for an eviction.”
The Zane Grey was a boutique hotel and one of the better places to stay on the island. Having once been the home of the famed Western writer and sport fisherman, it was a major draw to the island as well. Though Catalina served as the last resort for many facing financial troubles, the Zane Grey was an establishment that attracted the more well-heeled visitors. Its proprietors rarely called the sub about problems with nonpaying guests.
“What’s the story?” Stilwell asked. “You want backup?”
“Affirmative,” Esquivel responded. “This guy is not going to go quietly, I don’t think.”
“On my way, then.”
“Roger that.”
Stilwell thought about grabbing his vest out of his locker but decided it might only serve to provoke a confrontation if the situation at the Zane Grey was simply a misunderstanding. He left it behind and headed for the door but stopped when he heard a shout come from the jail. Spivak was being held in a cell until his court appearance on Friday. Stilwell went back into the jail section and found Spivak standing with both hands gripping the bars.
“Hey, are you people going to feed me tonight or what?”
“You didn’t get food?”
“Been waiting all night, man.”
Esquivel had apparently forgotten his feeding duties. Stilwell checked his watch and saw that it was 8:20.
“Why don’t you sit down, Spivak,” he said. “I’ll go look for something.”
He walked quickly back through the bullpen to the kitchenette that was off the rear hallway. He started opening cabinets, looking for something he could give Spivak to tide him over until he or Esquivel could pick something up from one of the takeouts. He found two packs of Lance ToastChee crackers on a shelf marked Dunne — Do Not Touch. He took them off the shelf and back to the jail. Spivak was still at the bars.
“I told you to sit down,” Stilwell said.
“I don’t have to sit down,” Spivak said. “I can do whatever I want in here. You call that shit in your hand dinner?”
“It’s a snack, Spivak. Somebody will bring you dinner in a bit. Go sit down and relax. It’s not even eight thirty and you’ll get a hot meal soon.”
Stilwell tossed the packages of crackers through the bars to the bunk he had seen Spivak using before. One package bounced off the bed and onto the floor.
“Now, see,” Spivak said. “That’s how they get crumbled.”
“Just stay calm,” Stilwell said. “Somebody will be back with dinner.”
“You know, it’s probably against the rules for you to leave me alone in this place. There could be a fire and nobody to get me out.”
“Or a flash flood or even a tsunami.”
“It’s not a joke.”
“Then you better start praying, Spivak. Because I’m leaving.”
“I could fucking hang myself in here and then your ass would be on the line, I bet.”
“Interesting idea. There would be a big investigation, I’m sure. But in the end it would come down to a guy who tried to kill a deputy with a wine bottle killing himself in a cell, and nobody will really give a shit. But I’m sure I’d get my wrists slapped, if that would make it worth it to you.”
Stilwell grabbed the keys to the John Deere as he left and locked the sub. Spivak happened to be correct. It was a violation of regulations to leave someone in custody unsupervised. If anything happened, Stilwell would get more than a slap on the wrist. The irony was that the PM watch was down to one deputy because Spivak had put the second deputy, Dunne, out of commission.
The Zane Grey was up on Chimes Tower Road and it offered its guests one of the best views of the harbor by day or night. Stilwell saw Esquivel’s UTV parked near the entrance. He found the lobby empty and the front desk unstaffed, but he heard raised voices from the right wing of the hotel and headed that way.