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“She went to college and got a degree in marketing,” Jamil answered. “After working for a couple of studios around town in their publicity departments, she started her own production company and became a producer, making mostly small but well-regarded independent films. One even got an Oscar nomination a few years ago.”
“So that’s how she made her living?” Ryan had wondered.
“Not really,” Jamil told them. “None of her films have turned a profit. But from what I can tell, she didn’t need to make a living. I’d guess with the interest she’d accumulated from her parents’ estate since their deaths, her net worth was in the $200 million range by now. The producing seems more of passion than a necessity. Plus, her husband was doing well too. He’s a senior vice president with Deluxe Resorts and Hotels. I’m still gathering information on him. I figured you’d be interested.”
“You figured right,” Ryan had replied. “Definitely update us when you have more.”
Armed with those basics, they pulled up next to a squad car and got out. On the drive over to Veterans Park, the marine layer had rolled in, covering the whole area in thick blanket of fog. An officer standing guard told them to follow the main road from the park entrance, which would eventually lead them to Officer Sturgil.
Jessie could only see about twenty feet in front of her and, despite knowing it was ridiculous, couldn’t help feeling unsettled, as if someone, or something, might reach through the mist and grab her. She tried to look casual as she moved closer to Ryan.
After half a minute, she saw figures in the distance. As they got closer, she identified four police officers and several crime scene unit technicians just off to the left of the road. The techs were all hovering around what appeared to be a body near the base of a large tree. About fifteen feet from that scene, she could see the outline of a car, which looked to have slammed into an embankment.
“HSS?” one of the four officers asked, stepping toward them. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He looked to be in his late twenties.
“That’s right,” Ryan said. “I’m Detective Hernandez. This is Jessie Hunt, our unit’s criminal profiler.”
“Thanks very much for coming,” the officer said, extending his hand. “I’m Burt Sturgil. I was asked to maintain the scene until you arrived.”
“You want to give us the lay of the land?” Ryan asked, diving right in.
“Sure,” Sturgil said. “A runner noticed the car just before seven this morning. He saw that the driver’s door was open and investigated. That’s when he saw the body over by the tree and called it in.”
“Are there any cameras in the park?” Jessie wondered.
“No,” Sturgill said. "And in theory, there shouldn't have been any people here overnight either. It’s only open from sunrise to sunset. The sun set last night around 4:45 and rose this morning at 6:30. So there’s a big window where this could have happened without anyone knowing.”
“Okay, what else do we know?” Ryan pressed.
“I don’t want to draw any conclusions that you’ll want to evaluate yourself,” Sturgill said, “but it doesn’t look like this was just a robbery. The victim’s purse was still with her, along with all her credit cards, though there was no cash found. Also, her phone was near her body, though it was smashed to bits. We’re not sure if that was an accident or if it was intentionally destroyed. In addition, no jewelry appears to be taken. She’s wearing her wedding ring and what looks like an expensive necklace.”
“Anything else?” Ryan asked.
“Yes,” Sturgill continued. “So far, there are no fingerprints. And initial indications are that she was beaten with a blunt object. Her head was hit multiple times, including in the face at least once. The back of her skull was crushed in. We haven’t found a murder weapon. But that may not have been what ultimately killed her.”
“What do you mean?” Jessie wanted to know.
“You’ll see,” the officer replied. “But her head is wrapped in some kind of plastic wrap, like what you’d put over a container of leftovers. She may have suffocated. I'm no detective, but it doesn't seem like this was road rage or some kind of crime of passion. Whoever did this had a blunt instrument and plastic wrap in their car. That sounds planned to me.”
“Thanks, Sturgil,” Ryan said and looked over at Jessie.
She nodded that she was ready, and they walked over to the body. The CSU techs cleared a path for them. Ava Martell, thirty-four, was lying face-up on a patch of dirt near the tree trunk. As Sturgil warned, her head was covered in plastic wrap, though her brown hair was visible. Blood had leaked out of the plastic wrapping and mixed in with the dirt before drying into small, muddy pools next to her body. She was wearing black slacks and a navy blue cashmere sweater. Her eyes, to the extent that Jessie could see them, were squeezed tightly shut.
Jessie knelt down beside her, taking care not to disturb the scene. Though it pained her to do so, she tried to imagine Ava Martell’s last moments alive. She pictured her either running from her car or being dragged from it. She noticed bruising on the woman’s fingers and forearms, defensive wounds likely received while trying to block the blows from the murder weapon. She wondered if the strikes to Ava’s head had knocked her unconscious or if she’d been dimly awake when the killer pulled the plastic wrap around her face, adding even more horror to her nightmare.
Jessie hoped that the woman was either knocked out or dead when she suffered that final indignity. And as she stared at Ava Martell, a new feeling took hope’s place—fury. Whoever had committed this unspeakable act of cruelty and violence was out there somewhere, breathing, walking, maybe even enjoying a bite to eat.
Those were all things Ava would never do again. And Jessie aimed to make sure that her killer paid for what they’d done.
CHAPTER SIX
Hannah Dorsey was late for class.
As she rushed along the tree-lined path that led to her freshman Exploratory Data Analysis class, she tried not to let her thoughts drift to unproductive areas. She needed to be focused for this professor. But she found herself letting her mind wander anyway.
Maybe she shouldn’t have made the breakup call with Chris just before leaving for class. After all, he’d been under the impression that he was in the middle of a pleasant chat with his long-distance girlfriend while on a lunch break between his own classes at the Rhode Island School of Design. But she made a snap decision that the time was right.
“I think we should press pause,” she’d told him euphemistically. “I’m so focused on classes that I don’t really have time for anything else. Maybe we see how we feel when you come back to town over winter break.”
