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As they did, Ryan looked at Jessie and gave her a little wink, an apparent nod to his “more naughty than nice” demeanor.
“Don’t get cocky,” she whispered, though she couldn’t fight off a small smile.
Tina led them through a series of hallways, past multiple glassed-in rooms that were supposed to appear sleekly modern but looked more like high-tech detention areas than offices. They eventually arrived at an area along the back of the thirty-fourth floor with an expansive view of the western half of Los Angeles.
A woman in her forties with glasses and gray hair tied in a bun sat at a small, glass desk outside the main office. Inside the office, a man Jessie recognized as Harrison Buhner sat at his desk, hunched over and on the phone, looking away from them. He was wearing a navy sport coat, a dress shirt without a tie, and casual tan slacks.
“Gwen, these folks are here to speak with Mr. Buhner,” Tina said, before adding in a whisper, “they’re with the police.”
Gwen, whose bored, unruffled energy suggested that she’d seen it all and wasn’t the type who was easily flustered, raised her eyebrows ever so slightly.
“I thought you were coming at three,” she noted.
“We heard that Mr. Buhner was here now,” Ryan said, “so we figured he wouldn’t want to waste a moment that could be used helping us find his wife’s killer.”
Tina’s jaw dropped open. Apparently she didn’t know about Ava’s death.
“Okay,” Gwen said with a shrug, apparently not in the mood to be a guard dog for her boss. “Go on in. He’s on the phone with the funeral home right now.”
Ryan nodded and pushed open the glass door, holding it for Jessie, who walked in quietly.
“So you don’t even have her body yet?” Buhner asked the person on the phone, unaware that he had visitors. After listening for a moment, he continued. “I don’t understand why I have to be the one to identify her. Can’t someone else do it and then I’ll come to your facility once she’s there?”
“Why don’t you want to identify her body?” Ryan asked.
“Whoa!” Buhner shouted, nearly jumping out of his chair in surprise. “Who the hell are you?”
For the third time in the last few minutes, Ryan held out his badge and ID.
“I’m Detective Hernandez with the LAPD,” he answered. “This is my colleague, Ms. Hunt. We’re here about your wife.”
“I’ll have to call you back,” Buhner said into the phone and hung up without waiting for a response.
Then he glared at Ryan with red, puffy eyes. Jessie imagined that under other circumstances, the man would be handsome, with his brown hair tightly-shorn in a Caesar-style cut, and his square jaw and sculpted cheekbones. But not today.
“I thought you weren’t coming for another couple of hours,” he objected.
“We heard you were back in town,” Ryan said sharply. “Besides time is precious. We’re trying to solve your wife’s murder. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, of course not,” Buhner replied unconvincingly.
“Why don’t you want to identify your wife’s body?” Ryan asked again.
Buhner appeared briefly bewildered before he was able to offer an answer.
“Ava’s my wife. I was told she was beaten to death. I’m afraid that if I see her like that, I’ll never be able to unsee it.”
The man looked haggard and drained to Jessie, though never having met him, she couldn’t tell if that was due to genuine grief or anxiety at the consequences of what he might have done to his wife.
“You won’t be able to,” Ryan assured him, “but it’s still your responsibility. And until you identify her, the medical examiner won’t even consider releasing her to your chosen funeral home. But I’m going to save you some time, Mr. Buhner, by telling you that your wife’s body isn’t going to be released today, or anytime soon for that matter.”
“Why not?” Buhner asked.
“Because she was murdered,” Ryan told him simply, “which means that an autopsy will be conducted if it hasn’t already. Her body won’t be released until we’ve determined that we have everything we need for our investigation.”
“So I don’t need to go then?” Buhner asked, sounding relieved.
Jessie couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.
