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Janet Cressey’s mouth twisted violently as she tried to stop the words from coming out of her mouth, but it was no good.
“Maybe because she is a bitch,” she blurted out. “She thinks she’s god’s gift because she won the husband lottery, then she goes and tosses it all away like it’s trash. Someone ought to put her in her place. Is it a crime to say that now? Are you going to arrest me for terroristic threats or something?”
“No,” Jessie said calmly, “but we might arrest you for murder.”
Cressey opened her mouth to offer a comeback, but then the words seemed to connect in her brain, and she closed it for a second.
“Wait, what?”
Jessie laid it out for her.
“Gabriella Silva was murdered not long after you left the fundraiser last night,” she said. “You had just threatened her, which was overheard by a witness. You have longstanding animosity toward her because of the whole ‘Nolan’ love triangle situation. Additionally, you were apparently anxious about your husband’s potential legal troubles. And you were clearly drinking heavily last night, which tends to impair good judgment. So you can understand why we’re here.”
Janet looked at her through watery eyes, and then without warning, leaned over and threw up on the porch. Jessie and Ryan had to leap back to avoid getting sprayed.
“What the hell?” Ryan barked.
“Sorry,” Cressey said unconvincingly. “Look, the way you put it, it sounds bad, but I swear I didn’t do anything to Gabby. She was talking smack about getting a ton of booty out of the divorce with Nolan. It pissed me off, and I might have said something. Then I spiraled a little. I had a few extra drinks at the fundraiser and started feeling crappy because of it, so I left early, before the thing even ended. Then I came back here and made the bad decision to keep drinking, which resulted in what just happened.”
“And the stuff in your hair, I’m guessing?” Jessie asked, pointing at the clumps.
Cressey reached up and felt her hair. It didn’t take long to find what Jessie was referencing.
“I had a rough night,” she muttered, “some of it leaning over the toilet bowl. I guess I didn’t always remember to hold my hair back.”
“That’s a compelling story, Mrs. Cressey,” Ryan said, unmoved, “but can you prove it? Is your husband home to verify your alibi?”
“He’s on a business trip in New York, talking to lawyers about the…troubles you referenced.”
“So what can you offer us that would eliminate you as a suspect?" Ryan pressed, this time from a safe distance, in case she reacted badly again.
“I don’t know,” Cressey said, rubbing her eyes aggressively before stopping suddenly. “Hold on, can’t you guys check with the rideshare driver I used or just look at the record of the trip. I was too toasted to drive home. He picked me up and brought me right here.”
“Your house is less than five minutes from the crime scene,” Jessie reminded her. “What was to prevent you from driving there after you got dropped off?”
“I told you I left my car at the hotel,” Cressey said belligerently.
“You’re a one-car family?” Jessie asked skeptically, trying not to let the woman’s attitude get under her skin.
That stumped her for a moment, but then another idea came to her.
“Wait,” she said. “You need proof that I was here, right? There are cameras everywhere. On the doorbell, above the front door, on the lamp post. There are another half dozen surrounding the house. Plus, there are a ton inside, even in our bedroom."
“Why?” Jessie asked before wishing she hadn’t.
“It’s not what you think,” Cressey said. “Trent is worried about the feds using a warrant to search the house. He wanted to have cameras everywhere to see where they poked around, including the bedroom. If you look at that video, you’ll probably find lots of footage of me getting in and out of bed to run to the bathroom when I wasn’t tossing and turning all night. If it helps prove I was here, you’re welcome to it.”
Jessie looked over at Ryan unhappily. If what Cressey said could be verified, it would eliminate her as a suspect and put them back in the position of having two murder victims in two nights and no good suspects to pursue. She could tell he was thinking the same thing before he turned back to Cressey.
“We will need to see that footage,” he told her, “all of it.”
Janet Cressey opened her mouth to respond, but instead of speaking, she threw up again.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
As she sat at her desk in the bullpen of Central Station, Jessie tried her best to hide how she was feeling.
She knew that setbacks were part of every case, but she hadn’t worked one in a while, and she was out of practice at navigating the inevitable ups and downs. And this was definitely a “down.”
