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She had to go back to basics. She was a profiler. It was time to profile the killer from a fresh perspective, independent of all the noise around her. What was motivating this person to murder these women? What hole in their life did it fill for them?
The obvious fact was that these women were both fabulously wealthy, though neither achieved their fortune through their own efforts. Ava Martell’s parents were TV stars. Gabby Silva had married well and divorced even better. Did the murderer view these women as somehow unworthy of their wealth? Did the killer think that they were more entitled to it?
That was certainly possible, but Jessie didn’t feel like the theory quite worked. There was something more desperate about these killings. She recalled that while nothing of value was taken from either victim, they were both devoid of cash. It could just be that neither woman was carrying any. But Jessie wondered if the killer didn’t take the money for a more simple, crass reason: they needed it.
If that was true, then she was looking for someone who coveted the victims’ wealth as much as their power. Maybe they had lost it and wanted it back. Maybe they never had it in the first place. She considered that perhaps she and Ryan should be looking for people that both victims knew who seemed to be doing well but were actually in dire straits. Maybe these murders were the result of a toxic cocktail of jealousy and desperation. Who fit that bill?
Jessie opened her eyes and stood up. She didn't have a suspect in mind, but she thought she knew how to find one. Hurriedly, she left the courtyard and rushed to the Research department, ignoring her frozen nose and fingers. When she stepped into the room, she found Ryan, Jamil, and Beth all hunched over computer monitors, unmoving and seemingly without purpose.
“I have an idea,” she said loudly to them all, making Jamil nearly slip out of his seat.
“What?” Ryan asked, running his fingers through his short, dark hair. “Do you have a new suspect?”
“Not yet. But I think we will soon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Charlotte Stevenson did her best to be polite.
When Nina Kirby had cornered her at their house last night, she thought it was to commiserate over losing Gabby. And it was—for a while. But then Nina transitioned into talking about Charlotte’s work raising funds for various arts education programs. That was fine, as Charlotte was always happy to discuss her passion and potentially reel in a new benefactor.
But Nina turned out to be more interested in providing legal representation for the groups that she supported. And even though Charlotte made it clear that most of them already had legal teams, Nina had somehow convinced her to meet for brunch to see if she could offer more robust services.
That was why she was sitting at the Brentwood Country Mart at 11:45 on Wednesday, when she would much rather have been at home, going over the program for the new season of the Westside Youth Drama Conservatory. But these were the compromises one made to be neighborly. And in light of the painful losses of two friends from the neighborhood, this seemed like a small gesture she couldn’t justify avoiding.
She was already regretting it. After fifteen minutes of small talk, Nina launched into her pitch.
“I know you said that some of these institutions already have representation,” Nina said, “and I would never want to step on anyone’s toes, but let’s be real. Maybe some big firm makes sense for the L.A. Opera or the Geffen Playhouse. But some of the arts organizations you fight for are hyper-local and they should be represented by a local firm. Don’t you think that a smaller outfit like mine and Rhett’s would be more invested in positive outcomes than some giant firm that only cares about billing?”
“That hasn’t been my experience, Nina,” Charlotte said. “Everyone I’ve worked with has been devoted to the specific group in question and really taken the time to dig in.”
“I have no doubt,” Nine agreed, “but on some level these uber-firms are checking a box. That’s not what we’re about.”
"I hear what you're saying," Charlotte said, "and I'll certainly consider it, but I can't make any promises. Frankly, I'm surprised that you two, being what you yourself called a 'smaller outfit,' are willing to devote this kind of time to pro bono projects."
The expression on Nina’s face told Charlotte that the idea of doing this work free of charge hadn’t been on her radar. The woman covered quickly but not quickly enough. Charlotte knew this wasn’t going to work out.
“Well, like I said,” Nina replied, “these big firms can afford to take the hit because it looks good, takes the edge off the ‘shark’ perception that so many folks have of them. And Rhett and I would certainly be open to reducing our fees in order to help out, but I think you’ll find that having neighborhood lawyers fighting the good fight for you is worth the cost compared to faceless suits.”
Charlotte tried to be as diplomatic as she could under the circumstances.
“Nina,” she said, smiling sympathetically, “it sounds like you’re suggesting that we pay for the services of a firm with fewer resources instead of availing ourselves of the services of a firm who has a bigger team and won’t charge us at all. I don’t think that’s realistic. Almost every arts organization I fundraise for is a non-profit. Some are just scraping by. They can’t afford legal bills on top of that.”
As gentle as she had been, she could still see how her words injected a palpable desperation into her brunch companion.
“I understand,” Nina said, her tone plaintive, “but you see, we’re local. We just care more.”
Charlotte felt bad for her. The woman seemed to have lost the thread a little, though that didn't speak hugely well of her. If a conversation with a mellow neighborhood arts fundraiser flustered her, how could she handle the nitty-gritty of legal battles?
“I appreciate your interest, really,” she insisted, “but I want to be honest with you—I think we’re probably going to stick with our current representation. And I hate to say that and rush off, but I actually have a performance to attend by one of these very groups, the Brentwood Children’s Choral Ensemble, at 1 p.m.. I’m on the board and I’m expected to be there early, so I really need to be leaving. But I’ll take care of the bill on my way out.”
Nina looked briefly stunned, but then seemed to snap out of it. She shook her head vigorously.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’ve got this.”
“No, I feel bad for having wasted your time,” Charlotte objected.
"Not at all," Nina said, pulling a wad of bills out of her purse. "I appreciate you hearing me out. I would just ask that you keep us in mind if your confidence ever wanes in these other firms. And, of course, we're available for any other legal needs you might have. We're always on call."
