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They were almost to Kayley Wallace’s house when word came over the radio that she’d been detained after resisting arrest when she was pulled over. The detaining officers also suspected she’d been drinking.
Ryan immediately altered course and headed to meet the patrol car that had pulled her over. They found her sitting on the sidewalk in handcuffs, next to her silver Bentley, with two officers supervising her. When they pulled behind the group, Jessie mentally noted what Ryan said aloud a second later.
“We’re only about a half mile from the parkette where Gabby Silva was killed.”
Jessie nodded as they got out of the car and walked over to the woman. Kayley Wallace wore an expression comprised of both anger and fear. She was wearing tan pants and a maroon sweater, and her brown hair was flying everywhere in the wind. Ryan knelt down beside her.
“Hi, Mrs. Wallace,” he said quietly. “I’m Detective Hernandez. This is Ms. Hunt. Do you know why we’re here?”
“Because I wasn’t nice to your cop friends over there?” Wallace spat, nodding in the direction of the officers standing by their patrol car.
Even standing a few feet away, Jessie could smell the alcohol on Wallace’s breath. From Ryan’s quick wince, he’d clearly gotten a strong waft of it too.
“No,” he told her, “you were pulled over on suspicion of driving under the influence. But as long as we’re here chatting, I’m also interested in where you were going while inebriated before noon on a Wednesday.”
“First of all, I didn’t admit to drinking,” Wallace slurred belligerently, “and second, you wouldn’t believe where I was going if I told you.”
“Try me,” Ryan said. “I can be a very open-minded guy.”
“Okay,” she replied, staring him down with glassy eyes, “I’m looking for a murderer.”
“Can you explain what you mean by that?” Ryan asked, impressively not looking shocked at the answer.
Kayley Wallace eyed him dubiously, but then seemed to decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Two women I knew—from my very own neighborhood—were killed in the last two nights," she said. "You must have heard about it."
“It sounds familiar,” Ryan conceded.
“So then you get it,” Wallace said. “It’s got everyone on edge, and I thought that if I could find the killer, it would reassure everyone that they were safe again.”
“And you hoped to find this killer simply by driving around your neighborhood?” he asked, clearly trying to keep the judgment out of his voice. Jessie was impressed by the effort.
“I was looking for suspicious types,” Wallace insisted.
“Why not let the police do that?” he wondered.
She looked like she was about to mouth off, then stopped herself. After a long, boozy exhale, she answered.
“I need the good press,” she muttered.
“Because of your recent financial troubles,” Jessie suggested, speaking to the woman directly for the first time.
“How do you know about that?” Wallace demanded.
“Because we’re the ones investigating those murders,” Jessie told her, “and we’re looking at people who might have had a reason to harm Ava Martell and Gabriella Silva. To be honest, your name came up because of your recent struggles. It’s been theorized that maybe you resent the ‘haves’ now that you’re a ‘have-not.’”
To her surprise, Kayley Wallace didn’t get angry or defensive.
“I could see why you might think that,” she admitted, “but you’ve got it all wrong. Having a husband busted for corrupt acts that directly impacted your neighbors tends to sully your reputation. I’ve been persona non grata around here for months. So I had the idea that if I could catch this killer, it would get me in good again. I figured the only way I could get the stink of what Ron did off me was to tie my name to something positive. If I find the killer, I’m a hero, right?”
Jessie looked over at Ryan and could tell he was skeptical, but she was less so. To her, Kayley Wallace had never felt right for this. And as outlandish as her explanation was, Jessie found it more credible than the notion that this woman was their serial killer.
“Are you willing to let us look at your car and phone GPS data to confirm your whereabouts over the last few days?” she asked.
“That’s fine,” Wallace told her, “but I can tell you straight out if you want—I was visiting my husband. He’s in Wasco State Prison near Bakersfield. I drove up on Monday morning, saw him that afternoon, stayed in a local motel that night, and then drove back yesterday morning. So I wasn’t in town when Ava was killed. As for last night, I spent it at home with a Real Housewives marathon and a couple of bottles of pinot grigio.”
