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“Nina, let’s stop playing these games,” she said, as if she was already exasperated with her. “We know that your meeting with Ava on Monday went badly. Whatever happened, you feared she was going to reveal something that would undo the life you'd built here, so you told Rhett, and he killed her. My question is: did he do it on his own, or did you put him up to it?"
“You’re crazy,” Nina said, shaking her head. “I heard you suffered a traumatic brain injury and it’s clear that it’s still affecting you. This kind of allegation is truly sick.”
Jessie continued on, undeterred.
“We have the GPS data to prove it, Nina,” she said matter-of-factly. “In addition, we know that you killed Gabby Silva last night at the Hanover Parkette. Did she uncover some uncomfortable truth about you as well? After eliminating one person who got in your way, was it that much easier to do it a second time?”
She paused, as if waiting for Nina to confess. But she knew that wasn’t likely, so she pressed on, hoping that the accumulation of accusations would unsettle the woman enough to make a mistake.
“You took that used car Rhett bought last week, the one without the GPS, and drove to meet Gabby, but you left your phone back at the house so it would seem like you were home. And you beat in her skull with that rock, Nina.”
She was about to go on when she and Ryan got a simultaneous text from Jamil. She paused to look at it. It read: Rhett Kirby’s cell phone and car are at his house. Officers are there but getting no response. They plan to breach. No sign of the Tercel at the home. APB out with description of man and vehicle. Jessie looked up at Ryan, and he nodded for her to continue.
“You said Rhett was meeting with a client when we spoke earlier, but his car and phone are at home,” she said. “Where is he? Are you two planning to silence someone else, Nina? Are you that desperate to keep your situation a secret?”
Nina didn’t answer, dramatically pressing her lips together instead. Jessie sensed that the woman wasn’t going to give up her husband at this point and tried to think of another way to break her resolve. There had to be a point of vulnerability she was missing.
“Let’s move her back to the office,” Jessie said. “Maybe we can talk some sense into her.”
Ryan guided Nina back to the inner office and sat her in a visitor’s chair. As she adjusted herself in the seat, their phones buzzed again. It was another text from Jamil reading: No sign of Rhett Kirby at the house.
Jessie tried to control the desperation rising in her chest. Where was Kirby? How could they locate him? Her eyes fell on Nina’s desk, and along with it, her phone. She recalled the call that Nina had briefly taken in here earlier. At the time it had seemed innocuous, but looking back now, it was awfully cryptic, as if she didn’t want them to know who she was speaking with.
Jessie picked up the phone and hit the button to dial the last incoming number. A man with what sounded like a Middle Eastern accent answered, “Falafel House.”
“This is a restaurant?” she confirmed.
“Yes, Falafel House,” he repeated. “What’s your order?”
“I don’t have an order,” she told him. “I’m calling from the Los Angeles Police Department. Did a man just use this phone recently, possibly a customer? He would have been white, tall, with black hair.”
“Yes,” the man said. “He was on too long. Very rude.”
“Do you know where he went after his call?” Jessie asked.
“No, very busy today,” he said. “Is that everything?”
“One more question,” she said. “Where are you located?”
As he gave her the address, she said it out loud to Ryan, who punched it into his phone. Jessie thanked the man and hung up.
“It’s here in Brentwood, on Sunset, a seven-minute drive away,” he said, holding out the map on the screen for her. “Shall we head over there?”
“I don’t think we have a choice, although he could be anywhere by now,” Jessie noted before turning to Nina. “Where is your husband headed? Is there someone else you two are looking to knock off?”
Nina remained silent, but the question stirred a thought in Jessie's head.
“We should go,” Ryan pressed, “or at least send some units to that address.”
“Hold on a second,” Jessie told him, going over to Nina’s desk.
She scanned the area, then pulled out the lawyer’s daily calendar book and flipped to today’s date. Listed on it was one event: an 11 a.m. brunch meeting with Charlotte Stevenson at the Brentwood Country Mart.
“How did your meeting with Charlotte go?” she asked Nina, who flinched slightly at the question. “Based on your reaction, I’m guessing not very well.”
She looked over at Ryan.
“I think we know who the next intended victim is,” she told him. “We need to find out where Charlotte Stevenson is right now.”
