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Chapter Seventeen
Friday evening, J.J. finally phoned as Jason was dressing for dinner at Eli Humphrey’s.
“Guess who’s coming to dinner?”
Jason pulled on a black silk T-shirt and tucked it into his black jeans. He studied his reflection in the guest-room mirror. The result was stylish if a little sinister. He answered briskly. “Sam. He phoned last night.”
“Oh, right. Well, he’s taking the whole team out to dinner.” By team, J.J. presumably meant the members of the Roadside Ripper symposium.
“Nothing like serial killers to give everyone an appetite.”
Jason, already running late, began the inevitable search for his missing boot. How was it possible in a room this size to lose a fu— Ah. There it was. In the closet.
“Yeah.” J.J. cleared his throat. “So, anyway, the reason I couldn’t get back to you earlier was that George Potts had me sit in on the—” He stopped. Tried again. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
Jason zipped his boot, straightened, and sighed. “The good news.” He was pretty sure what the “good” news and the “bad” news were.
Very rarely did J.J. worry about other people’s bad news, but he gave another of those uncomfortable throat scratches. “Unfortunately, my good news is more bad news for you.”
“Russell, will you spit it out?”
J.J. blurted, “Guess what? I’m back on the Ripper taskforce!”
Jason absorbed that for a moment before offering a doubtful, “Congratulations?”
“Hell yeah, it’s congratulations. Being selected for this taskforce is a major career coup.”
Funny, it hadn’t been a coup when J.J. had been partnered with Adam Darling. But Jason held his tongue. He got it. Adam and J.J. had basically been stuck on morgue patrol. Being handpicked by Sam Kennedy to represent the LA Field Office on the new and improved Ripper taskforce was a very different thing.
“Better you than me, buddy.”
“You?” Russell laughed at the very idea, which was a little annoying, but not unfair given that Jason had zero desire to be anywhere near a serial killer taskforce/symposium/circle-jerk.
Okay, not fair. It’s not like Sam was putting together this symposium of the stars for fun.
“Which means, unfortunately, I’ll be taking part in the symposium all weekend.” Russell actually sounded apologetic. “So…”
“I’m on my own,” Jason finished. “It’s okay. I knew this was coming. George hinted this morning he was going to have to reassign you.”
“It’s not really a reassignment. The symposium will be over on Monday. We can pick up from there. The taskforce isn’t going to take all my time. Even if it does, Kennedy’s dead set on closing this case now. Once and for all.”
“Right.” Jason appreciated J.J.’s unexpected show of loyalty, but from here on out, he was not going to have a spare minute.
“And now that we know Berkle had an accomplice, it’s just a matter of time before we nail him.”
“Is that for sure? Berkle had an accomplice?”
“Maybe accomplice isn’t the right word. Colleague? Collaborator? They shared kill logs.”
Jason opened his mouth, then closed it. Russell shouldn’t have shared that intel. Likely, the only reason he had was Sam and Jason’s relationship.
Into his silence, J.J. said with rare diffidence, “I was pretty sure Kennedy detests me. In fact, I didn’t think there was a chance in hell he’d have me on the taskforce again. Did you say something to him?”
Jason smiled sourly at his reflection. “He wouldn’t care what I had to say. You’re on the taskforce because you were on the original taskforce with Adam Darling and because George has confidence in you. You earned your place on the team, Russell.”
“Right?” J.J.’s normal cockiness reasserted itself. “But listen, I do have news on our case. I got the forensic review of Ono’s autopsy, and according to the pathologist, the bruising Ono sustained was far more likely to have occurred during that previous altercation than it was during sex play.”
“Which is what we thought.”
“Yes. But there are marks on Ono’s throat not inconsistent with fingernails clawing at the cord around her throat.”
“Not inconsistent? Meaning consistent? Not inconclusive?”
“It’s conclusive enough that the ME is changing cause of death from Accidental to Undetermined.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. So that’s basically it. Right? That’s what the senator wanted.”
“It’s a start, yes.”
“It’s enough to get LAPD to take another look at the case. Between the two of us, we’ve come up with more than enough to warrant some follow-up.”
It wasn’t that simple, of course. Kapszukiewicz would make the call on whether to take this new information to the state attorney.
Jason said slowly, “True.”
“It seems to me like our work is done. It’s not our job to solve her damn murder.”
Again, J.J. was correct. They were not in the business of solving whodunits. The scope of their case was narrow: review LAPD’s investigation and advise as to whether there had been missteps or shortcuts or oversights.
That sensation of the rug being pulled out from under him? That was the rug being pulled out from under him. Or at least his investigation.
“Maybe I’m missing something,” J.J. said. “But is there anything really left to do but write the report and hand it off to Kapszukiewicz?”
No. Not really.
“There are a couple of loose ends I want to follow up on first,” Jason said.
“Uh, the last time there were a couple of loose ends you wanted to follow up on, you wound up being used for target practice in a basement. Remember that?”
It was uncharacteristically tactful of J.J. not to mention what else had happened when Jason had decided to ignore the parameters of his investigation. Jason had not forgotten, and he was not about to risk getting called back on the carpet.
Jason sighed. “You’re right. I’ll do this dinner tonight and wrap things up at the college tomorrow.”
“Jesus, take the win, West.”
“Yep. Thanks.” He added, “Enjoy your dinner.”
“I plan on it.” J.J.’s voice faded out, then came back. “Oh. By the way.”
“Hm?”
“You’re wrong about Kennedy not caring what you have to say. It’s in his eyes when you walk into a room. For one split second, he almost stops wishing everyone on the planet was dead.”
J.J. was laughing as he disconnected.
* * * * *
