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“Thank God,” said Mike.
Ella made a mental note to check this footage out for herself once she’d commandeered an office space, to see what insights it might offer into their killer. Even a small shadow could reveal intimate details about a person. Psychological profiles were jigsaws and little tidbits about the person made up the pieces.
“Mr. Bennett, you referred to this victim as David. You knew him?” she asked.
The owner shrugged. “Yes and no. We had a pretty detailed conversation the day he started renting the unit. The man was at the end of his rope.”
“How so?”
“Depressed, anxious. He used to be a high roller but he lost a ton of money apparently. A lot of what he said went over my head but I get the impression it was bad investments. Then his hot young wife kicked him to the curb, or so he said.”
Ripley asked, “Was he living here?”
“I’m sure he stayed some nights. I don’t usually allow it but I looked the other way in his case. I think he was drifting, to be honest.”
Ella looked back towards the unit and tried to imagine a day in the victim’s life, the day his lover cast him to the wind. It wasn’t a clear picture, but the beats were there. The sudden heartache, the gut punch, the painful separation of the cord that tied you to your life partner.
But even so, how did that relate to the man’s death? If she knew this information an hour ago, she might have considered David’s death a suicide as Ripley had suggested. But the cause of death and bizarre positioning of the body told a different story.
She asked, “Mr. Bennett, do you have David’s details on hand? Including his old address?”
“Yes, we need an address for bill payments. It’s all on file.”
“We’ll need it.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Ella nodded. Mike disappeared down the corridor. Ripley took over.
“Sheriff, we’ll see what we can discover about the victim. Please get copies of the CCTV tapes and scour them for anything suspicious, anything that might reveal our perp’s identity.”
“You got it.”
The next stop was David’s old house. They needed to talk to this ex-partner of his, this so-called hot young wife who so willingly left David Harper out to dry. It was no secret that around forty percent of murders in America involved the victim’s spouse in some capacity, and financial incentives were the number one motivator.
And the cracked glass in David’s picture frame suggested that he and his ex-wife weren’t exactly on great terms.
CHAPTER SIX
The woman sitting across from Ella did not seem the slightest bit concerned that two members of the FBI were in her house. Ella took a moment to admire the opulent décor of Leslie Harper’s living room:lavish furniture, framed artwork, the finely crafted rug caressing her soles. It all created a surreal environment that seemed at odds with the topic of discussion. As Ella adjusted herself on the white leather chair, she thought this too comfortable a position to be talking about death. It was a strange juxtapositionofgrandeur and gravity, a reminder that even inthefaceof themost serious matters, life went on.
“You’re aware of what happened to your ex-husband?” Ripley asked. Greetings had been minimal and forced, as though Leslie saw the ordeal as nothing more than a formality. Now the young woman, probably still in her twenties, platinum blonde hair cut off at the chin, blew her freshly painted nails dry.
“Not my ex. We’re still married,” the woman said. “But I haven’t seen him for a few months.”
Ella asked, “Why not?”
Leslie looked at her like she’d asked an unanswerable question. “Do you see your exes, honey?”
No,Ella thought.He doesn’t talk to me and the one before that died my living room.“Fair comment.”
“No communication? Nothing about the house, family, finances, anything like that?” asked Ripley.
“This is my house. David signed it over to me. He doesn’t have any family up here. No kids. We had nothing to talk about.”
Ella jumped right into the burning questions. Leslie might have been the trophy wife, but she seemed pretty blunt. With interviewees like this, you didn’t have to beat around the bush. “How did David end up destitute?”
Leslie reached to her side, picked up a magazine, and dropped it again. Looked like she was the kind of person whose hands always had to be on the go. “He got conned by some sharks, basically. Invested in some stupid wine vineyard that turned out to not exist. I don’t know how much he pumped into it, but it was well over a hundred grand. Then he threw more cash at it when nothing happened. God knows why.”
