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She feltawhirling kaleidoscopeofmemories spinning throughherhead.Images and words crashing against her mind’s eye like waves on the shore. She first thought of Ben, then her interview with David Harper’s ex-wife. She remembered how David had consigned to homelessness and how it was reminiscent of Japanese CEOs killing themselves out of some misplaced honor. Then this little spark led her down a winding trail of similar thoughts, landing on her interview with Joanne’s ex-husband.
What had he said?
I know Joanne was seeing someone. She was seeing one of the execs at her workplace. Foreign name. I want to say Hiko-something, maybe Hiro?
A spark of understanding ignited, forming a chain of thought that linked together the disparate pieces in her mind.
As consciousness came back, she felt her gaze glued to a particular name on the list of storage unit owners. It pulled her in, like a sparkling jewel in a field of weeds.
The name was Hiromu Takahashi.
“Ripley,” Ella said in lieu of an exclamation. “Unit number three-oh-four. Look at it.”
Ella’s partner clutched the paper and found the line in question. “Hiromu… something. What about it?”
“Didn’t Chris say Joanne was seeing someone new? A foreign guy from her work with a name like that?”
“You tell me. You’re Miss Memory Bank.”
“Yes he did.”
Ripley scrutinized the name a little further. “I mean, it’s not a solid link, but according to this he started renting the unit a week after David.”
“And it’s only four units away.”
Ripley already had her laptop back open and was furiously typing. “Nice catch. Looks like that memory of yours is good for something.”
“I have my moments,” Ella said, keeping her nerves at bay. It was just a name on a piece of paper and didn’t mean anything at all. Right now, the last thing they needed was a wild leap that would result in nothing but crushing disappointment.
“Christ on a bike,” Ripley said. “Dark, get your ass over here.”
Ella leaped out of her seat, around to Ripley’s side of the table. She was on the local police database, staring at the file of the person of interest.
“Oh crap, he’s got a criminal record,” Ella said, fighting against the mounting exhilaration. The first check in the potential suspect column.
“Insider trading,” Ripley said, “but now he works at…”
“Avon Textiles. Where Joanne worked.”
“This is him,” Ripley said with a slam on the table. Ella welcomed the rush of excitement that raced through her veins, greeting it like an old friend. This man, Hiromu Takahashi, was a good fit for Joanne’s boyfriend, and he had a storage unit only four doors down from David’s.
It was getting into early evening, but Ella knew they had to pay this man a visit.
“What are we waiting for?” she said. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ella checked the time before knocking on Hiromu’s door. Nearly nine p.m. Still plenty of time to catch a murderer before the day was out.
The suspect’s home was a vast, sprawling estate around three miles outside of Alfa Creek.Its tall wallsandcolumnsofmarble beliedalifeofluxuryandexcess - affluence earned not through honest labor, butjudging by Hiromu Takahashi’s criminal record, hiscorporate wrongdoings. The lavish home was tangible proof that karma didn’t exist, not in this world.
Ripley went first,poundingon the doorwith a clenched fist. Ella looked up and saw a light flickering on the first floor followed by the twitch of a curtain. Someone was home, and that person had spotted them.
A minute passed, and so Ella knocked with slightly less force than would shatter the door down the middle. “Mr. Takahashi, please open up,” she shouted.
A moment later, the door clicked open and a hesitant face appeared in the crack. A tiny figure, camouflaged amongst the shadows. “Hello?” the man asked.
Ella flashed her badge and said, “Mr. Takahashi, we’re with the FBI. We need to talk to you.”
