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They made their way to the back of the binder where Brent had included Rivkin’s original paperwork covering the first two years of the investigation. They read over pages of notes, line by line, and soon realized that Rivkin was a thorough detective with a meticulous habit of notetaking. On the afternoon of the murders, Rivkin had ordered a review of all the traffic stops within five miles of the vacation rental going back three days before the murders.
“Rivkin must’ve thought the killer had done a few dry runs,” Lucien decided. “And hoped to catch him with a traffic stop. Maybe Rivkin wasn’t such a bad cop after all. It was clever, an old-school way of doing things before CCTV became a way of life.”
“Yeah. Where is CCTV when you need it?” she joked as she read through Rivkin’s notes. “So Rivkin thought the killer might’ve gotten sloppy and got pulled over by the cops for speeding? If that info is buried in here somewhere, then why did he put the blame on Trey?”
“Good point. But Rivkin never really solved the case. We’re trying to rectify that.”
They spent an hour scouring the detective’s scrawled notes and trying to decipher his handwriting. In some instances, his penmanship was so bad they took to making up words knowing it wasn’t what the cop meant to write. But the laughter broke up the monotony of the situation. Making jokes about some of the repetitive entries kept them from giving up.
“Here’s one that says the driver was a scantily clad female,” Brogan relayed. “Define scantily clad.”
“The cop pulled her over at five-oh-eight in the morning for weaving along the roadway.”
Brogan read the entry. “But that stop occurred near the tide pools, nowhere near Lynley Circle.”
Lucien cracked up. “Yeah, but did you read her excuse? She said she was on her way to work at the Marine Discovery Center and had to get dressed in the car.”
“Rough night, hungover, one-night stand, slow dresser,” Brogan remarked, ticking off excuses. “All of those mentioned above. Or take your pick.”
She suddenly turned serious. “Wait a sec. Here’s the list of traffic stops from the neighborhood. Look down toward the middle of the page. At 5:57 on the morning of June 7th, a patrol officer stopped a white Chevrolet cargo van that ran a red light and zoomed through the intersection at Shaffer and Delaware. That’s heading out of the neighborhood roughly twenty-seven minutes after the murders.”
“And right before reaching the Coast Highway. Let me see that. The officer’s report said the man acted nervous, was red in the face, and sweating like he’d run a marathon. The driver tried to talk his way out of a ticket but eventually cooperated, handing over his driver’s license.”
Brogan yanked the list out of Lucien’s hand. “Vincent Jarreau was the name on the license. The officer wrote him up for going fifty in a thirty-five-mile zone and running a red light.”
“Who the hell is Vincent Jarreau?”
“No idea. But whoever Vincent is, he could’ve had those kids in the back of the van.” Images of the children tied up and scared flashed through Brogan’s head.
“I wonder if Pollock has any ties to this Jarreau guy?”
“What if he has ties to Dr. Aaron Deming?” Brogan snapped. “You need to get off the Pollock train and haul ass out of the tunnel vision.”
Before Lucien could respond, the doorbell rang, interrupting their bickering. Brogan picked up her phone to study the security camera view of the front door. “It’s Jade. Hold that argument.”
A few minutes later, she returned to the dining room with Jade, who made her entrance wearing a flowing orange and blue maxi dress, sandals, bright beads, and multiple necklaces dangling around her neck.
“Birk wanted me to let you know he and Beckett got called out on a search and rescue. They’re on their way to Redwood Valley, looking for two teenagers who went missing in the Mendocino National Forest last night. They’re obviously bringing Brodie and Journey along in a joint effort to help the Sheriff’s Department. But they’re also taking their heavy diving equipment.”
“Water must be involved,” Brogan concluded. “I hope the search is successful. As you can see, we’re in the middle of the Dolworth case. Still. Would you like coffee?”
“Only if it’s no trouble,” Jade murmured, circling the table, staring at the organized piles of stuff taken from the binder and stacked in order.
“I’ll make a fresh pot,” Lucien offered. “It’ll give me time to clear my head.”
“No need,” Jade clarified. “I’m fine, really I am. I don’t need more caffeine to energize me or my talkative mood.”
Brogan picked up on something else. “You didn’t just stop by to tell us Birk had headed out of town, did you? You could’ve texted about that. What’s going on?”
Jade grinned. “You’re perceptive, Brogan Cole. Birk didn’t find Aaron Deming.”
Brogan sputtered with laughter. “That’s okay. It’s only been a few hours since Brent sent out the official alerts from law enforcement.”
Jade’s smile widened. “Birk didn’t locate Deming, but he did manage to find the woman Deming was engaged to when the doctor worked at Northridge Medical Center.”
Brogan’s mouth fell open. “Engaged? You’re kidding? What about Deming’s marriage to Caroline Casio?”
“No mention of a Caroline Casio,” Jade noted. “But the find puts another girlfriend in the frame.”
