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“Yeah, well, I’m not getting a Vincent Jarreau that matches up to the address on the license,” Kelly provided. “The street number on Shadwell Street comes back to Helene Toussaint.”
Brogan’s head popped up at the name. “Maybe Jarreau was renting from this woman.”
“Could be. But the tax assessor’s office says Helene Toussaint has owned that house since August 1994. According to that database, she’s still there.”
Lucien twisted in his chair and let out a war cry. “I hit pay dirt. Vincent Jarreau wasn’t renting. Helene Toussaint is his mother. His last job was at Northridge Medical Center, where he worked as a night nurse in the pediatric care unit. His last known address was in Hawthorne, where he lived in a house he’d bought in January of 2000.”
“Oh, my God,” Brogan exclaimed, “Vincent worked the same third shift as Anna. Do you suppose the two got together? Had an affair? Maybe he thought Elliott belonged to him?”
“This is all beginning to come together,” Lucien said. “I found an article online from the Long Beach Sentinel written in early 1997 that features Vincent. There’s also a video from a TV station that interviewed him around that same time. He’s apparently a hero.”
The women gathered around Lucien’s laptop to view the interview in total, which lasted about three and a half minutes. They saw a tall man with dark features, handsome and confident in his nursing scrubs. After saving a four-year-old’s life, he'd made the news, pulling the little girl out of a burning car on the 405.
“He looks like a young George Clooney when he was onER,” Kelly noted.
Jade nodded in agreement. “A young Doug Ross.”
“No wonder Anna was attracted to him,” Brogan decided.
“That’s a major leap in assumptions,” Lucien reminded her.
“Are you kidding? Look at that guy. Knowing Anna had a problem saying no, she would’ve jumped all over that.” Brogan studied the other faces. “Am I right?”
“You’re right,” Jade concluded with a snicker. “I know I would.”
Kelly was just as eager. “Vincent Jarreau, the hero who made the local news for saving a kid’s life. That would’ve been a real turn-on to another nurse like Anna.”
“And the timing’s right,” Brogan solidified. “1997. We need to find this guy.”
“He’s not still living in Hawthorne,” Kelly declared. “That’s a fact. We need to do a deep dive into any aliases.”
The four started digging, gleaning any tidbit of information to form a profile.
They knew the article in the newspaper mentioned that Vincent made the forty-five-minute commute from Hawthorne to the hospital three times a week using the 405.
Using the on-camera interview, they learned Vincent graduated from Carson High School as an all-star athlete, lettering in track, basketball, baseball, and hockey, playing goalie for four years as a freshman starter.
After high school graduation, he headed to nursing school at California State Northridge, where he got his nursing degree in 1995. He’d been working two years at that job before his local notoriety.
The background check revealed his mother, Helene Toussaint, had grown up near the French Quarter in New Orleans. Helene ran a bakery she inherited from her mother before meeting and marrying a man twenty years her senior named Raymond Jarreau. Raymond did well with a car dealership he owned until selling it off and retiring. He talked Helene into relocating to Southern California in 1981, where they started a family.
Vincent was born late in Raymond’s life and was the couple’s only child. He lost his father at thirteen when Ray developed prostate cancer and died from complications.
“Maybe taking care of his father during cancer treatment was why he became a nurse,” Brogan surmised. “It’s weird, but I kind of like the guy.”
“Are you nuts?” Lucien questioned, raising his voice. “This guy probably murdered Anna and Mack in cold blood while they were sleeping. He kidnapped Elliott and Trey. You’ve seen the misery on Gerald and Susan’s faces. How can you say you like the guy just because he looks like George Clooney?”
The accusatory tone caused the dogs to get to their feet.
Brogan put her hands on her hips. “You need to stop yelling at me. You’re scaring the dogs. You’re just upset because Jarreau doesn’t have a connection to Pollock.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.”
Lucien scrubbed his hands over his face before plopping into a chair. “Okay, maybe a little. I just wanted to find the shooter, the man who kidnapped those kids. And since Pollock benefited from Anna’s death, it seemed like the logical path.”
“Just because Pollock might not have killed Anna and Mack doesn’t mean he didn’t kill his brother?”
