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Lydia signaled a come-ahead. Morgan went inside, shut the door.
As she did, chief of police Jake Dooley sat in Miles’s office. They’d been friends since middle school and he knew Miles as well as he knew himself, so Jake laid it all out, quick and clear.
As he listened, Miles studied the photo of Rozwell Jake gave him.
“Okay. Now give me your take. Not theirs, yours.”
“He took stupid risks—talking to the neighbor, keeping her alive for a couple days when her sister had a key. The kind of risks everything in the file I’ve read says he’s never taken.”
Shifting, Jake leaned forward and tapped a finger toward the photo.
“He’s not one of the types who wants to get caught, Miles. He enjoys what he does too much for that. He’s not only a psychopath, a sadist, he’s spoiled. He’s greedy. And he’s been, up until now, very careful.
“The locket?” Jake continued. “Not only leaving it on the victim, but replacing the pictures inside? Putting his own in there with Morgan’s? That message is clear enough.”
“Her statement is they weren’t involved as a couple.”
“Not a couple, no. But she’s on his mind, she’s connected. She’s the reason his luck changed. And he wants her to know he’s not done with her, to know and be afraid.”
“If she’s not, she’s an idiot, and she doesn’t strike me as an idiot. I’ll talk to Security, to the family, to her.”
“Good. When you talk to her, make sure she knows she can contact me, anytime. She has questions, I’ll try to answer them. I know they’ve got a security system. If they’re not using it, they’re going to.”
“Count on it.”
“I’m going to hunt up Nell.” Jake rose. “She’s Morgan’s direct supervisor, right? I want to lay this out for her.”
“Fine. I’ll let you know what Morgan has to say when I talk to her.”
Alone, he spent another minute studying Rozwell’s photo. Then he rose. He’d start with his grandmother, he decided, then work his way through the rest.
“You have trouble all over you,” Lydia said to Morgan. “A problem in Après?”
“No, ma’am, it’s personal.”
“Sit down then. Let’s hear it.”
“You’re aware of what happened when—before I—”
“Take your time,” Lydia said when Morgan broke off. “This is to do with the man who killed your friend and stole your identity.”
“Yes. The agents in charge of the investigation came to tell me he killed another woman a few days ago.”
She said it all fast, got it out while her stomach churned.
“You’ve got his picture in that envelope?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s see it.”
She fumbled, had to use both hands, but got one out, rose to hand it over the desk.
“Mrs. Jameson, I understand if you don’t want to bring this trouble to the resort, to the staff, the guests, your family. I understand.”
“Handsome. Slick-looking, though. Slick’s never been my type.” She set the photo down, folded her hands on it, then looked up at Morgan. “You’ve worked here about a month now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
