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“And?”
“The woman’s name is Leticia Holland. She goes by Lettie. She’s serving eighteen months for assaulting a cop who tried to take her into custody at a Hollywood Hills mansion guest house where she’d been camping out.”
Hannah was overcome by a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time: satisfaction.
“I can’t help but wonder if Lettie mentioned what got her locked up and if maybe Pierce didn’t file that morsel away.”
“I’m wondering too,” Dolan said, “which is why I have four agents and four LAPD officers on their way to check out that mansion as we speak.”
“Agent Dolan,” she replied with total sincerity. “You need to double that number.”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Jessie and Grover were waiting when Detectives Wagner and Ortega rolled up to Cameron Britton’s street.
They parked right behind Grover’s car, which was three houses down from Britton’s. They all got out at the same time. Ortega had a hopeful expression, but Wagner looked even more surly than the last time Jessie saw him.
Let’s go,” he muttered.
“Before that, I think we should review the ground rules that we established over the phone earlier,” Jessie said.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Wagner countered. “We’re all squared away.”
“Humor me,” Jessie said.
“We all interview him together,” Ortega volunteered, “but you get the first crack at him.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Jessie replied with a smile.
“More importantly,” Wagner said. “if we decide he’s good for this, he comes back to Wilshire Station and gets thrown in one of our interrogation rooms. And if it comes to it, he ends up in our cell. Got it?”
"Absolutely," Jessie conceded. "And the one other non-negotiable—Mr. Nix here accompanies us. He won't ask questions, but he stays with me the whole time. Are we clear on that?"
“Crystal,” Wagner said sarcastically.
Jessie let that go as they all approached the front door of the modest, Mid-Wilshire home. It didn’t appear that either Cameron Britton’s job as a fashion photographer or whatever he got in the divorce was enough for him to pursue lavish real estate.
Wagner rang the bell and stepped back. It didn’t take long for the door to open, revealing an attractive, dark-haired man in his early forties. He was wearing black jeans and a tight gray t-shirt intended to accentuate his well-maintained physique. His eyes opened wide at the sight of the detectives.
“Nice to see you again, Cameron,” Wagner said with barely hidden venom.
“I can’t really say the same,” the man replied. “I thought we were all done.”
“We were until we found out that you and your wife were seeing Dr. Isabel Shea for couples’ counseling,” Wagner said. “That’s something you might have mentioned.”
“Why?” Britton asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because she’s d—,” Wagner began.
“She’s done with that kind of work now,” Jessie interrupted, glaring at the cop. “And we couldn’t help but wonder if her experience with you and your wife had anything to do with that.”
“Who are you?” Britton demanded. “You look really familiar to me.”
“I’m helping out with the case,” she told him. “That’s all you really need to know. Now please answer my question: what exactly were you and Gemma seeing Isabel Shea about?”
“That’s private,” he said indignantly.
“We’re conducting a murder investigation,” Ortega said. “Nothing’s private anymore. So please just be straight with us. Things will go a lot quicker that way.”
