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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jessie had been shut out.
She sat in the Van Nuys Station bullpen waiting area, trying not to act annoyed that she had been prevented from participating in, or even observing, the interrogation of Pete Vasquez. After about an hour, Ryan emerged, looking troubled.
She stood up as he approached and was about to ask how it went when he shook his head almost imperceptibly. A few moments later Detective Strode followed him into the bullpen. Ryan turned back to the younger detective.
“I’ll check in with you first thing tomorrow, Wiley,” he said. “In the meantime, it’s on you to make sure that Vasquez doesn’t have any more unfortunate accidents. You get me?”
Strode hung his head.
“I’ll do the best I can,” he said unconvincingly.
“Listen,” Ryan warned, leaning in close and speaking quietly. “I can’t control what goes on in your house. But if anything happens to a guy who you’re asserting is a legit murder suspect while he’s in your care, it’s going to look bad for you. I get that you have to walk around on tiptoes around here. But you also have to look out for yourself. Don’t be the fall guy, you understand?”
Strode nodded, though he didn’t look like the speech had stiffened his spine that much. Ryan turned and indicated that he and Jessie should leave. As they headed for reception, Costabile walked out of the interrogation area. His eyes immediately fell on Jessie. As she walked out, she could have sworn she saw him blow her a kiss.
Once outside, they walked to Jessie’s car. Neither spoke until they were well away from the building.
“So where are we at?” she asked when they finally felt they were away from prying ears.
“Nowhere good,” Ryan said resignedly. “Despite my strenuous objections, they’re going to charge Vasquez.”
“Based on what?”
“Based on his fingerprints on Michaela’s laptop and surveillance footage of him pawning it at the shop. He also has no alibi witness for last night at the time of the murder. He claims he was drinking in a park.”
“That’s it? None of his prints at her apartment? No blood or DNA on his clothes? Nothing turned up where he lives? Just the laptop?”
“Yep,” Ryan confirmed. “To be honest, I didn’t have much of an argument to make against charging him. We don’t have any other suspects right now that are more promising than Vasquez.”
“Because no one’s looking for them,” Jessie pointed out.
“I don’t disagree. It’s clear that they want to put this thing to bed. No one was interested in hearing about the porn connection or any other possible leads. It was like a train without brakes in there.”
“Can you insist on taking over, using HSS authority?”
“I could try,” he said skeptically. “But I’m not sure I’d win that battle. The problem is that Vasquez is here now. It’s the custodial version of possession being nine-tenths of the law. Prying him loose from this place once they’ve got him will be a bureaucratic nightmare—one I’m not sure is worth fighting. We might be better off focusing our energy on other leads.”
“What other leads?” Jessie asked, frustrated.
“Look, we’ll start fresh in the morning. Maybe something will pop by then.”
Jessie nodded, trying to move past her dissatisfaction.
“I can give you a ride back to your car,” she offered, remembering that he was still parked at the Landing Strip.
“That’s okay. I’ll rideshare. You should go home and get some sleep. After all, you’re not just dealing with a murder case, you’re dealing with a teenager too.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
Ryan smiled.
“Maybe we could try for another evening together sometime soon?” he suggested. “One that won’t be interrupted by an anonymous call about a murder?”
“I’d like that,” she said. “Can you guarantee such an evening is possible?”
“In my experience, guaranteeing it jinxes it.”
