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“My client isn’t interested in your head games, Detective. He’s not responsible for these deaths, and he’s not responsible for the actions of whoever is. That’s all he can tell you.”
Ossokov glanced at Kent, then quickly at the wall again. “You’re insinuating that someone’s doing this on my behalf?”
Fear flashed in his eyes—but her attempt to blame someone else should have inspired relief, or smugness.
“I’m not insinuating, Cooper, I’m saying it outright. After you were released from prison, you claimed you were at peace with the wrongful incarceration. I found those articles compelling.” Jo shifted her eyes subtly to Kent and back. “But now you’ve decided to file this lawsuit. What, or who, changed your mind?”
Red crept up Kent’s neck. “This is your last warning, Detective. The lawsuit is out of bounds.”
But Ossokov had gone rigid—she’d hit some sort of nerve.
She sipped again—with Kent ready to walk, this was her final shot to either provoke a reaction or plant a seed, depending on where the truth lay.
She shifted forward toward Ossokov. “The killer left a distinct message referencing the justice system on each of the victims. If you didn’t do this, someone else who’s angry about your miscarriage of justice did. I can understand why people who love you—or people who want to take advantage of the situation—would want to take action.” She threw up a single finger to let Kent know she was almost done. “But what they don’t realize is they’re putting you at risk of going right back to prison in the process, as well as endangering themselves.”
Ossokov glanced between her and Kent again, uncertain how to respond.
She leaned still closer and drove the dagger home. “I can’t help but remember how angry your mother was when we showed up at your house.”
Kent pushed back his chair and stood. “That’s enough. Either arrest my client or let him go. It’s disgusting and unconscionable to threaten the lives of people he loves when he’s already suffered so much at the hands of your department.” He grabbed Ossokov’s arm and marched him out the door.
But Kent hadn’t acted quickly enough. She’d seen the panic on Ossokov’s face when she mentioned his mother.
She pulled out her phone as Arnett, Goran, and Coyne pushed into the room.
“Interesting tactic,” Coyne said. “You can’t really think threatening his mother will make him jump to confess?”
Arnett stared directly at Jo as he shook his head. “That’s not what she’s doing. There’s more to it.”
Jo tapped a call through to Lopez, who answered immediately. “Jo. How did it go?”
“I need you to do a couple of things, as quickly as possible. Ossokov is going to call or text someone, maybe more than one person, as soon as he’s out of this building. I need to know who. Also, we need to access all of Rebecca Ossokov’s phone and email records, including location information.”
“Wait. You think she might be the killer?”
“Ossokov is at the center of this, that’s undeniable. If he’s not our killer, it has to be someone deeply angry on his behalf, and she fits that description best. She should be off work by now, so I’ll head over there as quickly as possible, but I’d bet anything Kent is breaking every traffic law on the books to get there before I do.”
“On it,” Lopez said.
“We also need to go back and double-check for anyone else who might be close to Ossokov, or for any crossover with our other suspects. Anyone on the outside who knew him in prison or was close to him before he went in. Friends, relatives, anybody obsessed with him or his case, even that seventy-year-old uncle who lent him the car. I’m going to put Lacey Bernard on this, too, and between the two of you, we should be able to come up with a decent list quickly. Very quickly, because whether it’s Ossokov, his mother, or someone obsessed with him, they’ve shown remarkable skill at outwitting us. And since Arnett is the last person alive who was directly hands-on with Ossokov’s case, he’s the next target.”
* * *
As Jo predicted, Kent was waiting at Ossokov’s house when she arrived, and had advised Rebecca Ossokov not to speak with her. He made a statement on her behalf, telling Jo she’d come home from work at just after six the night before, had made herself dinner, then had read until she went to bed at ten thirty. He also warned Jo that since putting Rebecca Ossokov under surveillance would necessarily mean putting surveillance on the house where Cooper Ossokov lived, he’d waste no time reporting it as further intimidation and have the surveillance removed immediately.
“He didn’t call or text anyone,” Lopez said over the speaker as Jo raced back to HQ, Goran and Coyne in their car behind her.
“Damn,” she said. “So I was either wrong, or he had another burner with him.”
“Ballsy. What if we would’ve searched his borrowed car?” Lopez said. “In other news, I secured Rebecca Ossokov’s phone and email records, and scoured Cooper’s again. Didn’t take much time because she’s just as much of a hermit as he is. And I got hold of his visitor list while he was in prison. Began and ended with one person: his mother. No groupies that he allowed to write to him, nada.”
An electric buzz ran up and down Jo’s limbs as she navigated a turn. “If he’s in on this with his mother, they wouldn’t need to talk to anybody else. Thanks, Christine.”
After hanging up, she put word out to her confidential informants that she needed information about who Ossokov might have been friends with in prison, who he might be hanging out with now, or who he might have reconnected with. Then she called in to check with Lacey Bernard.
“Hang on. Steve Murphy’s dead?” Bernard said, after Jo jumped straight in.
Jo froze. “You didn’t get a text about this one?”
