take your word for it. Any better luck on Percy Avalon?”
“Not yet,” Jamil said. “I’m still searching but it doesn’t look like he posted anything at all that night.”
“Sounds like we may have to do some real-life, in-person questioning of the guy,” Karen said, clearly more excited by the prospect of getting back in the field than poring over social media accounts.
“Agreed,” Jessie said. “I think that should be our next stop. But before that, I was hoping something might have popped on Nancy Salter. The woman is definitely rougher around the edges than she lets on. And physically, I don’t think she’d have much trouble breaking someone’s neck, especially a person like Milly Estrada, who was much smaller.”
Jamil shook his head.
“Afraid not,” he said. “Her record is clean. The woman’s never even had a parking ticket, though she has been sued a few times for creating an unwelcome work environment. Based on the way she clocked that caterer, I’d say that’s an understatement. I’ll keep probing though.”
Jessie, who had really wanted an excuse to go after Salter, tried to hide her disappointment.
“What’s that?’ she asked, pointing at a monitor with a still frame from in front of South House.
Jamil glanced over to see what she was referencing.
“Oh, I used the main house footage to confirm when Millicent Estrada arrived at the party. It was pretty early in the evening, at eight forty-two.”
He hit play and the screen unfroze to show Estrada walking from the parking lot to the main doors, where she waited briefly in line before entering.
“Play it back,” Jessie requested.
This time she focused less on the woman’s movements than on her presence. Milly Estrada had an elegance in motion that didn’t come across in photos. As she walked, she held her head high, almost regally, as her dark, wavy hair bounced gently about her head.
Jessie could almost sense the excitement coming off her as she prepared to enter the party. Her gold blouse shimmered in the floodlights surrounding the house. Her long black skirt had a slit that rose provocatively to her upper thigh, revealing a toned leg that she must have worked hard to maintain.
Something about seeing her like that was incredibly bittersweet. Jessie was happy that this woman had decided to make a bold, fresh start, to reboot her life and pursue the passion that had been missing from it. And yet, it seemed that her embrace of this new, more exhilarating lifestyle led directly to the end of that life, to her lying half-naked, wet, and forgotten, with her proud, regal neck broken and limp.
Jessie felt impotent fury rise in her belly and reminded herself that it need not be impotent. She could do something about it. She had to. Pulling out her phone, she gave Jamil the list of big names that had been mentioned to her: Senator Johnson, actor Paul Gilliard, and Omar the mystery sultan.
“Based on Blondie-by-the-pool’s walk-back, I’m not optimistic that we’ll get any hits on these guys,” she admitted. “But we should nail down their whereabouts anyway. And Jamil, I’d love it if you could do a full rundown on whoever this sultan is—background, assets, anything out of the ordinary.”
“Am I looking for something specific?” Jamil asked, his interest piqued.
“You’ll know it if you see it,” she said.
“Are we off to see Avalon then?” Karen asked, hoping to keep things moving.
“In just a few,” Jessie assured her. “I just have talk to Captain Decker about another matter. Meet you at the car in ten?”
After Karen headed out, Jessie went in search of Decker. The mention of the sultan reminded her that she’d given the captain more than enough time to fill Detective Parker in, give her the tape, and get an update.
With nightmarish visions of girls even younger than Hannah being tied down and blindfolded filling her head, she quickly walked to his office but found it empty. Returning to the bullpen, she saw Detective Alan Trembley over in the HSS section and approached him. Trembley was a solid detective, if perhaps a bit too much of an eager beaver.
“You seen Decker lately?” she asked when she reached his desk.
“That’s the greeting I get?” he said, feigning offense. “No ‘hiya Trembley’? No ‘how’s it going?’ No ‘can’t wait to work with you again’?”
She gave him her best “not now” glare and tried again.
“Hiya, Trembley. How’s it going? Can’t wait to work with you again. Where is Captain Decker?”
Sensing that she wasn’t in a playful mood, he answered directly.