celebrities. Fifty-one years old. Self-made billionaire, media mogul who started one news network, was forced out, and started a new one out of spite. Has a mini-studio that makes half a dozen movies a year. Owns eleven newspapers and multiple high-profile websites, including the major source of gossip on the web. Has an amusement park and resort in Georgia and another one under construction in Oklahoma. Has two planes, a yacht, and the entire floor of an Upper West Side apartment building. And maybe most relevant for our purposes, is a twice divorced bachelor who likes models and actresses and regularly throws parties at his place for hundreds of people. He had one last night.”
“Sounds like the kind of fella who will be more than happy to open his home to some nosy investigators,” Jessie said sarcastically.
“We’re about to find out,” Karen replied. “We’re here.”
They had pulled up to an iron gate. The driveway behind it twisted back a good seventy-five yards before disappearing behind a grove of trees. The actual house was too far back to be seen.
“Should I try the buzzer?” Karen asked.
“May as well,” Jessie said. “They can’t be surprised we’re here. I assume cops have been coming and going for hours.”
Karen had to get out of the car and walk over to the intercom system, which was about five and half feet high, almost as tall as she was. She pushed the button.
“Estate. How may I assist?” asked an officious male voice.
She held up her badge and ID for the cameras next to the speaker.
“Detective Karen Bray, LAPD, along with criminal profiler Jessie Hunt. We’re part of the investigative team.”
There was a brief silence before the voice returned.
“Proceed up the drive to the roundabout. Please park in the staff lot to the left of the main house. Someone will meet you.”
“I guess we’re considered staff now,” Jessie said when Karen got back in the car.
“Get used to it,” Karen replied as the huge gates slowly opened. “Folks in this neighborhood have treated the police as their personal errand boys for years. It’s one of the reasons I left. I got tired of having to kowtow to people just because of their bank accounts.”
Jessie said nothing but silently decided that this gave her more reason to like Karen Bray. Anyone who chafed at the arrogance of the powerful got a point in her book. They drove up the driveway, passing the grove, until the house came into view.
It was more of a compound, to be accurate. From what Jessie could tell, it had three distinct sections with connecting passages that together formed a sharp-edged “U,” with the most impressive section in front. Designed in the style of a French country palace, it was three stories tall while the side sections were only two. As they pulled up, Jessie could see that off to the right were tennis courts and a greenhouse. To the left, she saw a pool and an adjoining pool house. She could see the edges of other structures that she guessed were cabanas or small guest houses.
They parked in the assigned lot, between a black-and-white and a coroner’s van. They had just gotten out when a cute, petite young woman approached them with a clipboard. She wore a white tennis skirt and a short-sleeved royal blue collared shirt monogrammed with the cursive letters “JO.” She gave a perfunctory smile before launching in.
“Hello, I’m Matilda, part of Jasper’s Estate Team. I’m here as your guide. I’ll be taking you to join your colleagues. But before we enter the house, I need you both to sign these NDAs, please.”
Jessie and Karen exchanged surprised, mildly amused looks.
“We’re law enforcement professionals,” Karen said slowly. “We don’t sign non-disclosure agreements with private citizens.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Matilda said as if this was just a misunderstanding. “It’s not for anything related to the unfortunate tragedy. It’s merely to confirm that you won’t reveal or discuss anything or anyone you might see on the premises that would infringe on Jasper’s privacy or possessions or the privacy of his guests.”
“Is that all?” Jessie asked acidly.
“Yes,” Matilda replied, not picking up on the sarcasm.
“In that case,” Jessie announced, “we’re law enforcement professionals. We don’t sign non-disclosure agreements with private citizens.”
“But your colleagues all signed without a problem,” Matilda protested, holding out the clipboard beseechingly.
“That’s actually a big problem…for them,” Karen said. “Now, please stop shoving those papers in our face and take us to the crime scene.”