already had in his possession? And what kind of man uses that same brand of stocking to kill a second woman two days later?
While the obvious answer was a very troubled man, the other, perhaps less obvious but equally intriguing one, was this: a man for whom OTB stockings held some personal significance.
Jessie closed the drawer and walked back out of the bedroom, down the stairs, out of the house, and back to the MBPD station to do the same thing Garland would have done if he hadn’t been killed: research hosiery.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
A half hour later, Jessie stared the computer screen, ignoring the exhaustion that made her eyes periodically droop.
She didn’t know what she expected, maybe a news story saying some guy obsessed with these stockings had been arrested for stealing them or accosting women wearing them. But there was nothing like that.
In fact, her initial research suggested that the company was both beloved and well-respected. The testimonial page was littered with effusive praise from customers. Review sites like Yelp were equally enthusiastic. Jessie couldn’t find a bad word about the quality of the product or the customer service, either online or in the boutique just four blocks over from where she now sat.
Ryan and Jamil sat at nearby computers and she could tell from their silence that they were meeting with the same level of frustration. Ryan in particular looked annoyed. When she had returned to the police station earlier, she saw that any satisfaction he’d gotten from arresting Barney had quickly faded. It was clear that, based on the evidence they currently had, they’d be lucky if he ultimately faced trial on the assault charge for poking Ryan in the chest, much less murder.
She stood up and stretched. Glancing out into the station bullpen, she saw Sergeant Breem. He was the man who’d initially refused to let her go upstairs last night after Garland’s body was discovered. She later learned he’d also honchoed the crime scene for Priscilla Barton’s murder. Breem was in civilian clothes and looked to be leaving for the evening. On a whim, she stepped outside and chased after him as he headed out the door.
“Sergeant Breem,” she called out, “can I bother you for a second?”
Breem turned around. He looked tired but when he saw it was the profiler whose mentor had been murdered the night before, he made a gallant attempt to hide it.
“Of course,” he said, “and I’m off duty so call me Drake.”
“Drake,” she said after catching her breath. “How long have you worked for the department?”
He thought about it for a second.
“About fifteen years. I grew up here back when it wasn’t so hoity-toity. But I couldn’t get on the force here for a while so I went to work for the Long Beach PD. But I live in the area, surf right down the block from here most mornings, so when a position opened up back here, I jumped on it. I’ve been here ever since.”
“So you know the community pretty well?” she asked.
“I think I can safely say that,” he said, smiling.
“What do you know about Only the Best?”
“The boutique?” he said. “It’s over on Manhattan Avenue, just off the main drag.”
“No, the company more generally,” she said. “As you may know, both female victims were strangled using that brand of stocking, which made me think the killer might have some animosity to the brand or the store. But I’ve been looking online and I can’t find a whiff of controversy related to it. I thought maybe a well-steeped local might know something that didn’t get out to the general public.”
“Wow,” he said. “Nothing immediately comes to mind. I know they had an executive shake-up a few months ago. But that seems kind of dry compared to what you’re looking for. I don’t recall there ever having been a criminal incident. Sorry I can’t offer more help.”
Though deflated, Jessie smiled.
“That’s okay. It’s my fault for thinking there might be some secret key that unlocked this whole thing. There almost never is. You should go home and get some rest. I don’t want you too sleepy to catch those waves tomorrow.”
Breem smiled, apparently whisked away by the very idea.
“All right. By the way, I’m really sorry about Mr. Moses. I know you two were close. I actually followed his career. He was a real genius. I was a bit of a fan boy. I’m planning to go to his funeral on Friday if I can get the time