His brow shoots up. “You’re not taking jurisdiction?”
“Considering the killer left me that jar of pig’s blood, I should, but for now, no. I assume Chef Roswell is waiting for me?”
“I recorded him and sent him on his way. He’s an arrogant ass that can’t talk about anything but his food. He’s on standby to come back in.”
I decide he did me a favor. I need to interview the sous chef that should have been with him last night anyway. “In that case,” I say, “I’m going to talk to the landlord that called this in and then the medical examiner and then I’m done here.”
“That would be me.”
A thin man with red hair and glasses appears in the doorway wearing a white bunny suit looking thing. “I’m John Nguyen.”
“Nguyen? You’re literally Opie. That name is all wrong for you.”
He laughs. “Yes. Long story. You see—”
“Then don’t tell it,” I say. “If you were adopted—”
“Exactly! You guessed.”
“I’m good like that. Now prove to me your parent chose right by choosing you and show me how smart you are. We have a murder to solve, not a genealogy tree to follow. And I have no idea why you look like you’re going to a parade right now, but whatever. Get with Danica Day in the Hauppauge ME’s office. She’s got a matching murder.” I indicate Naomi. “She swallowed something that cut her inside out, or that’s the theory. She drank wine. I think she took medication from the bottles on the bed, probably the ibuprofen gel capsule. Upon inspection, they seem clean but for all we know there were only a few bad pills and she just popped those. What I need to know is could she have taken the pills beside the bed, and walked this far before they killed her?”
“Maybe she took the pills,” he offers, “and held the wine in her mouth because she just couldn’t make herself swallow. Some people like my sister, Sara, just don’t like to take pills.”
It’s a logical, solid answer. I like the way the bunny suit man thinks. I grab my card from my bag. “Call me this afternoon.” He takes the card.
I step around him and head out of the bedroom. “You’re leaving?” Houston calls out.
“Kitchen!” I call over my shoulder and I keep walking.
I pass the living room and enter the tiny dining room with a wooden table attached to a rectangular-shaped kitchen. I could go straight to the fridge but I decide to keep the suspense moving. I start opening drawers and find what I think is a junk drawer. It includes past due bills, lots of them, a fashion magazine, coupons, most of which are expired, scribbled grocery lists, and to-do lists. I’m about to give up when bingo again, I find a list of phone numbers. None of them have names on them, but this could be useful. I shoot a photo and text it to Tic Tac: See who owns the numbers and if any of them are registered with Banking the Billionaire.
“What’d you find?” the chief asks, stepping inside the small space.
I bag the list of numbers and hold them up. “Nameless phone numbers.” I set the baggy down on the counter for his team to log.
“Why do I think I need context for the numbers?”
“Both victims sent text messages with coded language that fits a game we think they were playing. And I think the numbers could be players or available throwaway phone numbers to use for the game.”
He asks me something about the game but I tune him out, already moving on. I open the refrigerator and expect a jar of blood. No blood. No wedding dress. Those things were meant to get my attention. I’m following a trail the killer wants me to follow.
I need to follow the trail the killer doesn’t want me to follow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I end up cornered in Naomi’s tiny kitchen with Houston demanding an update on the investigation. I’m eager enough to have him handoff the dirty work to his team, to give him what he wants. My summary ends with, “I’m leaving. The scene is all yours.”
“I’m going to call in a detective named Marco—”
“Polo?” I ask. “Because if that’s his name, don’t bother.”
“Rollins,” he supplies. “His name is Rollins. Good guy. Plays well with those who do not play well with others.”
“I’m certain I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not staying to meet him. I have to run down a couple of leads here that may tie to both cases and then be back in Long Island to do interviews tonight. Have your detective line up the appropriate interviews. He can go at them today. I need to see them again tomorrow.”
“Any profiler insight?”
“He’s smart enough for me to have nothing but that to offer. He’s smart. That is all I have right now.”