Page 58 of Tangled
“They noted the door was locked when they arrived and they had to use a mechanical pick to open it. Were her keys in her things when you got them?”
“They were, but I didn’t look to see if her house key was still there as I had one of my own. I assume so since someone, presumably one of the cops, would have locked the door sometime after Gracie died and before I arrived.”
“Any chance someone else might have a copy?”
Scarlett considered this. “The only other person I can think of that she’d trust with a key would be her sister. Luz is harmless, but she’s not well. She’s been in and out of jail for all sorts of things, most of them related to her mental instability. Shoplifting, causing public disruptions, things like that. She was born with a bit of brain damage and was developmentally delayed, but I think something happened to her after Gracie left the house. Something that sort of severed her hold on reality. She prefers living on the streets, but Gracie might have given her a key in case she ever wanted to come in.”
“We should check Gracie’s key chain to see if she still had her key. It might also be worth tracking Luz down.”
“We can ask Sabina tomorrow about Gracie’s keys since HICC still has all her stuff. As for Luz, even if she had a key, it seems a bit far-fetched to think someone could have gotten itfrom her. Like I’ve said, Gracie was intensely private, and hardly anyone in her adult life even knew she had a sister. If there’s someone in LA willing to try to find her, though, I suppose it can’t hurt. Anything else?”
He shook his head. “How about you?”
She sighed in response and handed her stack of photocopied images over while holding out her other hand to take the report. Again, they fell into silence as they each reviewed what the other had started with.
Twenty minutes later, Brad reached for his phone again. Curious as to what he was doing, she let her attention drift from the report to his device. He typed in the name of one of the four officers listed in the report as assigned to the case. A picture of a young dark-haired woman popped up. Typing in another name, an image of an older man with gray hair and heavy jowls filled his screen. Then, typing in the third, a middle-aged blond man popped up.
He furrowed his brow.
“What?” she asked.
“Halliwell was the fourth officer assigned to Gracie’s case, and we know what he looks like because we saw him die in December. If the other officers were a dark-haired woman, an older man, and a younger blond man, then who is this?” he asked, tipping a paper for her to see.
The picture didn’t show a full face, but the profile, caught in the reflection of a mirror, was enough to see it wasn’t one of the four officers they’d identified. From what little she could see, he looked in his early thirties, fit, and with dark hair. He was turned in such a way so they couldn’t read his badge. Not that they necessarily would have been able to anyway with the subpar copies.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Do you think HICC could clean up the picture? Or request a proper copy from the LAPD?”
“I’m sure they could. Although I think they’d rather start with the former so as not to draw any more attention to themselves,” he said.
“It could be nothing,” she countered. “Neither of us really know anything about police procedure. He could be a trainee cop observing. Or maybe he’s from a different precinct but had an interest in the case.”
Brad wagged his head. “He seems a little old to be a trainee, but I agree, it could be nothing. At this point, though, I think it’s worth looking into everything, don’t you?”
“And with Jessica coming to town, my guess is even if we didn’t suggest it, she’d probably notice the same thing and ask. At least based on what Sabina’s said about her.”
Brad inclined his head, then reached for the papers she still held. “We can ask Sabina tomorrow when she and Jessica come by. In the meantime, are you thinking dinner might be possible tonight?”
She weighed her body’s response to the suggestion of food, then nodded. “Although oddly, I think I’m craving fried chicken.”
Brad chuckled. “As luck would have it, our kitchen makes excellent fried chicken. It’s usually on a sandwich at lunch, but I can make a meal happen.”
***
The next afternoon Scarlett found herself seated at the kitchen table with Jessica and Sabina going over the documentation. “A fentanyl overdose is a pretty easy thing for a third party to orchestrate,” Jessica said, flipping through the autopsy report. Gracie’s things, which Sabina had brought over, were spread around the living room. Brad had joined them for lunch—which she’d been able to eat—but had left for an afternoon of meetings.
“Orchestrating it while she’s lying in bed, though? Don’t you think that’s weird?” Scarlett asked.
“Especially since there were no other traces of it found on her and no signs of a struggle,” Sabina said.
“But she ingested it, she didn’t inhale it,” Jessica said. “And look at this.” She set one of the photocopied pictures on the table and pointed to Gracie’s bedside table. “It’s a bottle of sleeping pills. If someone got into her apartment and didn’t need her to die right away—sorry, Scarlett, I’m always a little blunt,” she said, shooting her an apologetic look. Scarlett waved it off. She’d much prefer blunt than sugarcoated.
“If she didn’t need to die right away, but soon, then it would be easy to empty most of the pills in the bottle, add one of fentanyl, and let Gracie do the rest. I don’t suppose that bottle is still in an evidence locker somewhere?” she asked.
Scarlett shook her head. “They didn’t collect any evidence other than Gracie’s body and her phone,” she said.
“You cleaned her apartment?” Jessica asked. Scarlett wondered what the woman was getting at but nodded. Jessica Kilkenny wasn’t what she’d expected. Actually, she hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t the gorgeous strawberry blond with cat glasses and a killer outfit. A few years older than Scarlett, Jessica was blessed with flawless skin, aqua eyes, and a height—and body—that made it easy to wear almost every type of clothing.
“Do you remember seeing this? Throwing it away?” she asked, pointing to the bottle.
