Page 52 of Girl, Unmasked
Ella left Ripley with her boy toy and headed back towards her office, but Detective Blythe cut her off.'Miss Dark, got some good news.'
‘Have you?’
'Managed to track down Martina Payne's boyfriend.A guy named Jeff Hollister.Lives over in East Norwalk, works in construction about twenty minutes from here.'
Ella felt the tide changing.Things were on the up.‘We got an address?’
‘Yeah.You can be there in thirty if we leave before the nine o’clock rush.I’ve got a meeting with the mayor about this whole situation, but I can assign some guys to go with you.’
‘No need,’ Ella said.‘Put a lid on this situation.Minimize the press coverage as much as you can.’
‘That’s my aim.’
‘Great.Pass me his address and I’ll go pay him a visit.’
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Norwalk’s latest eyesore, according to her online searches – and the site where Jeff Hollister was apparently working – was a half-finished monstrosity of steel that looked like it belonged in Dubai rather than Connecticut.A garish sign proclaimed it as ‘SkyReach Towers: Luxury Living for the Discerning Resident.’
Ella peered out of the car window.Out on the site, a handful of hard hats bobbed in and out of view, dwarfed by the scope of their task like ants skittering around a carcass.She killed the engine, then propped the door open.
Jeff Hollister was living on site, according to the foreman she’d spoken to on the phone.Ella caught a row of trailers in the distance.If he were living on site, it meant someone might have noticed if he came home late one night.
Ella climbed out of the car, and the smell hit her like a fist to the sinuses as soon as her boots hit gravel.In the distance, the jagged whine of a circular saw bit through the muffled clang and clatter of industry.
She led the way towards the hub of workers, and the lack of gates or barriers made her entrance easier than expected.But as she and her companions stepped into the yard, a burly man in a hard hat and neon vest stepped into her path.
‘Restricted area.You lost, ma’am?’
Ella cut him off with a flash of her badge.‘FBI.I’m looking for Jeff Hollister.’
'Ah, yes, one of you called me.Is Jeff in trouble?'
‘Can’t say.Is Jeff around?’
‘Hollister's just finishing up the night shift.You caught him by the skin of your teeth.He's over by the cement mixers, can't miss him.Tall guy, buzzed hair.Solid guy, really.Bit of a horndog but he ain’t never been in any trouble.’
Ella nodded, dismissive gratitude with a side of irritation.'We'll keep that in mind.'
She left the foreman and stalked towards the site.She replayed Martina Payne's final moments in her head as she walked, all in perfectly recalled clarity.The trail of feathers, the slashed throat, the hideous display from a fourth-floor balcony.Statistics said that in times of murder, look to the partner.One way or another, they'll provide something useful.
The construction yard was a maze of exposed beams and gaping elevator shafts, all gussied up with yellow danger tape fluttering in the breeze.A regular obstacle course of occupational hazards.Ella picked her way through the debris field, dodging piles of rebar and jumping over stacks of sheetrock until she reached the double-wide.
Ella squinted through the midmorning glare, trying to make out a face among the scattering of workers on their union-mandated fifteen.But they all looked the same at this distance, just a bunch of orange vests and hard hats shuffling around.
Until she clocked one figure in particular, leaning beside a cement mixer, conspicuously missing a hard hat.His face matched the photo Ella had seen in Martina's apartment, though it was currently smeared with enough grime to make coal miners look pristine.
Jeff Hollister in the flesh.And for a guy whose girlfriend had just been murdered, he looked remarkably well put together.
Ella adjusted her course and made a beeline for her person of interest.
Jeff must've sensed her coming because his head snapped up.When she was close enough to avoid shouting, she said, 'Jeff Hollister?'
Jeff straightened up.‘Yeah, that’s me.Can I help you?’
Ella opened her mouth to launch into her standard ‘we've got some questions’ spiel, but Jeff's expression made her hesitate.There was no hint of guilt there, no sign of a man about to bolt.Just honest bewilderment and a trace of worry.
‘We’re with the FBI.We need to talk to you about Martina Payne.’
