Cassie Kramer.
And who just happened to be in LA when the murder of set designer Holly Dennison occurred?
Cassie Kramer.
But why would Cassie leave such an obvious clue, almost framing herself? Even though she’d recently been a patient in the mental ward of Mercy Hospital, Cassie seemed coherent. She had a documented quick temper, but was she really homicidal? Could she have found a way to make her sister disappear? Was Allie Kramer, like Holly Dennison, already dead? Then why hide one body and leave the other to be found?
Things weren’t adding up.
There were still too many inconsistencies.
Another reason to head to LA and sort a few things out.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Double T, in a baseball cap and rain jacket, fall into step with her.
“Did I hear right?” he asked as they reached the corner. “You’re flying to California tonight?”
“In three hours if I can make it to the airport in rush hour.”
“Could set you up with a police escort. Make sure you get to PDX in time.”
“Funny guy.” She checked her watch. Told herself there was plenty of time. “You know there’s been an Allie Kramer sighting down there.”
“Isn’t there always?” This wasn’t news. Ever since the popular star’s disappearance, the police departments in LA, Portland, and even places in between received “tips” that the missing woman had been seen. “I swear, Allie Kramer’s more popular than Elvis these days. And more visible. Didn’t we get a call last week from somewhere in Alaska? And don’t forget that little town outside of Birmingham. Good Lord, someone even called from Molalla, here in Oregon.”
He nodded, drips spilling off the bill of his cap.
“Each time we do a follow-up, it’s a case of mistaken identity. Once, the woman spotted was eighty-two years old . . . and then later a man was sure he’d seen her.” Both sightings hadn’t panned out. “People see what they want to see. You know that. You’ve interviewed enough eyewitnesses to a crime, each contradicting the other.”
“But now you’re flying south because some woman who was loosely associated with Dead Heat was murdered. The last I heard LA isn’t in our jurisdiction.”
She almost smiled as she waited for the light to change. “Already cleared it.”
The light finally switched and she and Double T stepped off the curb into the swarm of pedestrians crossing to the other side. Once on the opposite sidewalk, she and Double T veered off toward the parking structure.
“You work fast,” he observed.
“No one higher up likes all the press the Allie Kramer case is getting, the pressure to solve what happened to her and arrest whoever it was who was behind the Rinaldi shooting. The public wants answers. The press is in a feeding frenzy and the brass are feeling the heat.”
“You’re convinced the dead woman in LA is linked to what happened up here,” he said as they climbed the stairs of the elevated lot.
“Uh-huh. If we didn’t now have a dead body, I’d almost think this was a publicity stunt gone bad.”
“But we do have a dead body. Or LA does.”
“There’s more going on than just homicide.” Slanting rain poured through the open windows of the stairwell, dampening each landing. Nash barely noticed. “You saw the pictures.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe it’s not our jurisdiction,” she said, remembering the shots of the mask that had been left on the corpse, “but Holly Dennison’s murder has bearing on our case. I just need to figure out how.”
“And here I thought you just wanted to head south and sip margaritas under the palms.”
“I’m saving my frequent flyer miles for the islands. You know, preferably one with scorching sun, white sand, ocean breezes, and hot pool boys.”
His lips twitched. “I’ll hold down the fort while you’re away.”
“Do that. It won’t be long. Fingers crossed, I should be back by tomorrow night.” She found her Ford Focus wedged between a monster truck and an equally large SUV, both parked in Compact Only slots. “Doesn’t anyone read?” she muttered and clicked her keyless lock before inching between the truck and the driver’s side.