Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

She saw her best friendship disintegrating and she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

Santa Barbara Detective Grant Holden was in his early forties and reminded Meg of the blond cop from the classic show Adam-12. After introductions, he drove them to the hotel and filled them in on the double homicide.

“The chief of the forensic unit is handling the evidence himself. He’s methodical and in my opinion the best in the state. You’ll want to talk to him when we get there; he can walk you through the crime scene. Frankly, the whole thing is a circus.”

“A circus?” Megan asked. She was in the back of the car, Hans was in the front. Jack stayed at the airport and said he’d take a cab-he needed to arrange to have Scout’s plane refueled.

“Media is all over it.”

“How’d they find out?”

“Police scanners. Hotel staff and guests. But it’s not that they’re simply on scene reporting a murder at the resort-they know Barry Rosemont is the Hamstring Killer.”

“That’s not good.”

“We think the info came from Hackett’s widow, but how can we accuse her right now?”

“Good point.”

“Because it leaked out, we decided to use it to our advantage. We’ve released a photograph of Rosemont to the media and have asked anyone who believes they have seen him in the last forty-eight hours to contact my office. We’re hoping if a witness comes forward he or she can describe Rosemont’s accomplice.”

Megan said, “Good. Let us know how we can help get the word out.”

“I do have more information than I had earlier this morning when I spoke with you, Agent Vigo,” Holden said. “Apparently, Hackett was getting chummy with a woman last night in the bar.”

Both Megan and Hans turned to Holden. “A woman?” they said simultaneously. Megan added, “Brunette?”

“Blond. Attractive, late thirties to late forties. Not a registered guest.”

“Name?”

“The bartender who worked last night is on his way to meet us at the resort. He’s the only one who talked to her.”

“What about the crime scene?” Hans asked. “You said the room was registered to Ethan Rose, but the manager identified Barry Rosemont as the individual who reserved the room and paid.”

“Correct.”

“And he came in alone?”

“Yes. We’ve been looking at the security footage and have seen Rosemont on tape only briefly-when he registered he entered through the main entrance. Yesterday early afternoon, one thirty-seven p.m. Alone. Asked specifically for a cabin on the beach. They weren’t going to rent it to him because they were booked for the weekend, but he wanted it only one night. Said he was passing through.”

“Driver’s license?”

“Ethan Rose. We found his false identification. Quality fake. He also had an expired New York driver’s license under the name Barry Ethan Rosemont, which we’ve learned is his real name. His prints came back as Barry Ethan Rosemont. Criminal record. He’d been arrested while a student at Berkeley, eighteen years ago.”

“For what?”

“Breaking and entering. He was working for the student newspaper and broke into the security office to pull reports of rape that had been filed by students. He was doing an expose of the administration covering up on-campus assaults. Charges were dropped.”

“Did he run the story?” Megan asked, curious.

“Not that we know.”

Hans said, “Any leads on Rosemont’s partner?”

Holden shook his head. “Nothing so far. We’ve dusted the entire room, printed the staff, and are going through every guest methodically. So far, nothing. But there’s a lot to process. Extensive blood, spatter, angles. We’re still not exactly sure what happened. Ian, our chief forensics guru, can walk you through the evidence when we get there.”

He turned the sedan into the resort. He wasn’t kidding-the place was crawling with media. Every major and minor California television and radio station insignia was visible, plus two national news stations.

“Nobody’s talking to them, right?” Hans asked.

“Just our PIO, completely scripted,” Holden assured him. “I’ve threatened everyone else with bodily injury or working the next ten major holidays.”

“And the needles?” Hans asked. “You said you found a black bag with a couple hundred acupuncture needles.”

“Yes. I have no idea what Rosemont had planned. There were also two knives, but neither one had been used on Hackett.”

“How did the killer escape?” Megan asked. “He killed his partner and ran? Doesn’t the hotel have security?”

“Three minutes and forty seconds passed between the first report of gunfire until the head of security arrived at the crime scene. The report of a gunshot was probably a minute or two delayed. It wasn’t until after the final gunshot that someone called in. Plenty of time to escape.”

“Someone had to see something,” Megan said. “It’s a hotel.”

“Resort,” Holden corrected as he stopped the car. “One hotel with two hundred rooms and forty individual cabins along the beach. All the cabins have sliding glass doors, and the unit in question has doors that open right onto the beach. They were unlocked, and a few drops of blood were found on the small patio. The killer most certainly escaped that way.”

“With all the blood in the room, the killer would have stepped in it,” Megan said. “Any footprints?”

“Possibly-you should talk to Ian Clark about that.” He opened the door. “Ready?”

While the Cessna Caravan was being fueled, Jack called Padre. He didn’t want his friend to hear about General Hackett or Barry Rosemont from the media or anyone else. He was also concerned about Megan. He didn’t want her to have professional trouble because she’d adhered to an agreement she wasn’t even party to. She could have arrested Price and turned him over to local police. She could have had the local FBI pick him up at the bar or called CID with his last-known whereabouts. That she had done none of those things because she promised she wouldn’t, even when facing intense pressure from Hans Vigo, told Jack that she had a backbone of steel and an inherent sense of loyalty to match any among Jack’s team of soldiers.

Padre got on the phone. “Did you meet up with Price?”

“Yeah. He gave us what we needed. But I wasn’t calling you about him.”

“You sound grim.”

“The reporter, Barry Rosemont, killed General Hackett last night.”

“I know.” Padre’s voice was flat.

“You know?”

“It’s all over the morning news. I’m surprised you didn’t see it.”

“I’m still at the airport fueling. So you know Rose-mont is dead?”

“And there’s a chance that another unidentified killer is on the loose. Yeah, I know all about it.”

“And you’re okay?”

Padre said nothing for a long minute, then, “It’s hard.”

Jack didn’t have to ask Padre what he meant. Priests had to act like forgiveness was a given. And sometimes it wasn’t. Even for men of God.

“Why didn’t he kill me?”

Jack almost didn’t hear him, Padre spoke so quietly.

“I don’t know,” Jack said, also quietly. “Maybe you did something five years ago that made him not blame you.”

“I was a different man then, Jack.”

“Not as different as you think.”

“If anyone should have been spared, based on how he treated Rosemont, it would have been Duane Johnson. He was the only one who stood up for the kid. Not me. I told him he was our albatross.”

The regret in Padre’s voice was thick.

“It was Rosemont’s choice to kill,” Jack said. “Maybe he felt it was too risky to go after you so soon after what he did to Scout. Maybe he had another insane reason for killing Hackett next. But it’s over.”