P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

“Why meet him at the condo?” Jase asked.

“You mean, did I lure him out there with the intent of murdering him?”

He gave her a chiding look. “Drake was right to ask—the condo was much farther away for both of you than some bar or restaurant closer to town, right?”

“But much less public,” Jordan pointed out. “And believe me, the paparazzi had taken every opportunity to follow us around. The last thing I wanted was to be the subject of another front-page article claiming that the divorce settlement was in contention again. We’d just managed in recent weeks to make it off the front page.”

“What happened after Ryland got there?” Darcy asked.

“We fought, and he got very angry.” She frowned. “In fact, I’d never seen him that way before—almost desperate to convince me we should be together. I put it down to his possibly running out of money, because of the civil suits that had been adjudicated against him. The damages from those suits would’ve set him back years, and it was questionable whether he could ever get his license to practice reinstated.”

“So if anything, Ryland was the one who needed your assets,” Darcy concluded. “Did he know about the inheritance from your granny?”

Jordan nodded. “Probate was finalized while we were married. But the account was always in my name only—the probate lawyer said Grandmother’s will stipulated that the money was mine and mine alone.”

“Sounds like Granny knew what kind of man you’d married,” Darcy observed.

“Long before I did, it seems.” Jordan sighed. “That’s it—we argued, Ryland pleaded with me, I refused, he got angrier, I asked him to leave, and he stormed out.” She looked at both of them. “I have no idea how to cut the brake lines on a car—I don’t even know where to look for them. And I didn’t have anyone else do it for me.”

“I can certainly vouch for your lack of DIY experience,” Jase said, relenting enough to smile a little. “It’s difficult to envision how you could tamper with the brakes when you don’t know one tool from another. The D.A. will argue, though, that such things are easily researched. And Drake is convinced you did it.”

“That much is obvious.”

The waitress returned with their food, and they let the subject drop while they filled their plates. Jordan discovered that she was ravenous, but when she tried to use her chopsticks, she found her hands were shaking too badly to make them work.

Jase was watching her carefully. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not—I’m mad.” She realized it was true. She was angry at a system that allowed such flawed investigations, and angry with Drake for focusing exclusively on her. She looked at Darcy. “Drake’s not interested in finding out who really did this, is he?”

Darcy speared a pot sticker. “Nope. He’s got you in his sights, and he’s got witness statements that evidently corroborate his assumptions.” She chewed for a moment. “God knows I’m a suspicious soul, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was setting you up.”

Jordan’s chopsticks wobbled, the food falling back to her plate. Darcy was right—it was possible someone was feeding the police information in an effort to keep Drake focused on her.

“The question is, who?” Darcy mused.

Jordan shook her head. “The only person who comes to mind as a remote possibility is Didi Wyeth. Maybe she thinks I did it, and she wants revenge.”

“She could’ve followed Ryland to your condo, witnessed the argument, and decided to take advantage of the situation,” Jase said. “How angry was she when Ryland broke up with her?”

Jordan shrugged. “Carol mentioned that the gossip columnists had plastered pictures of their breakup all over the tabloids, speculating that Didi was washed up as an actress. If her career was harmed by the press coverage, I suppose that’s a motive.”

“Or, in the spirit of keeping her motive simple,” Darcy countered, “she could’ve just been really pissed off at the son of a bitch for dumping her and wanted him dead. Your argument presented the perfect opportunity, and she took it. Then you come along, telling Drake to talk to her and find out whether she had an alibi, and she uses that opportunity to redirect Drake’s attention right back to you.”

And if not Didi, Jordan had to wonder how many other women were floating around out there with similar levels of anger.

As always, Darcy seemed to be on the same wavelength. “Who in your opinion are the most likely suspects in Ryland’s murder?”

“Besides Didi? Anyone Ryland diddled who failed to win a judgment against him.”

“Names?”

“Marcy Brentworth—she comes from old Hollywood producer money. Alice Langston, another actress.” Jordan thought about it, then shook her head. “Those are the only two I can come up with off the top of my head, but if we look at the civil suits, we’ll come up with at least a dozen names.”

“Any of them stand out as being particularly strident or furious during the trial?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t in court, and I avoided reading the press coverage. My goal was to stay as far away from that circus as possible.” She turned to Jase. “Do you know any good private investigators in L.A.?”

He raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “Yeah, someone I used in the old days. He’s thorough, and he’s also one of the good guys.”

“Give him a call.” She pulled out a piece of paper and started writing down names. “While Drake is indulging his personal prejudices against me, a killer is walking around loose. And I want him found.” She handed Jase the paper. “I’ll hire your guy to look into the whereabouts and alibis of these people. That should be a start.”

Jase read the names on the slip of paper, then added Drake’s. “When a homicide detective in a case holds a personal grudge, I want to know why,” he said by way of explanation when he saw her questioning look. “It could come in handy if we ever have to go to trial.”

Jordan reflected on it, then nodded. “Go for it.”

“No more Ms. Nice Guy, huh?” Darcy asked.

“No more Ms. Nice Guy, no more Ms. Gullible. Someone killed Ryland, and though he had many faults, he didn’t deserve it. The least I can do is find his murderer. Then maybe I can put this behind me.”

“As long as you’re being proactive, I don’t much care why,” Darcy said, “though I’d rather you were doing this for yourself, not Ryland.”

“I am, believe me.”

* * *

DARCY left them outside the restaurant with the explanation that she had paperwork to catch up on. Jordan walked with Jase a half block to the wharf on the waterfront. She stood leaning against the railing, watching wisps of fog float on the waters of the bay. A refurbished nineteenth-century clipper ship was tied to the end of the wharf, and Jordan took a moment to study its intricate rigging and graceful lines.

“They use it to take tourists out at sunset during the warmer months,” Jase explained, following her gaze. “Port Chatham has its own Wooden Boat Society, dedicated to keeping alive the art of building wood-hulled boats and refurbishing the historic ships.”

She knew he was giving her time to say whatever was on her mind. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

Jase nodded, then said in an even tone, “I’ll cut you slack on this one. But for the record, if you continue to keep me in the dark, I’ll encourage the prosecutor to toss you in jail. If I’m to defend you to the best of my ability, I need to know everything.”

“I didn’t want you to think badly of me,” she admitted.

He gave her a chiding look, but his tone remained businesslike. “I’ll call JT and get him started on the investigation.”