Pescoli said, “No one at KMJC News thought about giving us a heads-up. I’m betting Ray Sutherland did this on his own.”
“Idiot.” Grayson was irritated, obviously felt as if he and the department had been blindsided.
“All we want is for Brenda to come home,” Ray was saying, his voice catching a bit. He stared directly into the camera’s lens. “Honey, if you’re out there, please, call, and if ... if someone else knows where she is, we want them to please let us know she’s all right.”
“What is this?” Grayson said. “We’re not sure she was kidnapped. The FBI hasn’t even jumped in.”
“Yet,” Pescoli thought aloud, and watched the sadness in the two boys’ faces as their father begged for his ex-wife’s safe return. He seemed genuinely upset, but, Pescoli noted, no tears tracked down his face. “He’s the beneficiary on her life insurance policy,” Pescoli said. “Just got the confirmation from the insurance company about an hour ago. Get this: two hundred thousand big ones, and he increased it about three months ago. The benefit was originally fifty grand.”
“Lots of money,” Alvarez said.
Grayson nodded and rubbed the edge of his moustache. “For an ex.”
Pescoli thought the whole scene looked staged. “He made it pretty clear when we interviewed him that he wasn’t all that fond of her.”
“And here he is crying on TV,” Grayson said.
“Not quite crying. No tears. Just a big show, dragging his kids out in the snow.” Pescoli wasn’t buying it.
“This is live, right?” Alvarez said.
Grayson scowled. “Don’t know. Could’ve been taped.”
“We would have heard about it and it looks like it’s evening. I think I’ll head over there now. See what’s up. It’s not that far from here.”
“I’ll come with.” Pescoli was already walking through the door and into the hallway.
“Report back,” Grayson yelled after them. “If I’m not here, call my cell.”
Alvarez was right. Even with the evening traffic, they reached the apartment complex where Ray Sutherland had held court in less than fifteen minutes. The interview was over, the reporter, Nia Del Ray, packing up her gear into the KMJC van that was parked in the lot, a driver already waiting and smoking a cigarette that he held near a cracked window while the big rig idled.
“Hey,” Pescoli said to the reporter, who was about to climb into the waiting van. She didn’t bother flashing her badge or introducing herself as they’d worked with Nia before. “How about a heads-up on something like this?”
Nia, reaching for the handle of the door, paused. “Mr. Sutherland’s request. No cops.”
“Why?” Alvarez asked.
“Don’t know.” Nia’s dark hair didn’t so much as move as she shook her head. “I did mention it and he didn’t really answer, just said something about doing it ‘his way.’ ” Nia grabbed the door and opened it. “He called the station and I was sent out here. End of story.”
With that, she climbed into the van and the driver put it into gear, then pulled out, big engine rumbling, satellite dish tucked in.
“Pisses me off,” Pescoli said as she headed for Ray Sutherland’s apartment.
“Everything pisses you off.”
“Okay, well this guy really pisses me off. Wants to do it his way, like he’s damned Sinatra or something.” They’d reached Sutherland’s unit and Pescoli pounded on the door.
It opened a crack, Brenda’s younger son looking up at them, the chain still in place. His eyes were round and distrustful, a hank of coffee-brown hair falling across his forehead.
“I’m Detective Pescoli and this is my partner, Detective Alvarez. We’d like to talk to your father.”
They showed their badges and the kid looked over his shoulder and yelled, “Dad! The police want to talk to you!”
“Tell ’em I’m not interested!” the man yelled back.
“Mr. Sutherland,” Pescoli shouted. “We can talk here or down at the station. Your choice.”
“What? No! Oh, hell!” Obviously, Sutherland wasn’t happy. Heavy footsteps could be heard and the boy disappeared from the door, only to be replaced by a red-faced Ray. “What do you want?”