“And after the second killing?” Novak asked.
Whitcomb shrugged. “Most of my clients were men. And though we occasionally had slow nights, it didn’t last long. For some of my customers, it would have been a turn-on.”
Some men found pleasure in hurting women, a lesson Julia had learned. “The cops’ first visit to your shop was routine. They were talking to all the businesses, correct?”
“That’s correct. They asked for our surveillance videos, and the store owner promptly turned them over with the promise from the cops to not divulge he was releasing the tape with all his clients on it.”
“Why do you think you were a suspect?”
Whitcomb kept his expression blank. “Agent Vargas, it sounds like you’ve read the files, so I bet you already know the answer, don’t you?”
“I’m looking for your take on the story,” she said.
He sat back. “The media got wind of the story, and because it was such a horrific crime scene, the police knew they had to get in front of it. After the second kill, reporters wrote about the two murders daily. I assume the pressure was building. The murder rates in the city were climbing then, and Richmond was getting tagged in the national media. Gene Tanner was cleared, so they needed another suspect.”
“Media pressure is one thing,” Novak said. “But the cops set their sights on a particular person. They must have had a reason for looking at you.”
He shrugged. “I fit the profile. I’d had mental health challenges and worked in an establishment that featured BDSM videos. I was easy and convenient to blame.”
“Didn’t they also find your sweater at one of the crime scenes?” Julia asked.
Whitcomb cleaned the lenses of his glasses again. “I used to wear the sweater to work. One day, it went missing from the back room. Irritating, but hardly a reason to call the cops.”
“When the third victim was murdered, you had an alibi?” Novak asked.
“I was with my parents. We were visiting my doctor. Why are you digging into this old case now? It’s been twenty-five years.”
“Mr. Whitcomb, can you tell me where you were last night?” Novak asked.
“Last night?” That question prompted a curious grin. “I was at home. But I thought we were talking about twenty-five years ago.”
“Were you at home with anyone?” Novak asked.
“Susan Ramsey.” He removed his cell from his pocket and rattled off the number. “Does that help?”
Novak scribbled down the number. “It does. Thank you.”
“But why the questions about last night?” Whitcomb pressed.
“There was a murder last night,” Novak said.
A gray brow arched. “Like that of the Hangman?”
“There were similarities,” Novak said.
Whitcomb shook his head. “And so now you’re coming back to the guy the cops tried to nail twenty-five years ago.”
“We’re just asking questions,” Novak said.
“Cops don’t just ask questions,” he said. “They always have an agenda.” He rose. “This interview is over. I’ll need you to leave my office.”
Neither Julia nor Novak budged. “All friendly questions here,” Novak said.
Whitcomb shook his head. “It’s not friendly. You’re trying to entrap me.”
“I’ll be contacting Ms. Ramsey,” Novak said. “When did she leave?”
“About eleven p.m.” Whitcomb’s lips flattened into a grim line. “I’m finished talking. You can address all your questions to my attorney. Now please leave or I make calls to your bosses.”
Novak slowly closed his notebook, and in no particular rush, tucked it in his breast pocket. “I was hoping to keep this friendly.”
“We aren’t friends,” Whitcomb said.
“We’ll talk again,” Novak said.
They left the office. Outside, Novak pulled sunglasses from his pocket and slid them on.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He’s wary of police, but if he got a bad deal the last time, he’s in for some more trouble really soon.”
“He shut up as soon as you mentioned last night’s murder. In the original cases, he spoke to the cops for hours before his parents hired an attorney.”
“He’s smarter now.” Novak remained where he stood.
“Interesting guy,” she said.
Novak stared at the building, his jaw tensing. “What do you think, Julia?”
“He’s a nut in my book.”
“He did something twenty-five years ago. He might not have killed those girls, but he was no angel. Can you get your buddy at Shield to dig a little deeper on that one?”
“Sure, I’ll ask right now.”
She texted Andrews the request, and he responded immediately. “He’s on it,” she said.
Novak listened to his messages. “My partner has found the hotel where Lana Ortega was staying. I’m going to check it out. Care to tag along?”
“Damn, Novak, that’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me today.”
“Julia, if that’s the nicest, then you need better friends.”
“So I keep telling myself.” The stiffness released in her back as they moved toward the car. Inside, she settled into the seat. “You really think it’s the same killer?”
“If it’s not, then it’s someone who knew a lot of details about the original killings.”
“If it’s the same guy, it puts my father in the clear.”
“That’s important to you.”
“It is. I always said it didn’t matter, but it does.” She and her mother had lived their lives on the outsid
e because of her father.
“We’ll figure this out, Julia.”
She tipped her chin up. “We certainly will.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thursday, November 2, 2:45 p.m.
Novak parked a block away from the familiar upscale historic hotel located in the city center. When Bella had been younger, this was her place to visit at Christmas. He and his dad had made the trek with her each year. Neither Novak nor his father had liked the place—too fussy—but it was worth the trip to see Bella’s excitement. Now that his dad was gone, he continued the tradition.
He and Julia walked past a flowing fountain decorated with a dolphin centered among arching streams of water. The hotel was well over a hundred years old and was considered the place to have tea or dinner. She didn’t look in awe or that impressed. Instead, she studied the entrance in a tactical sort of way. The image of her balancing a teacup with a plate of biscuits made him smile.
“Why the smirk, Novak?” she asked.
“Imagining you here at high tea.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s not pretty.”
She shrugged. “For your information, I had tea here at Christmas with my mother and aunt when I was ten. I liked the cookies, but the tea wasn’t sweet enough, and my new shoes pinched. The entire experience wasn’t a good fit. But I pretended to like it because my mom loved it.”
“How do you and Cindy celebrate Christmas?”
“When I’m not on the job, I’m working a little behind the bar at Billy’s. The holiday season is a big time for her.”
“Where are you most at home?”
Slowly she shook her head. “Still working on that one.”
“You don’t have a clue?”
“Not really. Do you?”
“Thought I did. Now, I’m starting fresh.”
Novak introduced himself at the front desk and showed his badge, and the clerk quickly hurried into a back room in search of the hotel manager.
Julia turned from the front desk to study the gleaming marble and lush carpets and furnishings.
A man behind them cleared his voice. They turned to see a man wearing crisp suit.
“I’m Mr. Young,” the man said.