“He said he flew her alone,” Navarro said.
Connor shrugged. “We’re hoping he lied. We’ve run both men’s names and their photos through the PI licenses in the state’s database. None of them are a match, but he might not have a license in California. Maybe not anywhere. We’re still hopeful the pilot can point us in the right direction.”
Navarro crossed the fingers of both hands. “Good luck. I’ll give the brass an update. You’re making progress.”
“Any news from the analyst who’s checking street cams for the trailer?” Connor asked.
“Not yet. I’ll let you know when he’s got something.”
Kit started to stand, then sat again when her cell phone began to buzz with an incoming call. “It’s Sam,” she told the others before hitting accept and putting the phone to her ear. “Hey. What’s up?”
“A guy with a neckbeard visited Shelley Porter in rehab,” Sam said.
Kit perked up. That information was almost as good as caffeine. “I’m putting you on speaker. I’m with Connor and Navarro.”
“Hi,” Sam said once they could hear him. “I was just telling Kit that a man with a neckbeard visited Shelley Porter in rehab. Gave his name as LeRoy Hawkins, but I’m pretty sure that was an alias.”
“A guy with a neckbeard asked Norton Landscaping where they got their wraps done.” Navarro exhaled. “I guess we know now how he knew that Shelley was susceptible to a bribe.”
“The rehab manager I talked to said that Shelley was just biding her time until she could go home and use again, and that if anyone had an inclination to see, they would have known. Neckbeard Guy could have picked up on her desperation.”
“How did he know she was in rehab?” Connor asked.
“I’m thinking it was her mother’s Facebook page,” Sam saidwith a sigh. “Or her aunt Jennifer’s. I just checked and they both asked for prayers for Shelley. They asked friends if they’d visit Shelley, maybe give her a reason to get sober for good. If the neckbeard guy had been watching Jennifer’s social media, he would have seen that Shelley was in rehab.”
“So that box is checked,” Kit said sadly.
“One more thing,” Sam said. “He wasn’t driving a Suburban at that point. He had a motorcycle. Or at least he carried a helmet into the rehab center with him. Damn, I have to go. I have a session starting in three minutes.”
“Bye, Sam,” she, Connor, and Navarro chorused. “Thank you, Sam,” Kit added.
“You’re welcome. Talk to you all soon.”
Kit ended the call, her mind already trying to place this new information. “One of the things that’s bothered me is how long that trailer was in Munro’s neighborhood on Wednesday. It arrived around six that morning. Monroe was with Veronica all night on Tuesday and, according to the guard shack logs, didn’t go home afterward on Wednesday morning. He didn’t get home from work that night until five or so. I kept wondering what the killer did all day while he waited.”
“And?” Navarro prompted.
“And, if he had a motorcycle…” She let the thought trail off.
“He could have left for the day and returned later to take both the Ferrari and Munro,” Connor finished. “We should check the guard shack’s camera feed for a motorcycle.”
“I’ll have the analyst do that,” Navarro said. “You focus on finding this PI. Speaking of whom, are either of Munro’s old prison pals the same size as the guy with the neckbeard?”
Kit shook her head. “We thought of that. Neckbeard Guy is about five-ten with an average build, based on the video Ace Diamond gave us. Neither of Munro’s former prison pals fit thatdescription. We’re hoping the pilot can give us more info. We’re off to question him now. We’ll keep you up to date, boss.”
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Tuesday, January 10, 1:05 p.m.
Connor groaned. “Not again.”
Kit joined Connor at the observation room glass. Then sighed.
Sitting at the table in the interview room was Steven Neal, the pilot who’d flown Veronica to the Caymans multiple times. He was joined by his attorney.
Laura Letterman.
“Did she give out a two-for-one discount?” Kit asked.