The Perfect Rumor, page 3
Eventually Hawthorne came to an end, connecting to Palos Verdes Drive just a few hundred yards from the water. Ryan went south on the new street, passing a lighthouse and a nature preserve. A few minutes later, after one final series of hills, the Peninsula Resort & Spa came into view.
As they followed Peninsula Drive downhill to the property, they got a sense of just how massive it was. There were more red rust-hued roofs and cream building exteriors than Jessie could count. A golf course seemed to weave in and out of the complex. She counted three pools, one of which looked like it stopped at the very edge of a distant cliff. As they reached a gate with an adjoining guardhouse, they were greeted by a friendly but armed guard.
“First time staying with us?” he asked warmly.
“We’re actually here investigating an incident,” Ryan said vaguely, holding up his ID.
“Ah, yes, Detective, we were told to expect you,” the guard said. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“No idea,” Ryan admitted.
The guard got a paper map from the house and leaned in with it so they could see.
“We’re here,” he said, circling the guardhouse with his pen. “You’re going to follow this road around to the right. It will take you directly to the Reception Center in the Grand Hall. There are several parking spots for resort personnel. Park in one of them and head to the reception desk. They’ll have a security guard escort you to the spa area. I’ll call ahead to make sure they’re ready for you. Any questions?”
“No,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “That was pretty comprehensive.”
They followed the route the guard indicated, pausing at several stop signs and pedestrian crosswalks to make way for golf carts and guests. As they approached the Grand Hall, Jessie took in the scene. The structure, like all the others, had a Mediterranean look.
But this particular building towered over the others nearby, with a bell tower that looked to be about fifty feet high. It seemed appropriate for the place, which she’d heard would unenthusiastically accept reservations from the very rich but catered primarily to the filthy rich.
When they got to the roundabout near the main entrance, a valet darted out to help them, but Ryan waved him off and took one of the open personnel spots. The valet jogged after them and waited politely as they exited the vehicle.
“Welcome folks,” he said, slightly winded. “I’m afraid that spot is for hotel staff. Can I find a spot for you or direct you to the self-parking area?”
“Thanks, but that’s not necessary,” Ryan said, again holding up his badge. “We’re here on police business. Can you point us to the front desk please?”
“Of course, sir,” the valet said. “It’s right through those doors to your left.”
They headed in that direction. As they did, Jessie took note of their attire as opposed to the guests around them. Despite rushing to get ready before they left, she’d tried to dress appropriately for the location, wearing a light sweater and a pair of nice slacks. Ryan had done the same, wearing slacks and a button-down shirt with a blazer. She thought they fit in pretty well, coming off as devil-may-care, vacation business-casual. The only small giveaway that they might not be in leisure mode was her still-damp hair, which she’d put in a ponytail rather than try to style in the car.
They were just walking up to the front desk when they were met by a tall, bald man in a suit and tie, with a nametag that read: Hugo, Security. He looked the part. Easily six-foot-four and 220 pounds, the man presented like he’d just switched from a football uniform into a work one.
“Detectives?” he asked, his voice low and discreet.
“I’m Detective Hernandez,” Ryan confirmed. “This Jessie Hunt, a criminal profiler with the department.”
“Yes,” Hugo replied, nodding. “Now that you say that, I recognize you, Ms. Hunt. I saw how you took down that cult leader—very impressive. My name is Hugo Cosgrove. I’m part of our security team here at Peninsula. I’ve been asked to escort you to the spa. Could you please follow me?”
“Sure,” Jessie said as he led them through the Reception Center. He was seemingly oblivious to Grand Hall’s ornate, detailed floor tiles and the elaborate roped-off sculptures along the way. She was not and tried to steal glances as she walked past.
They passed through a massive archway and out to a huge, well-manicured lawn that was clearly the site of the larger outdoor weddings at the resort. At the far end of the lawn, only yards from the cliff side, was a gazebo for ceremonies. White, wooden chairs were being set out for one that was apparently happening today.
“When’s the wedding today?” she asked.
“It starts just before sunset,” he answered. “They want to exchange vows just as the sun drops below the horizon.”
“That’s nice,” Ryan said and Jessie could see his mind racing.
“The rest of your people are already at the spa,” Hugo told them, stopping at a golf cart at the edge of the lawn. “We tried to keep all the potential witnesses there as well, although we let Mrs. Newhouse return to her casita. She was very upset.”
“Understood,” Ryan said. “We’ll catch up with her there.”
Hugo got in the golf cart driver’s seat.
“We’re not walking?” Jessie asked.
“We could,” Hugo said. “But it’s a bit of a trek and I was led to believe that time is of the essence.”
“It is,” Ryan said, hopping in the back seat. Jessie took the front passenger seat as Hugo settled in behind the wheel.
“Hold on tight,” he said as he started the cart up. “It can get a little bumpy.”
Before she could object, he shot ahead, taking the resort turns the way Ryan had driven down Hawthorne Boulevard. Her wet hair slapped against the back of her neck, leaving a damp mark that gave her an uncomfortable chill when met by the ocean breeze.
They arrived outside the spa less than a minute later. Even before Jessie identified the place, she knew where she was because of the CSU truck and the medical examiner van. The entire area was cordoned off with police tape, and other members of the resort’s security team were doing their best to keep onlookers at bay behind it. Hugo parked the cart and walked briskly ahead of them until they reached the entrance of the spa, where an L.A. County Sheriff’s deputy based out of the Lomita station stood watch.
“I assume you’re good from here?” Hugo asked once they got to the police tape.
“I think so. Thanks, Hugo,” Ryan said.
“Okay,” Hugo replied. “I’ll be waiting out here for you when you’re done.”
Ryan nodded before turning to the deputy, showing his badge, and dipping under the tape. Jessie did the same. They stepped inside the building and looked around. The spa reception area was empty, apart from several other deputies milling about. The walls were all soft variations on yellow and the plush chairs were different shades of light blue. They had the desired effect. Jessie felt immediately more relaxed, if only briefly. Even though a person died here, the place had an air of serenity.
They followed the signage for the men’s lounge, strolling along a hallway with frosted glass walls until they got to the massive oak entrance doors, where another deputy stood guard. They again showed their ID and the deputy stood aside. Ryan pushed open the door and Jessie stepped inside. That’s when the serenity ended.
CHAPTER FOUR
The men’s lounge was organized chaos.
Jessie counted at least a dozen people in the area, many of whom she recognized. Even though Peninsula was within the territory of the L.A. County Sheriff’s Lomita station, it looked like Chief Laird had called in a favor because everyone working the scene was affiliated with LAPD.
The crime scene techs were all folks Jessie had worked with before and the medical examiner was one of the best in the business, Cheryl Gallagher. Jessie handled the case of a murdered social influencer with her a few months back and her work had been top notch. As always, her blonde hair was pulled back tight into a ponytail. Her expression was even tighter. Jessie and Ryan approached her first.
“What do we know?” Ryan asked her, not wasting time with pleasantries.
“He almost certainly died of strangulation,” Gallagher said, “though it’s too early to determine whether it was self-inflicted or done to him. Follow me.”
She led them through the lounge area of the spa, past the locker room, restrooms, and showers to a large, secluded back area. At one end of the section was a giant Jacuzzi-style, whirlpool bath. To the left was a sauna with wooden interior. To the right was the steam room where Newhouse had died.
The door was propped open and several people were moving about inside. Gallagher stopped at the entrance and let Jessie and Ryan take in the scene. The man’s body was lying on the floor in an open body bag. Photographs were being taken and someone was attempting to dust for prints. Attached to a metal handlebar about five feet high, built into the wall, was some kind of thin rope. It had a pattern of navy blue and white, though at one end of it, the white had turned reddish.
“Sorry,” Gallagher said. “I know you like to see the crime scene as it was. But we had to cut him down. I was worried that the pressure on his neck would further damage the throat area, complicating any definitive determination on cause of death. We did take pictures, of course.”
There would be official ones for them to look at later but for now Gallagher pulled up some shots on her phone. They showed Scott Newhouse, naked, slumped to the side. He was on the middle, white-tiled bench, with his torso pressed up against the right bench. The same thin material currently attached to the metal handlebar was around his neck in the photo. It was essentially holding him up. Without it, he would have likely slipped to the floor entirely.
“That handlebar seems kind of low for someone who wanted to hang himself,” Ryan noted.
“I agree,” Gallagher said. “But I don’t want to rule it out. The material could have loosened over time after the fact. It’s hard to say. One thing is for sure, it was wrapped tight around his neck. It had actually cut through the flesh in some areas.”
Jessie winced at the words. Nonetheless, she looked down at Newhouse’s lifeless body. There were nasty, red indentations in his neck, like a bloody choker necklace.
“We were told a belt was used,” she said, “but that looks a lot thinner.”
“Yes,” Gallagher confirmed. “After closer inspection, the material is closer to a thick ribbon of some kind. We’re not sure what it is exactly. There’s nothing like it in the spa. The attendant who found him told the first deputies on the scene that he didn’t recognize it.”
“Any chance you’ll be able to pull DNA off it?” Ryan asked.
“We’ll see,” Gallagher replied dubiously. “That’s really our only hope for physical evidence, assuming this was a homicide and the killer didn’t use gloves. Unfortunately, this room is so hot and humid that pulling prints is virtually impossible. Even determining an authoritative time of death will be hard because the heat in here messed with his body temp.”
That fact alone piqued Jessie’s suspicion. After all, if this was murder, what better place to commit the crime than a place where fingerprints and an accurate time of death were hard to come by?
“Maybe the attendant can help us lock that down a bit,” she suggested. “Where is he?”
“He’s waiting with a deputy in the locker room,” Gallagher told them. “His name is Tony Dante. He’s pretty shaken up.”
“Thanks Cheryl,” Ryan said.
They made their way back to the locker room, where a deputy was standing with his back to them, scrolling through his phone. He had apparently made no effort to comfort the young man, who looked terrified. Tony Dante was sitting forlornly on a bench in the corner, bouncing nervously and fiddling with his fingers. He had olive skin, brown hair, and appeared to be in his early twenties. When he glanced up at them, his eyes were wide with distress.
“Tony,” Jessie said, pushing past the deputy, who could get an explanation of who they were from Ryan, “My name is Jessie. How are you doing?”
She sat down beside him and smiled gently. It seemed wise to ease in with the kid. There was always the possibility that Tony had killed Scott Newhouse, but for now she was operating on the assumption that he was a witness. That could always change based on his answers.
“Not great,” he admitted.
She heard the deputy balk behind her before Ryan murmured something to him that she couldn’t hear. She pretended not to notice.
“I can understand that,” she said softly. “What you saw was pretty awful. I wish I could tell you the memory will fade soon, but that wouldn’t be honest.”
“Who are you?” he asked, apparently curious as to whether he could trust the word of the strange woman who had sat down beside him.
“Like I said, my name is Jessie. I’m a profiler who consults with the police. They bring me in on investigations from time to time. I’m here trying to determine what happened and I was hoping you could help me and my partner, Detective Hernandez, figure that out. Can we ask you a few questions?”
“I already told the other cops what I saw,” he said, clearly dreading the idea of revisiting it all.
“We know,” Jessie said quietly but firmly. “But it’s often helpful for us to hear it in person from the witness. Sometimes they remember new things the second time around. When did you find the victim?”
“A little after ten,” he said.
“Can you be more specific?”
“It was about 10:10,” he said. “My break started at 10:15 and cleaning the steam room is always the last thing on my checklist before I clock out.”
“Did you see him go in?’
“No, but I was running around the lounge a lot. I could have easily missed him. I saw on the sign-in sheet by the door that he checked in around 9:30, so I knew he was around somewhere. But he could have been anywhere—the sauna, getting a massage—and I wouldn’t necessarily have known. It was pretty quiet this morning. I only came across three or four guests since I started my shift.”
“Were any of them around when you found the body?”
“No,” he said, shivering at the memory. “I was pretty sure I was alone because I hadn’t seen anyone for a while and everyone except for Mr. Newhouse had checked out on the sign-in sheet. But I shouted out for help anyway after I called the front desk. No one answered.”
“Are there cameras we can check to see comings and goings?” Ryan asked, speaking for the first time.
“Entering the spa’s main reception area, yes,” Tony told him, “but not in the lounges. They want guests to have privacy.”
“But we could use the reception cameras to determine if guests actually left the spa after signing out in here?” Ryan checked.
“I guess so,” Tony said. “You should check with security to make sure.”
“We will,” Ryan replied. “Is there anything else you can think of that we didn’t ask about?”
“No.”
“Okay, just one last question, Tony,” Ryan asked as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “Did you know Mr. Newhouse?”
“I don’t think so,” Tony answered. “The name isn’t familiar and I didn’t recognize him. But, I mean, I didn’t look that closely at him, you know. I actually tried not to look at him at all.”
“And did you interact with anyone else during the time prior to finding the body?” Ryan pressed, asking more than his promised “one” question.
“Sure,” Tony said, not totally getting that he was being asked for his alibi. “I went to get extra towels at one point and ran into Kree. She’s one of the female attendants. That was about ten minutes before I found Mr. Newhouse. I also stopped by Jerald’s office. He’s the men’s spa manager. I told him we were running low on cucumbers for the mint cucumber water. He said he’d order more from the kitchen. That was just a couple of minutes before I found the guy.”
“Great,” Jessie said. “We just need you to stick around a little while longer. The deputy will release you soon.”
Tony nodded and they left the men’s lounge and headed back to the front.
“What do you think?” Ryan asked as they approached the main exit.
“I think that Chief Laird is going to want an update soon. And since it might be a while until we get the M.E.’s take on whether this was murder or suicide, we’d be smart to talk to someone else who may be able to give us some insight on the matter.”
“Who’s that?” Ryan asked, though Jessie suspected he knew who she was thinking of.
“The same person who might also be our prime suspect: his wife. We need to speak to Bridget Newhouse.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Hugo tore along the golf cart path like he was in a race.
As he drove them to Bridget Newhouse’s bungalow across the campus, he took it upon himself to give them the quick and dirty tour.
“That’s the public nightclub, Breakers,” he said, pointing at a stand-alone building near a cliff edge.
“What do you mean ‘public?’” Ryan shouted from the backseat.
“Anyone can get into that one, even non-guests, if they’re willing to pay the cover, which is admittedly quite steep,” Hugo explained. “But there’s another club underneath it, carved deep into the cliff. It’s VIP only—very exclusive. You have to take an elevator down. They created an artificial cove just above the water line with a massive window facing the ocean. When the waves crash, they slam into the window—it’s pretty intense.”
“What constitutes a VIP?” Jessie wondered.
“That information is above my pay grade,” Hugo admitted. “When I’ve worked the place, I’ve seen major celebrities and people I didn’t recognize that looked like they hadn’t bathed in days. I have no idea what the formal criteria is for entry.”
“Sounds super fun,” Ryan said drily. “What’s it called, The Cove?”
“Actually, yes,” Hugo told him with a surprised look on his face. He recovered quickly and pointed out a large grassy area, part of which was filled with chaise lounge chairs and several all-weather loveseats. “That lawn is where we do our catered picnics. And just beyond it, in the furniture-free area, is the yoga pavilion where we do our seaside classes.”
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