Insidious
Page 41
Cam took Mrs. Buffet’s hand when she thanked her. She sat in her Toyota a moment to enter the man’s description on the FBI website, then texted Daniel to meet her at Missy’s cottage. She called Special Agent Aaron Poker in Las Vegas. She wanted to know if he’d caught up with their eyewitness from the Molly Harbinger murder, the would-be thief.
Did Aaron Poker ever have good news for her.
33
* * *
MISSY’S COTTAGE
MALIBU
Daniel’s Crown Vic pulled in right behind Cam’s Toyota in Missy’s driveway. Cam jumped out of the car. “Daniel, good timing. Wait until you hear what I got from Agent Poker in Las Vegas. We have an ID on our eyewitness—they got a DNA match on his blood on CODIS. He lives in Las Vegas, name is Marty Sallas, thirty-eight, with a rap sheet up to his elbow, so it makes sense he wouldn’t want to come forward, but he’s not violent, no guns or assaults. Aaron emailed me his photo.”
She grabbed his hands and began dancing with him on the driveway. “We’ve got him, Daniel, we’ve got our eyewitness. And he didn’t see some guy in a ball cap off in the distance, he was in the house with him. Aaron’s got the local cops looking all over for him now. It’s only a matter of time before they find him.”
Daniel grinned down at her, and stopped dancing. “Show me.”
She punched up her cell phone, showed him a mug shot of Marty Sallas, being booked for petty theft. “We never would have identified him from the grainy video at Valley ER.”
Daniel said, “I’ll bet he was bleeding too much to drive out of Las Vegas, a mistake. No matter how bad my hand was cut, I’d drive to Canada I’d be so afraid the Serial would find me.”
She nodded. “Aaron said he’d bet his next paycheck Sallas is hunkered down, still in Nevada, trying to get himself together and figure out what to do, nursing that hand, cursing his luck. Aaron has already sent the local TV stations Sallas’s picture, asking them to make an appeal. He thinks he could get reward money because the casinos don’t want this sort of publicity. Do you think Sallas would call it in?”
“Probably not, too risky for him. But this could be exactly what we need, Wittier, if the cops find him. Now you want to tell me why you texted me to come over here?”
“This cottage belongs to Missy Devereaux. We’re friends from high school. I ran into her at the market and she invited me to stay with her. I didn’t want her to be alone because she’s young and an actress, and she knew a couple of the victims. I was thinking it might be a good idea if the two of us talked to her, tried to find out more about the circles these women travel in. Could give us a lead.”
They looked up to see Missy dash outside, her blond ponytail bouncing up and down. Her face was clean of makeup. She was wearing shorts and a tube top, showing a tanned flat belly, and Skechers on her small feet, no socks. She was gorgeous. Had Deborah been this beautiful? This full of life?
Missy yelled, “Cam, why are you just standing out here?” Then she paused. “Hey, who are you?”
Daniel stepped up, introduced himself.
She looked him over, then met his eyes. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Detective Montoya. I didn’t know you’d be coming over, but I’m glad you’re here. Come on in, Cam, I was out running, and heard talk about Deborah—it’s true? It’s really true? That monster killed Deborah Connelly?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
Missy shook her head, looking shaken. “It’s horrible, horrible. Poor Doc. He and Deborah were going to get married—sometime in the misty future, Deb’d say, and Doc would kiss her hard and say, Not so misty.”
Cam couldn’t believe it. “You knew Deborah Connelly, Missy?”
“Yes, I do. I did. I mean we weren’t BFFs, but I knew her well enough. We had the occasional drink to commiserate when we didn’t get a part, you know? Shopped for shoes several times on Rodeo Drive. Like I did with Connie.” Missy broke off, her eyes tearing up. She grabbed Cam’s arm. “My friends are dying, Cam. You’ve got to do something.”
“We are. We’ve got a pretty good description of the guy and we’ve identified a man in Las Vegas who was an eyewitness to Molly Harbinger’s murder. Keep that under your hat, Missy, okay?”
“Yes, of course, but Deborah—”
Daniel said to Missy, “Could we go inside?”
“Yes, sure. But Detective Montoya— Oh, you’re here about the restraining order, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m here because I’m working with Agent Wittier, but I do have your restraining order ready for you at the Lost Hills station against John Bayley, identified as your stalker. It’s in effect for ninety days, then you’ll have to renew it.”
“Good. Come with me, I’ll make us some tea.” As Missy led them to the kitchen, she said to Daniel, “I know his name, it’s Blinker, the putz. And yes, legally, it’s John Bayley, like you said.”
“Where’d he get the nickname?”
“Good question,” Missy said, eyeing him. “You know he’s some sort of bond trader, lives in the Valley. He swore to the Las Vegas cops that he didn’t even know who I was, just this crazy girl who chased him down with a Ka-Bar. The lying little jerkface. I couldn’t believe it, but they said they had to let him go.”
Daniel, who knew all this, let her tell her story, then said to this exquisite girl who came to his chin, “Now if Mr. Bayley comes close enough for you to see him, take a photo of him, with a date stamp, and call me. I’ll personally throw his butt in one of our cozy cells. I gotta say, you sure picked the right person to invite to stay with you.”
Cam grinned at Missy, and they high-fived each other.
Cam said, “Missy, I’m going to tell you something that’s been kept out of the media and you need to keep secret, okay?”
Missy cocked her head to one side, sending her hair cascading over her shoulder. “Yes, I can do that, Cam.”
“The killer took all the victims’ computers and cell phones—and nothing else. He’s done that every time. I’m hoping you can help us figure out why.”
“He took Deborah’s Toshiba? She was practically attached at the hip to that thing. She bought it with royalties from Mission: Impossible. I remember she was so proud. But I know that Doc was always making fun of her about how she documented her life on that freaking laptop, and only he and her parents cared. And she’d punch him and laugh. Oh, Cam!” And she threw herself against Cam, nearly sending her over backward.
Did Aaron Poker ever have good news for her.
33
* * *
MISSY’S COTTAGE
MALIBU
Daniel’s Crown Vic pulled in right behind Cam’s Toyota in Missy’s driveway. Cam jumped out of the car. “Daniel, good timing. Wait until you hear what I got from Agent Poker in Las Vegas. We have an ID on our eyewitness—they got a DNA match on his blood on CODIS. He lives in Las Vegas, name is Marty Sallas, thirty-eight, with a rap sheet up to his elbow, so it makes sense he wouldn’t want to come forward, but he’s not violent, no guns or assaults. Aaron emailed me his photo.”
She grabbed his hands and began dancing with him on the driveway. “We’ve got him, Daniel, we’ve got our eyewitness. And he didn’t see some guy in a ball cap off in the distance, he was in the house with him. Aaron’s got the local cops looking all over for him now. It’s only a matter of time before they find him.”
Daniel grinned down at her, and stopped dancing. “Show me.”
She punched up her cell phone, showed him a mug shot of Marty Sallas, being booked for petty theft. “We never would have identified him from the grainy video at Valley ER.”
Daniel said, “I’ll bet he was bleeding too much to drive out of Las Vegas, a mistake. No matter how bad my hand was cut, I’d drive to Canada I’d be so afraid the Serial would find me.”
She nodded. “Aaron said he’d bet his next paycheck Sallas is hunkered down, still in Nevada, trying to get himself together and figure out what to do, nursing that hand, cursing his luck. Aaron has already sent the local TV stations Sallas’s picture, asking them to make an appeal. He thinks he could get reward money because the casinos don’t want this sort of publicity. Do you think Sallas would call it in?”
“Probably not, too risky for him. But this could be exactly what we need, Wittier, if the cops find him. Now you want to tell me why you texted me to come over here?”
“This cottage belongs to Missy Devereaux. We’re friends from high school. I ran into her at the market and she invited me to stay with her. I didn’t want her to be alone because she’s young and an actress, and she knew a couple of the victims. I was thinking it might be a good idea if the two of us talked to her, tried to find out more about the circles these women travel in. Could give us a lead.”
They looked up to see Missy dash outside, her blond ponytail bouncing up and down. Her face was clean of makeup. She was wearing shorts and a tube top, showing a tanned flat belly, and Skechers on her small feet, no socks. She was gorgeous. Had Deborah been this beautiful? This full of life?
Missy yelled, “Cam, why are you just standing out here?” Then she paused. “Hey, who are you?”
Daniel stepped up, introduced himself.
She looked him over, then met his eyes. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Detective Montoya. I didn’t know you’d be coming over, but I’m glad you’re here. Come on in, Cam, I was out running, and heard talk about Deborah—it’s true? It’s really true? That monster killed Deborah Connelly?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
Missy shook her head, looking shaken. “It’s horrible, horrible. Poor Doc. He and Deborah were going to get married—sometime in the misty future, Deb’d say, and Doc would kiss her hard and say, Not so misty.”
Cam couldn’t believe it. “You knew Deborah Connelly, Missy?”
“Yes, I do. I did. I mean we weren’t BFFs, but I knew her well enough. We had the occasional drink to commiserate when we didn’t get a part, you know? Shopped for shoes several times on Rodeo Drive. Like I did with Connie.” Missy broke off, her eyes tearing up. She grabbed Cam’s arm. “My friends are dying, Cam. You’ve got to do something.”
“We are. We’ve got a pretty good description of the guy and we’ve identified a man in Las Vegas who was an eyewitness to Molly Harbinger’s murder. Keep that under your hat, Missy, okay?”
“Yes, of course, but Deborah—”
Daniel said to Missy, “Could we go inside?”
“Yes, sure. But Detective Montoya— Oh, you’re here about the restraining order, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m here because I’m working with Agent Wittier, but I do have your restraining order ready for you at the Lost Hills station against John Bayley, identified as your stalker. It’s in effect for ninety days, then you’ll have to renew it.”
“Good. Come with me, I’ll make us some tea.” As Missy led them to the kitchen, she said to Daniel, “I know his name, it’s Blinker, the putz. And yes, legally, it’s John Bayley, like you said.”
“Where’d he get the nickname?”
“Good question,” Missy said, eyeing him. “You know he’s some sort of bond trader, lives in the Valley. He swore to the Las Vegas cops that he didn’t even know who I was, just this crazy girl who chased him down with a Ka-Bar. The lying little jerkface. I couldn’t believe it, but they said they had to let him go.”
Daniel, who knew all this, let her tell her story, then said to this exquisite girl who came to his chin, “Now if Mr. Bayley comes close enough for you to see him, take a photo of him, with a date stamp, and call me. I’ll personally throw his butt in one of our cozy cells. I gotta say, you sure picked the right person to invite to stay with you.”
Cam grinned at Missy, and they high-fived each other.
Cam said, “Missy, I’m going to tell you something that’s been kept out of the media and you need to keep secret, okay?”
Missy cocked her head to one side, sending her hair cascading over her shoulder. “Yes, I can do that, Cam.”
“The killer took all the victims’ computers and cell phones—and nothing else. He’s done that every time. I’m hoping you can help us figure out why.”
“He took Deborah’s Toshiba? She was practically attached at the hip to that thing. She bought it with royalties from Mission: Impossible. I remember she was so proud. But I know that Doc was always making fun of her about how she documented her life on that freaking laptop, and only he and her parents cared. And she’d punch him and laugh. Oh, Cam!” And she threw herself against Cam, nearly sending her over backward.
