“Why would I do something so foolish? My case will soon be on appeal. For now, the commonwealth won, and Mr. Santiago is going to prison until I win the appeal.”
“Benny Santiago has a long memory,” Julia said. “What better way to get back at the girlfriend who talked too much than to have his attorney kill her? What better way to rattle me than to kill her like the Hangman?”
Novak admired Julia’s cool, direct tone. He knew this case was emotionally charged for her, but her theory was logical and on point.
Monroe was silent for a moment before responding. “These theories are interesting, but I don’t have any more time to waste on conjecture.” She rose. “Thank you for stopping by.”
Novak remained seated, willing to run with Julia’s theory. “Now that I know where to dig, there’s going to be no stopping me. I’m going to prove you had Lana Ortega killed.”
Monroe’s gaze sharpened. “I did not have that woman killed.”
“The evidence is telling a different story,” Julia said.
Monroe pointed a manicured finger toward the door. “You need to leave now.”
Novak relaxed back into his chair as if he had all the time in the world.
“Who left the rope outside my house? That you or the person you hired to be the Hangman?” Julia asked.
Monroe reached for her phone. “I’m calling security.”
Julia rose slowly. “I’m coming back with a warrant.”
Novak, taking his lead from Julia, stood. “Looking forward to seeing you again, Ms. Monroe.”
They were escorted back to the main lobby and rode the elevator to the first floor. Outside, the air was crisp and the sky a vivid blue.
Julia exhaled as she reached for her cigarettes. “Do you believe her?”
“She’s a hard one to believe,” Novak said.
“I hope it isn’t true. If she hired someone to copycat the Hangman, that means Jim could still be guilty.”
“Or maybe she took a page from her former boss’s playbook.”
Julia studied him. “You think the Hangman was hired to kill those women?”
“Everyone who was murdered had talked to your father. A man like Popov would have assumed they’d snitched on him and shown no mercy.”
“But it could still be Jim.”
“If it had been Jim, Monroe is the type of shark who would have found a way to use that information for leverage against you by now.”
Julia nodded. “I’ve watched her in court. She painted Benny as a choirboy and tried to make me look unstable. She suggested Jim killed himself because he failed to catch the Hangman.”
“And that adds weight to your theory. Monroe reminds everyone that the Hangman escaped justice so that when she had Lana killed in the style of the Hangman, no one would question her or Santiago,” Novak said.
They walked to the car, and when they closed the doors, Novak scanned his messages. One from Riggs reported more credit card information on Lana Ortega.
Novak summarized the contents to Julia. “Lana’s credit card charges show she visited the same bar a dozen times during Benny’s trial. The place is called the Edge and is located six blocks from her downtown hotel. I know it. Mostly folks on business travel with extra cash and a wandering eye.”
“We’re close. Let’s have a look.”
It was midmorning, and when they pulled up in front of the Edge, there were few cars parked in front of the brick building. Inside, the round tables and booths were empty. With the lights on, all the scars showed. It would take dim light and a lot of alcohol to create charm here.
He knocked on the bar. “Hello?”
“What can I do for you?” The gravelly voice came from a gray-haired man wearing jeans, a black shirt, and boots. He looked like he would have a Harley parked out back.
Novak held up his badge and introduced himself and Julia. “I’m working a case.” He liked to avoid the word homicide at first. People had a way of shutting down when he did. “Have you seen this woman? Her credit card receipts said she recently spent a bit of time here.”
He looked at the picture. “Sure. That’s Lana. She’s a fun girl. Always has the guys sitting around her laughing or lusting. She’s good for business. I sell more booze the nights she’s around.”
“Did she spend any time with any one man?” Julia asked.
“She had a lot of men around her,” he said. “Like I said, she’s hot, and men like that look, especially if they’re trashed.”
“She was here a dozen times according to her credit card receipts. Any reason in particular?”
“Some of the regulars noticed her. She received lots of attention, and she liked it. Some tried to score, but she wasn’t interested. Is this about the other cop?”
“What other cop?” Novak asked.
“He sat beside her on two different nights while I was bartending. The cop said he was working on a case and needed her help.”
“What case?”
“I didn’t catch what he said. But I did hear her call him Jim once or twice.”
“Jim?” Julia asked. “Anything about Jim that you recall?”
He pulled in a breath. “What’s going on here? Why do you cops care about Lana?”
“Lana was murdered the other night. I’m looking for her killer.”
The bartender tensed. “And you think this cop did it?”
“I’m not sure he was a cop,” Novak said.
“I saw his badge. And I’ve seen enough badges and cops to know when I see the real thing. He was a cop.”
“And his name was Jim?” Julia repeated.
“Yes.”
Novak opened his notes and scrolled through the pages. “Do you have surveillance footage from Monday night?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He turned a page. “I have Lana’s last credit card visit here on Monday night at ten p.m. Can I see it now?”
“Sure. Come on in the back.”
Novak followed him into an office. He opened a cabinet where the surveillance equipment was stored. The bar owner punched a few buttons on the computer and selected the 10:00 p.m. time stamp. In the far left corner of the image sat Lana at the bar.
“Can you back it up?” Novak asked.
“I have a thirty-day storage backup, so I can make you a copy of all the nights she was here if that will help.”
“That would be great.”
“Give me a second.”
Fifteen minutes later, Novak had digital footage covering seven separate nights.
“I found your guy,” the bar manager said. He selected a Thursday night and hit “Forward” to the spot where Lana sat at the bar. She was laughing with another woman, a martini glass raised to her red lips. Blond hair was teased high and fell over her bare back in a cascade of curls. The woman beside Lana, a dark, smoky brunette, wore her hair loose around her shoulders. Her black dress plunged deep in the back.
“Do you know the woman Lana is talking to?” Novak asked.
Julia leaned in and studied the image, frowning but silent.
“I do remember her. Set of tits that every guy in the bar noticed. She called herself Bonnie. Those two acted like old friends and were pretty wasted.”
Novak watched the video feed of a man approaching the bar and sitting to the right of Lana. His back was to the camera.