“I did,” Maggie said. “She stuck to the party line. It was all a misunderstanding. She also had a brand-new Subaru BRZ parked outside her apartment. These people know how to cover their asses, boss.”
Stride shook his head. He stared through the window at the police activity in the woods. They’d be bringing out the body soon. His first thought about the murder was that something had happened between Haley Adams and Jungle Jack. Another assault. And maybe, unlike the other intern, Haley wouldn’t take a payoff and slip quietly away.
But that didn’t explain the telescope. It didn’t explain why Haley Adams had no identity of her own.
“Do we know how Jack originally hooked up with Casperson?” Stride asked. “They seem like an odd match. Was it a Hollywood thing? Did they get together on one of Casperson’s movies?”
“No, Jack doesn’t have any acting or movie background,” Maggie replied. “He’s got a degree in security management from the University of Central Florida. He specialized in celebrity security and worked with some of the rich and famous down on the Gulf Coast. That’s how he met the Caspersons.”
“Florida again,” Stride murmured.
“Yeah. The trail leads down there.”
“You sound pretty sure about that.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”
He heard something in Maggie’s voice, and his eyes narrowed curiously. She had information that she hadn’t shared with him yet, and based on the look on her face, it was something big. “Okay, what did you find out?”
“I have no idea how to explain it, but here’s the thing. John Doe killed Haley Adams.”
“Yeah, that seems like the obvious conclusion. What’s your point?”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” Maggie went on. “I’m not talking about the girl here in the woods. I’m talking about Haley Adams in Florida. The girl from Fort Myers who was murdered, the one I put on the lineup of driver’s license photos. John Doe shot her.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“The ballistics report on the Glock came back from the Gherkin at the FBI. The gun was used in one other unsolved crime. Two years ago, a twenty-two-year-old Florida woman named Haley Adams was found shot to death in the parking lot of a shopping and restaurant complex called Tin City in Naples, Florida. One bullet in the middle of the forehead. It’s a match for the gun we found in John Doe’s rental car.”
“And now we have another girl using the name Haley Adams, killed in the same way, probably with the same gun,” Stride said. “Only the two crime scenes are a couple thousand miles apart.”
“Exactly.”
“What did you find out about the Florida murder?” he asked.
“Not much. The investigation went nowhere. The girl was a waitress at one of the seafood joints in the area. The police never found a motive. There were no witnesses. Her wallet was missing, so it got written off as a street crime. Except clearly it was something else.”
Stride didn’t have any trouble reading her mind. “I’m guessing there’s somewhere you want to go, Mags.”
“Naples,” she said. “We need to get some answers down there.”
“I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the fact that it’s about ninety degrees warmer down there right now?”
A grin crept across Maggie’s face. “That thought never occurred to me.”
Stride didn’t protest. “Okay. Fine. It would do you good to get away from here for a couple days, anyway. I’ll talk to K-2 about finding a way to pay for it. Get some sunblock and go.”
“Way ahead of you,” Maggie replied cheerfully. “The chief said there’s not a hope in hell of him paying for it, but don’t worry, I bought the ticket myself. I have a flight out of Minneapolis in three hours, so I need to crank down the freeway.”
Stride glanced in the backseat of Maggie’s Avalanche. He wasn’t surprised at all to see that she already had a suitcase there, and he laughed. “It may be warmer, but it’s pretty sticky down there with all the humidity. You’ll hate it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“What’s your plan?” Stride asked.
“I’ll talk to the Naples police when I get there and fill them in on what we’ve found. I also want to track down the detective who originally worked on the Haley Adams murder. He left the force and went private a while back. The guy’s name is Cab Bolton.”
13
Stride found the apartment complex in the flatlands that led from Duluth toward the Iron Range. They were individual one-room cottages dotted among soaring evergreens, and it was a good place to stay for people who didn’t want anyone to see them coming and going. The rentals were month to month and not expensive. They were across the street from empty fields and at a crossroads that led north toward the intersection with Lavaque Road.
This was where John Doe had stayed for ten days.
It was also where Jungle Jack Jensen was renting an apartment.
Stride turned off the highway into the dirt parking lot, which was a slippery mess of matted-down snow and ice. Daylight already was waning in the late afternoon, and the evergreens cast long shadows. John Doe had rented a unit tucked back among the trees and invisible from the road, but Jack’s unit was closer to the street. There was a rental Lexus parked outside that looked out of place in the downscale surroundings. The boxy cottages all needed a coat of paint He knocked on the apartment door. No one answered, so he knocked again and called Jack’s name. Finally, the door opened. Jungle Jack stood in the doorway with nothing but a motel towel wrapped around his waist. He grimaced as subzero air whipped against his bare skin and brought up goose bumps.
“Jack Jensen? I’m Lieutenant Stride with the Duluth Police.”
“It’s not a great time to talk right now,” Jack replied.
Stride could see over Jungle Jack’s shoulder into the one-room apartment. There wasn’t much to see: just a bed and some modest furnishings, a kitchenette, and a doorway to the bathroom. There was a dark-haired young woman in the bed with a sheet pulled up to her bare shoulders.
“See what I mean?” Jack went on, letting a grin creep onto his face. “Can this wait?”
“I’m investigating a murder, so no, it really can’t.”
The word “murder” didn’t affect the uninterested look on Jack’s chiseled face. He shrugged and called over his shoulder. “Why don’t you hop in the shower, sweetie. I’ll join you in a couple minutes.”
Modesty didn’t trouble the woman in the bed. She scooted naked from under the sheet and ran across the carpet to the bathroom, where she shut the door behind her. Jack waved Stride inside and then went to the wardrobe and put on a dark blue terry-cloth robe. He took a cigarette from a pack, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He extended the pack to Stride, who shook his head.
Jungle Jack sat on the edge of the bed. Stride pulled over a wooden chair and sat across from him. Jack continued to smile as if his face didn’t do anything else. He was in his midthirties and Hollywood handsome, with a jutting jaw and pronounced cheekbones. His jet black hair was swept back like a lion’s mane. He had a muscular physique, and he looked relaxed and confident as he smoked. There was no way Jack didn’t realize that he’d accidentally hit on the teenage girl who lived in Stride’s house, but if it worried him, he didn’t show it.
“So what can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
“I’d like to talk about Haley Adams,” Stride said.
“Who?”
“She was an intern on the movie set.”
“Oh, the missing girl, sure. That’s too bad. I hope you find her.”
“We did,” Stride said. “She’s dead.”
He showed Jack a photo of the girl they’d found in the woods. Jack’s grin vanished. He seemed genuinely upset, but Stride had to remind himself that Jungle Jack, even if he was only Dean Casperson’s stunt double, was an actor. You couldn’t trust anything on an actor’s face.
“Well, that’s horrible. Dean is going to be crushed to learn about this.”
“Can you confirm that this is the girl you knew as Haley Adams?” Stride asked.
Jack took another look as he examined the picture. “I think so. The face looks right, although I thought her hair was longer.”