Still, the meeting confirmed one fact: General Hackett had gone to the bar as was his custom when he arrived on the third Thursday of the month, ordered a drink, and then bought a drink for the lady in the red dress. The bartender also confirmed that the lady had invited Hackett to her table, where they engaged in conversation and another round of drinks for forty-five minutes, before leaving together. Hackett had a habit of meeting with pretty, fortysomething blondes each month.
Approximately fifteen minutes later-about the length of time it would take for a leisurely stroll from the bar to the beachfront cabins, reports of gunshots came into the reservation desk and the police station. Security was dispatched, but no one was at the cabin for nearly five minutes after the reported gunshot, largely because the security guards had all been at the main hotel, and had been uncertain where the shots came from-whether on the resort grounds or the beach itself.
Five minutes had been more than enough time for Rosemont’s murderous partner to slip away.
“A woman,” Jack said almost to himself as he and Hans walked back to the small conference room that the hotel had set aside for law enforcement.
“Excuse me?”
“Rosemont’s partner is a woman.”
“Don’t leap to conclusions. She could have-” Jack raised his eyebrow and Hans stopped. “You’re right. There is no other explanation.”
“Someone led Hackett to that room. The bartender said it was a mutual flirtation.”
“But why the elaborate plan?” Hans asked. “They were practically in public. Though the cabins are more private, they couldn’t be sure that someone walking by wouldn’t have heard the shot. And they would also have had to know Hackett’s schedule.”
“Hackett had a routine,” Jack said. “The third Thursday of every month.”
Hans sat down and nodded. “They knew Duane Johnson’s schedule, Perry, Bartleton-” He glanced at Jack.
Jack nodded. “It’s a woman. What she was doing with Rosemont is anyone’s guess. But she’s just as dangerous-”
“She could have been a battered partner. Females account for less than ten percent of serial murderers. In many killing pairs, the female participant suffers from domestic violence. They are too scared to leave or not do what their partner demands. Perhaps she saw an opportunity and took it-domestic violence often ends in murder. Usually, the abused wife or girlfriend, but occasionally, the abused decides murder is her only way out.”
“Good in theory, but-”
Hans interrupted, “Which would support Father Francis’s visitation the other night. If that woman, and it’s not certain because it doesn’t fit the M.O., was Rose-mont’s partner, then perhaps seeking out the priest was her first attempt at getting away.”
Jack considered and dismissed the argument. “Let’s take this from the beginning. Can we agree that the woman in the red dress intentionally lured General Hackett to Ethan Rose’s room?”
Hans considered, then nodded. “Yes, because Hackett would have no other reason to go there. It’s across the resort from his room.”
“There were no prints found. If she was truly fighting for the gun and shot Rosemont out of self-defense, why aren’t her prints there?”
“She may have been scared and wiped them off.”
“Wiped them off, sure. But scared?” Jack shook his head. “She had four and a half minutes from the sound of the first gunshot, and just over two and a half minutes from the sound of the last gunshot, before security arrived. She wipes the gun, takes the knife, runs out the back, and disappears? She must have had blood on her, so that means she changed clothes somewhere.”
“Holden’s people canvassed the entire hotel. No one saw the woman except in the bar prior to the murders.”
“And what’s accessible from the beach?”
“Several hotels both up and down the coast, the pier, farther up there’s little commercial business, and the road access is limited. I suspect she went south.”
“I don’t see a panicked, abused woman killing two men in cold blood, even in self-defense, and then disappearing without a trace of evidence.”
Hans took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “So she’s an active and willing participant in Rosemont’s killing spree.”
Jack nodded. “We need Padre’s sketch.”
“And Megan may get something from her witnesses. I just- There’s something eluding me, and I can’t quite figure it out.” He picked up the phone. “I know exactly what we need.”
“What?”
“A fresh pair of eyes. Or rather ears. Your brother.”
“Dillon?” Jack wouldn’t have thought about contacting his brother, the forensic psychiatrist, but Dillon did have an uncanny way of getting to the heart of the matter, and psychopaths were his specialty.
Hans dialed the number from memory. “I hope we can track him down tonight.”
Ned Stenberg was Megan’s height with a comb-over and kind brown eyes behind wire-rim glasses. She wasn’t surprised when he told her he was a medical lab technician at the local university-he looked the part. His wife, Jennifer, was an elementary school teacher, plump and pretty. As soon as Megan and Officer Dodge arrived, Jennifer sent their three kids upstairs.
“When Detective Holden said he was sending an officer over,” Ned Stenberg began, “I didn’t expect the FBI as well.”
“Can I get you water? Coffee?” Jennifer asked.
Megan shook her head. “We can’t stay long. We get a lot of tips when we send out a media story, but yours sounded valid. A personal visit is sometimes the best way to get information without distractions that can occur over the phone.”
Jennifer led them to the living room, which was off the main entry, a tidy room obviously unused by the family.
“Would you mind repeating your story?” Megan asked the Stenbergs.
“Not at all,” Ned said. “I planned on calling the police right after the incident, but-”
Jennifer said, “It didn’t seem as important once they left.”
“From the beginning,” Megan said. “Please.”
Ned began. “We were driving back from Phoenix where my brother lives. It’s my spring break and we go there nearly every year for Easter and a few days. We left early Thursday morning and about an hour or so into the drive, this maniac in a truck almost kills us.”
“Kills you? How? Did he exhibit road rage? Have a gun?”
“Almost ran us off the road. Had to be going a hundred twenty.”
“Scared all of us,” Jennifer concurred.
“Did you get his license plate?”
“Not then,” Ned said. “He was going way too fast. We continued, but were all a little stressed. We usually eat brunch when we hit the Los Angeles area, but decided to stop earlier for a while and have breakfast instead. I pulled into the diner and saw the truck.”
Jennifer said, “We told the kids to stay in the van and keep the doors locked.”
“I was so angry,” Ned said. “That was my family he almost ran off the road.”
“I told him to let it go,” Jennifer said.
“But I couldn’t do that. Instead, I went in just as the driver was leaving.”
“How did you recognize him if he went by so fast?” Megan asked.
Ned frowned. “I’m not really sure. It was more an impression. He was really tall and looked tall driving. Had dark hair. And after I said something, it was obviously him. He didn’t say hardly anything, but he knew.”
“And what type of truck was he driving?”
“A black or maybe a very dark charcoal gray Ford pickup.”
“Make?”
“I’m not sure. A 150 or 250, I think. I’m not great with cars,” Ned confessed.
“Immediately his wife came over,” Jennifer interjected.
“Wife?” This was new information.
“She said his name was John and called him her husband.”
“And?”
“She apologized profusely for his behavior and bad driving. Said they’d driven through the night from Houston on the way to see her mother who’d had a heart attack.” Jennifer slowly shook her head.