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Ryan gave arelenting shrug.
“It’s not thecraziest theory I’ve heard,”
“Thanks for thesupport,” she replied with a playful smirk, before focusing her attention onthe researchers on speakerphone.
“Hey guys, can youdo a search of Danielle Robertson’s GPS location status to determine when—?”
“She was last atthe other victims’ homes?” Jamil interrupted. “Already been working on it forthe last minute."
Jessie was alwaysimpressed by the brilliant young man. She waited quietly to hear what he’ddiscovered.
“It looks like shewas at all their homes in the last ten days,” he told them all.
“She could haveplanted the canisters on those visits,” Jessie posited.
“That makessense,” Beth ventured. “Maybe she was worried that if she left them any earlierthan that, the canisters might be discovered.”
“Possible,” Ryansaid, getting in on it now too, “or maybe the poison in the canisters has somekind of expiration date after which it’s not effective.”
Jessie, whothought both those suspicions were credible, had already moved on. The thoughtof canisters sitting in people’s homes, just waiting for the push of a button,filled her with anxiety. They had to find out who the next victim was going tobe.
“We need tocompile a list of any other client that she visited in the last ten days,” sheannounced. “We should include mothers who were as hardcore as the victims wereabout their kids being tutored during winter break.”
“Working on itnow,” Jamil replied.
“Should we focuson divorced women?” Ryan wondered. “Robertson seems to prioritize keeping otherfamily members safe when the canisters go off. If they’re at their dads’places, the potential victim might be alone.”
“It’s a parameterworth including,” Jessie agreed, “but we shouldn’t limit it to that. Three ofour four victims were married. I’m betting the reasons these women were chosenhad more to do with subjective criteria in Robertson’s head than anything we caneasily pin down.”
“I find threeother clients that Robertson visited in the last ten days,” Jamil announced.“Grace Barber lives in Venice. Sienna Ford lives in Marina del Rey. So doesAshley Bailey. And for the record, she is divorced.”
“Any chance youcan see if Robertson’s GPS shows her near any of their homes?” Ryan asked.
“Actually,” Bethsaid, “it’s had her at her Westchester apartment ever since she gave usauthorization to access her data. Is it weird that neither her car nor herphone have moved at all since 11 a.m.?”
“She could just bebinging a TV show,” Jessie admitted, “or she could have left them at her placewhile she went out in a cab that she paid cash for, knowing she was beingtracked.”
“Why would sheleave that stuff at home unless she was going somewhere she didn't want us toknow about?" Ryan asked.
"An excellentquestion," Jessie said. "One, I think we should ask her. But let’s doit on the way to the car.”
“Where are wegoing?” he asked.
“All three of theclients Jamil listed live south of the station,” Jessie said. “Let’s head inthat direction, working our way from one home to the next. While we callRobertson, Beth and Jamil can reach out to these women to find out where theyare right now. It’s the Friday afternoon of a long holiday weekend. There’s noguarantee they’re all at home. We need to know where they are and if they’resafe.”
She stood up andgrabbed her bag. Ryan got up too.
“We’ll call youback as soon as we get status updates on the clients,” Beth told them beforehanging up.
As Jessie and Ryanheaded along the hallway of the West Los Angeles police station toward theparking lot, she called Danielle Robertson’s cell phone. It went straight tovoicemail. She redialed. The same thing happened. She looked over at Ryan asthe pushed through the station’s outer door.
“No answer,” shetold him.
His face scrunchedup into a grimace as he replied.
“That isdefinitely not good.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
