CHAPTER NINETEEN

By the time they arrived at the victim"s house at 6:41 a.m., the sun was just starting to peek out from behind the San Gabriel mountains to the east.

They got the basics of the case from Parker, who didn't know much more than them, on the way up.

"The victim's name is Chloe Henshall," she had said. "Thirty-five-years-old. Married to Sean Henshall, the founder and CEO of Henshall MetaTech. He's the one who found her. He's there now. The same sergeant from yesterday morning is supposedly handling the scene until you arrive."

"Thanks, Captain," Ryan said. "Can you ask Jamil and Beth to start a background check on both of them?"

"Jamil's already at the station and Beth is on her way in," Parker assured them. "I'm sure that by the time you leave the scene, they'll have something for you."

On the drive up, Jessie, who was at the wheel, took the curves at a reasonable speed and fought the desire to ask her husband if he was paying attention. When she parked across the street from the Henshall home, she looked over at him triumphantly.

"Safe and sound," she said.

"Don't you mean safe and slow?" he teased, then got out of the passenger seat before they could respond.

Jessie decided to let it go and got out too. They approached the house. Unlike the homes of the previous two victims, this one was on the upslope of a hill rather than dipping down into a canyon. But that didn't make it any less impressive.

Three stories high, with what was clearly an elevator shaft visible near the front of the house, it was formidable. But unlike the Ashe mansion, this one wasn"t obnoxious. It was primarily brown and green earth tones, intended to complement the surrounding hillside rather than outshine it.

They walked up the path, passing the officers who were still rolling out the crime scene tape because the call was so recent. The coroner's van wasn't even here yet. Sergeant Cutter was waiting for them at the front door.

"Sorry to see you again so soon under these circumstances," he said.

"Likewise," Ryan replied. "The scene still seems very fresh. Is there anything you can tell us yet?"

"Not a ton," Cutter conceded. "The husband, Sean Henshall, is in the main bedroom. He's in pretty rough shape. I didn't even try to question him, especially since I knew you guys were on your way. Because that interview could easily go sideways, I recommend checking out the body before talking to him."

"In that case, we'll follow you," Ryan said.

Cutter directed them through the foyer, where the elevator was located, along the main hallway, which was lit by the first rays of sun shining through the largely glass roof. He led them to the living room, which was unpretentious in its decor, though it was about three times larger than the average den. He came to a stop by a closet at the far end of the room. It was open, but Jessie didn"t look inside yet.

Instead she glanced around the room, looking for any sign that a crime had been committed here. But there was no visible blood, and no indication that an altercation had taken place. In almost every respect, save for the police tape across the entrance to the closet, the place seemed normal.

"Has anyone looked the body over closely yet?" she asked Cutter.

"No," he answered, "the coroner is coming from another case—a hit and run—and won't be here for another fifteen minutes or so. You'll be the first to get a good look."

Jessie tried to clear her head so that when she observed Chloe Henshall for the first time, it would be without preconceptions. Then she peered into the closet.

Chloe was hunched against the back wall, her head kept upright only because it was resting against a dresser. She was dressed in business attire with a conservative navy skirt and a beige top. She still had on high heels. Her long, black hair was unruly, as if it had been messed up in the confrontation that led to her death. Her eyes were closed. Even with her chin slumped to her chest, the bruising on her neck was easily visible. She turned to Cutter again.

"I don't want to get too close since the coroner hasn't been here yet," she said. "Will you make sure his conclusions get to us ASAP?"

"Of course," Cutter said, "Did you guys want to talk to her husband now?"

"Sure," Ryan said. "He really hasn't said anything?"

"He tried, but he wasn't making much sense. I got that he found her this morning but that was about it. Officer Medina is with him, just like I put her with Erin Podemski's assistant, Nikki, yesterday. I'm hoping that she calmed him down enough to be useful to you. Shall we head in?"

"Actually," Jessie said, glancing out at the deck beyond the living room, which was now spotlit in a square of sunlight, "can you bring him out to the deck? I'm worried that if we go into the bedroom, it'll reinforce the upset he's feeling. Maybe a different environment, with some cool, fresh air, will change the dynamic."

"Not a problem," Cutter said. "I'll go get him."

As the sergeant retreated to the bedroom, Jessie and Ryan stepped out onto the deck. Despite the sun, the air was biting, and she zipped up her jacket to her neck. Moments later, Cutter returned with Officer Medina and a skinny man with wire-framed glass and a receding, brownish hair. Jessie estimated that he was about forty.

He was wrapped in a blanket, which he hugged himself with as he joined them outside. His eyes were red, and the front of his t-shirt was tear-stained. He looked like he hadn't slept at all the night before.

"Why don't you have a seat, Mr. Henshall," Ryan offered.

The man nodded silently. As he settled into a deck chair and readjusted himself, Jessie noticed for the first time that he was holding a small dog in one hand under the blanket.

"Who's that?" she asked gently.

"Missy," he answered, his voice scratchy. "She found Chloe."