CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Jessie sat in the driver's seat of the car, trying not to act suspicious.

They"d been at the hotel for ten minutes already. After pulling into one of the drop-off lanes in front of the main entrance, Ryan showed the valet his badge and ID and secured a parking spot in the loading zone. Then he got out and headed into the lobby, where he could watch for Short"s arrival without being noticed. Jessie moved into the driver"s seat and, with Ryan on speaker, pretended to look at her phone while looking up every twenty seconds or so.

It didn't take long for Short to arrive. He pulled up in a black Lincoln Continental and hopped out. Albert Short—black, diminutive, with a thick trunk and impressive belly that strained at his black sports jacket—wore a broad smile.

He opened the rear passenger door for his client, a middle-aged man in a suit with gray hair and a paunch. While the passenger pulled out his wallet to fish for bills for a tip, Albert moved to the trunk and removed one bag, which he passed to the bellhop.

Jessie watched the passenger hand Short several bills. As he did, she saw Ryan casually push open a lobby door and move next to the valet stand. Short seemed to notice it too and visibly stiffened as his smile faded. He shoved the tip into his pocket and moved to the driver's door, his eyes never leaving Ryan.

Jessie didn't know what had alerted him, but Short obviously sensed that the powerfully built guy Latino guy in the casual sports jacket wasn't just another convention-goer. He opened the door and was just starting to get back in the driver's seat when Ryan quickly approached him.

"Excuse me, sir—," he started to say but Short slammed the door shut before he could finish. His window was open and for a terrifying second Jessie feared that Ryan might try to leap in to grab the man. But before he could even try, Short put the car in gear and started rolling forward.

Jessie, who was just ahead and to the left of them and already had her car running, did the same. As she moved forward, she saw Ryan break into a jog alongside the Continental, which was picking up speed. The look on Short's face was one of desperation.

Jessie realized that unless she acted quickly, they would end up in a chase, perhaps with Ryan following on foot. She knew that she was likely to lose any race through the streets of downtown L.A., considering that Short was a professional driver who knew every back road of the city better than she ever would. So she punched the gas now to avoid any issues later.

She shot forward and veered left, then stopped at a diagonal, blocking the Continental's path completely. Short managed to slam on the brakes about two feet in front of her. For a moment, he looked like he might try to flee on foot.

"That would be a huge mistake," she warned him through her own open window.

The guy still seemed to be debating the decision when Ryan caught up. He was holding his gun in one hand and his badge in the other.

"LAPD," he barked. "Albert Short, turn off the vehicle and step out with your hands up!"

"Okay, okay," the man said, making a dramatic show of turning off the car. Then he slowly exited with his hands in the air. In the background, Jessie noticed the passenger he'd driven here standing still, his jaw hanging down in shock. Jessie turned off her car and got out as Ryan pulled out his handcuffs and snapped them on the driver.

"I swear I didn't know you were cops," Short protested. "I thought this was a hit."

"Why would you think that, Mr. Short?" she asked, taking immediate advantage of the man"s willingness to talk.

Short paused briefly, seeming to weigh how best to answer.

"Some of the people I drive are of. . .questionable character," he replied carefully. "I occasionally hear things. I thought that maybe someone had determined that I'd heard too much and decided to shut me up just to be safe."

Ryan looked over at Jessie, clearly intrigued, before returning his attention to Short.

"That's a topic we can get to later," he said. "Right now we want to talk to you about Chloe Henshall."

"The Hollywood Hills lady?" he said, "what about her?"

Jessie took a step toward the man and stared at him closely as she answered.

"She's dead."

Short's eyes widened immediately. Jessie was never one to trust body language exclusively. She seen multiple killers who had the ability to hide their darkness behind a mask of sympathy or shock. If Short was one of them, he was good, because his reaction was very convincing.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

"We are," Jessie continued. "In fact, she was murdered. She was found this morning, but it looks like she was killed yesterday afternoon, possibly not long after you dropped her off. So you can see why we wanted to chat with you."

"Wait," he said, his voice rising anxiously, "are you saying that you think I had something to do with it? There's no way. I really liked the lady."

"Are you sure this rich lady didn't say something that made you angry?" Ryan pressed, "something that made you lose it, like you did at Tepper's Tavern, when you beat up that guy for cutting in front of you at the pinball machine?"

Short stared back at him like he was crazy.

"Are you serious?" he wanted to know. "That happened sixteen years ago when I was an idiot kid. I did my time. After I got out, I kept my nose clean. I'm thirty-six now and haven't had a brush with the law since. I've worked this job for eight years. I have an apartment and a retirement account. I'm engaged to a great woman who has two kids that I love. I haven't had time for that kind of stupidity in forever."

"And yet," Ryan noted, "you apparently drive people who do things that make you think they might want to have you knocked off. So how clean is your nose really?"

"Listen, man," Short pleaded. "I can't control who rides in my car. I get assigned by the company. Just like with Mrs. Henshall. I guess she liked me because she requested me all the time. She said I was funny and took her mind off more serious stuff. But not everyone who has me drive them is interested in my sparkling personality. Sometimes they just want a guy that stays quiet and does his job. It's not up to me."

"All right," Jessie said, deciding that this issue couldn't be resolved in the moment. But she hoped another one could. "Where were you yesterday, from the time you dropped off Chloe Henshall until midnight."

Short seemed to relax slightly at the question, as if he knew that his answer wouldn't implicate him.

"I had another pickup right after I dropped her off. Some couple in Beverly Hills needed a ride to LAX. After that, I can't remember every pickup, but I was working until eight. Then I dropped off the car and drove my own to my fiancée's place. We had a late dinner, and I spent the night there."

Jessie looked over at Ryan, letting him ask the question they both had.

"I assume the Continental has GPS?" he asked.

"Yeah," Short said. "There"s the standard one most cars are equipped with. Plus, they have an extra one so they can track locations and times and update clients on pickups and drop-offs."

"Are you willing to let us look at the geo-location data for your personal vehicle and your phone?" Jessie asked. "If you give us permission, and what you're telling us holds up, we can clear you much quicker."

"Whatever you need, you can have," Short told her. "I don't want any trouble and whatever I have to do to prove I'm not your guy, I'll do it."

Normally, she appreciated the cooperation of a potential suspect, whether guilty or innocent. If they were guilty, often in their willingness to seem helpful, they opened themselves up to facts that proved their guilt. But Jessie didn"t get that feeling here.

They would have Jamil and Beth check on Short's location data, but she already sensed that it was a waste of time. Everything in her bones told her that Albert Short wasn't their guy, which meant the real killer was still out there right now.

She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the moment, if for no other reason than to get more information on his time with the victim.

"What time did you pick up Mrs. Henshall from her meeting?" she asked.

"Just after four."

"And when did you get to her house?"

"I can check the log for an exact time, but I think it was a little before 4:30," he said.

"When you picked her up from her meeting yesterday, Did Mrs. Henshall seem agitated or upset?" she asked.

"No," he answered quickly. "She said she was tired because the meeting had run so long, but after I cracked a few jokes, she brightened up and was her normal chatty self."

"What about when you dropped her off?" Jessie pressed. "Did you notice anything odd? See anyone unusual around?"

He shook his head. "Everything seemed like it always did. I feel like if there was someone suspicious around I would have noticed. I offered to walk her to the door, but she said she was fine. I did wait until she went inside before I left. She even waved goodbye. Everything was normal."

As Jessie listened to him, she could feel the tendrils of the case threatening to engulf her. If Albert Short was to be believed, there was no immediate threat to Henshall when he pulled away. But that wasn't as helpful to know as she hoped it would be.

With dozens of potential suspects, including everyone from personal trainers, dog walkers, gardeners, pet therapists, and book club friends, there were too many leads and not enough resources to follow them all. They could spend days hunting them all down and still not find the right person.

Meanwhile, another victim could be in danger right now.