CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The man's grip on Jessie only lasted a second.

In a flash, Ryan's hand was on Blackwell's forearm, ripping it off Jessie and pinning it behind his back. The man dropped to his knees in obvious pain. His giant protectors took simultaneous steps in that direction, but Jessie turned to face them and held up both palms.

"Bad idea, gentlemen," she said calmly but forcefully. "Mr. Blackwell is in a bit of a pickle here, but it doesn't have to be your pickle too."

The men stopped moving and, in fact, returned to their original positions. Just behind them, the two officers, one of whom had his hand on his gun holster, relaxed as well. Jessie turned to Blackwell, who was wincing.

"Here's the thing, Mr. Blackwell," she said with faux concern, "now you've gone and assaulted a law enforcement officer. That's not quite the same thing as beating up a waiter. The way I see it, you've got two choices here. Answer our questions honestly, and I'll consider letting this incident slide. Or get led out of your ‘house' in handcuffs. Which do you prefer?"

She wasn't yet sure if she had any intention of letting things slide, whether or not he answered their questions. But letting him think he had a way out of this that didn't involve getting arrested served her purposes right now. Whether he was innocent or guilty, she expected he'd take it.

"What was the question again?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Jessie nodded to Ryan that he could release his grip on the guy. Her husband and partner did so grudgingly. She refreshed Blackwell's memory.

"Detective Hernandez asked where you were an hour and forty-five minutes ago, around 11:15. He'd like a straightforward answer."

Blackwell got to his feet slowly, then dusted off his still-immaculate jeans. When he felt that he'd re-established some measure of dignity, he answered.

"Like I told you, I was at my health club, Bodies @ Beverly. I had an 11:30 session with my trainer. I guess that technically I was on the way to the club at 11:15. We worked out until 12:15. I showered and drove over here, where I've been until you lovely people showed up."

Jessie looked over at Ryan and knew he was making some of the same calculations that she was. If Blackwell had killed Isabella, would he have had time to get from the shopping complex parking structure to his gym by 11:30? And if so, what did he do with the all-black outfit the killer wore—just toss it in a dumpster and have his workout clothes underneath? Could he have effectively cleaned up all the blood that would surely have landed on some parts of him?

And what about the car? Could he perhaps have driven from the murder scene to the gym in a less ostentatious vehicle and already had his Ferrari parked there, ready to drive to work after his training session? She pulled out her phone as Ryan continued to pepper Blackwell with questions.

"Who can verify that you were there?" he asked.

"Um, my trainer, Rico. Also, the girl at the desk making eyes at me when I showed up and left. And the valet."

"You dropped off your car and picked it up with the valet?" Ryan confirmed.

"How else would I do it?" Blackwell asked with a bit of attitude, seeming to sense that his interrogators were wavering.

"When?" Ryan pressed.

"I don't remember, man," Blackwell protested.

"When exactly?" Ryan repeated, "and don't forget, we'll be checking the gym's security cameras."

Blackwell threw up his hands in frustration. "Maybe 11:29? I know I hurried inside because I didn't want to be late for the session, and I was cutting it close. Rico makes me do extra reps if I'm late."

While he spoke Jessie punched in directions from the Beverly Gardens shopping complex to Bodies @ Beverly. The gym was another five minutes west of Blackwell's mansion, making it ten total minutes from the Beverly Gardens. That meant that the guy would have had to drive from the crime scene to his mansion, strip off his blood-soaked clothes, change cars, and drive to the gym in time to make his workout session on time.

The murder occurred at 11:17. It took ten minutes to get to the gym, at 11:27. Could Blackwell have completed all those tasks- driving home, changing, and switching cars—in two to three minutes—in order to arrive at his stated time of 11:29? It seemed nearly impossible, especially without leaving some trace of blood that might be noticed .

"I'm going to need contact information for all of those people," Ryan told Blackwell.

By his tone, Jessie sensed that he'd come to the same conclusion she had: if the security cameras at the health club and the interviews with the staff there confirmed his claims, Marcus Blackwell had a pretty solid alibi.

"Fine, I'll get their info," Blackwell said. "Now will you please tell why you're asking me for an alibi for where I was at 11:15? And what that has to do with Izzie?"

Ryan looked over at Jessie to see if she was okay with him revealing the truth. She nodded. At this point they needed to come clean. Their best way to prevent Blackwell from challenging their aggressive tactics later on was to make clear the enormity of what had led them here.

"That's when Isabella Moreno was murdered," Ryan said.

The expression of arrogant self-regard on Blackwell's face dropped away.

"What?" he asked. "How?"

Jessie wouldn't normally have revealed that detail, but she wanted to see his reaction.

"She was stabbed over a dozen times," she said evenly. "When it was over, her face was just a series of bloody holes. She was unrecognizable."

Blackwell stared at her with eyes that looked like they might pop out of his head. Then, without speaking, he leaned over and vomited, missing his trash can by a foot. They gave him a moment to collect himself before saying anything. As he wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, Ryan spoke softly.

"Give these officers the contact info for the Bodies @ Beverly staff," he said. "And prepare to provide us full access to the GPS location data on your cell phone and all your vehicles for the last two hours. Okay?"

Blackwell nodded silently as he stumbled over to the chair behind his desk. Jessie and Ryan started for the door when she suddenly remembered something else and turned around.

"One last thing," she told him sternly. "If any of the building's security staff is fired, from Clingan on down, I will hold a press conference making note of the violent episode the night of your breakup, when you destroyed your West Hollywood penthouse window. We can let the media draw their own conclusions about your character based on that incident. I'd imagine that by the time you get it cleared up, your reputation might finally take a real hit, something that will be harder to bounce back from than car crashes and fistfights. Do we understand each other, Mr. Blackwell?"

"We do," he said hoarsely before clicking the remote to unlock the door to the office.

The satisfaction of that moment dissipated almost the second that Jessie passed through the door. Taking down an asshole like Blackwell didn't resonate as deeply when it did nothing to solve their case.

Admittedly, there was still the outside chance that Blackwell had hired someone to take Isabella out so that he'd have an alibi at the time of her murder. But if so, why not make his alibi more ironclad? And would he have really had another woman slaughtered too just to throw them off the scent? Anything was possible, but it felt like a reach.

No, If Blackwell's alibi held up, and she suspected that it would, that meant a serial killer as brutal as she'd ever encountered was still out there, waiting to cause more carnage.