Page 14 of By the Time You Read This (Raisa Susanto #3)

Chapter Ten

Raisa

Day One

Gig Harbor only had one hotel in its town limits. It was cute and boutique and right on the water, within walking distance of three coffee shops, two restaurants, and a bevy of tourist shops.

Raisa had simply stuck her luggage from her work trip in the back of Kilkenny’s SUV—and he always carried a go-bag in his car. They would probably need some reinforcements in the name of cheap T-shirts if they stayed more than a couple of days, though.

Something Raisa wasn’t planning on doing.

Kilkenny was on his phone as Raisa took care of the logistics of getting them adjoining rooms.

“Emily Logan,” Kilkenny said. He’d dropped his bag on his bed and then come through the connecting door to her room. “St. Ivany’s homicide victim. She was killed about two weeks ago after a late-night shift. Apparently, sometime during her walk home from the restaurant she waitressed at, she stopped responding to her boyfriend, who was out of town at the time.”

“He called the cops?” Raisa asked.

“No, he called her mom the next day,” Kilkenny said. “At six a.m. Apparently he’d been worried the whole night.”

“Could be that he wanted her found while he had an alibi.” That was the cynic in her talking, of course. But they’d both seen this movie before.

“Maybe.” No one would guess it, but Kilkenny was the optimist out of the two of them. “The mother found her in bed. She’d been stabbed twenty-three times.”

Raisa let out a low whistle. No wonder Maeve St. Ivany had been stressed. “That’s quite the overkill. No suspects?”

“Looks like they brought someone in a week ago, but they were released without any charges.”

“Must not have been anywhere close to solid.” Usually, if the cops had someone in mind and just couldn’t find the evidence, they’d focus their attention on producing said evidence. From the quick glimpse of the murder board in that conference room, Raisa didn’t think they’d zeroed in on any one person.

“You think it has something to do with Isabel?” Kilkenny asked, sounding—reasonably—doubtful.

“No,” Raisa said, mostly believing it. “I don’t know. Even taking Lindsey Cousins’s death out of the equation, that’s still two homicides in a relatively short amount of time, in a small radius, without any obvious suspects.”

“And adding Lindsey back into the equation makes three,” Kilkenny said. “What ties them together?”

“It would be interesting to see if Emily Logan was a psychopath, too,” Raisa said, and then held up her hand. “Possible psychopath.”

“Someone’s taking out psychopaths?” Kilkenny mused. “What if it’s the loved one of one of Isabel’s victims?”

“Oh,” Raisa drawled out. “That’s a hot tamale.”

Kilkenny stared at her. “What?”

“I don’t know.” Raisa laughed, running her hands over her face. “It’s an interesting idea. Like, what if our Unsub —rightly—blames Isabel for the death of someone they loved? They pay to have her killed, but it doesn’t actually make them feel better.”

“Or it creates some kind of psychotic break,” Kilkenny added.

“Wait, wait,” Raisa said, shaking her head. “Sorry. Isabel died after the other two. So maybe it is a loved one, but they were radicalized against psychopaths? Now they’re just killing them indiscriminately?”

“Radicalized against psychopaths,” Kilkenny said, with a laugh. “Aren’t we all radicalized against psychopaths?”

“Work with me,” she all but yelled, though it came out amused.

“Okay, right. They hate psychopaths, which is clearly a rarity. They start hunting them down, and Isabel saw it coming,” Kilkenny said, his lips still twitching. “That’s why she sent us to Lindsey Cousins’s house. No one would have figured out that connection otherwise.”

“Or,” Raisa said, “she’s messing with us.”

“Lindsey and Emily died and she wants to insert herself in the middle of it all?” Kilkenny asked. “How does that fit with her essentially tasking you to find her killer?”

“I don’t know. I just like to always assume she’s messing with me and go from there,” Raisa said, cracking her neck. Isabel liked to pretend she had more sway over things than she actually did. Maybe she really had noticed a pattern in deaths, and figured she might be next. Or someone warned her. Or she just wanted Raisa caught up in the hunt for a psychopath-killer. Not to be confused with a psychopath who was also a killer.

She loved language sometimes.

Always, really.

“So, we don’t really know what we’re doing,” Kilkenny summed up. “And the locals have no interest in helping us.”

“Bingo,” Raisa said. “The most likely scenario here seems like Lindsey’s death was an accident; Emily Logan’s boyfriend colluded with someone to murder her, or somehow faked his alibi; and Isabel was killed by someone seeking justice for a loved one.”

“That would all make sense,” Kilkenny said, neutrally.

“Which, of course, the way our lives go, means they’re all actually connected,” Raisa said, with a sigh. Kilkenny grimaced, but she could tell he agreed. “Okay, I think the best we can do right now is follow where Isabel’s clues take us, while also remembering that we’re not trying to figure out who killed Lindsey or Emily.”

“So where are Isabel’s clues taking us right now?”

“Well, she kept those letters for me to find,” Raisa said. “The ones from her ‘Biggest Fan.’ I’m sure she received plenty of other mail and she didn’t bother to save any of it. Just those letters.”

Kilkenny nodded. “So we go talk to her fans.”

Raisa made a considering sound, and followed him to his feet. “You know, while we’re there, we also might want to talk to the people who hate her, too.”

They got two names from the crowd of people gathered at the prison’s gates.

A group of tearful mourners told them to talk to Gabriela Cruz. The three young women all had a pink streak dyed into their hair and wore outfits similar to the style Isabel had been adopting when she was caught.

On the other side, they were told to talk to Essi Halla, the woman Kilkenny had been telling Raisa about earlier. The ringleader of the anti-Isabel movement.

“Oh, you just missed her,” a middle-aged woman named Mildred Evans told them, taking a rather large swig out of the champagne glass she held. “Drove up from California the moment she heard the news this morning. She rented a boat to stay on in the harbor, but she wanted to swing by here first to check on all of us.”

Mildred swiped at her lips. “She’s such a strong woman and a real inspiration to all of us. In fact, she got me through the past year. If not for her, I’m not sure I’d still be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Raisa said. “Did you ... did you know someone who was killed by Isabel?”

“Oh, no. No. My dog, he died,” Mildred said, and Raisa tried to nod sympathetically, but some of the confusion must have shown on her face. “It’s a common misconception that all Essi does is talk about Isabel. She offers so much more than that. She really held my hand throughout the whole grieving process.”

Raisa hummed, going for neutral, which she thought was the best she’d be able to give this woman. “Did Essi say what boat she’s staying on?”

“Oh, yes,” Mildred said, looking thrilled. “It’s called Big Deck Energy .”

Raisa couldn’t help but laugh. Behind her, Kilkenny snorted, and even Mildred giggled through her tears.

Big Deck Energy proved easy to find.

A woman stood at the rail, taking a phone call.

“Is that her?” Raisa murmured and Kilkenny nodded.

Kilkenny had been right—she was very pretty. She had an athletic build with white-gold hair and the glow-y skin of someone who’d probably never burned a day in their life. Her plum-colored pantsuit was tailored to perfection to show off stilettos that must have cost just shy of a thousand dollars.

When she turned and caught sight of Raisa and Kilkenny, she glanced at the watch on her wrist and then waved them aboard.

Kilkenny hopped on the boat with an easy grace that Raisa admired but would never be able to emulate.

Essi navigated the deck with the same effortlessness, and in any other scenario, Raisa would be thinking how perfect they were for each other. Slick and polished and pressed.

“Larissa Parker, in the flesh,” Essi said, grinning playfully. “The baby of the family.”

Raisa snapped back to attention. “Raisa Susanto. FBI Agent Raisa Susanto.”

“Right, of course,” Essi said, waving aside the correction, the slim gold bangles on her wrist clacking together. “And you are the good Agent Callum Kilkenny.”

“Yes. May we have a few moments of your time, Ms. Halla?” Kilkenny asked.

“Of course,” Essi said, dropping onto one of the bench seats, still seeming very amused for no good reason. Raisa and Kilkenny took the one opposite of her. When she asked, “Should I have my lawyer?” it came out teasing.

“We’re not here in an official capacity,” Kilkenny said. “We just have a few questions for you.”

“What can I help you with, then?” Essi asked, one leg crossed over the other, forearms resting on her thigh, her posture open.

Not defensive.

“Can you tell us about your dealings with Isabel Parker?” Raisa asked.

“My dealings,” Essi repeated with a laugh. “Well, she killed my father.”

“Mikko Halla,” Raisa said, and Essi glanced at her sharply, seeming surprised. Raisa wouldn’t mention that Kilkenny had been the one to give her that information.

“Yes,” she said. “He wasn’t a confirmed kill for her, though.”

“So what makes you think Isabel was the one who was responsible?” Raisa asked.

“There was a cluster of deaths around us at the same time that have been connected to Isabel,” Essi said. “And my father’s suicide never made sense to me. The official story was that he killed himself in the garage, the ole carbon monoxide trick. But he didn’t drive. Ever. And he was a gun enthusiast who had about fifty options in his safe downstairs.”

“Did he have a history with suicidal ideation?” Raisa asked carefully.

Essi shook her head. “No. He was on trial at the time, so all the detectives thought I was an absolute idiot for suggesting there was foul play involved.”

“On trial? For what?”

“White-collar crimes that sound way sexier than they are,” Essi said, impish once more. “We were obscenely rich and, yes, okay, we were about to lose everything. But my father ... he didn’t really do shame.”

“What do you mean?” Kilkenny asked, and Raisa could tell that assessment had genuinely piqued his interest.

“Mmmm. Like, you know those Enron guys? Or is that too old a reference?” She eyed Kilkenny’s silver-flecked hair. “Okay, I’m guessing not too old. But you know the type. Business guys who have no conscience. He didn’t care what other people thought of him. If the government took all his money”—she held up a hand as if to interrupt them—“ill-gotten, I know, but still his at the time. If they took it, he wouldn’t kill himself in some what-will-the-neighbors-think move. He would just figure out a way to scam different people out of money. And if he got sent to jail, he would spend his life coming up with ways to become the kingpin there. There is no way he killed himself. It just wasn’t in his DNA.”

“Narcissistic personality disorder,” Kilkenny murmured.

“Oh yeah, bingo,” Essi said, pointing at Kilkenny. “That probably was exactly it.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t seem too torn up about it all,” Raisa said. “Yet you’ve launched a crusade against Isabel.”

“Oh, no, you’re absolutely right. I’m not torn up about it at all,” Essi said. “But do you think these shoes pay for themselves?”

She crossed and uncrossed her legs, kicking her feet out as she did so. “Did you hear the part where we were obscenely, disgustingly rich and then lost everything?”

“I think I’m missing a step,” Raisa said. The most money she’d ever had was the 10 percent she’d just put down on her bungalow. When she’d been a teenager, she’d lived off budget-brand cereal without milk, and life hadn’t really improved all that much while she’d gone to college and then pursued her PhD. Her paycheck from the FBI wasn’t going to cover red-bottomed shoes, either.

“Grief pays,” Essi said, shrugging again. “And outraged grief pays even better. Attention is our society’s current currency, and I command it in spades.”

Raisa tried to make sense of that as she thought about the middle-aged woman who’d lost her dog. “So you sell manufactured outrage and performative grief over the death of your father and you ...”

She trailed off.

“I sleep very well at night, thank you,” Essi said. “In my extremely expensive sheets.”

“All right.” Raisa wasn’t there to judge anyone. She was there to find a suspect.

And ... Isabel’s death would be a blow to Essi’s lifestyle. She could probably ride this particular wave for a little, but eventually she would become yesterday’s news, and yesterday’s news didn’t command any attention. No attention, no subscribers, no followers, no money. It would be in her interest to keep Isabel’s notoriety burning for as long as possible.

They had also come here looking for someone out for vengeance, and that clearly wasn’t Essi, either. She was a bottom dweller and an opportunist, but she didn’t come across as some madwoman on the hunt for revenge.

Kilkenny glanced at Raisa, and she could feel him reaching the same conclusion.

“Is there anyone who follows you who is a true believer?” he asked. “Someone who really had it out for Isabel.”

“I mean, I have it out for Isabel,” Essi said, looking between them. “Oh, you mean do I know anyone who actually wanted to kill her?” She paused, seeming to put it all together. “You think this was murder?”

She didn’t wait for them to answer. “You think I might have killed her.”

“We were hoping you could provide us with some insight into who in your circle might actually be dangerous,” Kilkenny said.

“Hmm.” Essi tapped one of those impossibly long, trendy nails against the boat. “There are some true believers, as you call them, but none who would have the balls to actually do anything about it.”

“Would you provide a list of those names?” Raisa asked. People didn’t realize what others were capable of until they actually snapped.

“Sure thing.” Essi gave her a little salute. Then she accepted the notebook Raisa handed over along with a pen. It only took a minute or two before she gave them back, with six names written down. “This is a little outside the box, but have you looked at the other side? Those little cult members who worship her, I mean.”

They were headed to Gabriela Cruz’s apartment next. Apparently the girl was local, which meant she either moved there for Isabel or got interested in her because of the proximity. Raisa hoped it was the latter.

It was interesting, though, that Essi suggested it. “Why do you think we should?”

“Love and hate being two sides of a coin,” Essi said, shrugging again. For some reason, it came off as less casual than the other times she’d done it. No longer careless. Maybe she was worried they would stay focused on her, or maybe Raisa was reading into things. “I might be obsessed with making money off Isabel, but they’re obsessed with her. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if one of them took that a little too far.”

“Anyone in particular you encounter frequently?” Kilkenny asked.

These two groups would be like their own little neighboring ecosystems. Though each was incompatible with life from the other side, they would still know each other best.

“Gabriela Cruz,” Essi said without hesitating. Again, interesting. “She’s their ringleader if ever there was one. She’s always in everyone’s DMs. She’s the one who came up with the FreeBell hashtag. She hosts a Discord channel and moderates the FreeBell Reddit thread. I don’t know how she has time for anything else, if I’m being honest.” Essi rolled her eyes. “Okay, right, I’m being hypocritical, but I found a way to make this my job. She doesn’t get any money for anything she does.”

Raisa wasn’t sure she found Essi’s way any more commendable, but she kept her mouth shut on that one.

“What will you do now?” Raisa couldn’t help but ask. “Now that Isabel is dead.”

Essi shrugged, once more looking casual and carefree. “I’ll find another way to survive. I always do.”