Page 29 of Girl, Unmasked (Ella Dark #28)

Norwalk’s latest eyesore, according to her online searches – and the site where Jeff Hollister was apparently working – was a half-finished monstrosity of steel that looked like it belonged in Dubai rather than Connecticut.

A garish sign proclaimed it as ‘SkyReach Towers: Luxury Living for the Discerning Resident.’

Ella peered out of the car window. Out on the site, a handful of hard hats bobbed in and out of view, dwarfed by the scope of their task like ants skittering around a carcass. She killed the engine, then propped the door open.

Jeff Hollister was living on site, according to the foreman she’d spoken to on the phone. Ella caught a row of trailers in the distance. If he were living on site, it meant someone might have noticed if he came home late one night.

Ella climbed out of the car, and the smell hit her like a fist to the sinuses as soon as her boots hit gravel. In the distance, the jagged whine of a circular saw bit through the muffled clang and clatter of industry.

She led the way towards the hub of workers, and the lack of gates or barriers made her entrance easier than expected. But as she and her companions stepped into the yard, a burly man in a hard hat and neon vest stepped into her path.

‘Restricted area. You lost, ma’am?’

Ella cut him off with a flash of her badge. ‘FBI. I’m looking for Jeff Hollister.’

'Ah, yes, one of you called me. Is Jeff in trouble?'

‘Can’t say. Is Jeff around?’

‘Hollister's just finishing up the night shift. You caught him by the skin of your teeth. He's over by the cement mixers, can't miss him. Tall guy, buzzed hair. Solid guy, really. Bit of a horndog but he ain’t never been in any trouble.’

Ella nodded, dismissive gratitude with a side of irritation. 'We'll keep that in mind.'

She left the foreman and stalked towards the site.

She replayed Martina Payne's final moments in her head as she walked, all in perfectly recalled clarity.

The trail of feathers, the slashed throat, the hideous display from a fourth-floor balcony.

Statistics said that in times of murder, look to the partner.

One way or another, they'll provide something useful.

The construction yard was a maze of exposed beams and gaping elevator shafts, all gussied up with yellow danger tape fluttering in the breeze.

A regular obstacle course of occupational hazards.

Ella picked her way through the debris field, dodging piles of rebar and jumping over stacks of sheetrock until she reached the double-wide.

Ella squinted through the midmorning glare, trying to make out a face among the scattering of workers on their union-mandated fifteen. But they all looked the same at this distance, just a bunch of orange vests and hard hats shuffling around.

Until she clocked one figure in particular, leaning beside a cement mixer, conspicuously missing a hard hat. His face matched the photo Ella had seen in Martina's apartment, though it was currently smeared with enough grime to make coal miners look pristine.

Jeff Hollister in the flesh. And for a guy whose girlfriend had just been murdered, he looked remarkably well put together.

Ella adjusted her course and made a beeline for her person of interest.

Jeff must've sensed her coming because his head snapped up. When she was close enough to avoid shouting, she said, 'Jeff Hollister?'

Jeff straightened up. ‘Yeah, that’s me. Can I help you?’

Ella opened her mouth to launch into her standard ‘we've got some questions’ spiel, but Jeff's expression made her hesitate. There was no hint of guilt there, no sign of a man about to bolt. Just honest bewilderment and a trace of worry.

‘We’re with the FBI. We need to talk to you about Martina Payne.’

The change in Jeff’s demeanor was instant. He shook his head like he was trying to rattle something loose. ‘Martina? Is she okay?’

‘Have you seen the news recently, Mr. Hollister? As in, the past ten hours?’

Jeff held up his hands like he was fending off an attack. 'Hey, I've been here since late last night, pulling a double. Ain't exactly had time to catch up on current events. What’s this got to do with Martina?'

And staring into those wide, guileless eyes, Ella believed his story. ‘She was your girlfriend, correct?’

‘Yeah. Well, sometimes. Very Ross and Rachel, if you know what I mean.’

Ella read him like an open book. There was no easy way to deliver this kind of news. In Ella's experience, it was best to just rip the band-aid off and deal with the aftermath. And there was always some part of the interviewee that suspected the worst, anyway.

‘Mr. Hollister, we have some bad news. I’m afraid Martina was found dead last night.’

Jeff held her stare, as if she might pull out a camera and hit him with a gotcha.

‘We’re sorry,’ she continued.

‘No,’ Jeff moaned. ‘That can’t be right. I just spoke to her yesterday. I just…’

Then the man’s knees buckled. He pitched forward like a felled oak, and Ella braced to catch the 200-pound slab of a man. She somehow managed it, and in her arms he began to cry.

Ella had come here looking for a potential lead, maybe even her angel-making serial killer. But all she’d found was another victim.

***

Jeff Hollister's trailer was a pressure cooker of stale air. The man in question sat on a fold-out chair, while Ella perched herself on the edge of a rickety table.

‘I just can't believe she's gone,’ Jeff mumbled for the umpteenth time since nearly passing out. ‘We were supposed to go to Coney Island next weekend. She loves... loved the Cyclone.’

Ella’s cop senses catalogued Jeff’s body language, all while the human side of her ached for the poor man.

Everything about Jeff screamed innocent, from his genuine shock to the way he kept slipping between past and present tense when talking about Martina.

This wasn't the carefully constructed grief of a killer.

This was the other side of the victim coin.

But he knew Martina better than anyone, and that might just unblock a few avenues.

‘Tell me about Martina,’ she said gently. ‘What was she like?’

Jeff blinked at her like he was surfacing from deep water. ‘Marti was... a firecracker. Quick as a whip. Sarcastic as hell. Way too smart for me. Real glass-half-full kinda woman.’

‘How long were you together?’

‘We'd been on-again, off-again for years.

Could never seem to make it stick, but we couldn't stay away from each other either.

Like magnets, you know? Even when we were apart, we'd always end up back together eventually.’ Jeff swiped at his tears.

‘Marti always said she preferred laughing to crying, 'cause crying gave you a headache and that was a bitch to teach through.’

‘So she was a teacher.’ Ella already knew as much from her on-scene recon, but she wanted to see if Jeff would keep the story straight.

‘Yeah. English Lit over at Spaulding High. She loved those kids. Said molding their squishy little minds made her feel like Michelangelo.’

Ella filed that tidbit away. ‘Jeff, did Martina ever mention any particularly troublesome students? Anyone who might have held a grudge? Maybe someone named Drago?’

The tear tracks on Jeff’s cheeks had smudged into salty streaks. ‘Drago? No, doesn't ring a bell. She had her share of problem kids, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary. Mostly just typical teenage stuff, you know?’

Ella felt the familiar thud of another lead hitting a dead end. But there had to be something. A woman like Martina with a life like hers – there was always something lurking at the edges. Grudges. Obsessions. Secrets with teeth.

‘What about enemies? Anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?’ she pressed.

Jeff assumed a thousand-yard stare. His gaze drifted toward the chrome kitchen, and for a moment, Ella thought he might pass out again.

She hadn't yet exposed Jeff to the finer details of Martina's demise and wasn't sure if doing so was a good idea.

He was clearly in touch with his emotions, and learning that your girlfriend had been dropped from a balcony was something even the most hardened mind would struggle with.

‘Enemies,’ he said. ‘So, you mean, Martina was… murdered?’

Sugar coating was for donuts. Maybe she could be honest but keep the details vague. ‘Yes. Someone killed her.’

Ella made sure to use the correct wording.

It was never your partner was murdered, but someone killed your partner.

The correct tense could have a profound effect on an interviewee's reactions.

It was implied that the person's death was inevitable, unavoidable.

But someone killed gave the faceless assailant a tangible identity.

Jeff cupped his hands around his face. A few ragged sobs broke through before he managed to choke them down.

‘The smallest detail can help, no matter how minor,’ said Ella, giving him a moment.

Jeff shot her a look of exasperated appraisal, but there was a glimmer of uncertainty behind those bloodshot eyeballs. ‘Well, there was something a couple of months back. An incident.’

Ella leaned in, as much as her awkward positioning allowed. ‘What incident?’

‘Marti got into it with someone at school. A fight. Nearly lost her job over it.’

‘A student?’

‘No. A teacher.’

Now she was getting somewhere. ‘Names. Details.’

‘Don’t know the whole story,’ Jeff said. ‘But it involved a guy named Black… something. Him and Marti got into it verbally, nearly physically. She wouldn’t tell me much more.’

‘Black-something?’

‘Yeah. I wanna say Blackwell… Blackburn… No, that's it. Blackwood.’

‘You have a first name for this guy?’

Jeff shook his head. No problem. It shouldn’t be too hard to track him down.

‘Jeff, is there anything else you can tell us about Martina? Life, work, friends, enemies.’

‘That’s all I’ve got, detective. I’m sorry. I just can’t believe she’s really gone. It doesn’t feel real.’

Ella held out a hand to the interviewee and clutched it tight. ‘Thank you, Jeff. I know this isn’t easy, but you’ve been a great help.’

‘You’ll find who did this, won’t you?’

'Count on it,’ Ella said, and she meant it. Meant it with every ounce of the old testicular fortitude. She'd turn over every rock and rattle every cage until she had the Angel Maker gift-wrapped for the jail cell.