Page 5
I get off the phone as I’m pulling into the hospital parking lot. I park at the main entrance and head inside to the fifth floor where Detective Fuller said I’d be able to find Jesse. A man in pale-green scrubs looks up at me from a desk when I reach the floor, and I show him my shield.
“Agent Emma Griffin, FBI,” I say. “I’m here to see Jesse Kristoff.”
“I’ll get the doctor,” he says.
I step to the side to wait while he walks out from behind the desk and goes further into the floor, disappearing into a room. He emerges a few seconds later with a doctor right behind him. She walks up to me and shakes my hand.
“Dr. Zachary,” she says. “You’re here to see Jesse Kristoff?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m investigating his roommate’s murder and his attack. I need to speak with him. Is he in a condition that he can speak with me?”
“Yes. He has been given considerable painkillers, so he might be tired. He might not be able to speak with you for long.”
“I understand,” I say.
“Come with me.”
We walk down the hallway, and she knocks on a closed door.
“Come in,” a voice calls from inside.
She opens the door partially and sticks her head in.
“Jesse, there’s someone here to speak with you. She’s investigating what happened,” she says.
“Okay.” He sounds slightly hesitant, but the doctor opens the door the rest of the way and gestures for me to go inside.
I smile as I walk into the room, hoping to put Jesse at ease. After what he went through, it’s understandable for him to be on edge, but I need him to be as comfortable as possible so he’s willing to speak to me about what happened.
“Hi, Jesse,” I say. “I’m Agent Emma Griffin. I’m with the FBI. We’re working with Detective Fuller and the rest of the team to investigate what happened last night. I just need to talk to you about it.”
He nods. “All right.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I glance over at the doctor, who seems to realize she’s not needed for the conversation and starts toward the door.
“I’ll be back to check on you later,” she says to Jesse. “Use your Call button to let the nurses know if you need anything.”
He nods, and the door closes behind Dr. Zachary. I step up closer to the bed.
“I want to say first that I’m so sorry for your loss. You and Gideon were close?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “He was my best friend.”
“I’m sorry. I know this is a very difficult time for you, and I really appreciate you being willing to talk to me about it. I’m sure this doesn’t seem like the best time, considering,” I say, glancing around the room to indicate him being in the hospital. “But it’s really important to talk to you while everything is as fresh in your mind as possible so we can hopefully get the information we need to find out who is responsible for this.”
“I understand,” he says. “I already gave a statement to the police.”
“I know. But I’d like to hear from you myself. And maybe now that you are a little bit separated from the situation, more will come up. How are you feeling, by the way?” I ask.
“As good as can be expected, I guess,” he tells me. “They have me on pain meds for the cut on my back, so I’m not feeling much of anything.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” I say. “Let’s start with you just telling me what happened last night. Just in your own words, tell me what you did and what you saw.”
I sit down in a chair near the bed and take out my notepad and pen so I can jot down anything significant that Jesse might say.
“I was out late with some friends. We were bowling for one of their birthdays and ended up going to a bar afterward. I figured Gideon would already be in bed by the time I got home because he has to get up earlier for work than I do, but when I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed that the lights in the living room were on. His bedroom has a window that faces out to the parking lot, and I noticed the shadow of someone moving in there, so I thought maybe he couldn’t sleep. But then I got to the door and saw that it had been pried or broken open. The doors on the apartments aren’t great, so it wouldn’t have taken a lot of force. Since I wasn’t home, he hadn’t put the chain lock on.
“I probably should have just called the police when I saw the door like that, but I was worried about Gideon, so I went inside. I went to his bedroom and saw him on the bed first. There was blood, and he wasn’t moving. Then I noticed the person writing on the wall. They were wearing a ski mask and dark clothes. I didn’t get much of a look at them because I went running for my bedroom. They caught up to me, and that’s when they slashed me in the back. But I was able to get to my room and grab my gun. I got a shot off but missed them. It was enough to make them run, and I barricaded myself in the bedroom and called the police. I stayed there until they got there and knocked on my door to tell me they were officers. I really wanted to check on Gideon and see if he was all right, but I didn’t know if the person was going to come back or if there was someone else, so I stayed in my bedroom.”
“You did the right thing,” I assure him.
“But if I had gone to his room,” he says, a note of desperation in his voice, “maybe there’s something I could have done for him.”
I shake my head. “No, there’s nothing you could have done. You can’t let yourself think that way. You did what you needed to do by protecting yourself. That’s why you’re sitting here talking to me. You have to remember that.”
He nods, briefly looking down at his lap to gather himself. “I wish I’d gotten a better look at them,” he says.
“You said they were wearing a ski mask,” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “I couldn’t see their face.”
“The crime scene investigation team found wig fibers in the apartment. Do you own a wig, or did Gideon?” I ask.
He shakes his head, looking vaguely confused. “Wig fibers? I don’t know why they would be in the apartment.”
“I know you say you couldn’t see the person’s face or anything, but based on size and movements, do you think it’s likely that they were a man or a woman?”
“I would think a man,” he says.
“All right,” I say. “And you couldn’t see their hands or any other skin?”
“No, they were wearing gloves.”
“When you got to the apartment, none of your neighbors were outside or anything? It didn’t seem like any of them noticed what was going on?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “I didn’t see anyone until after the police got there. Either they didn’t hear anything or they did and didn’t want to get involved.”
I make a mental note to make sure I talk to the neighbors closest to their apartment so I can find out which of those scenarios is true.
“I know you said that you saw the person writing on the wall of Gideon’s bedroom. Did you get a chance to see what they had written?” I ask.
“No,” he says.
I take out the crime scene photo that shows the message written on the wall with a permanent marker and hand it to him. Jesse takes the picture and looks at it, his breath catching in his throat as he looks at the scene.
“Does that mean anything to you?” I ask.
“I have to guess that it’s referring to Tracy Ellis, the woman Gideon worked for,” Jesse says. “He was one of the people in her entourage, I guess you’d say. Officially, he was security, so he did protect her.”
“This is pretty strong language,” I say. “Does it seem to you that someone would call Tracy Ellis ‘vile’?”
“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “She is one of the most divisive people I’ve ever heard of. I worked for her company really briefly a couple of years ago, but then I found something else. Even in the short time that I was working there, I saw so much controversy and negativity. Then Gideon talked about the things he experienced when they would do appearances and travel for presentations and guest speaking gigs. There are a lot of people who can’t stand that woman or any of what she apparently stands for. I think that’s why Gideon didn’t take the threats very seriously.”
“Did he talk to you about getting the threats?” I ask.
“Yeah. He showed them to me when he got them. I thought he should call the police about them, but he said they weren’t that big of a deal and he was used to hearing threats against Ellis because of the things that she preached and talked about. He said he didn’t think they were anything to really worry about because they were so much like ones that he’d heard of Ellis getting before and nothing ever happened to her. He didn’t think that anyone would go after him just because he was one of her security team. I pointed out that some of the threats came in the mail, which meant that they knew where he lived, but he still wouldn’t think too much about it. After getting a couple of them, he did bring them to Tracy’s attention so that she at least knew what was going on.”
“Did he tell you how she reacted to that?” I ask.
“Pretty much how I would have expected her to. She blew it off and told him that he was doing righteous work by working with her so he didn’t need to be afraid. Getting the threats was just a sign that what she was saying was being heard and it was affecting people, which was exactly what she wanted,” he tells me.
He continues, “That’s the thing about her. There’s no middle ground with Tracy Ellis. People are either absolutely obsessed with her teaching and everything she says, or they despise her and completely condemn what she stands for. But it doesn’t really matter to her. She likes being fawned over by the people who all but worship her, but she is just as fine with the people who hate her. She might even like them more because they tend to talk about her more and get other people to listen to her just out of sheer curiosity and wanting to know what has offended other people so much. Hate-watching is definitely a thing. And she doesn’t really care as long as she’s getting the attention. The whole ‘all publicity is good publicity’ thing.”
“Have there been any specific people whom Gideon ever encountered who you think would want to cause him harm? Anyone he was specifically afraid of?” I ask.
“No. None of the threats he ever got or that ever came into the company were signed. He’s encountered people who were threatening to hurt Tracy Ellis while on her appearances, but they never mentioned wanting to go after security, and they were always easily subdued. The vast majority of the time when people speak out against people like Tracy and claim they were going to do something about them, it was all talk. They weren’t actually going to take any action. They just wanted people to hear them talking because they thought it was going to make a difference if they sounded like they were vehemently against the things that were pissing so many people off,” he says.
“A messed-up version of virtue signaling,” I say. “I’m unfortunately very familiar. Do you know if he kept any of the threatening notes?”
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure he threw them all away,” Jesse says. “If there are any, they would be at the apartment.”
“Are you going back there after you are discharged?” I ask.
He’s only being held for observation, likely to make sure that the wound in his back doesn’t get infected and to monitor his mental health after the extreme stress he just endured. But that means he won’t be in the hospital very long. He’ll likely be discharged within the next few hours and have to face this new normal in life. The thought of him going back to the apartment already is sobering.
“Not yet,” he tells me. “The detective told me he would let me know when I’m allowed to go back. I’m going to stay with my parents for a few days anyway. I just don’t want to be alone there. I don’t know if I ever want to be there again.”
“That’s perfectly understandable,” I say. “I’m going to let you get some rest. Thank you for talking with me. I will likely want to talk to you again.” I give him one of my business cards. “If you can think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call me. I always have my phone on me.”
I leave the room and go back to my car. I call Detective Fuller as I wait for the air-conditioning to kick in.
“I want to go to the apartment and get a look at the crime scene,” I tell him.
“The door was replaced, and there’s a lockbox on it. I’ll send you the code,” he says. “Do you want backup to go with you?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Did you get a chance to talk with Jesse Kristoff?” he asks.
“I did. He didn’t have much to tell me about the attack, but he gave me some interesting insights into Tracy Ellis and how people see her. It sounds like this is far from the first time that people associated with her have gotten threats,” I say.
“That’s probably very true.”
We get off the phone, and a few seconds later, a message comes through with the code for the lockbox on the apartment door. I find the address in the file I got from the detective, input it into my GPS, and head there.