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They used the hair salon’s back office as an interrogation room.

Jessie didn’t say as much, but she didn’t want to conduct an interview back at the Sheriff’s station, where she’d have little control. And she could see that Riddell was too impatient to go anywhere. So, after getting the reluctant consent of the salon owner, they agreed to do it here.

They sat Collins down in the owner’s swiveling desk chair and cuffed her right hand to the armrest. Riddell was champing at the bit, but before he started in, Jessie pulled him aside.

“I know she ran from us,” she whispered, “but she wasn’t aggressive. Let’s at least start this on simmer before we take it to boil, okay?”

“What do you mean by that?” Riddell growled.

“Give me a minute to calm her down,” Jessie explained. “If she’s our killer, we’ll get there. But if not, she could be a valuable information source. Let’s not turn her into a crying heap of tears until we have to.”

Riddell didn’t look happy, but she could tell that he saw some merit in her suggested strategy.

“Fine,” he muttered, “but if she starts playing games with us, I’m going to amp it up real quick.”

"Fair enough," Jessie said, though she didn't really think it was. She turned her attention back to Collins, whose t-shirt was grimy from where she'd fallen. The tops of her toes were also raw from scraping on the alleyway gravel. She was wincing as she held her left hand to her chest.

“Detective Riddell is going to call for an ambulance so EMTs can you check you out, Samantha,” she said, nodding at Riddell to do that, before adding,” is it okay if I call you Samantha?”

The woman nodded faintly. As the detective reluctantly pulled out his phone and stepped to the corner of the room, Jessie noted that Collins seemed to be whimpering.

"Okay, Samantha, my name is Jessie Hunt," she began. "I'm a criminal profiler with the LAPD. This is Detective Riddell. You may remember that he already identified himself at your apartment. But while we wait for the EMTs to arrive, we wanted to ask you some questions, which is all we ever wanted to do anyway. Keeping in mind the rights that Detective Riddell explained to you earlier, are you willing to speak with us?"

Collins took a deep, wheezy breath. Jessie worried that she might be about to ream them out. Instead, when she replied, speaking to them for the first time, her voice was quiet.

“Are you really cops?”

Jessie was surprised at the question but answered it anyway.

"We're both law enforcement," Jessie reiterated, pulling out her ID and showing it. "Detective Riddell is a cop. I'm not, but I work for the Los Angeles Police Department. Why do you ask that?"

Riddell came back over and nodded to indicate that the ambulance was on the way.

"Because people have been following me," Collins said through gritted teeth. "They show up every few weeks and make themselves known. They give off a very threatening energy. I thought you were part of that."

“We’re not,” Riddell said, though his tone wasn’t all that reassuring.

“Why do you think that you’re being followed, Samantha?” Jessie asked.

The woman didn’t answer. In fact, she seemed afraid to. Jessie decided to try a different tack.

“Okay, let’s back up a little. How well do you know a man named Taye Boyce?”

At the question, Samantha’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“That’s who’s having me followed,” she seethed. “And that’s why I ran when you banged on my door. I didn’t think you were for real. I assumed you worked for him and meant me harm. If you don’t, then how do you know about me?”

Jessie looked over at Riddell. It felt to her like they’d reached a key juncture. They didn’t yet know whether they were talking to a criminal or some kind of victim. But in order to get anything useful from Samantha Collins, it was clear that they were going to have to be more forthcoming.

If Collins was their killer, revealing Boyce’s death could provide an incriminating reaction. If she wasn’t involved, then knowing the real reason they were here might make her more likely to open up.

If Ryan had been with her, he’d have understood what her look meant. But the detective’s expression indicated that he didn’t know what she was trying to convey. She decided to make a command decision.

“Taye Boyce is dead,” she said flatly.

Collins’s eyes got even wider than before. It could have been an act, but Jessie, trusting that her cognitive abilities were back to pre-medication levels, thought the woman’s surprise seemed sincere.

“What?” she said with a grimace, though Jessie wasn’t sure if that was because of the news or the discomfort she was in.

"He was murdered," she replied, choosing not to look at her partner to see his reaction to her revelation. "We're investigating it, and you came up because of a situation involving a restraining order he filed against you."

“You see!” Samantha said, her voice rising in anger as she rubbed at her chest, “That’s the crap I’ve been dealing with!”

“What crap?” Riddell demanded.

“Look, I’m sorry to hear that he was killed,” she began before seeming to change her mind, “but he was not a good guy. He filed a restraining order against me a year ago because he had people at the courthouse who tipped him off that I was about to file one against him. He was just trying to confuse things.”

“Explain that,” Jessie requested.

“Am I allowed to do that?” Samantha asked. “I reached a settlement with him that doesn’t let me to talk about what happened.”

“He’s dead and this is a criminal investigation,” Riddell told her. “You can talk.”

Hearing those words seemed to calm Samantha down a little. After taking a couple of pained breaths, she launched in.

“I work as a restaurant server now, but I used to be an exotic dancer. Boyce came into my club one night with some of his buddies. He spent a lot of money. At one point he invited me and a few other girls to come hang out on his boat. It sounded cool so a few nights later we did.”

“What happened?” Jessie asked, prying without trying to sound like she was.

“It was fun,” Samantha said. “One huge party on a boat.”

“Did anything happen between you two?” Jessie pressed.

A brief wave of guilt crossed Samantha’s face as she answered.

“Yeah, we had sex in his cabin bedroom down below deck.”

“You were a willing participant?” Jessie wanted to know.

“Yes,” she answered. “It was kind of rough, but I was generally cool with it.”

“Were you paid?” Riddell asked.

Samantha’s eyes turned to slits and her face went red. Then, without warning, she leapt up and tried to take a swing at the detective.