Page 56 of The Perfect Hosts

Chapter 27

Jamie

Jamie drums his fingers on his desk and stares down at Johanna Monaghan’s cell phone. It looks like Dalton’s suspicions were warranted and Wes had a romantic relationship with Johanna that he needed to keep hidden from his wife.

Jamie glances around the bullpen. Deputies are coming in and out of the space, Ruby drops a stack of mail on a desk, Deputy Ladd is on the phone, feet propped on his desk, laughing. Everyone and everything in Nightjar is connected. It’s not that Jamie doesn’t trust local law enforcement, but if he lets it be known that Wes Drake is a viable suspect in Johanna Monaghan’s death, chances are it will get back to Wes before Jamie even has the opportunity to interview him again. No, he needs to keep this information under wraps for as long as possible.

“Hey, Saldano,” Ladd calls from across the room, “any luck with that phone?”

“Not yet,” Jamie says, giving a regretful shake of his head. “I’ll keep trying, but it’s pretty much fried. We can send it in to one of our tech guys. See what they can make of it.”

“Yeah, not my area of expertise. I’m heading out. Going to talk to more of the party guests,” Ladd says. “Catch you later.”

Jamie waits until Ruby and the other deputies drift from the room before covertly taking pictures of Johanna’s textmessages with his own phone. He unplugs the device from the borrowed charger and then secures it in the evidence locker which is just a converted janitor’s closet.

He returns to his desk, pops the SD card into his computer, and clicks on the icon that pops up and then on the blue folder labeledDrake Gender Reveal. Within the folder are hundreds and hundreds of files. “Christ,” Jamie murmurs, rubbing his forehead. The files are labeled by numbers, and Jamie decides it’s safe to assume that the photos named with the lower numbers are the ones taken earlier on the evening of the explosion. It would make sense to start looking at the pictures taken closer to the time of the explosion, but he doesn’t work that way. He knows that sometimes the most important clues can be found in some of the most innocuous pieces of evidence, and he doesn’t want to get careless and miss something.

Jamie clicks on the first file and a photo of the Drake property fills the screen, and once again he is reminded of the nearly incomprehensible wealth of the Drake family. The late-afternoon sun illuminates the lavish home on green and gold fields, giving the landscape an almost magical, otherworldly feel. The now-destroyed barn is still standing but lists to the side. It’s an old barn. Next to the barn is the canopied tent where dinner was to be served, and beyond the house and stables sits the old truck, waiting to be blown to pieces. Jamie clicks on the next file and the next, and the next, and it’s more of the same. He resists the urge to jump ahead. Pay attention, he tells himself.

In the next series of images, the photographer captures the arrival of the guests red-carpet-style. Couples dressed in Western wear, pause arm in arm and beam widely at the camera. There are lots of cowboy hats and boots. The women wear long strings of pearls and expensive jewelry, while the men and some of the women pose brandishing their guns. Guns and alcohol, Jamie thinks, a perfect mix. There are so manyfaces in the crowd they begin to blend together after a while. As he goes through each photo, he pays attention to body language and facial expressions, looking for anyone who appears uneasy or out of place. Everyone seems to be having a good time, happy to be there.

That is until a photo of Madeline Drake and the victim, Johanna Monaghan, appears, arms around one another. Jamie expected the women to be joyous for the occasion, but Madeline isn’t smiling. Her expression appears a little angry. He wonders if Madeline suspected a relationship between her husband and her midwife. Were Madeline’s earlier grief and distress about Johanna’s death all an act?

Jamie spends the next hour going through pictures of the guests mugging for the camera, of the beautiful flowers, of the exquisite place settings, and of the cake with both blue and pink icing cascading down its sides. There are several of Wes smiling with various partygoers, and one of Madeline midcringe as Mia Preston reaches out to touch her belly.

Jamie’s about ready for a break when he clicks on a photo that shows the ill-fated barn. There’s a flurry of activity around it with catering staff holding platters of appetizers and beverages and of the guests twirling their pearls and a rodeo clown swiping a cowboy hat and turning to dart through the crowd. The next several pictures show more of the same, and Jamie examines them carefully, looking for any sign that anyone is entering or exiting the barn. And then, there she is at the edge of the frame. Jamie brings his face closer to the computer screen. Even though her back is to the camera, he recognizes the long sleek braid and denim top. It’s Johanna Monaghan, and she is reaching for the barn door. Under her arm is the gift from the Prestons. In the next photo, Johanna is glancing over her shoulder as if checking to see if anyone is watching, but no one appears to be paying attention to her. The next photo shows Johanna stepping into the black hole of the barn.

This is it, Jamie thinks. If someone else followed Johanna into the barn, it could be captured in one of the remaining photos. There are only about twenty pictures left in the file, meaning that the explosion is coming. Holding his breath, Jamie clicks on the next photo, then the next and the next. No one is entering the barn behind Johanna. He clicks until there are only five photos left. His finger hovers over the mouse.

Jamie opens the next photo, and a man has entered the frame. His head is down, and his cowboy hat is pulled low, but it’s unmistakably Wes Drake. The next picture shows Wes midstride with Mellie Bauer close behind, her fingers outstretched as if trying to snag Wes’s arm. She has a wistful, almost hopeful, expression on her face. Interesting, Jamie thinks.

Jamie clicks the next image, sits back in his chair, and interlaces his hands behind his head. In this photo, Wes and Mellie are standing close to one another, almost chest to chest, as he leans down, his lips to her ear. Jamie zooms in on the photo. In one hand Wes is holding a cell phone, while the other is resting low on Mellie’s waist.

So Wes was involved not only with Johanna but with the waitress too. Mia Preston was right. Wes got around.

He opens the next photo, and there it is—Wes Drake opening the barn door and stepping inside, with Mellie Bauer looking on.

Then it dawns on him. Mellie is the one who told him that it was Dalton Monaghan she saw going into the barn just before the explosion. She lied. She lied to protect Wes.

Jamie clicks on the final photo. This one shows Wes exiting the barn, face grim and determined, his cell in his hand. Could Wes have detonated the IED via cell phone? Jamie picks up his phone and calls his contact at the crime lab.

“Nina,” he says, “it’s Jamie Saldano. Have you got anything for me on the Drake crime scene?”

“Come on, Saldano,” Nina says, a hint of mock-injury in her voice. “It’s been—what?—five days? You know better.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamie says. “But can you tell me anything about how it might have been detonated? What it was housed in?”

Nina sighs. “I can tell you it wasn’t in that package with the big black bow you were wondering about. The crime-scene techs found that pretty much intact beneath one of the fallen roof trusses. All that gift held was a sterling silver picture frame from Tiffany worth about a thousand bucks.”

Jamie gives a whistle. Rich people are something else. He wonders what the Prestons gave people who weren’t their sworn enemies.

“It was a pretty simple setup,” Nina goes on. “What the techs found at the scene pretty much sums it up. Nails, ball bearings, PVC pipe, duct tape. Looks like the victim stepped on a trip wire.”

“So just about anyone with a computer could have looked up how to make an IED and cobbled it together,” Jamie says. “Thanks, Nina. Give me a call if you learn anything else, will you?”

“Sure thing,” she says, and they disconnect.

“Dammit,” Jamie murmurs, the reality of what he’s seeing is sinking in. It didn’t look like the Prestons were behind the attack. But Nightjar’s golden boy and hometown hero—Jamie’s hero—was one of the last people to see Johanna Monaghan alive. Could it be that the boy who saved him from death all those years ago grew up to be a murderer?