Slave: The Ghost of Cambria - Book Two

Chapter Two

Detective Rita Hernandez closed the door to her office to escape the noise of the Sheriff's station. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts before her meeting with the forensics analyst started. The dark wood-covered walls of her office offered a relief from the uniform off-white surfaces throughout the rest of the San Luis Obispo County Sheriff's Office. Hernandez closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, attempting to reach a meditative state. It was a method the detective employed before each interview, an invaluable tool for removing any stimulus that might distract from her observations of a suspect.

Hernandez' office had been called to a house over in Cambria when a paramedics call had flagged in their system. A thirty-five-year-old man, Ryan Hoffman, had been reported dead due to an accidental fall that had resulted in him fatally striking his head against the edge of a bathtub. However, another man, the home's owner, Richard Cole, had been found dead under similar circumstances barely a month earlier.

"Las Vegas offers better odds," Hernandez whispered to herself.

She had not discovered a motive, but only one of the potential suspects had yet been interviewed, albeit shortly on the scene. Kristen Cole, daughter of the man, found dead the previous month, had reported Hoffman's death early that morning. The pair were lovers, and Hoffman had spent the night with her. The second suspect, Tony De Luca, was the only other person with regular access to the home. Before Hernandez would interview either, she would wait for the initial forensic report.

Hernandez felt the tension in her shoulders abate as her focus became sharp. Then a knock at the door stopped her progress.

"Come in," said the detective.

"Good morning, ma'am," said Ivan Llanda, the station's forensic analyst.

The lean man wore a black station polo shirt tucked neatly into his khaki pants. He closed the door behind him and sat down without being asked, their routine already well-established. In his hands, he held a report folder, which he opened to begin his review.

"What have you got for me?" asked Hernandez calmly, her eyes on him.

"We had luck with the print analysis," Llanda began. "Of the three we pulled in the bedroom that weren't latent, two have already come back. The first belongs to the deceased, Ryan Hoffman, who was retired military. The second is from Kristen Cole, who is registered in the system as a clinical psychologist working in San Diego."

"The third didn't come back as the father's?" asked Hernandez. "He was living in the room four weeks ago. He died in the bathroom."

"No, we didn't find his prints in the bathroom," Llanda continued. "I expect the space was professionally cleaned after he died. But we did find his prints on the bedframe and bedroom doors, as well as the unidentified prints."

"Probably from the contractor working on the remodel," asserted Hernandez. Why would he touch the bed, she wondered, envisioning two possible scenarios. "He's scheduled to be here in thirty minutes."

"His prints were on the bedroom door and bedframe, but not in the bathroom," Llanda clarified.

Hernandez exhaled sharply, her breath breaking through her calmness.

"That doesn't do much for us," she said with a color of impatience.

"Hoffman died sometime between seven and nine o'clock yesterday evening," answered Llanda, ignoring the detective's tone.

"Which matches Cole's assertion," Hernandez offered. "So why are we even bothering with this?"

"Because Richard Cole was found in the same bathroom with the same fatal injury," said Llanda, and he lifted his gaze from the report as he handed it to Hernandez.

"Fine," conceded Hernandez, "I'm no apologist for coincidences either. But I have two potential suspects for Hoffman's death, which you've more or less told me was an accident. Neither holds up for Richard Cole's death, which was also declared an accident. We can likely prove the daughter was in San Diego at the time of her father's death. That leaves us the contractor, who we have no forensic evidence was ever in the bathroom. As well as Cole's insistence that she and Hoffman were alone all night."

"That hardly makes impossible," countered Llanda.

"No," Hernandez shook her head, "but what would cause a young man to kill someone he didn't know? What would then cause the contractor to go to work for his daughter in the same house, then kill her boyfriend the same way he killed her father?"

Llanda didn't respond.

"So," the detective nodded, "there's not much for us to go on. Aside from our agreement that this is an unlikely coincidence."

A knock came from the door, and Hernandez gestured through her office's glass wall for the young man standing outside to enter.

"Kristen Cole is here for an interview," said the man. "I've placed her in Room A for you."

"Thank you," Hernandez answered without looking up, her eyes locked on her wristwatch as she rose.

She moved into the hallway outside her office, leaving the forensic analyst where he sat without a word of dismissal, and walked through the station to the interview rooms. The tall woman's stride was steady and formidable, and she passed through the building without drawing conversation from the people who looked up to notice her.

Arriving at Room A, Hernandez glanced through the small door window to see Kristen Cole for a moment before opening the door and walking in the unattractive eight-by-seven space. A cup of coffee sat in front of her on the small round office table. The sound of her entering drew Cole's attention at once.

"Hello, Dr. Cole," said Hernandez with a condoling half-smile and conciliatory tone. "Thank you for coming in this morning. I know this is probably the last thing you want to be doing, but it's imperative we do this while the event is still fresh in your mind."

"I understand," said Kristen with tired red eyes.

"I would like to record this interview for our files. However, if you don't wish me to, that is you're right. Also, if you would like someone here with you, they are welcome to join us."

"I'm fine with the interview being recorded, and there's no one to join me," Kristen answered.

"Very good, just give me a moment," said Hernandez.

She moved to a small panel in the wall where a television monitor was lit, displaying Cole and a sign on the wall behind her stating the day's date. After pressing a button, the screen flashed the symbol for Record, and Hernandez closed the panel before sitting down across from Cole.

"Today is September eighteenth, twenty-nineteen," she began, "and this recording is being taken in Interview Room A of the San Luis Obispo Sheriff's Office. The interviewer is Detective Rita Hernandez, employed by the same office. The interviewee is Dr. Kristen Cole of fifty-eight-zero-five Friars Road, Apartment twenty-four-fifteen in San Diego, California. Dr. Cole has waived her right to prevent this interview from being recorded and has not asked for a third party to sit in.

"Dr. Cole," Hernandez looked up, "is that all correct?"

"Yes, it is," Kristen answered.