Blood Score Part 11

"Once I got involved with Olivia, she found ways to mess with my head. Guess she figured she could force me to do anything she wanted, *cause I didn't want her telling Ethan about us. She recorded one of our sessions, without me knowing it. Her proof, otherwise I would've told her to f.u.c.k off."

"You actually saw this recording?" Gabe asked.

"Yeah, she gave me a copy. The b.i.t.c.h set it to music, too. Ethan's music. He may be blind, but anyone could see my face and tell him that I was the one sticking it to her."

"You still have the recording?"

"No. I destroyed it. G.o.d, I didn't want anyone to see it." He crossed his arms. "She made it look as if I'd raped her. Her sick fantasy, not mine."

"Yeah, she took advantage of you," Gabe said. "You're nothing but an innocent bystander."

"That's how it was, man. I swear."

"If she recorded you, she might have done others. Where did she keep her home movies?" Angel asked, with a glance at Gabe. They hadn't found any recordings at Olivia's place.

"If I knew, I'd have trashed them." Peterson glared across the room, not looking either of them in the eye. "That b.i.t.c.h made up nasty lies. She sent Ethan those letters. That's the real reason I called her and left that message. When I found out about them, I got p.i.s.sed. She'd been sending them to Ethan all along, messing with him. I had no idea what she wrote. I only heard about *em."

"What letters are these? And who told you about them?" Angel pushed, noticing Gabe's stern reaction in the mirror.

"From what I was told, Olivia pretended to be a stalker. But that whole thing rang true, *cause I could see her getting off on that," Peterson said. "Ethan's PR lady told me about *em. Rachel has the letters."

Gabe shot her a look in the mirror, and Angel knew in an instant that Rachel Blevins would have some explaining to do. This time Gabe would do the talking.

Chapter 9.

Grand Central Police Station They had no reason to hold Bryce Peterson, especially after he had asked for a lawyer, and his alibi had checked out. It would have been interesting to see if he had the b.a.l.l.s to call Ethan asking for his help to find a mouthpiece, but Cronan had had enough of pathetic for one morning.

Slouched at his desk, he swiveled his chair and kicked around ideas with his partner.

"You think Peterson destroyed that recording of him and Olivia?" Cronan didn't wait for her to answer. "Guy strikes me as someone who'd want a memento. Maybe he did the recording and got Olivia to play along. If his alibi hadn't checked out, we could've gotten a warrant to go hunting, but these people, this case. It's really messed up. Nothing's at face value."

"Yeah, and now these letters," Angel said.

Cronan had to admit he was hot under the collar after he heard Rachel Blevins had instigated the fallout between Bryce Peterson and Olivia Davenport. Although the publicist was fully capable of playing her own nasty head games, he gave her the benefit of the doubt and checked whether a police report had been filed on the stalking, but came up empty. Now as he sat at his desk, his juices were flowing and scenarios played in his head.

"No police report on the stalking," he told Angel. "If Rachel was so protective of her client, why wouldn't she have reported a stalker?"

"Maybe because she invented the whole thing," she said, saying what he thought. "Peterson said she told him about those letters. Why would she do that unless she knew about him and Olivia? I've got a hunch she told him to get a rise out of the guy. He looks like the volatile type. Rachel could have been counting on that."

"You mean she used him like an attack dog, knowing he'd go off on Olivia so she wouldn't have to get her hands dirty?"

"Yeah, it's a theory." She nodded. "And here's something else. Looking through Olivia's phone records, I see a series of calls between Rachel and Olivia, including one on the day Olivia was killed that lasted five minutes. I find it interesting that Rachel didn't mention this to us when we talked to her. We were there to find Ethan's name, but once she found out Olivia was dead, she had her chance to bring it up, and she didn't. Maybe she did more than protect her client."

Cronan pursed his lips and considered her point before he threw out another idea.

"Let me ask you this." Leaning across his desk, he narrowed his eyes. "You think Rachel's got a thing for Ethan? Maybe something he doesn't even know about?"

Angel thought about his question before she said, "It's possible. He's a pretty charismatic guy, and her eyes really lit up when she talked about him being her client. Maybe it goes beyond that."

"Yeah, you're reading my mail. Let's check her out. And no call in advance this time." He crooked his lip into a half smile. "If she's got those stalker letters, and she thought Olivia had something to do with it, she'll have to produce them on the spot. They'd be considered evidence, and we can ask about that phone call to Olivia on the day she died, too. Let's see how well she thinks on her feet."

"Making up a stalker. That's pretty conniving, even for a slick, fast talking operator like Rachel Blevins."

"Never underestimate the female of the species, Ramirez. You heard it here first."

"Yeah, I'll try and remember that, Gabe. Thanks for the heads up."

Trump Tower - Downtown Chicago Cronan saw a young receptionist at the desk outside the office of Rachel Blevins. She smiled as he and Angel walked into the agency suite. Rachel's door was closed, but that didn't deter him. Cronan smiled at the administrative a.s.sistant and didn't slow down as he walked through the waiting area.

"She in?" He asked and didn't wait for an answer. "Thanks."

"Sir, you can't go in there." The receptionist came out from behind her desk. "She's on a conference call and can't be disturbed."

"If you think she can't be disturbed, you haven't seen me at work" He grinned.

Cronan barged into the office with Angel next through the door. The publicist was caught mid-sentence with the phone to her ear. She made her excuses to someone on the other end of the line and hung up before she stood.

"What the h.e.l.l is this all about?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Blevins. I tried to stop them." The receptionist blushed with embarra.s.sment.

"It's okay, Claire. I'll take it from here. Please close the door behind you."

"Yes, ma'am."

Before Rachel sat, Angel had already claimed a seat in front of her desk. Cronan stood way too close to the publicist. He returned her glare until she sank into her chair.

"What can I do for you, Detectives? I already told you everything I know."

"Ah, but you see, that's the problem." He leaned across her desk and stared down at her. "You didn't."

Cronan glanced down at her desk. After Rachel saw him eyeballing her nameplate, she swiped it off her desk and shoved it into a drawer. But he wasn't discouraged by the smug look on her face. Searching for something to mess with her head, he spotted a colorful vase on a shelf and picked it up. When her body tensed, he tossed the decorative showpiece between his hands and paced her office, keeping his eyes on her.

Pigheaded as usual, Rachel sank into her chair and didn't give him the satisfaction of demanding he put down her property.

"That urn is an antique," she said. "It's inlaid in gold and gemstones...and probably worth your annual salary."

"That low?" He smirked. "I would have thought a woman like you would have better taste."

"What would you know about women like me...or good taste?"

"Just that women like you and good taste don't always go hand in hand." He narrowed his eyes. "That's about all I care to know."

"Why are you here? I'm busy." She directed her glare at both of them.

"Bryce Peterson told us Olivia was stalking your client, and that you had letters to prove it," He told her. "We came to pick them up. They're evidence in our murder case."

Rachel tried to hide her reaction, but failed. Even from a distance, he noticed she had stopped breathing.

"Are the letters real? Or did you make the whole thing up to get Bryce angry with Olivia?" Angel took her shot. "Because no matter how you gloss over this, you're looking like a woman with something to hide."

"I didn't need to stoke the fire between those two. If Bryce is accusing me of having anything to do with Olivia's murder, I'll sue his sorry a.s.s."

Rachel gritted her teeth and s.h.i.+fted her chair to stare out the window. No doubt she was considering how much to cooperate, but Cronan had enough of her att.i.tude.

"Why didn't you report the stalking to police?" he demanded. "We have anti-stalking laws. If what Bryce Peterson told us is true, those letters are evidence of a repeat offender."

When she hesitated and kept her silence, he pushed her.

"Don't bother to lie about what you told Bryce. Lying now will get you arrested," he threatened. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to be hauled out of here in handcuffs."

"No, I wouldn't." Rachel poured a gla.s.s of water and took a long sip. She looked shaken, and her hands trembled. "I didn't lie to Bryce when I told him that I believed Olivia had sent letters to Ethan, pretending to be an anonymous stalker. That's why I didn't report it. I thought I could handle it myself. I had my reasons for accusing her."

"You better share those reasons or I'm gonna think you don't trust us," he pressed.

After she opened a drawer and retrieved a small key from her desk, Rachel stood and went to a file cabinet. She unlocked a drawer, slid it open and pulled out a thick folder. Cronan returned the vase he'd been juggling and waited to see what she had.

"Ethan has a post office box to keep his home address private. From time to time, he's gotten strange letters in the past. Whenever he got anything suspicious, I kept them. But the ones on top were different."

"Different how?" he asked.

"You have to understand that I was convinced Olivia wasn't good for my client. She had a pedigree and came from money, but she didn't love him. Not like he loved her."

"Go on."

"The letters started coming after Ethan and Olivia began dating, maybe three months into their relations.h.i.+p. Normally, that wouldn't have pointed to her, but there were things that were mentioned in these letters that reminded me of her. Phrases I'd heard her use. And there were details in these letters that only an insider to Ethan's world would know."

When she opened the file, he stopped her.

"Don't touch them," he demanded. "I'm sure your prints are all over these by now, but our lab will want to process the paper for evidence." He pulled on his latex gloves and laid out the letters on Rachel's desk. "Now show me what you're talking about."

Rachel did her best to stay focused, but he could tell she was uncomfortable showing the letters to him. He didn't blame her. Cronan was shocked at how graphic and violent the letters were. No doubt, the suggestive language had been directed at Ethan. Rachel pointed out what lines were about his bedroom, things only a lover would have known. He had to take her word for the phrases she thought were from Olivia, although she admitted that in hindsight she had her misgivings now.

"There's an underlying hostility when you get past the s.e.xual content of these letters. We'll have our experts look these over for a profile," Cronan told her. "From what I've read about the crime, there are several types of stalkers. The rejected stalker and the predatory one wouldn't write to communicate their intentions. They don't alert their victims in advance."

"That's a frightening thought," the publicist said. "What about the other types? Do these letters fit another profile?"

"I'm no expert, but some of these phrases might be cla.s.sified as an intimacy seeker." He pointed to the lines that had stood out in his mind and read them aloud. "Like this one. *You are my gift. Mine alone.' Or this line. *Why do you give yourself to others when you have me?'"

"With you reading them aloud, I got chills." Rachel rubbed her arms and stared down at the letters.

"An intimacy seeker may start out by not identifying who they are, but eventually they may reveal themselves," he said. "They can't bear to remain anonymous for long. They want the victim to know who they are."

Cronan had picked out those lines on purpose-and not only because they indicated a stalker who sought closeness with the victim. In his mind, the lines didn't fit when it came to Olivia. If she were abusing Ethan behind his back or in front of him for that matter, why would she demand his full attention? She had his complete devotion.

He definitely found Rachel's motives toward Olivia interesting. Maybe the publicist only saw what she wanted to see-or needed to see. If Ethan were more than a client, she would have thought of Olivia as a rival, one she didn't have any respect for.

"Did you ever confront Olivia about these letters?" Angel asked.

"Yeah, and she laughed me off, saying I was being overprotective and paranoid. But after our talk, Ethan told me a mystery photographer had been taking photos of him when he didn't expect it. With Olivia's money, she could afford to hire someone like that." Rachel shook her head. "Guess that sounds pretty paranoid, huh?"

Before they could answer, she said, "Look, all I wanted was to stop her, I swear. She wasn't good for Ethan, but I never would have hurt her. Even if I was capable of strangling her with my bare hands, I wouldn't have done that to him."

"So you're saying that your sense of right and wrong is based on who you like?" He didn't wait for her answer. "Guess I better watch my back."

"That's not what I'm saying. But in your case, watching your back can't hurt."

"You have anyone else who can back up your version of the truth? Maybe one of her friends?" Cronan wasn't sure he bought into Rachel's song and dance as he gathered the letters and returned them to the file to take back to the station.

"Sorry. I can't tell you about her friends." She shrugged. "But I will tell you this. Olivia got off on Ethan's blindness. She played all sweet and nice to his face, but behind his back was another story. I used to watch her, sometimes from a distance. Believe me. I know she loved playing tricks on him. I even saw her move his furniture once. She made him fall, out of pure meanness."

"Did you ever tell Ethan that?" Angel asked.

Rachel heaved a sigh.

"I tried more than once. But telling him Olivia had been using him, when he loved her so much, I hated that. They even broke up for a while because of my interference. I thought they were over, but I was wrong. Eventually he convinced me I'd been mistaken and for his sake, I backed off, at least from bringing it up again."

"I bet you resented having to back down, especially if Olivia didn't quit hara.s.sing your client," Cronan said as he sat next to Angel.

"She didn't quit her abuse." Rachel tensed her jaw and stared out her window for a long moment before she said, "I'll admit that I hated her for it, but not enough to hurt Ethan again. I was afraid my interference would drive a deeper wedge between us."

"That only means you had to get smarter about confronting her, so your client wouldn't know you were still on to his girl." Cronan wasn't buying her change in heart. A woman like Rachel wouldn't have let Olivia get the best of her without digging in.

"Why didn't you tell us you called Olivia on the day she was killed?" Angel asked. "Tell us about that call."

"I don't remember. It might have been to tell her about the dinner reservations I had made for Ethan. I can't recall."

Angel shook her head.

"The day we first met Ethan, and you were in the kitchen making coffee with my partner, your client told me he'd been the one to call Olivia about dinner, not you." Angel c.o.c.ked her head. "Again, you're acting like you've got something to hide. Where were you on the night Olivia was killed?"

"I was working, most nights until nine or so. You can ask the night security guard downstairs when he comes on duty. He usually escorts me to the parking lot."

"What's his name?"

Rachel gave a first name only and a vague description of the guard. Cronan hadn't missed the fact that she'd used the word *usually' when she talked about her routine for leaving the office and she hadn't been very definitive on the time. He'd have to make sure the security guard had not only escorted Rachel to her vehicle, but he also paid attention to the time he walked her from the building. That kind of detail would be a real c.r.a.pshoot.

From his experience, a routine practice got jumbled up in a witness's memory. If a security guard walked her most nights, would he actually remember a specific night and made a note of the time? He wasn't sure how reliable the security guard would be unless he found another way to verify her story, like security surveillance footage.