drink – they declined.
‘I know this is an awkward situation, Mr. Tyler,’ Hunter began. ‘We’ll try to get through it as fast as we can.’
‘Call me Dan, please,’ Tyler said, taking his seat behind his desk. His voice was serene and pleasant, like a storyteller’s.
Hunter quickly explained that it would still be a few days before the house in Malibu was released by forensics.
Tyler nodded. He knew that putting the house back on the market now wasn’t a clever idea.
‘The house didn’t look like an investment property,’ Hunter said. ‘Did you used to live there?’
‘Yes. For many years.’
Hunter noticed a distinct tone in Tyler’s voice and allowed a few silent seconds to go by before nodding towards a silver-framed photograph on Tyler’s desk. An attractive woman with windswept hair and an infectious smile standing by a swimming pool. A beautiful black dog was asleep by her feet. ‘Was that taken at the house?’ he asked, recognizing the pool.
Tyler looked at the photograph. ‘Yes,’ he said with a mixture of pride and sadness.
Hunter intuited the woman in the picture was the source of the sadness. ‘Is that your wife?’
Tyler looked back at him. ‘Kate. Yes.’ A pause. ‘She passed away.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Hunter said and sensed that Tyler’s emotional wound was still raw. ‘Recently?’
‘Twelve months ago.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘It feels recent to me.’
‘I understand.’
Tyler took a deep breath. ‘A lot of people say that, but surviving the woman you love—’ he gave Hunter a quick head shake ‘—I guess it’s something you have to live through to really understand. We were married twenty years.’ Tyler’s eyes were back on the picture.
‘And the house in Malibu was your home?’ Hunter asked.
‘It was her pride and joy,’ Tyler said, nodding. ‘We built it from scratch. Kate was involved in every aspect of the architectural design. It was her dream house. She chose every piece of furniture, every curtain, every color, every detail. Kate’s in every inch of that house.’ Tyler paused and looked down at his clasped hands. ‘After she was gone, I just couldn’t live there anymore. I tried for a while but . . .’ His eyes drifted away. ‘Without realizing, I used to find myself talking to the walls, curtains, pictures . . .’ He smiled. ‘I don’t need the house or anything else to remind me of what Kate and I had.’
‘No children?’ Hunter asked, already guessing the answer, judging by the lack of any other family pictures in the office.
‘Unfortunately, no.’ A different sorrow coated Tyler’s words, and Hunter understood that having no children hadn’t been his choice. He allowed the awkward moment to subside before proceeding.
‘Did you know Amanda Reilly?’
‘We met a couple of times when I approached her company to handle the sale of the house,’ Tyler replied, glad to change the subject.
‘How long ago was that?’
Tyler tilted his head to one side and scratched his temple. ‘About eight months ago, when the house first went up for sale.’
‘Not since?’
‘There was no need. Her company was recommended to me. One of my clients had his house sold through Reilly’s. I didn’t wanna have anything to do with it. I wanted someone who could handle everything. She came across as a very genuine and trustworthy person, and her track record spoke for itself.’ Something changed on his computer screen and Tyler glared at it for a second. ‘We talked on the phone a few times. She’d call me every now and then to update me on any viewings.’
‘Did she call you last week about a viewing this past Saturday?’ Hunter asked, checking his black notebook.
Tyler nodded. ‘She called me on Friday.’ He pulled himself closer to his desk. ‘She sounded really excited. More excited than she did about any of the previous viewings. She said that the prospective buyer—’ Tyler reached for a stylish leather-bound diary on his desk and flipped back a few pages ‘—someone called Ryan Turner, was really eager to see the house.’ He paused and slowly lifted his eyes from the diary. ‘She said she had a good feeling about this guy.’
Fifty-Seven
An unpleasant silence took over Dan Tyler’s office, and Hunter and Garcia looked at each other.
‘Do you have the names of everyone that requested a viewing of the house?’ Hunter asked, nodding at Tyler’s diary.
‘It’s a habit of mine. I don’t go into business with anyone I haven’t checked out. Even though I can’t bring myself to live there anymore, that house is still very dear to me and I wouldn’t sell it to someone who wouldn’t appreciate it. A property developer, for example. Someone who’d knock it down to build something else.’
‘I’m guessing you’d only run background checks on buyers if they’d actually made an offer?’
Tyler nodded halfheartedly. ‘There’s no point spending time and money on someone who’s only window- shopping.’ He shook his head as if he’d made a mistake. ‘I should’ve checked him anyway.’
‘He most certainly used a false name,’ Hunter said. ‘You probably wouldn’t have found anything on him.’
‘And that would’ve gotten every alarm bell in my head going.’ Tyler looked straight into Hunter’s eyes. ‘I deal with a lot of rich people, Detective Hunter. They’re all “proud” of what they’ve achieved and who they are. It’s a show-off game for most of them. Mine is bigger than yours kinda thing. A person going for a four-million-dollar house with a nonexistent past is a clear “be aware” sign to me.’
Hunter nodded his understanding. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like a copy of the list of names Miss Reilly has given you over these eight months.’
‘Sure.’ Tyler reached inside his top drawer and handed Hunter a printed list. Seven names in total. Hunter studied Tyler through the top of the list. His eyes questioning.
Tyler smiled thinly. ‘That’s how I make my money, detective. I have to be logical, practical and, above all, think ahead. It was only logical to deduct that you’d want that list of names.’
Hunter read the names in silence. None stood out.
‘None of them made an offer,’ Tyler continued. ‘I never requested a background check on any of them.’ He stood up and approached the bar. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’ he insisted.
‘No, thank you. We’re fine.’
Tyler poured himself a shot of bourbon. ‘It’s hard to believe that a place that’d brought me the happiest days of my life housed such a monstrous act.’ He sipped his drink. ‘Is it true what I read in the paper?’ He hesitated for a second. ‘Did the killer really use the fireplace to burn her?’
Hunter nodded in silence.
For a second Tyler’s stare became distant, and Hunter knew his memory had gone back to the house. To the living room and the fireplace he knew so well. He swallowed and quickly took another sip of his bourbon.
‘And is this really the same killer who decapitated that priest last week?’
‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers,’ Garcia replied.
‘I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.’
‘At the moment it’s all speculation,’ Hunter lied.
Tyler walked up to the large glass window that offered a panoramic view of LA’s financial district. ‘This city has changed so much. I don’t think I understand it anymore.’
‘Did you ever?’ Garcia asked.
Tyler smiled. ‘You’ve gotta point there.’
‘If it’s OK with you, I’d like to show you some photographs that were taken at the house,’ Hunter said and was quick to sense Tyler’s uneasiness. ‘Don’t worry,’ he clarified. ‘They aren’t photos of the victim.’
Tyler stared at his glass. There was something else worrying him. Hunter realized what it was. The pictures
