“She’s never met me. Showing up unannounced and asking questions—that’s too aggressive. And frightening, especially if she’s been the victim of domestic abuse.” That sounded too much like cop-speak. Ellie said, “Did he kick the shit out of her?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past Paul.”

“If he abused her or threatened her, if she was previously abused by another boyfriend or a family member, then her house is most likely the only place where she feels safe. If I go there and start asking questions, she’ll shut down. But if I talk to her first, establish a rapport with her and draw her out, suggest we meet for, say, lunch somewhere close to her, I think she’ll be more likely to open up and talk.”

“Tell me what you’ll say.”

She winged it, going with her gut. Sebastian discussed the flaws in her approach, and then they ran through all the possible conversations, Sebastian taking on the role of Candice Jackson and throwing up roadblocks. Half an hour later, they felt they had the conversation locked down. Sebastian gave her Candice Jackson’s number.

Ellie dialed it and then listened as the phone on the other end of the line rang and rang; she thought the call would go to voicemail.

“Hello?” The woman’s voice sounded groggy.

“Hi, Candice?”

“Who’s this?”

“My name is Faye Simpson. You don’t know me, but I’m really hoping we could talk about my fiancé. Well, the man I thought was going to be my fiancé. You know him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Paul,” Ellie said. “Paul Young.”

CHAPTER 41

SHE LET CANDICE Jackson pick the location, Ellie wanting the woman to feel safe and in control. Candice suggested the Rooftop restaurant, located—surprise, surprise—on the roof of the Hotel Wilshire in downtown LA.

Ellie knew the place. It was a tourist magnet—and not just for the breathtaking city views. According to various websites, during the summer, models and models in training could be found using the pool. The hotel hired them to draw in men who would hang around, rent out the expensive cabanas, and order VIP service, running up huge bar tabs.

It wasn’t summer anymore, but this December day sure felt like it was, with the temperature in the mid-eighties. The pool wasn’t in use, and the cabanas were empty, but there were gorgeous people everywhere, the two outside bars doing brisk business. Ellie spotted a couple of C-level celebrities from reality shows that had long since been forgotten.

Candice said she was five six and had short dark brown hair, said she’d be wearing jeans and a plain ol’ white collared shirt. Ellie didn’t see anyone matching that description at or around the bars, or at the indoor banquette, so she wandered down to the opposite end of the pool, to a set of stairs that descended to an outdoor lounge consisting of benches, chairs, and, for more intimate conversations, outdoor couches with plush cushions and artfully staged throw pillows. That area, too, was packed, waiters zipping about delivering drinks and brunch. Ellie didn’t see anyone matching Candice’s description there, either.