Despite Jack's efforts to guide the conversation, Beatriz Santos' husband seemed fixated elsewhere. "I heard you found two other women's bodies. Do you know who they are?" he demanded.
"Sorry, we can't disclose information about other victims," Hannah replied in a professional tone.
In any investigation, especially one involving married or partnered women, the husband or boyfriend is always the first suspect. Even though this case had the hallmarks of a serial killer, jumping to conclusions would be premature. Until the truth was uncovered, all possibilities remained on the table.
"Do you have any suspects? You must have someone in mind!" the husband pressed further.
Jack glanced at his watch. "Apologies, but we don't yet. Your wife's body was discovered less than six hours ago. I hope you can understand."
Predictably, the man's emotions boiled over. "Ten days! Beatriz has been missing for ten days, and all the police can ever say is 'no comment.' Now she's dead, and it's still the same. I need to know what happened to my wife!"
As his voice rose, Hannah stepped forward, her expression stern as she met his fiery gaze. "Mr. Santos, we understand your pain, and we're here to help. That's why we came here immediately after identifying your wife. But for us to do our jobs, we need you to remain calm and answer Agent Tavoler's questions."
Her firm tone seemed to cut through the man's anger. He took a shaky breath and sat heavily on a small sofa, burying his face in his hands. After a moment of silence, he spoke again.
"Beatriz worked at a high-end hotel in North Salem. She managed the bar area. The restaurant closes at midnight, so she usually didn't get home until around one in the morning.
"I have flexible hours, so I'd always wait for her. That night, she messaged me saying she'd be home in twenty minutes." His voice cracked. "That was the last time I heard from her."
Seeing him calm down, Jack exchanged a glance with Hannah before continuing, his tone softer. "You two had a good relationship?"
"Yes. We've been married for two years. We hardly ever argued. Maybe a small disagreement here or there, but nothing serious. We'd always make up quickly," Santos said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Did she ever mention being harassed by anyone? As the bar manager, she must have dealt with her share of drunken patrons," Jack asked, jotting notes in his pad—not so much for the information as to show diligence and respect.
"Occasionally, sure. Some guys would try to flirt or act like big shots. But Beatriz was good at brushing them off. She said she knew how to handle those types."
Santos' response seemed genuine. He didn't appear to be hiding anything. Still, there was always the possibility that Beatriz hadn't told him everything, perhaps to avoid worrying him.
After a few more questions and obtaining the address of Beatriz's workplace, Jack and Hannah wrapped up their visit. Throughout the interview, Santos displayed normal behavior for a grieving spouse, including emotional volatility and sadness, which aligned with the second stage of grief: anger.
Jack mentally ruled him out as a suspect for now. To dig deeper, the next step was to investigate Beatriz's workplace.
North Salem, New York, often referred to as "Witch Town," has no connection to the infamous Salem, Massachusetts, site of the 1692 witch trials. Instead, North Salem is a serene, affluent area near Titicus Reservoir, less than 30 kilometers from Stamford. Known for its sprawling estates and equestrian culture, it's a popular enclave for the wealthy.
Beatriz's workplace was indeed a luxurious establishment. The restaurant was lavishly decorated, with the bar area featuring twelve illuminated liquor displays and a long counter accommodating up to forty seats. Several bartenders could easily serve customers simultaneously.
The manager, a short, nondescript white man with an indifferent demeanor, met them upon hearing the FBI wanted to ask about Beatriz.
"I don't recall anyone bothering her. Our clientele are high-end. This isn't some seedy dive bar," he said dismissively, as though the notion were beneath him.
Jack and Hannah exchanged glances. As the bar manager's direct supervisor, this man should have had a more empathetic reaction to the murder of his subordinate. Instead, his indifference stood out as odd.
Jack's gaze lingered on the man's hand, noticing five small black dots tattooed in a quincunx pattern on the back of his hand. Casually, Jack sent a message to Jubal while Hannah continued the questioning.
"But her husband said she often dealt with flirtatious customers. Are you certain no one suspicious had been around her recently? Perhaps someone who caused even minor trouble?"
The manager smirked, a mocking expression crossing his face. "That wouldn't surprise me," he said, pausing to adjust his tone as if realizing his attitude might come off as inappropriate.
"Beatriz could be overly sensitive at times. You know how it is. Attractive women can misinterpret a compliment as something more. I'm sure you've experienced that yourself," he said, directing the comment at Hannah.
Hannah didn't miss a beat. "Her husband described her as adept at handling those situations, not sensitive. He said she rarely let it bother her."
The manager shrugged, smiling thinly. "That's because he's her husband, not a coworker."
Jack tucked his phone away and signaled subtly to Hannah. "Thank you for your cooperation. By the way, that tattoo on your hand is interesting."
The manager stiffened, his smile faltering. "Oh, uh, thanks."
"Where'd you get it done?" Jack asked casually, though he recognized it immediately as a prison tattoo—five dots symbolizing "four walls and me," representing time served.
"In Kingston, at a tattoo parlor. The artist said it was a Buddhist symbol."
Jack didn't bother challenging the obvious lie. Instead, he elongated his response for effect. "Oh, Kingston. That's… cool."
The manager fidgeted, clearly uneasy. "If there's nothing else, I need to get back to the kitchen. There are things I need to oversee."
"Of course. Thanks again for your help," Jack said, smiling politely.
"Sure," the manager muttered before hastily retreating.
Jack and Hannah exchanged knowing looks as they watched him disappear. "He's hiding something," Hannah murmured.
"Definitely," Jack agreed. "Let's dig into his background. That tattoo's not just for show."
(End of Chapter)
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