Leo Davila

I'm your host, Cory Ames.

When Leo Davila was a kid, his grandmother would take him on summer field trips from Woodlawn Lake to downtown.

They'd ride the bus, walk into the St. Anthony Hotel, and peek into the ballrooms.

Today, he runs the kitchen there.

The latter had grown tired of backtracking.

Detective Leo Davila, a compact man with salt and pepper hair and an unshakably patient demeanor, arrived at the school shortly before noon.

He asked Anne to walk in through the timeline, pointing out the locations.

Side door, nurse's office, staff lot.

Lita stared fiercely at her tray and nodded.

Nobody believes me, she muttered, but I know what I saw.

In a dark-paneled room at the Terrasila police station, Detective Davila made columns of names, circled times, and drew arrows he'd later erase.

His gut said there was a thread running through the Nus' death and the jigsaw financial irregularities, but Star closed ranks in panic, not conspiracy.