by Blake Pierce
Jessie and Karen exchanged a look and Jessie nodded for the detective to go ahead.
“While swearing to is nice,” she said, “we’ll need you to do so more formally, so here’s the plan. Put something on that wound, get dressed, and join us down at the station to give a statement under oath. We’d also like you to submit a DNA sample and provide us with your phone data. Is any of that a problem for you, Rock?”
He shook his head.
“No, of course not,” he said. “But please call me Jerry. No one around here knows what I do and I’d like to keep it that way. It’s going to be hard enough to explain the door.”
Jessie looked over at the thing, barely clinging to its hinges.
“The department will reimburse the building,” Karen assured him. “That is, assuming your story bears out.”
Jerry got to his feet and limped toward the bedroom.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to accompany you,” Karen said. “We can’t have you trying to sneak a weapon along.”
As she followed him to the bedroom, she gave Jessie a playful wink. Sometimes the job did offer a few perks. But once she was alone in the living room, Jessie’s good humor faded quickly.
She pulled out her phone and looked once more at the Halloween photo of Claudia Wender with her kids. She imagined those kids learning how their mom died, seeing pictures of her bludgeoned skull.
The thought of it made Jessie’s blood pump faster. Someone needed to get this woman justice. Somewhere out there, a killer was breathing fresh air while Claudia Wender lay in a body bag. Jessie aimed to change that soon.
And that’s when it became clear to her that she wasn’t just consulting for a few hours. She knew this was what Decker had hoped for all along—that she’d feel compelled to see the case through. He’d baited the hook and now she’d bitten. She felt manipulated but despite that, she couldn’t bail. Not on Karen. Not on Claudia Wender. She was all in.
CHAPTER NINE
The sky outside was getting dark.
As late afternoon bled into early evening at Central Station, and after he’d given his statement and provided his phone for analysis, Jessie and Karen sent Jerry Blatt on his way.
They walked back to the research department to learn if Jamil had any success breaking down the data he’d gotten from Hollywood Station. They were just about to go in when Jessie saw Captain Decker at the end of the hall.
“I’ll catch up to you,” she told Karen and headed in his direction.
As she approached, she saw the older man sigh in resignation, preparing for her to blow up at him. Even on a Saturday evening, he was dressed smartly in a jacket and tie. But his body language betrayed his exhaustion. His face was a mass of wrinkles, making him look a decade older than his sixty years. His sunken posture masked his tall, skinny frame. Tufts of hair sprouted atop his otherwise bald head. His sharp nose was red, as if he were fighting off a cold. Only his beady eyes looked fresh. They were sharp and focused, taking in everything.
“How’s it going, Captain?” she asked pleasantly, keeping her power dry for now.
She could tell he was surprised that she didn’t immediately mention how he manipulated her into taking the case and was wondering if she had figured it out.
“Busy day,” he said, revealing nothing more. “How about for you?”
“We’re about to review some footage that Jamil has cued up for us. Hopefully that’ll provide us some leads. So far, we’re not having much success in the interviews. Everyone’s still a suspect, including all three of her friends and the stripper they didn’t tell us about, but no one’s broken yet. We’re going to Westport Beach tomorrow to talk to each of them again.”
She let the Orange County comment linger in the air. They both knew this was why he’d brought her on board, to make use of her knowledge of how wealthy women from the OC operated, even if that meant unearthing her own traumatic memories from her time there. But he gave no hint that he got the dig.
“Well, keep me apprised,” he said blandly, as if she’d told him she was going to file a report.
“I’ll do that, Captain,” she assured him with just a little extra kick in her voice, then added, “By the way, I’ll be here tomorrow, but I won’t work a minute into Monday. I’m not putting my job at risk.”
Jessie left him without another word, refusing to look back to see if she’d had any impact. She tended to doubt it. When she entered the research department, she saw that Karen had already pulled up a chair next to Jamil. She wandered over and looked over his shoulder.
“What have we got?” she asked.
“Nice to see you, Ms. Hunt, how are you?” Jamil asked, refusing to dispense with the standard pleasantries. In addition to being a near-genius, the kid was also unfailingly polite.
“Sorry, Jamil, I’m good. How are you doing?”
“Peachy,” he said sincerely. “What about Detective Hernandez? I hear he’s improving. Do I hear correctly?”
“You do,” Jessie assured him. “He’s making real progress. He’s a bit of a rehab fanatic.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’m hoping to see him back here one day soon.”
“He is too,” Jessie said. “I’ll pass along your well wishes. In the meantime, let’s see if we can do some good.”
“Right,” Jamil said, suddenly all business as he turned his attention back to the computer monitor in front of him. Here’s what we’ve got so far. I made a timeline.”
“Of course you did,” Jessie teased.
Jamil smiled, clearly not minding. Then he launched in.
“I went through the receipts from the evening and most of it bears out with what the women told you, although their claims start to vary from the data as the evening progresses.”
“Not a stunner, considering they got more smashed as the night wore on,” Karen noted.
“They checked in at the hotel at four sixteen p.m.,” Jamil said. “After that, there’s a lot of in and out of the suite for the next few hours—tons of keycard logs and video footage. But as best I can tell, they were mostly in their suite for the next few hours.”
“So far, everything matches,” Karen said.
“Right, at six forty-five they go downstairs to get their ride to the restaurant, Chanticleer,” Jamil said. “They got there at seven-oh-two p.m. and paid the bill at nine eleven p.m. Their first round of drinks at Fête was ordered at nine twenty-seven p.m., followed by multiple additional rounds.”
“Any footage of the alleged arguments inside with other patrons?” Karen asked.
“I’m still waiting for interior camera footage from the club,” he replied, toggling between screens and pulling up a feed from an exterior camera. “But we do have security footage from outside that shows Lauren Kiplinger being carried outside at eleven thirteen p.m.”
All three watched as the woman was gently but unceremoniously placed outside the ropes in front of the club. The other three women soon followed. It was clear from the video that all of them were at least somewhat inebriated. Lauren could barely stand up. Jamil switched screens again, this time showing the lobby of the hotel.
“They got back at eleven twenty-eight and returned to the suite,” he said. “But over the course of the next half hour, several of them went in and out to do everything from get buckets of ice, let room service enter, and in one case, sneak down to one of the first-floor restaurants to steal a bottle of ketchup.”
“You were able to glean all of that?” Jessie asked, impressed.
“Yes, but I’m sure I’m missing some stuff. A lot of this is piecemeal. The hotel’s video surveillance system is older and prone to glitches. The camera in one elevator doesn’t work at all. Feeds cut out intermittently throughout the evening and early morning. At a couple of points during the night they shut down completely and the system had to be rebooted.”
“That seems suspicious,” Karen noted.
“I thought so too, but when I talked to their on-call security manag
er, he told me it’s par for the course. Apparently it’s a rare night when they don’t have to reboot the system at least once. Sometimes they have to do it as many as three times. They’re getting an upgrade in the New Year but until then, they’ve gotten used to it.”
“How long does it take to reboot the system when it goes down?” Jessie asked.
“He told me that it’s usually between five and twenty minutes before everything is up and running again.”
“That seems like more than enough time for someone to sneak in or out without being discovered,” Jessie muttered.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Jamil agreed. “That’s why I’m doing everything I can to fill in the blanks with the footage we do have, along with keycard swipes and phone GPS data.”
“Any good news?” Karen asked.
“A little,” he answered. “I was able to confirm most of Jerry Blatt’s version of events.”
“You mean Rock Harder’s?” Karen kidded.
“I refuse to say that name,” he replied solemnly as he pulled up a series of screenshots. “Mr. Blatt knocked on the suite door at exactly twelve a.m. He remained inside until one-oh-seven a.m., at which point he left via an elevator with a working camera. He can be seen leaving the lobby and walking to his car on the street at one twelve a.m. All that seems to match the timeline he gave you, correct?”
“Correct,” Karen admitted, clearly disappointed. “I guess we have to cross him off as a suspect.”
“Probably,” Jessie said. “But he’s still valuable as a witness. If his description can be believed, that means we can narrow the time of death. Claudia Wender was alive when he left at one-oh-seven in the morning. So we can hone in on folks who came and went after that.”
“That does help a little,” Jamil said in a tone that made Jessie certain he had reservations. “But we still have a lot to slog through. It turns out that there’s a lot of action in a fancy Hollywood hotel, even in the middle of the night. Keeping track of all the people moving around is a bit of a challenge.”
“It is too much for you, Jamil?” Jessie asked, knowing him well enough by now that poking his ego a bit was an effective tool to get the most out of him.
He looked up at her, clearly aware of what she was doing. And yet, his furrowed brow was evidence that it was working on him anyway.
“Give me a few more hours and I’ll be able to account for every minute in that hotel,” he told her.
“I figured as much,” she said, smiling. “Of course there’s one problem even your tech skills can’t solve.”
“What’s that?’ he asked, ready to be offended.
“None of this does us much good if Claudia’s murderer was one of her friends. Everything that happened in that suite from just after one a.m. until her body was discovered is a mystery to us. And I’m not sure there’s any easy way to solve it.”
As she said it, a flash of Claudia Wender hugging her kids in that Halloween photo popped into her head. She didn’t say anything out loud but silently, she swore to find the truth. Those kids deserved it.
“Let’s dig into it,” she said, unable to hide the exhaustion in her voice.
Jamil and Karen exchanged a look.
“We will,” the researcher said. “You should go home and get some rest.”
“I can’t leave you guys in the lurch,” she protested.
“We’ll be fine,” Karen assured her. “Besides, you don’t work for the department anymore. You’ve got a boyfriend at home recovering from a stabbing, not to mention a teenager, which might be more daunting. Go home. Rest. Come back tomorrow. That’s not a request.”
Jessie didn’t mention that Karen didn’t have the authority to give her orders.
“Okay,” she relented. “But we pick right up first thing tomorrow. Got it?”
CHAPTER TEN
The cold cut straight through her.
On the drive home, Jessie intentionally left the windows open, hoping the crisp, biting air might spark some revelation. But nothing came to her. By the time she pulled into the garage, it was almost 6 p.m. and she didn’t feel any better about the case.
Something else was dragging her down too. Though she hadn’t intended it, she’d been gone all day and hadn’t called to check in once. After months of having a regular schedule, she worried at how easily she’d slipped back into obsessive workaholic mode. She suspected the other members of her household might feel the same way and prepared for a verbal smack down from either Hannah or Ryan when she walked in.
But before she faced the music, she decided to allow herself a brief reprieve. After the garage door closed behind her and the extra grasping locks clicked into place, she got out of the car, entered the pass code and voice confirmation for entry to the main house, and quietly made her way down the side hallway to her office.
She used the handprint verification pad to unlock the door. Once inside, she closed and locked it again, turned on the light, and settled in at the desk. After three months, she was finally starting to think of it as her office rather than Garland’s.
Garland Moses, her friend and professional mentor, had willed this house to her upon his death at the hands of her vengeful ex-husband. Jessie was still working through the sense of culpability she felt at his loss. Even though it wasn’t her fault, she carried some shame that the most celebrated criminal profiler in LAPD history, who had survived run-ins with multiple killers, had died because of his connection to her.
Sensing herself beginning to spiral, Jessie forced that thought from her head and instead focused her attention on the small, metal paperweight in the shape of a coffee mug on the corner of his desk. She reread the tiny inscription on the side, which was a constant source of comfort to her:
Whoever kills one life kills the world entire, and whoever saves one life saves the world entire.
She reminded herself that she was trying to live up to those words right now, by getting justice for Claudia Wender. The guilt faded a bit and she leaned back in the chair, spinning it around slowly so that she faced the wall, looking directly at a framed, classic film still of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall in the movie The Big Sleep.
The image from the film noir about a private eye was a not-so-subtle hint that not everything was as it seemed. Indeed it wasn’t, as hidden behind the frame was Garland’s safe, which held information on two dozen cases he’d never solved. In a fireproof lockbox inside the safe was material on the one serial killer case she knew had haunted him to his grave: the Night Hunter.
Garland never talked about the case with her, but after he’d died, she eventually worked up the courage to skim through his files. After reading a few case details, including that he seemingly chose victims based solely on their names and subsequently tortured them using X-Acto knives, she put them back in the safe. There was too much material for one, or maybe even ten sittings. Frankly, she didn’t care to dive in too deeply.
It was enough to know that Garland had barely survived a confrontation with the man, one in which he’d been tortured, and that after their brutal encounter, the Night Hunter dropped off the radar. It was widely believed that the man who had killed and dismembered over fifty people along the East Coast in the 1990s was now dead.
Jessie suspected that Garland never quite bought that, which may have been partly why he’d turned his modest-seeming house into a fortress, with security measures she still hadn’t completely mastered. Every few weeks or so, she uncovered some new form of protection that he’d installed, including remote-controlled door locks, motion-activated infrared cameras, and even a storage locker with tear-gas canisters and smoke grenades.
Most impressive of all were the bomb-proof doors under the dining room floorboards, which led to a basement bunker. That one was surprising, not just because of its thoroughness, but because the basement—a rarity in Southern California—wasn’t even listed in the construction plans on file with the city.
A knock on the door brought her back into the present.
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“Hello?” she called out.
“Soup’s on,” Hannah said.
Jessie opened the door to find her sister staring at her, perplexed.
“Is everything okay?” Hannah asked.
“Why?” Jessie countered, trying not to sound defensive.
“No reason. I just heard you come home a few minutes ago but you went straight to the office. I was worried you were stewing over something.”
Jessie smiled to herself at her little sister’s powers of perception.
“I was a little. But to be honest, I was also hiding out to avoid getting reamed for getting home so late.”
Hannah gave her a wry smirk.
“You’re kidding, right?” she said. “Both Ryan and I knew that you agreeing to take this case meant an end to our domestic tranquility, at least for a little while. Don’t sweat it, sis. As long as this doesn’t drag on too long and you don’t get hurt, we’re good.”
Jessie tried—and failed—to hide how reassured those words made her feel. She heard herself exhale in relief. That got a giggle from her little sister.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
“Come on,” Hannah replied. “Dinner’s going to get cold.”
Jessie followed her into the kitchen to find Ryan waiting and a full spread on the table, including salmon fillets, roasted potatoes, and a spinach salad.
“This looks amazing,” she said.
“Hannah figured you’d have worked up a solid appetite,” Ryan told her. “Now please sit down because my stomach is grumbling.”
*
Throughout dinner, Jessie could sense that both Ryan and Hannah were deliberately avoiding asking her about the case. She knew they were trying to give her a mental break and was happy to take it. After the meal ended, Jessie washed the dishes.