The Perfect Facade (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Twelve)

by Blake Pierce

  “We’ll see if you feel that way after she’s strafed you. It’s not a pleasant experience.”

  Decker nodded in silent agreement. Then, before he could stop, and in directly violation of what he’d promised himself, Ryan caved preemptively.

  “But enough about surviving the Jessie Hunt experience,” he said. “I think you’ve stalled enough. Maybe it’s time you tell me why you’re really here.”

  Decker smiled, apparently relieved that his former top investigator hadn’t lost all his skills of perception.

  “You’re right,” he said. “This isn’t just a social call. I’ve been pondering something for a while but I wanted to hold off on it until I thought the time was right. And based on what I’ve been hearing about your rehab, that time seems to be now.”

  Ryan’s whole body tensed up but he said nothing. Decker seemed unsure how to proceed. After a moment’s hesitation, he just barreled ahead.

  “I need your help.”

  Confused, Ryan finally spoke.

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “It means we’re in dire straits, Hernandez. We currently only have three full-time detectives in Homicide Special Section. One’s pretty green. We’re borrowing from Vice when things get hairy. With Garland’s death and Hunt leaving, the unit has no dedicated profilers. We’re pulling from other stations on an ad-hoc basis. Right now, Hunt’s working for us as a consultant, paired with a detective from Hollywood Station. I’m plugging holes left and right. And now I’m hearing some folks at HQ want to shut down HSS completely. If we’re not regularly generating headlines about solving high-profile cases, it’s hard to justify a dedicated unit with unlimited access to department resources and personnel. We’re in trouble.”

  Though he no longer feared that Decker was about to put him out to pasture, he wasn’t sure what he was after.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, “but why are you telling me this? You know I’m working to come back as fast as I can. But I have no idea when, or even if I’ll be field ready again.”

  “I get that,” Decker replied, leaning in with his typical intensity. “But I think you could still prove invaluable. I want you to consult on cases for the department, much like your girlfriend does. I want to take advantage of your expertise to provide insight and analysis in ongoing cases, offer alternative areas of inquiry. You know better than most that when detectives are in the field hunting down leads, they sometimes lose the forest for the trees. I want you to see the forest and help guide your colleagues through it.”

  Ryan was flattered but immediately saw a problem.

  “Don’t you think they’d resent having me looking over their shoulder, constantly second-guessing their choices? I know I would.”

  Decker smiled again. This time he even had a twinkle in his eye.

  “Hernandez—Ryan, no one in this department is going to second-guess your instincts. You’re among the most decorated, well-regarded cops in the entire LAPD. Does a rookie player question LeBron James? Even veterans don’t do that. Your reputation is your armor.”

  “I appreciate you saying that, sir. And this may hold the folks at HQ off briefly, but I don’t think it’s a long-term solution to your problem.”

  Ryan noticed that the man’s body language had suddenly changed. His entire demeanor was more guarded.

  “Neither do I,” Decker conceded. “That’s why there’s more.”

  Ryan sensed that they’d finally come to the true reason for the visit.

  “Please, I’m all ears,” he replied.

  “That stuff is important,” Decker said quietly, though there was no one else in the room, “but it’s mostly just a front to get you in the door. What I really need from you are leads.”

  “Leads?”

  “Yes,” Decker said, now actually whispering. “I need you to be on the lookout for potential HSS cases. Until now, we’ve usually had them fall into our lap. Or at worst, we’ve taken them over from other stations when they had a high-profile component. But we need to start generating cases to justify the unit’s existence.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

  Decker leaned in closer.

  “I want you to actively—but secretly—hunt for cases that meet the HSS criteria, ones with high profiles or intense media scrutiny, often involving multiple victims and serial killers. That might mean watching tabloid TV for celebrities that meet suspicious, untimely ends. It might mean combing through cold case files that suggest below the radar serial killers are still out there, putting the public at risk.”

  “Some of this sounds like wild goose chase stuff, sir,” Ryan said skeptically.

  “Some of it may be,” Decker admitted. “But some of it will hit. And I’m going to be straight with you, Hernandez. We need wins. I believe Homicide Special Section is an invaluable tool for the department. Our record of cutting through the bureaucracy to regularly stop terrible people from doing terrible things is unmatched since the inception of HSS. But unfortunately, to keep doing that good work, we have to provide positive press for the bigwigs at HQ on a regular basis. It’s the buzzy, headline-grabbing cases that let us pursue the cases with less fanfare, with victims who don’t show up on TV screens. The big names give us the political capital to protect the no-names. And in the end, isn’t that our duty as cops, Hernandez, to get justice for everyone, not just those who can afford it?”

  “It is,” Ryan said.

  “Then are you in?” Decker asked.

  Ryan couldn’t believe it. He’d started this conversation thinking he was about to be let go. And now he was being asked to take point on saving the unit he’d helped build. The prospect was terrifying. He didn’t know if he was physically or psychologically up for it. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure that Decker’s methods were entirely kosher. He was used to operating in black and white and this was very gray. Despite all that, he couldn’t deny that the offer was flattering, even exhilarating. The words came out without him even thinking about them.

  “I am.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  “He’s pissed,” the Orange County sheriff’s deputy told them.

  Jessie wasn’t surprised to hear it. They’d had the OC sheriff’s office pick up Joe Wender from his home, with his kids there, and bring him in. He was currently waiting in an interrogation room.

  “We softened the blow by allowing him to call his sister to come over and watch the kids,” he continued. “But once she arrived, we marched him out, warning him we’d cuff him if he created a scene. He didn’t, at least not until we were in the car.”

  “What happened?” Karen asked.

  “He punched the door a few times on the way up here,” the deputy told them. “But he eventually realized he was only doing damage to himself. Still, he’s still pretty hot. Keep that in mind when you question him.”

  That was exactly what Jessie had hoped to hear. The angrier Wender was, the more likely he was to let something slip.

  “You Mirandized him?” Karen asked the deputy.

  “Yes,” he answered. “But as you requested, we didn’t interrogate him at all on the way up here. And I think you were right—that may be why he never asked for a lawyer. In fact, he asked more questions on the way up than we did.”

  “How many did you answer?” Karen asked.

  “Other than telling him he was under arrest for the murder for his wife, none.”

  “Great,” Jessie said. “Thanks for your help. I think we’re going to get in there before he cools off too much.”

  After parting ways with the deputy they headed back to interrogation room three, where Wender was being held.

  “Should we update Decker before we go at him?” Karen asked.

  Jessie shook her head.

  “I reached out earlier and was told that he’s running a personal errand and wasn’t to be disturbed. We’ll have to read him in afterward.”

  Before entering the interrogation room, they stopped into the vie
wing room and checked on Wender through the one-way mirror. He was seated in a bolted down metal chair, with one hand cuffed to the leg of a bolted down metal table. He shifted restlessly in the chair, breathing in heavy frustration. It was obvious that he wanted to be up and moving about. Jessie could sense the anger bubbling just under the surface. It was a good time to go in.

  “Hello, Mr. Wender,” Karen said sharply as they entered the room. “Thanks for coming in today.”

  “It’s not like I had a choice,” Wender spat angrily at her.

  Jessie admired how the detective was poking at him before even sitting down. If they were going to get this guy to break, it would require keeping him off balance. This was a solid start.

  “Some new information has come to our attention,” Karen continued, pretending not to have heard him, “and we thought it advisable to review it with you to see if you could help clarify a few things.”

  He seemed to be struggling to keep calm.

  “I just talked to you people this morning. I told you everything I know and this is my reward? I had to tell my children that their mother was gone forever and less than an hour later, police show up at my door and say I’m under arrest for killing her.”

  “Did they tell you that in front of your children?” Karen asked, knowing the answer.

  “No,” he admitted. “But that’s about the only decent thing they did. They gave me a half hour to get my sister over to the house. So I had to simultaneously deal with being told I’m a murder suspect and try to convince two little kids that they’re not being abandoned by the only parent they have left. So I don’t give a rat’s ass what help you need clarifying things, Detective.”

  Jessie sat down across from him and looked him directly in the eyes.

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Wender, the only way you’re going to get out of this police station and back to your children is if you help us, and even then there’s no guarantee. So maybe you should drop the act.”

  “I truly have no idea what you’re talking about,” he insisted.

  Jessie sighed deeply as she decided which way to go. She could try to trip him up in a lie or a mistake. But the facts they already had were pretty incontrovertible. He’d been at the hotel. Now they needed to know why. And without visual evidence, they needed him to explain it. She made her choice, one she hadn’t discussed with Karen beforehand and hoped the detective would be okay with. There would be no games.

  “Mr. Wender, you do know what we’re talking about. You didn’t tell us everything this morning. We know you went to the Hollywood Center Hotel early Saturday morning. We have security footage confirming it. We saw you get out of your wife’s car and go inside. We know you were in there for sixteen minutes.”

  Wender didn’t respond, though his entire body slumped upon hearing her words. Jessie continued.

  “So you can see why we were so disappointed that you weren’t forthcoming about those facts. It looks really bad. Had you admitted it, we’d be more likely to give you the benefit of the doubt. But you were at the hotel where your wife was murdered during the time when she was murdered and you told us you were home. That’s pretty damning stuff, don’t you agree?”

  She had purposefully kept things vague about what else they had seen on the video since there wasn’t much. She hoped he would assume they knew more and preemptively fill in the blanks. It took several seconds for him to reply.

  “Yes, I was there,” he said, his voice heavy. “And yes, I didn’t share that because I knew it would look bad. But I didn’t kill her.”

  “We’re going to need more than just your word on that, Mr. Wender,” Karen said.

  He looked at her with agitated eyes, opening his mouth and then closing it before trying again.

  “Why would I drive my wife’s car, give it to the valet, and walk in the hotel for everyone to see if I was planning to kill her? I’d have to be the dumbest murderer ever.”

  “I’ve seen dumber,” Karen told him. “Maybe you were so consumed with rage that you weren’t thinking clearly. Or maybe you were actually planning ahead, hoping to use that very excuse with investigators in a moment like this. You thought ahead enough to leave your phone at home so we couldn’t track it.”

  “That was an accident,” he said forcefully. “By the time I realized I’d forgotten it, I was almost to Hollywood. What would be the point of leaving my phone if I took one of our cars? You were able to track that, right?”

  “But you didn’t take your car,” Karen reminded him. “You took hers.”

  He shook his head in frustration.

  “That’s only because her gas tank was full and mine was almost empty. I’d driven it to work all week and then to drop off the kids in Laguna Beach. I didn’t want to stop for gas in the middle of the night.”

  “Because it would leave a record of the transaction?” Karen asked.

  He looked at her with disdain.

  “No, because it was the middle of the night. Stopping at a gas station at that hour didn’t seem super safe. Besides, I just wanted to get there.”

  “Why such a rush?” Jessie wondered aloud.

  “I was worried,” he said.

  “About what?” Karen asked.

  Wender didn’t answer so she offered one of her own.

  “Maybe you were worried that she was up to something improper? Maybe you were jealous about what she’d do while out on the town with her wild friends? Maybe you were worried she’d cheat?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he said unconvincingly. “We’ve been married for over a decade. I trust my wife.”

  “I don’t think that’s true, Mr. Wender,” Karen said, really starting to press now. “I think it’s far more plausible that you suspected she was up to something. I think it’s more believable that you went to that hotel to find out for sure. And when you found out that she slept with a stripper, isn’t it more credible that you made her pay the ultimate price for her betrayal?”

  Jessie studied Joe Wender as he took in the detective’s words. This was their first mention of Rock Harder. At first Wender appeared offended at her litany of accusations. But as he opened his mouth to respond, he seemed to belatedly process her last sentence.

  At that moment, it looked like something had broken in him. She couldn’t tell if it was genuine shock at hearing his wife had cheated or terror at realizing his crime had been uncovered. But some part of what Karen had said had messed with him in a fundamental way. His eyes welled up and, as a tear rolled down his cheek, he wiped at it with the back of his hand, using the same motion she’d seen in the video footage from the other night.

  “She had sex with a stripper?” he finally managed to croak. “Are you sure?”

  Karen was unmoved.

  “Are you really contending that you didn’t know that, sir? Do you expect anyone to believe that?”

  Jessie watched him closely, still unable to discern whether his reaction was authentic grief or dread at having been found out. The man sniffed loudly, exhaled deliberately, and wiped his eyes a second time. He blinked twice slowly, as if hoping the action would somehow change his reality. When he looked back at them, his eyes were set.

  As he opened his mouth to answer, Jessie moved to the edge of her chair, hoping against hope that the dam was finally about to break.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Against every instinct, Hannah waited.

  She wanted to break into Jimmy Poston’s house the second he pulled out of the driveway. But she used all the restraint she had to hold off for a full five minutes after his old, noisy car disappeared down the street. When she was sure he was gone, she smashed the glass window of his back door with a rock. Only after she’d put on latex gloves did she let herself in.

  The door opened into Poston’s kitchen, which looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. There were dishes piled up in the sink. In the afternoon light slicing through the blinds, she noticed a section of the counter had a thick layer of dust. The table had a plate wit
h dried ketchup and breadcrumbs on it.

  She moved quickly to check out the rest of the house. It was small, only five rooms total, excluding the bathroom, and the whole process took less than five minutes. There was nothing obviously suspicious about the place. Of course, if Poston was hiding a kidnapped girl, Hannah doubted he’d keep her on the bed in the extra bedroom. He would have come up with contingencies.

  With that in mind, she started a second, more thorough search, looking for anything that might seem even slightly out of the ordinary. It was hard to know what was and wasn’t typical in the home of a convicted child rapist, so she wasn’t sure where to begin.

  Eventually, she decided to look for any signs of a recent struggle. But there were no knocked-over picture frames or shards of broken glass on the floor. No hanging picture frames looked askew and there were no blood drops on the floor.

  She glanced at the clock. She’d been in the house for eight minutes. With no way of knowing where Poston had gone or when he’d be back, she moved with increased urgency. The next logical step seemed to be to see if there were any concealed spaces in the house where someone might be kept hidden, maybe a false wall or floor.

  Looking around, Hannah decided to focus first on rooms with adjoining interior walls. It would obviously be extremely foolish—and maybe against his rental agreement rules—for him to add to the exterior of the house in plain sight of neighbors. She went into both bedrooms, tapping at any walls that looked like they might have been repainted or had drywall additions. Along the way, she banged her feet on the floor, in the hopes of uncovering a loose floorboard or even a hollow-sounding portion. But she found nothing.

  She moved back to the center of the house where she could see into every room at once, hoping that some moment of revelation would come to her. When none did, she looked at the clock again. It had been seventeen minutes since Poston drove away. She knew she was pushing it but couldn’t justify going through all this effort and then leaving without anything to show for it.