The Perfect Mistress

by Blake Pierce

  She switched lines.

  “Tell me something good,” she pleaded.

  “Okay,” Rich replied. “The techs finished the analysis on the strand of hair. They found something.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Ryan felt like crap.

  As he sat on the wagon wheel bench across the snowy yard from Rich’s cabin, he did his best to fight off the growing certainty that every life the Night Hunter had claimed since last Tuesday was his fault and that he would never be able to atone for his failures.

  In the days since he froze up outside that hostel and watched the killer slip away into a crowd, two people had been murdered. First their elderly neighbor, Delia Morris, and now some random man in Pasadena. The fact that he had been physically limited and couldn’t have chased after the Night Hunter was no defense. He knew he could have shot the man if he’d kept his wits about him. But he had panicked.

  The front door opened and Jessie stepped out, looking around for him.

  “Here,” he called out and waited as she traipsed across the expansive yard through the thick drifts of snow. While he waited, he let his hand press on the spot where he was keeping the engagement ring in his jacket pocket.

  It felt strange against his hip. He wondered if that was a sign that he wasn’t supposed to have it; that he hadn’t truly earned it. How could he ask Jessie to spend the rest of her life with him when he wasn’t sure a life with him was something worth having?

  “How are you doing?” she asked him through panting breaths as she plopped down beside him. “Still blaming yourself for another man’s sins?”

  “No,” he told her, “Just for my own.”

  She looked over at him and smiled. He knew something good had happened.

  “Well, far be it from me to interrupt the daily Hernandez emotional self-flagellation session, but maybe you could push pause for a few minutes to help me solve this case?”

  “What have you got?” he asked, ignoring everything but the case part.

  “Rich McClane got back to me about the strand of hair,” she said excitedly. “He said the analysis was a rush job. But here’s what they know for sure: the hair is human, female, and likely belongs to someone of Asian heritage. I thought we could revisit the list of WBA business owners and maybe use some inappropriately broad stereotypes to see if we can find a match. How does that sound?”

  “I’m in.”

  *

  Ryan’s enthusiasm was short-lived.

  What started out so promisingly had turned into a slog. After a half hour of poring over the websites of every WBA member, looking at names, photos, and personal narratives to find a possible match, they’d come up empty.

  “I know this is a small town,” he said in frustration, “but how is it possible that there’s not a single clearly Asian female business owner here? What are the odds?”

  “I’ll admit that I expected at least a few hits. Maybe we’re missing something?” Jessie said, trying to maintain a positive tone.

  “Or maybe we’re not missing anything at all,” Ryan countered. “It could just be that Ellen Wade bumped into someone yesterday who had no connection to the WBA and a piece of her hair ended up on her coat.”

  “That’s certainly possible,” Jessie conceded. “But with the blustery wind yesterday, one would think the hair would have blown off unless it got on her coat close to when she died.”

  Ryan closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He felt like they were so close to cracking this. But close wouldn’t do them, or a future victim, much good.

  “How much longer do we have?’ he asked, opening his eyes again.

  “It’s 12:30 now,” Jessie said. “Based on what Rich told us, we have until between 2 p.m. and 3 p.m. At this point, I’m wondering if we should just go back to Lorraine Porter at The Wildpines Gazette and ask her for a list of Asian residents in Wildpines. As long as we’re alienating everyone in this town, why not go all out?”

  Now it was her turn to rub her temples.

  “I don’t think that’s the solution,” he said.

  “I know Ryan,” she replied. “I already feel gross about what we’ve done so far. I’m just employing a bit of desperation-infused sarcasm into our already tense situation.”

  He knew she wasn’t serious but something she said did resonate with him.

  “You know what? Maybe we are missing something. We’re obviously not going to knock on the doors of everyone of Asian heritage in Wildpines. But maybe we don’t have to.”

  “What do you mean?” Jessie asked, looking up.

  “If we’re right that our killer has something against certain WBA members, especially ones in the Special Friends Forum, maybe we shouldn’t be looking for someone who’s a member, but someone who got kicked out. Can we search the site for women who were members until say, six months ago?”

  Jessie’s fingers were already flying across the keyboard before he finished talking. It only took a few seconds to tell she’d hit pay dirt. She looked up at him with twinkly eyes.

  “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?” he demanded.

  “Three months ago, a small jewelry store called Leia’s Charms went out of business, at which time the owner was ousted from the WBA. Her name is Leia Choi. She designed a lot of her own stuff. Guess who did her website?”

  “Ellen Wade?” Ryan said.

  “That’s correct. And guess who recently put down a deposit on the rental space where the jewelry store was?”

  “Sarah Ripley?”

  “Again, correct,” Jessie replied. “I don’t find any references to her being in the Special Friends Forum though.”

  “Yeah, but I could easily see Clarice Kimble purging her from the system as an extra ‘screw you.’ She seems like the type.”

  “Very possible,” Jessie agreed. “How do you feel about paying Leia a visit and seeing if she has anything to say about the people who cut her off cold turkey?”

  Ryan couldn’t believe that less than an hour ago, he’d been questioning not just his professional worth but his personal value as well. It was amazing how one little break in a case could change everything.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  No one answered the door.

  They’d knocked multiple times with no response. Jessie could feel the anxiety in her gut grow with each passing second.

  “Don’t tell me we’re going to have to get a warrant?” she moaned. “It’ll never be approved in time.”

  “If at all,” Ryan added. “Now that Kazansky’s running the ship, he’ll probably want to review every request and I doubt he’s going to approve any request that Rich McClane submits on our behalf. We’re going to have to get creative.”

  “What do you propose?” Jessie asked as she watched her boyfriend glance around the area.

  “This is a nice area,” he said. “The homes are pretty far apart. I’d bet we could wander around the place without anyone even seeing us.”

  He was right. They’d had to drive a good five minutes out of town, along multiple, confusing, one-lane roads to get here. The houses were large and well-maintained. But more importantly for their purposes, they weren’t close enough to see the other properties well. If someone was to force open a door and claim exigent circumstances, who would balk?

  “Let’s take a look around,” Jessie said. “I thought I might have heard a cry for help inside. It’s definitely worth checking out.”

  Ryan nodded.

  “You go left. I’ll go right and meet you around the back. Call me and we’ll keep the line open.”

  Jessie put in her ear buds and dialed his number. Once it connected he put his ear buds in too and they went in opposite directions. She moved around the side of the house as stealthily as she could, keeping low as she passed under the windows. It turned out that she didn’t need to jimmy open any doors. One at a side porch was already slightly ajar.

  “Si
de door is open,” she whispered, undoing the snap on her gun holster. “I’m going in.”

  “Hold up,” Ryan insisted. “Let me come around. We’ll go in together.”

  “Okay.”

  She waited, doing her best to contain her frustration. She knew he was right. Going in together was safer. But time was running short and even with his improved walking, between the icy terrain and the need to keep quiet, it would take him forever to arrive.

  When he finally did, they approached the door slowly. Each of them had their guns out. Ryan pushed the door open and Jessie stepped in first. She was in some kind of mudroom. Once Ryan came inside, they moved into the house and began to search from room to room.

  Several lights were still on and Jessie could hear a fire crackling nearby. She doubted Choi would leave the place in such a state for any extended period and suspected the woman was still in the home somewhere, possibly hiding.

  Ryan indicated that he was going to check the back of the house. Jessie nodded and stepped into what looked like Choi’s office. She walked over to the desk. It was immaculate; not a piece of paper out of place. There was a single manila folder resting on the corner of the desk. She picked it up. It was a notice of foreclosure for the very address they were at now.

  She was about to put the folder back when she noticed the edge of a piece of paper sticking out from under the desk mat. Choi clearly hadn’t intended it to be seen. Jessie slid it out. A single, typed page, it was addressed to Clarice Kimble and it was short and to the point:

  Clarice,

  I know about the “Communications.” You are operating a criminal enterprise. One call could end it all for you. But $20,000 will keep your perfect life intact. It’s up to you. Await further instructions.

  The letter was unsigned but the writer wasn’t much of a mystery. Clearly Leia Choi was a desperate woman. She’d lost her business and was on the verge of losing her home too. Had she been rebuffed in her blackmail attempt and gone to the next level? Had she decided to lash out at everyone she blamed for her life falling apart?

  “Who are you?” someone said from behind her.

  She turned around to find Leia Choi standing in the office doorway, less than ten feet away. The woman was tall and thin, with sharp, severe features. She wore a heavy sweater and sweatpants and her long, black hair dangled limply. She was also holding a ball-peen hammer. Jessie squared up so that the woman could see that she was armed too.

  “Leia,” she said quietly and calmly. “My name is Jennifer Barnes. I’m investigating the death of Clarice Kimble and I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  She saw Leia’s jaw clench up at the mention of Clarice.

  “What are you doing here?” the woman demanded. “You’re invading my home. You’re holding a gun. I have no idea if you really are who you say you are.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Jessie said, her voice even. “Put down the hammer and I’ll show you my ID. Then we can have a little talk.”

  “I don’t think so,” Leia said, beginning to get agitated. “If I put this down, what’s to stop you from shooting me?”

  “Leia, there’s nothing to stop me from shooting you right now. If that’s what I wanted, I would have done it already. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  She wondered where the hell Ryan was. Couldn’t he hear her through the ear buds? Jessie watched Leia’s eyes dart from the letter in her hand to her face and knew things were in danger of spinning out of control.

  “It’s not what you think,” the woman pleaded.

  “Then explain it to me,” Jessie replied.

  But instead, Leia turned and ran from the room. Jessie moved after her cautiously, unsure if she was waiting just outside the door to hit her in the head with the hammer. Once out of the office, she saw that Leia was headed for the mudroom door they’d entered through. She chased after her and was just rounding the corner to the mudroom when she heard a thud followed by multiple grunts.

  She dashed to the side porch door. Sprawled out on the snowy ground were both Leia and Ryan. He’d apparently been rushing back inside when she ran out and they collided. His gun was in the snow about three feet from him. Leia, lying right beside him, was still holding the hammer. Her head swiveled back and forth between the two intruders and Jessie saw her hand clench tight around the hammer handle.

  “Don’t move!” Jessie yelled, her voice cutting through the snow-muffled landscape. “You hit him, I shoot you.”

  Leia’s hand, still clutching the wooden handle, didn’t move.

  “Drop the hammer, Leia,” she ordered, her gun pointed at the woman’s chest. “We can work this out but not until you let go of the weapon. Don’t make a mistake that could cost you your life.”

  Leia looked back at her with dread etched across her face and for a second, Jessie thought she was about to swing. But then, after several interminable moments, she dropped the hammer into the snow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  They couldn’t throw her in the cell.

  Deputy Garrett Hicks already had a sketchy-looking, bearded guy—apparently a stalker-in-training— in the lock-up and Jessie and Ryan didn’t think conducting their interrogation with him sitting next to her would be all that productive. So they cuffed her to the desk that Deputy Traven had occupied yesterday. Before they started, Garrett joined them in the corner.

  “You really think she did this?” he asked under his breath.

  “She got kicked out the WBA,” Ryan told him. “She had connections to all three women and she knew about the Special Friends Forum, even if she wasn’t a member. She wrote a blackmail note to Clarice Kimble. And the strand of hair we found on Ellen Wade’s body is a general match for her ethnicity. We won’t know for sure if it was hers until we can do a DNA test. But otherwise, she’s about as close to a perfect suspect as we could hope for.”

  “But I’ve known Leia for half a dozen years,” Garrett maintained. “She’s high strung for sure. But I didn’t think she had a violent bone in her body.”

  “Looks can be deceiving, Garrett,” Jessie said. “Don’t trust them.”

  “I guess so,” he agreed, “Because as much of a jerk as Gerard Wade appears to be, he doesn’t seem to be responsible for this.”

  “Why do you say that?” Jessie asked, though she wasn’t surprised to hear it.

  “I talked to his buddy, Cal Blackwood, the one he said he watched the hockey game with. Cal confirmed the alibi and that Gerard rushed him out right after Ellie texted that she was coming home. I also checked the location data on both their phones and it jibes.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised,” Ryan said.

  “You probably won’t be surprised by this either,” Garrett continued. “When we went to pick up the kids from school at lunchtime, there was a lot of chatter. I overheard some parents whispering about Ellie’s car being in the Brightside Market parking lot. Word is starting to spread that she was the victim found in the ravine and seeing me help collect the kids won’t diminish the gossip. I also heard murmurs about the ‘new girl in town’ going missing. They clearly mean Sarah Ripley. This whole thing is about to explode. I wouldn’t be stunned if folks come into the station asking questions soon.”

  “Great,” Ryan muttered, “just what we need—more pressure.” He looked at his watch and Jessie did the same. It was 1:06 p.m. That meant they had about an hour to get a confession from Leia Choi, maybe two at the most.

  “We should get started on the interrogation,” Jessie said, walking over and sitting down across from the woman. With her head down and her dark hair hiding her face, she looked almost wraith-like. Ryan sat down too. Garrett lingered off to the side. Jessie looked at him and mouthed the word “Miranda.”

  He nodded and read her rights. “With those rights in mind, do you wish to speak to us?”

  Leia didn’t look up. Jessie stepped in.

  “Leia,” Jessie said as warmly as she could, hoping to alter the dynamic a little, “Back i
n your office, you said it wasn’t what I thought. I want to give you a chance to explain yourself. If you aren’t responsible for Clarice’s death, help us understand your situation. Are you willing to speak with us to clear things up?”

  Leia lifted her head. “You won’t believe me.”

  “You don’t know that,” Jessie said, sensing an opening. “Are you at least willing to try?”

  After a long pause, she nodded. “I guess.”

  “Okay,” Jessie said, not wasting any time, “We’re going to ask you some simple questions. The more straightforward your answers, the better it is for everyone. Why did you have that hammer?”

  As much as she wanted to get to the question of Clarice Kimble’s death, she couldn’t start there.

  “I was working outside in my studio out back,” Leia said quietly. “That’s where I make my jewelry. I heard some voices from the house and went to check it out. I grabbed the hammer for protection. The porch door was open wider than I left it so I went to the office, where I keep my gun. That’s when I saw you.”

  Jessie glanced over at Ryan, who nodded. Apparently that comported with what he’d told her earlier. He’d found a shed out back that looked like a work studio. That’s where he’d been when he heard the two women talking through his ear buds. He’s hurried back to the house, just in time to collide with Leia on her way out the side door.

  “Let’s talk about the note,” Jessie said.

  “I didn’t kill Clarice!” Leia blurted out loud enough for the bearded guy in the cell to look over.

  “But you were blackmailing her,” Ryan pressed.

  “I was going to but I never got the chance. I’d been holding on to that note for weeks, debating whether to go through with it. Then she died. I was going to burn it after that because I knew if it was ever found, people would react like you are now. But part of me just couldn’t get rid of it. Even though Clarice was dead—and I know this sounds terrible—I was still angry with her. If I got rid of the note, it was like saying my hurt at what she did to me wasn’t valid, like I had to get rid of the feelings too. It was like I was giving up on ever getting justice.”