by Blake Pierce
“Would you be willing to let us check your phone so we can verify your movements using GPS?” Karen asked.
He smiled warmly at her.
“I’d be willing but it won’t help much. You see, I’m an investor in a company that has developed a new kind of dampening technology. It was so promising that I became an early adopter. It prevents location data from getting delivered. I think it’s going to change the world of privacy. Eventually everyone will be able to turn their dampener on or off, depending on whether they want their location known or not. The ability to add it to individual phones isn’t there yet. But I had them set up a digital dampening net that covers my entire property. So there’s no GPS data to reference.”
Jessie seethed silently, unable to believe her ears. The GPS signals didn’t work. Neither did some cameras. The crime scene had been interfered with. This guy had guilty written all over him and yet he seemed nothing but cool and calm.
“You do realize that while that may be an exciting technology,” Karen said with more diplomacy than Jessie was currently capable of mustering, “it makes it much more challenging to eliminate you as a person of interest.”
“An irony I’m now aware of,” he noted. “Still, I’m sure that between guest interviews and security footage, you’ll find it’s easy to keep tabs on me. I was in public spaces for most of the night.”
“We’ll need the name of your lady friend,” Karen said.
“You see, Detective Bray,” he said remorsefully, “that’s why Matilda asked you to sign the NDA. It wasn’t for any nefarious reason, just so no one goes blabbing about my sex life to a competitor. If that’s going to get out, I want it to be on Blabber.”
Jessie immediately tensed up at the reference.
“What’s Blabber?” Purcell asked, speaking for the first time.
Jasper Otis smiled broadly, exposing his brilliant white teeth.
“Normally I’d be offended, Detective,” he said. “But considering that you’re way outside our preferred demographic, I suppose I should be relieved. Blabber is the highest-trafficked gossip site on the web.”
Jessie couldn’t help but butt in.
“It’s also the website that just recently had scumbags making harassing phone calls to me and showing up to take photos of me entering the building where I used to live.”
Otis smiled at her without a hint of remorse.
“The people’s right to know cannot be abridged, Ms. Hunt,” he said. “Maybe that’s why more people visit Blabber on a daily basis than the sites for The New York Times, The Washington Post, and CNN combined. But setting all that aside, you can see why I’m disinclined to reveal the name of my companion.”
“Mr. Otis,” Purcell said, “I can assure you that as law enforcement, it’s a violation of our oath to reveal information like that, with or without an NDA. Doing so could result in the loss of our jobs.”
“And yet you signed yours, Detective,” Otis noted.
“I did,” Purcell admitted, turning slightly pink. “But my point is that sensitive information is safe with us. It would only come out in a court proceeding under specified circumstances. But if you think it can help establish your alibi, I’d highly recommend you provide the name. It could help exonerate you.”
“Besides,” Jessie added, “I assume this companion signed an NDA, yes?”
“She did.”
“Then, unless there were others with you at the time, the only people who would know about your lady friend are her and the people in this room. If something leaks, it’ll be easy to know who to go after. And if we’re all being honest here, Mr. Otis, we both know that you’re going to leak her name anyway if it helps your image. So there’s no real downside.”
“Ms. Hunt, how dare you defame my gentlemanly good name,” he said in an over-the-top Southern accent which didn’t hide the fact that he hadn’t consented to share the woman’s name.
Jessie decided this was the time, when he seemed to be enjoying himself and had let his guard down slightly, to ask the question that had been on her mind.
“Do you feel bad, sir?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you feel bad that a woman was murdered in your bathroom, Mr. Otis?”
For the briefest of moments, he seemed thrown. But it was just a flicker in the eyes. Almost as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
“Of course I do, Ms. Hunt,” he said gravely. “It wasn’t just ‘a woman.’ It was Milly Estrada, a friend, a woman I respected immensely. While she never represented me personally, her firm did. And I have friends who extolled her dedication and her skill. They found her in my shower, with her neck broken and no shirt on, hosed down like an animal. I feel more than bad, Ms. Hunt, I feel devastated. And if I don’t display that to your satisfaction, I’m sorry. I’m trying to put on a brave face and push through this because lingering on it, thinking about how awful her final moments must have been, well it’s too terrible to fathom. Call me a coward but I guess I’m just not up to it.”
Nobody spoke for several seconds. Jessie was genuinely unsure whether this was all for show or if Jasper Otis was so used to living on the bright stage that this was really how he comported himself in a moment of grief.
“Do you have any more questions for me?” he asked with hint of an edge in his voice.
She did and was about to ask one when her phone buzzed. She glanced at it and saw that it was from Hannah. It read simply: “Hospital called. Ryan will be here in just over an hour. You need to be here at noon to sign him out.”
She looked up. Otis was staring at her expectantly.
“That’s all for now,” she said, “though we may need to revisit some issues with you later. If you can provide Detective Purcell with your companion’s name and contact info, he’ll guard it zealously. In the meantime, I offer my condolences on your loss.”
She didn’t wait for Nancy Salter to open the door for her, or for Matilda, who was waiting outside the dining room, to lead her outside. By the time Karen caught up to her in the parking lot, she was standing impatiently by the passenger door.
“You booked out of there in a hurry,” she said. “Everything okay?”
Jessie nodded. She’d explain on the way. For now they had to move.
“How fast can you get back to the station?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jessie looked at the time as she pulled up in the driveway of the house. It was 11:53.
When she opened the front door, Hannah was sitting on the couch with her arms crossed and a glower on her face.
“How’s it going, sunshine?” Jessie asked.
She already knew the answer. Her sister’s green eyes were fiery, her sandy blonde hair was wild, as if she’d started brushing it but then gave up. The way she was folded up into herself, no one would guess she was almost as tall as Jessie.
“You go off to investigate a case on a Sunday morning and leave me with some lame note?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep,” Jessie told her.
“And you made me think I might be stuck here alone when Ryan showed up.”
“I’m here now,” Jessie said, trying not to escalate the situation.
“Just barely,” came the surly reply.
Jessie sighed internally.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked.
Hannah looked like she was about to offer more snark, then seemed to reconsider.
“The same as usual, so not well,” she admitted. “This time I had the nightmare where our serial killer father murders my adoptive parents. I guess I should be glad. At least it’s a change of pace from when your serial killer stalker buddy made me watch while he slaughtered my foster parents.”
Jessie walked over to the couch and sat down beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could tell you when those kinds of dreams will go away. But I’m still waiting for it to happen for me.”
Hannah nodded before seeming to brighten.
/> “Hey,” she finally said in a sarcastically chipper tone, “at least when Ryan gets here, we’ll be too exhausted and stressed out by our current lives to focus on the past ones, right?”
Before Jessie could respond there was a knock on the door.
“I guess we’re about to find out,” she said and walked over to open it.
When she did, she found that two hospital staffers and a nurse had already removed Ryan from the ambulance and guided his wheelchair up the ramp to the porch. Her boyfriend looked up at her and, in a slow, labored voice, spoke.
“Would you…like…buy some…Girl Scout Cookies?”
Jessie couldn’t help but laugh. He’d probably been working on that the whole way over.
“Come on in,” she said after leaning down to give him a kiss.
She bit her lip, trying to keep tears at bay. It had been such a long road. Now he was finally home. The emotion of the moment was almost overwhelming.
The staffers pushed him inside, had Jessie sign some paperwork, and left again. The whole process took about three minutes. The nurse, a blandly pleasant forty-something woman named Patty, remained behind. She was here to help Ryan acclimate to his new surroundings. But when she left this evening, they’d be on their own. Luckily Jessie had contracted with a private nursing company to have folks in the house as needed.
“We’ll show you around in a sec but I wanted to give you a moment to settle in,” she said, wheeling him over near the couch where Hannah, who hadn’t gotten up to greet him, still sat. “Excited to be out?”
Ryan nodded. He opened his mouth but it took several seconds for the words to follow. Each one was an effort.
“I think…they are…excited…that I’m…gone.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jessie replied. “Everyone knows that your winning charm starts to fade around the six-week mark.”
Ryan laughed, though it came out as more of a throaty rasp. As improved as he looked from even a month ago, it was still tough to look at him and not picture the man she used to know. Once muscular and tan, he was now pale and his skin looked pouchy over his flesh. His hair had been cut shorter than usual, almost like a crew cut, for easier maintenance. The one thing that hadn’t changed was his deep, brown eyes. They still had the same warmth and intensity as always. But right now they looked troubled.
“What is it?’ she asked.
He tried to get his mouth to form the words in his head but it was a struggle.
“Phy…phys…ph…” he seemed to give up on that word and skipped to the next, “therapy.”
“Right,” Jessie replied, getting what he meant. “The rehabilitative therapist will start tomorrow. That will be every day. Once you’ve made some progress on the activities of daily living, we’ll bring in the physical therapist to help you get your strength and mobility back. But we’re going to have to be patient. Remember Dr. Badalia wants you to take it one step at a time. Biting off more than you can chew could be detrimental to your long-term recovery.”
Ryan shook his head.
“Not…average…bear,” he insisted.
Jessie smiled.
“Don’t I know it. So do you want to check out the new digs?” she asked. “Hannah, would you like to do the honors?”
Hannah, who had been silent up to now, nodded.
“Hey, Ryan,” she said quietly as she stood and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Good to have you back. Now I won’t have to take the trash out to the curb every week.”
Ryan did his raspy laugh. Jessie smiled, glad that at least her sister wasn’t taking her frustration out on him. As Jessie and Nurse Patty trailed behind, Hannah wheeled him through the house, pointing out all the added features, including the handrails everywhere, the assist bars to get in the bath and on the toilet, and the call buttons in every room. She also showed him the emergency call button necklace they’d gotten for him. That got a huge grin from him.
“I’ve fallen…and…I can’t…get up,” he said.
Hannah looked over at Jessie, confused.
“It’s from an old commercial,” she said. “Look it up on YouTube.”
When they got to Jessie’s office, Ryan looked over at her.
“Was Garland’s?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said, confirming that this had been the home office of Garland Moses, the man who’d left her this house in his will. The fact that they only lived here now because Garland had been brutally murdered by her ex-husband was something she was still trying to come to terms with.
“Sorry,” Ryan croaked, reaching out for her hand and squeezing it tight. He’d actually been the detective who first investigated Garland’s murder and the person who had to break the news to her. He knew how much the old guy meant to her, even if he couldn’t verbalize it yet.
Hannah started to turn the wheelchair back down the hall when Ryan held up his hand.
“Me,” he insisted. “Need to…practice.”
Hannah lifted her hands in the air. Ryan nodded his approval, then grabbed the wheels and tried to turn the chair around. But it was a tight fit for the hall, with little room for error. Twice he banged into a wall before attempting to turn it in the other direction. That was even less successful. After three failed attempts, he got frustrated and slammed the chair against the wall.
“Dammit,” he yelled, loud and clear.
“Let me help,” Jessie said, reaching for the handles on the back of the chair.
“Don’t…touch!” he barked.
She yanked her hands back, startled at his anger. Unsure what to do, she looked over at Patty. The nurse, just out of Ryan’s line of sight, put her hands in front of her, palms down, and mimed pushing them down, as if to say “let’s lower the temperature a bit.” Before Jessie could try, Ryan sighed heavily.
“I’m…sorry,” he said. “Tired…ornery.”
“That okay,” she said quickly. “It’s already been a huge day. Why don’t we take you to the bedroom so you can rest a bit?”
She pushed him down to the master bedroom and, with Patty’s assistance, helped him lie down in the new hospital bed. He looked at Jessie.
“You?” he asked. She knew what he meant.
“Dr. Badalia thinks you’ll get better sleep if you’re in this type of bed, so I’m going to stay in the guest room for a little while, but only until we get back into a normal routine. And I’ll still hang out in here to make you watch home renovation shows. Now that I’m stronger than you, I control the remote.”
He smiled but she could tell he wasn’t happy. She realized that he’d been looking forward to sharing a bed again as much as she had. Unfortunately, no one had thought to tell him that bit of normalcy would be delayed a while longer. Still, he put on a brave face.
“Good,” he said. “You…snore.”
Once they’d closed the door, the three women retreated to the breakfast table. Jessie tried to ignore the ache she felt in her chest at having Ryan here, but still not truly with her.
“Patty, are you sure you’re cool sticking around for a while longer?” she asked.
“Not a problem. I’m contracted through the afternoon. Besides, for the first day, it’s always helpful to have a pro around to navigate personal care issues.”
“Awesome,” Hannah said, “because I was thinking of going over to Melrose to liven up my wardrobe.”
Jessie looked at her sternly.
“Did you mean ‘may I please go to Melrose to look for clothes’?” she asked.
“Yeah, that.”
“You may go for two hours,” Jessie said. “I need to do some research on this case and it might require some driving around. I don’t want to leave Patty alone to handle everything on Ryan’s first day back. Got it?”
“Got it,” Hannah snapped.
“I mean it,” Jessie reiterated. “You need to be back inside the house by two p.m. or future wardrobe-livening sessions will be put in jeopardy.”
“Don’t worry,” Hannah said, hopping up and
grabbing her purse. “I’m very responsible for my age.”
She was out the door before Jessie could come up with the response she wanted, which would have involved reminding her sister of the myriad times she’d proven that claim wasn’t true. It was probably for the best.
Once Hannah was gone, Jessie retreated to her office. She settled in to try to wrap her head around the case, as she imagined Garland had done so often in this very spot. She glanced at the painting on the wall that hid Garland’s safe. She already knew that it only held one thing. Inside was a fireproof lockbox that contained all the material, both paper and digital, on just one case: The Night Hunter.
That was the serial killer who had apparently haunted Garland until his death. Even though the man was believed to have died decades ago in an altercation that almost killed Garland, it was clear that her mentor still had his doubts. Otherwise, why would he have saved every scrap of information on the man and his crimes?
Jessie shook her head in frustration. It served no purpose to think about a serial killer last seen in the prior century. There was a murder just hours ago that she’d been tasked to solve. That’s where she needed to keep her focus, so that’s where she fixed it. She studied the crime scene photos that Ernie Purcell had texted her. They were mostly useless as evidence since the scene had been cleaned up before the pictures were taken.
Despite that, looking at the dead woman, pale and shirtless, with her neck bent at a grisly angle, was unsettling. She barely looked human. Until now, Millicent Estrada had been an abstraction. But seeing her now, broken and vulnerable, Jessie felt a simultaneous surge of empathy and a burning desire to get justice for her.
She moved on to some online research on Estrada. It wasn’t hard to find material. The sheer volume of photos alone was overwhelming. She and Beto were an extremely attractive couple but Millicent was especially stunning.
With long, dark hair that cascaded down in waves and facial features that seemed to have been sculpted by an artist, she had a fierceness that was almost too intense to be called beautiful. Her green eyes were especially compelling, as if they were calculating every person and scenario in real time. For some reason, she reminded Jessie of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s cyborg character in The Terminator, who could do threat assessments of every humanoid he came in contact with in nanoseconds.