The Perfect Deceit (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Fourteen)

by Blake Pierce

  The memory of her sister using herself as bait with a pedophile popped into her head, along with her friend saying nothing about it. The smile sneaking to the edge of her lips was immediately erased.

  “Let’s get to the station to question Jeanie Court,” she said coldly. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Jessie couldn’t decide if Court was incredibly devious or just plain stubborn.

  She’d been read her Miranda rights and left to stew in an interrogation room while they tried to reach her lawyer. Apparently, the guy was tied up in court all day. One of his associates was available but Court wouldn’t speak to anyone but him, which meant they couldn’t proceed until he got here.

  Jessie wasn’t satisfied with that. If they had their killer in custody, it wasn’t a big deal that they were sitting on their hands. But if Court was innocent, that meant there was a murderer still out there, possibly plotting another attack for tonight. She had to know.

  Jamil was tied up helping Ryan out on the Night Hunter case, so they had a junior tech ready to backfill Court’s GPS data from her car and phone for the last few days. Unfortunately that required a court order, which they didn’t have yet. They’d already been waiting around for two hours. It was mid-afternoon and time was fast ticking away. Jessie decided she had to take drastic action.

  “I promise I won’t ask her any questions,” she assured Reid, who looked as agitated as she’d ever seen him. “I’m just going to offer some theories to her. If she says silent, fine. But if she happens to get chatty, then at least we’ve got something to work with.”

  “That’s super risky,” he said. “It’s the sort of thing that could be used at trial to toss the case. Juries don’t like it when cops skirt around the edge of the law.”

  “Yeah, well they also don’t like people getting away with murder,” Jessie snapped. “And remember, I’m not a cop.”

  “You’ve been leaning on that point a lot for your last few cases,” Reid retorted, coming back just as hard. “Eventually a judge is going to lose patience with you walking that tightrope of a technicality.”

  Jessie knew he had a point, but it wasn’t one she had the time to address right now.

  “It hasn’t happened yet,” she replied acidly.

  “Easy guys,” Kat said. She’d been quietly standing by observing the argument until now. “Callum, I understand your concerns. But if Jessie goes in there without you, clearly states that she’s not an LAPD officer, and refrains from actually asking questions of the suspect, that seems like it would fall within the letter of the law. Am I wrong?”

  Reid’s furrowed brow suggested that he didn’t have a good response. Kat seemed to view that as a positive sign and kept going.

  “If Court isn’t our killer, we need to know,” she pleaded, reading Jessie’s mind. “We could be less than eight hours from another murder. Isn’t it worth giving Jessie a shot? If Court doesn’t talk, we’re no worse off than we are now. Come on, Callum.”

  That last earnest line seemed to break him. He looked over at Jessie.

  “No questions,” he insisted, “only statements.”

  “Understood,” she said, leaning over and giving him a second kiss on the cheek in as many days. Then she darted out of the room before he could change his mind.

  She allowed herself one long, slow deep breath, then opened the door and stepped into the interrogation room. Jeanie Court looked up. She was sitting in a metal chair bolted to the ground with her right wrist cuffed to a metal loop on top of the table, also bolted down. When she saw who it was, her eyes went from worried to ferocious. It wasn’t a great start to the interview.

  “Hi, Jeanie,” Jessie said, pretending as if their past interactions hadn’t all been hostile. “I just wanted to update you on the situation with your attorney. He’s still in court and could be for another couple of hours. Are you sure you don’t want to consider speaking to his associate?”

  She knew what the answer would be but hoped that the question might get Court talking, even monosyllabically. The woman shook her head.

  “I’m afraid I need a formal, spoken “no” for the record,” she said, not certain if that was even true.

  “No,” Court spat.

  “Understood; so, we’ll wait,” she said, sitting casually on the edge of the table as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “In the meantime, I thought I’d tell you a few things that were on my mind. No need to respond. In fact, you shouldn’t now that you’ve invoked your right to counsel. I’m just a consultant for the department, not a cop, so I don’t think that stuff applies to me. But all the same, you should just listen.”

  She glanced at the two-way mirror knowingly, giving the unseen Detective Reid her best “are you satisfied?” look. Then she turned back to Jeanie Court, who was eyeing her warily but silently.

  “Anyway,” she continued, adopting the tone of a girlfriend who wanted to share a secret over coffee, “like I said, I’ve been brainstorming while I was out there. And I figured that as long as we’re stuck here, I’d run some of my crazy ideas by you, just to keep us entertained while we wait. Okay with you?”

  Jeanie looked like she was about to object but Jessie cut her off.

  “Remember, don’t talk. You still have that right to remain silent,” she reminded her. “But here’s what I’m thinking. It just seems weird to me that a respected wedding planner, who hasn’t committed any crimes, would up and run out of a bakery in the middle of a cake tasting just because some random people walked in. It’s almost like you were on tenterhooks, waiting for a shoe to drop. I mean, we hadn’t even identified ourselves yet.”

  Jeanie Court stared back at her like she would have enjoyed ripping out her throat if she could, or maybe spraying acid in her face. Jessie acted as if she didn’t notice.

  “It really was odd, considering that we fully went to that bakery just hoping to chat,” she said. She went silent, musing wordlessly to herself for a few seconds to increase the pressure on Court. “So here I am, sitting out there, wondering what could cause such a desperate reaction. And then it hits me—I don’t have to guess. There are ways to find out. First among them would be to get a search warrant for your office, which we’ve since requested and should be approved soon. I expect a knock on the door telling me so any minute.”

  She paused and stared at the door, as if that act alone might cause it to open. When it didn’t, she shrugged and turned back to Court.

  “What I think we’ll do for starters is get a full list of all your clients, past and present, so we can talk to them. I got the sense from chatting with Yasmine that she’ll be pretty accommodating.”

  That was not at all the sense that she’d gotten from their conversation, but Jeanie Court didn’t know that. It was clear that the woman was getting increasingly worked up. The mention of reaching out to clients seemed have particularly hit home so Jessie pressed on that. She looked at her watch.

  “Yeah, I think I have just enough time to get to your office, confiscate all your records, and start making calls before I have to be back here to meet your lawyer. Truthfully, before I even ask all these couples my questions, I’d want to warn them. I think it’s only fair to give them a heads up about the situation so they can make alternate plans to find a new wedding planner if need be.”

  “What situation?” Court demanded, too curious to realize that she’d violated her no-talking policy. Jessie briefly debated answering but decided that since the woman was asking a question rather than answering one, it was probably safe to reply.

  “Jeanie, I think you know the situation quite well: their well-regarded wedding planner is being held on suspicion of murdering three people she worked with. I hope sharing that with everyone doesn’t hurt business too much.”

  “Wait,” Court said, her eyes a mix of fury and distress. “This is about that?”

  Jessie studied the woman closely before she answered. The woman’s panicky energy was maki
ng it difficult to determine the sincerity of her response.

  “Of course it is, Jeanie. Three of your clients are dead.”

  “What? Three? I saw the stories on the news about two of them and I assumed it had something to do with Jax and Claire being friends. And I don’t even know about a third death.”

  “There was a third last night— Brian Clark. Now maybe all these murders are about some animosity among friends. Or maybe it has something to do with the wedding planner they all shared who ran away when she saw us. All I can tell you is that no one else we wanted to speak with took off at the sight of us.”

  Court sat there with her jaw open. Jessie tried to gauge whether she was genuinely stunned at the allegation or at the realization that her reign of terror had come to an end. In the end, she just couldn’t tell. If she wanted to be more certain, it was time to amp things up. She stood up and straightened out her top.

  “Anyway, I’ll be back in a few hours,” she said, starting to leave the room. “You hang tight. When I return, I’ll let you know how many clients you have left.”

  She was almost to the door, afraid her bluff was about to be called, when Court called out.

  “Wait!”

  Jessie made sure to wipe the smile off her face before she turned around.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  “Yes?” she asked innocently.

  “That’s not why I ran—,” she started to say.

  “Hold on,” Jessie interrupted holding up her hand. “You’ve invoked your right to remain silent. You’ve asked for a lawyer. I can’t have you telling me whatever it is you want to tell me unless you waive that right. It wouldn’t be proper. So why don’t we just wait until he gets here, and you can talk it over with him first. In the meantime, I’ll go reach out to those clients.”

  Court, despite her desperation, was no dummy.

  “I get it,” she said. “You don’t have to twist my arm anymore. I waive my rights. Just hear me out before you start calling my clients.”

  Jessie didn’t know what the woman was trying to hide, but she was increasingly getting the sense that it wasn’t murder. Whatever it was, she decided that laying out everything clearly on the table was to her advantage.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Jessie asked. “You heard what Detective Reid told you earlier. If you waive your rights, anything you say could be used against you in court. And considering that we’re talking murder here, what you say next could be what gets you a lifetime in prison.”

  Court spoke slowly and emphatically.

  “Considering that I didn’t kill anyone, I waive my rights. Just let me explain before you call anyone.”

  Jessie wished she could see through the mirror to tell if Reid considered Court’s words emphatic enough for her to continue. But at this point she was committed. She returned to the table and sat down, this time in the chair across from Court.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  “The reason I ran was because I saw the detective’s badge on his belt when you all were walking in. I knew he was a cop.”

  “Why should that matter if you didn’t do anything wrong?” Jessie demanded.

  Court breathed a frustrated, defeated sigh.

  “I didn’t say that I didn’t do anything wrong. I said that I didn’t kill anyone. A few weeks ago, a client named Amanda Nelson accused me of skimming money at her wedding reception. She threatened to sue me and to have me arrested. I’ve been on edge ever since. When I saw the detective, I jumped to conclusions and panicked.”

  Jessie waited for her to continue but when she didn’t, prompted her.

  “There’d be no reason to panic if her allegation was meritless,” she noted.

  Jeanie Court didn’t respond. Jessie didn’t have patience for this woman’s wounded pride and let her know it.

  “Jeanie,” she said sternly. “You are under investigation for murder. Do you get that? Whatever other crimes you may have committed are inevitably going to come out. The client who accused you—this Amanda Nelson— is going to do interviews. There is no way you can keep this quiet. Right now, your best bet is to cooperate with us. If committing some other, lesser crime absolves you of murder, admit to it. Lots of thieves have eventually rebuilt their lives after getting caught: multiple murderers not so much. Tell me exactly what you did and why it clears you of these killings.”

  Jeanie’s whole face scrunched up like a raisin for several seconds. Her eyes were closed tight. When she finally opened them, she started talking fast and without a breath.

  “I’m not admitting to anything,” she said. “But Amanda accused me of swiping cash gifts from her at their reception. I often suggest that my clients mention to guests that they would be happy with cash as opposed to wedding registry items. That allows them to choose what they want and when they need it, rather than be boxed into to getting some china set they don’t really care about. Plus there are potential advantages to having a pile of undeclared cash at their disposal, especially early in a marriage. It also makes it a lot easier on guests. There’s less thought involved. They can just hand over and envelope and be done with it.”

  “This all sounds relatively reasonable so far,” Jessie said. “Maybe get to the accusation part.”

  “I am,” Court said snappishly, before regaining control. “At weddings, I set out a lockbox for cash gifts attached to a rolling table for traditional ones. Guests just slide their envelopes in the lockbox slot, knowing they’ll be secure. At a certain point, me and my team move all the gifts, along with the lockbox, to a secure room at the wedding venue. Amanda accused me of unlocking the box, going through the envelopes, and removing some of the money.”

  “How would she know what had been taken?” Jessie asked.

  “She said a friend accidentally mentioned how much they gave a few months after the wedding. The amount differed from what she remembered so she started asking other guests who’d gifted cash how much they gave.” There was a pregnant pause before she added, “there were a number of discrepancies.”

  “I see,” Jessie said slowly. “How much did she accuse you of taking?”

  “$3700,” Court said flatly.

  Jessie nodded.

  “How many weddings do you plan a year, Jeanie?”

  “Usually between eighty and ninety,” she said.

  Jessie pulled out her phone did a little calculation.

  “Wow—that really adds up. If her allegation was accurate and that haul was typical for a wedding, we’re talking well over quarter of a million in a year. And as you noted, there are potential advantages to having a pile of undeclared cash at one’s disposal.”

  Jeanie remained silent. That was okay. Jessie wasn’t done.

  “And she threatened to sue you, as well as go to the police with her suspicions?” she reconfirmed.

  “Yes, and to tell everyone she knew who hired me.”

  “Did Amanda know Claire Bender, Jax Coopersmith or Brian Clark?” Jessie asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Court said. “I think they travel in different circles.”

  “But you’re not sure. It’s possible that she mentioned it to one of them?”

  “Anything’s possible,” Court said.

  “Is it possible that she talked to one of them and they reached out to you? Is it possible that you decided to eliminate everyone who knew what you were being accused of?”

  Court got so upset at the question that she slammed her cuffed fist down on the metal table, making a clanging sound.

  “I didn’t eliminate anyone. I have no idea who she told so how could I go after anyone? Besides, if I was going to kill anybody, wouldn’t it be Amanda? To the best of my knowledge, she’s alive and well.”

  “We’ll check on that,” Jessie assured her, not saying that Court had made a strong point—why wouldn’t she go after Amanda Nelson first if she was trying to keep her financial misdeeds quiet? “Where was this wedding you handled last night?”

  “On
the beach in Santa Barbara.”

  “That’s almost two hours north of here,” Jessie noted. “When did you get back to the city?”

  “It was an early afternoon wedding, but the reception lasted well into the evening. Traffic was rough coming back. I think I finally got home around midnight.”

  “Did anyone drive back with you?”

  “No. I released all my staff about a half hour before I left myself.”

  “What about Sunday?” Jessie pressed, not allowing the woman time to ponder her answers for too long.

  “I had a light day: church wedding in the morning downtown at St. Vincent De Paul Catholic Church. They had their reception at the Hotel Figueroa. It was over by 1 p.m. I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening at home prepping final details for the Santa Barbara wedding the next day.”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  “No,” Court said resentfully. “I live alone.”

  “And Saturday,” Jessie demanded, keeping the heat on. “What was your schedule like?”

  Court thought for a moment.

  “I had a noon wedding at The Peninsula Hotel in Beverly Hills. It ended at 4 p.m.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “I caught a movie, picked up takeout, and went home.”

  “Again, by yourself?” Jessie asked, feeling slightly cruel but setting the guilt aside. Court’s feelings were secondary to getting answers.

  The woman nodded with downcast eyes.

  “So to be clear, you have no alibi witnesses for any of the nights on which the victims were killed?”

  Court’s face flushed.

  “Had I known I would need an alibi witness, I would have called someone up,” she said bitterly. “Too bad I dumped my Tinder account recently, I guess.”

  “There is a way you could help yourself out,” Jessie said, refusing to be pulled into a testy back and forth.