The Perfect Alibi (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Eight)

by Blake Pierce

  Before she entered the home, Jessie took a moment to gather her thoughts. Everything she was about to see was a potential clue into the mindset of the murderer. She pushed all thoughts of troubled half-sisters and abducted women out of her mind as she stepped inside. As Clark led them down the hallway, stepping heavily on the sagging, uneven wooden floor, he gave them a status update.

  “Victim is a twenty-nine-year-old female, married, no children. Her husband had just picked her up from LAX after an out-of-town conference. He went to shower while she got a snack. When he got out, he found her dead on the kitchen floor. She’d been stabbed eleven times in the lower back. The food was still on the kitchen island, as was a paring knife covered in blood. She was clutching a butcher knife but didn’t look she got a chance to use it.”

  They arrived at the kitchen, where another officer handed them slippers to put over their shoes. Jessie could see the victim lying face down on the floor on the other side of the island. Her head was pointed away from them toward the door. She had a huge cast on her left leg. The plaster was splattered with blood.

  “We found some boot marks on the floor leading out to the driveway,” Clark added. “The husband says they never wore shoes in the house so we’re having them tested—no results yet. CSU also say the paring knife handle was wiped clean so they’re not optimistic about finding anything on it.”

  “Who is the victim?” Ryan asked.

  “That’s the crazy thing,” Clark replied. “She was one of those kidnapped women who escaped recently. Her name is Morgan Remar.”

  Jessie involuntarily reached out and grabbed the door frame for support. Ryan looked over at her, as shocked as she felt.

  “Are you sure?” he asked Clark.

  “Yeah. Her husband was talking about how she finally felt comfortable enough to go back to work tomorrow for the first time since it happened. It’s a damn shame.”

  When she was sure she could stand on her own, Jessie walked around the island until she could get a clear look at the victim’s face. Even with her face a pale blue and her glassy, empty brown eyes, Jessie recognized her from her file photos, though her light brown hair, which had been cut in the hospital, was much shorter now. Still, it was the same woman she was supposed to meet tomorrow.

  “Any signs of a robbery?” she asked quietly, surprised to hear her own voice. “Anything taken? Valuables? Her purse?”

  “So far, nothing,” Clark said.

  “Where’s the husband?” Ryan asked.

  “He’s in the bedroom. He was pretty broken up, looked like he was in shock to me. The medics want to take him to the hospital but he won’t go until they take her body away. He says he can’t leave her here.”

  “Do we know if he has a record?” Ryan asked.

  Jessie spoke up before Clark could.

  “He doesn’t,” she said. “He was arrested during a bar fight near campus when he was an undergrad at UCLA. But the charges were later dropped.”

  “How do you know that, Hunt?” Clark asked, stunned.

  “I was consulting on the abduction case for a private investigator friend,” she said. “I actually read Morgan’s file just tonight. I know all about both Remars’ education, how they met, when they got married, how long they’ve been at their jobs. I even knew they lived in West Adams. I just hadn’t made the connection.”

  “Why would you?” Ryan asked. “I mean, what were the chances that it would be the same victim?”

  “That’s a question we should pursue,” Jessie muttered, almost to herself.

  “What are you saying?” Clark asked skeptically. “That the same guy who kidnapped her came back to finish the job? That doesn’t seem to be his M.O. from what I’ve seen.”

  “You’re right,” Jessie admitted. “It doesn’t. It could just be a coincidence, terrible luck.”

  “Or maybe,” Ryan added, “it could be that Mr. Remar decided to take advantage of the situation to get rid of his wife. With her abduction, he’d have the perfect way to throw suspicion elsewhere. We should talk to him before too much time passes.”

  “Have at it,” Clark said. “The body won’t be removed for at least another twenty minutes. Since he’s not going anywhere until that happens, you’ve got the perfect opportunity.”

  He led them toward the master bedroom, where Ari Remar sat on the side of his bed, hunched over with his head in his hands. He was balding and had decided not to hide it but simply shave it so that there was a thin bit of stubble on top and at the back of his head. He looked frail and pathetic in his white T-shirt and shorts, the clothes he’d apparently put on after the shower.

  Jessie imagined him walking out to the kitchen, hoping to coax his wife to bed after a long day, trying to set her mind at ease before returning to work for the first time. But then another image entered her mind, one she couldn’t ignore. She turned to Clark.

  “Has anyone checked the shower yet?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Has CSU checked to see if there’s any blood residue on the shower floor, in the grate or the piping underneath?”

  “I’ll double check,” Clark said.

  “Please,” she insisted. “I assume they’re also checking the trash to see if there are any soiled clothes in there.”

  “On it,” Clark said and disappeared to check with the on-scene deputy medical examiner.

  Jessie looked over at Ryan, who nodded. After working so many cases together, he knew what she wanted to do next. They walked over to Ari Remar, who hadn’t spoken or even moved since they entered. The medic sitting beside him, a young woman with a blonde ponytail, looked up at them and shook her head. Ryan ignored her and bent down in front of the man.

  “Hi, Mr. Remar,” he said soothingly. “I’m Detective Hernandez with the LAPD. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about tonight.”

  Remar slowly lifted his head. It was immediately apparent to Jessie that he’d been medicated in some way. His eyes were cloudy and he had a thin stream of saliva drooling slowly down his chin.

  “You sedated him?” Jessie asked the medic tersely.

  “He was in bad shape,” she replied. “When we tried to get him out of the house, he started having a panic attack. He wouldn’t leave. He was slamming himself into the wall. We were worried he might hurt himself or someone else. So we gave him something. It should wear off in a few hours.”

  “That doesn’t do us much good,” Ryan said, frustrated. “How are Ms. Hunt and I supposed to question him when he’s nearly catatonic?”

  The medic started to reply when Remar mumbled something incoherent.

  “What was that?” Ryan asked.

  Remar repeated himself, much more slowly this time.

  “Hunt? Morgan meeting Hunt tomorrow.”

  “That’s right,” Jessie said, tensing. “Did Morgan say anything about that?”

  He looked at her vaguely for several seconds before responding.

  “Hunt helping tomorrow. Morgan said.”

  The statement seemed to have drained all his energy. His headed lolled forward again and the medic had to grab him and hold him steady so he didn’t fall off the bed completely. She eased him back so that he was lying down.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to screw up your interrogation. I was just trying to keep him from self-harm.”

  Jessie nodded and stood up. What was done was done. There was no point in making her feel worse. She and Ryan walked out of the bedroom and back down the hall. When they were back outside, Ryan blew off some steam.

  “There’s no way Remar’s going to be alert in a few hours,” he growled. “He won’t be able to talk until the morning. And by then he’ll be lawyered up, innocent or guilty.”

  “If CSU finds anything suspicious, we can take another run at him,” Jessie promised. “But I’m worried that we’re not looking at the other possibilities.”

  “Which are those?”

  “Clark’s probably right.
This doesn’t fit the abductor’s history. But I wonder if we shouldn’t put some officers on the other kidnapping victims as a precaution.”

  “I suspect Captain Decker will consider that a leap,” Ryan warned. “But I’ll call him and run it up the flagpole. Can’t hurt to try.”

  “While you do that, I’ve got a call of my own to make.”

  “To who?” Ryan asked.

  “Kat,” Jessie said, sighing heavily. “I have to tell her that her client’s been murdered.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The call went badly from the start.

  Even before Jessie made it, Ryan warned her that giving a private detective a heads-up on the case wasn’t protocol.

  “I can’t not tell her,” Jessie said. “She’s the whole reason I already know so much about the victim. If she finds out about Morgan’s death on the news and learns that I’m working her case, she’ll be livid.”

  “Fine,” Ryan said. “But remember, it’s one thing to let her know what happened. Letting her get involved is something else entirely. This is a police matter now. Keep those boundaries clear.”

  Kat had clearly been asleep when Jessie called. That made sense. It was 1:15 a.m.

  “I have some bad news,” she said once she was sure her friend was awake and coherent.

  “Okay.”

  “Morgan Remar is dead.”

  “What?” Kat demanded, disbelieving.

  After Jessie walked her through the basics of what she knew, Kat was quiet for several seconds before responding.

  “I can be there in twenty minutes,” she finally said.

  “No, you can’t,” Jessie replied, surprised by the firmness in her own voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a crime scene, Kat. They won’t let you in.”

  “You can get me in,” Kat insisted.

  “Not during a homicide investigation. It’s a violation of protocol. Technically, I shouldn’t even be calling you now. But I thought you deserved to know.”

  “Okay,” Kat said, though Jessie could tell from her voice that it wasn’t. “At least tell me what you have on the suspect front, because this seems awfully coincidental. What are the chances that the same woman is randomly abducted, gets away, and is then murdered less than three weeks later?”

  “We’re looking into all the options,” Jessie assured her. “Husband, random robbery gone bad, and yes, the abductor too.”

  “That’s all you can tell me?” Kat asked, her voice getting harder.

  “That’s all I know,” Jessie insisted.

  “Would you tell me if it wasn’t?” Kat wanted to know.

  “I’ll tell you everything I reasonably can. But please, don’t make unreasonable demands that put me in an awkward position.”

  “Unreasonable demands?” Kat repeated, her voice thick with emotion. “Jessie, Morgan Remar came to me for help. I promised to do everything I could to find the guy who took her so that she could resume some kind of normal life. I gave her my word that I, and you, would help her. And now she’s dead. So don’t talk to me about unreasonable demands. We both owe this woman.”

  Jessie forced herself to take a breath before responding.

  “I know,” she said in slow, measured words. “And I’m going to do everything in my power to get justice for her. This isn’t just a favor anymore. It’s my case now and I’m committed to it. But you have to respect the boundaries here.”

  “That sounds like something Ryan would say,” Kat spat back.

  Before Jessie could reply, she realized the line was dead. It occurred to her that it was just as well. She didn’t have a comeback.

  *

  Jessie managed to get an hour of sleep on the couch in the break room. But other than that, she and Ryan worked straight through the night, coordinating with CSU, the medical examiner’s office, and the tech unit. None of them had much new to offer.

  The paring knife handle had been wiped clean and was devoid of prints or DNA. The butcher knife blade had also been wiped down, which made Jessie wonder if Morgan had gotten in a successful swipe at her killer and he’d removed the evidence.

  The house had a security system with cameras, which Ari had installed right after Jessie’s escape from her kidnapper. But somehow the battery hadn’t properly charged yesterday and there was no usable footage. Ari was supposed to review an inventory of items from the house to see if anything had been stolen but Jessie was already skeptical about the usefulness of that. There was a laptop sitting on the breakfast table, which hadn’t been touched. A garden variety thief would have considered it easy pickings.

  They were still waiting for results from the samples collected from the shower. But the CSU tech Ryan spoke to didn’t sound hopeful. As to Ari Remar himself, Ryan had been right. When they showed up at the hospital to question him at 4:30 a.m., his attorney was already at his bedside.

  Other than repeating his description of the events earlier that evening, including the discovery of Morgan’s body, Remar was instructed not to answer any questions. He didn’t seem personally reluctant, but followed the advice of his lawyer, who was adamant.

  After calling Hannah to make sure she was up and getting ready for school, Jessie waited until what she considered a reasonable hour, 7 a.m., to reach out to Detective Sands from Pacific Station. His cell phone was answered by an annoyed-sounding woman Jessie gathered was his wife.

  “This better be work-related,” the woman said irritably. “Because if this is some secret girlfriend, you’re doing a terrible job of being clandestine.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jessie said, impressed at the early morning snark. “This is work. I’m trying to reach Detective Sands about a case we discussed yesterday. Could you ask him to call Jessie Hunt from Central Station when he gets a chance?”

  “He’s in the shower now. But I’ll give him the message.”

  The woman hung up. Jessie doubted Sands would have gotten the abduction task force up and running since they last talked but figured it was worth a shot. With so little to go on, any scrap of information might prove useful.

  When she was done with her calls, she headed to the break room for either her fourth of fifth cup of coffee—she’d lost track. Ryan was waiting there with a sour expression.

  “What is it?”

  “I just ran into Decker,” he said.

  “Why do I not like the sound of this?”

  “He said he had an update on our protection request and that he’d talk to us about it at eight, once he’s settled in.”

  Jessie looked at the clock on the wall. It read 7:06.

  “Screw that. I’m not waiting an hour for him to give us the run-around and blather on about departmental resources,” she said, turning on her heel to head for the captain’s office.

  To her surprise, Captain Roy Decker, who had just entered the room, was standing right in front of her.

  “Blather, do I?” he said, more amused than angry.

  To look at him, one would think he’d pulled an all-nighter too. His sixty-year-old body was sunken and beaten down after years of stress. He had more wrinkles than strands of hair remaining on his head and his weathered suit jacket hung off his skinny frame. Only his hawk-like eyes, beady and penetrating above his long, sharp nose, suggested he was more than just a senior citizen in waiting.

  “I hope not,” Jessie replied without a beat. “I assume you’re here to tell us that we got approval for protective orders on all the other recent abductees?”

  The only other people in the room besides Jessie, Ryan, and Decker, two uniformed officers perusing the vending machine, quickly scurried out without a word.

  “Good morning to you, Hunt,” Decker said, resignation and frustration fighting a battle in his voice. “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that.”

  “It never is,” Jessie retorted.

  “Very rarely,” he admitted. “In this case, Deputy Chief Sklar felt it was premature to approve security when there is n
o evidence that this murder has anything to do with the abductions.”

  “What kind of evidence does Sklar need? Another body? Would that be a solid enough clue that there’s a connection?”

  “I imagine that would do the trick,” Decker said wryly. “Listen, Hunt. I’m not saying the idea that the abductor might have done this is outrageous. In fact, it seems as valid a theory as any other. And if all the women who were taken were in our jurisdiction, I’d give them protection, despite the costs. But the other three women live in Brentwood, the Mid-Wilshire District, and West Hollywood. That last one is currently in a hospital in Beverly Hills. We are talking about multiple stations across various commands. The only way to get approval for all of that comes from headquarters. And they’re just not willing to authorize it right now.”

  “Maybe I should have a chat with Chief Laird and see what he says,” Jessie offered.

  No one spoke for a second. All three of them knew that was a not-so-veiled reference to how only a month ago, the LAPD chief of police had personally threatened to have her fired for insubordination only hours before thanking her for helping nail a ring of corrupt cops, including the sixth highest ranking member of the whole department.

  “You could have that chat,” Decker said. “But remember, you can only pull that lever once. The chief owes you. And you can definitely collect. But once you’ve used that chit, it’s gone forever. So you have to ask yourself—if this what you want to spend it on?”

  “I shouldn’t have to use it, Captain,” she insisted. “This should be done because it’s the smart thing to do.”

  “And yet, here we are,” Decker replied. “So you can go to the mat for this. Or you can pursue the leads you have and see where they take you.”

  Before Jessie could respond, her cell phone rang. Worried that it was Hannah with some problem, she glanced at it. Her heart sank immediately. It was Brenda Ferguson.

  “I have to take this,” she said bitterly. “It’s one of the other abductees. I’m sure she’s calling just to have a friendly catch-up session.”