by Blake Pierce
Jessie agreed. She said goodbye and was just returning to her car when her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number but decided to answer anyway.
“Hello?” she said.
After an unusually long silence, a digitally altered voice responded.
“Stop now. Hannah has been through enough already. Do you want her to suffer more?”
Then the line went dead.
“Ryan!” she screamed.
He was halfway to his car but sprinted back over immediately.
“What is it?” he asked breathlessly.
She told him what the caller had said.
“We have to go check on her,” she insisted.
“Of course,” he said. “Where would she be right now?”
Jessie looked at the time: 11:37.
“She’d still be at the school she started at last week.”
“Okay. Give me the address and I’ll follow you there. You call her directly while I call for a unit to get over there now. They’ll do a welfare check and stay until we arrive.”
She gave him the address, hopped in the car, and immediately called Hannah. It went straight to voicemail.
Stay calm. The school makes them turn off their phones during class. That’s all this is.
But knowing it was normal not to be able to reach her and believing it were two different things. As she zigzagged through midday traffic on the longest twelve-minute drive of her life, Jessie called the front office. She got voicemail for that too.
“This is the administrative office. We’re sorry no one is able to take your call. Please listen to the list of options and select your preference. A staffer will respond at the earliest possible convenience.”
Jessie screamed at the automated message as she punched in “0.” The action had no impact. She wanted to throw the phone but instead forced herself to listen to the phone tree choices, trying to determine who was most likely to actually be at their desk. When she heard that she should dial “6” for the library, she decided that was as good a choice as any.
Someone picked up on the third ring.
“Library,” the whispered female voice said. “Please hold.”
“No!” Jessie yelled. “This is an emergency.”
“I’m sorry,” the voice said, clearly startled.
“My name is Jessie Hunt. I work for the Los Angeles Police Department. My sister is a student there. A threat was just made against her. Her name is Hannah Dorsey. I need you to go to the head of campus security, have them determine her current location, and go there and secure her. Officers will arrive shortly to help. Do you understand?”
“No,” said the understandably flustered librarian.
“Listen to me closely. Get a pen and a piece of paper right now,” she ordered and managed to wait two full seconds before continuing. “Got them?”
“Yes? Is this a prank?”
“It’s not a prank,” Jessie said firmly, fighting the urge to yell. “Write the following down: Go find the security officer. Give him the name Hannah Dorsey. She’s a senior. Tell him to find and secure her. She may be in danger. Give him the phone number that I’m about to give you and tell him to call me—Jessie Hunt.”
The librarian eventually calmed down enough to repeat the instructions back to her. Then Jessie sent her on her way. Glancing at her phone, she saw a text from Ryan saying a unit was en route to the school and would be there in four minutes. Assuming her GPS was correct, she’d be there three minutes after that.
Three minutes. An eternity. What’s the difference?
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Hannah was still pissed.
Jessie saw it immediately upon arriving in the security office, before the girl even said a word. And now, over an hour later, Hannah was clearly still seething.
In one sense, it was understandable. She had been dragged out of Calculus by the security officer without explanation, giving her and all her classmates the impression that she was being arrested. She had been ordered to the security office without any idea why she had to go. Two uniformed officers showed up moments later and stood guard outside the office until Jessie arrived.
She’d done her best to make it clear that her half-sister hadn’t done anything wrong and that this was a safety measure for her own protection. But Hannah didn’t care about that. She had been publicly embarrassed at a school she’d only been at for a week and a half. How was she supposed to try to reclaim a normal life if she couldn’t even go to class without a crisis?
It was a fair question and as they waited in Jessie’s car down the block from their destination, she tried her best to answer it. But Hannah wasn’t satisfied. Telling a seventeen-year-old that her safety was a higher priority than her popularity didn’t go over well. Telling her that returning to something resembling normalcy would occur in fits and starts got an enormous eye roll. Jessie feared how Hannah would react to her answer to the next question.
“What are we doing here?” she asked as they sat in Jessie’s parked car on a quiet mid-Wilshire residential street.
“We’re waiting for a colleague to arrive,” Jessie answered.
“Is that what you’re calling Ryan these days—a colleague? Did you two have a lovers’ spat?”
“It’s not Ryan,” Jessie told her, refusing to be baited. “It’s a man named Garland Moses. He’s agreed to spend the afternoon with you while I look into the threat against you.”
“Why can’t we just go back to the apartment?” Hannah whined. “You’ve got so many locks and alarms and security codes, it’s like frickin’ Rikers Island. Aren’t we safer there than at some shack on an unprotected city street?”
“We’ll be able to go back there soon,” Jessie assured her. “But for now, this is the best option. Garland Moses is one of the few people I totally trust. And with Kat on an impromptu trip to meet a charming deputy sheriff in Lake Arrowhead, he’s the only one of those people currently available. So that’s who you’ll be hanging out with for the next few hours.”
“Isn’t he that old dude?”
“If by ‘old,’ you mean one of the most legendary forensic profilers in American history, then yeah, I guess he’s on the older side.”
“Yeah, old,” Hannah reiterated. “How’s that guy going to keep me safe?”
“Appearances can be deceiving, Hannah. That guy has tangled with more serial killers than you can name. You and I will never forget that night trapped with our psycho father. Garland Moses has been through half a dozen scrapes with guys like him. He’s old but he’s wily.”
Just then, Moses pulled into his driveway. He got out of his beat up old VW bug and waved over at them.
“He drove here from the other direction and we’re halfway down the block,” Hannah noted. “How did he know this car was us?”
“Old guy instinct,” Jessie replied as she started the car and pulled up in front of Moses’s house.
The place wasn’t a shack but it was on the smaller side. A quaint one-story, mid-century home, it looked out of place among the much larger, more modern houses that had taken over the block. The small porch out front looked like it had been built much more recently. Jessie couldn’t explain why but she suspected Garland had done it himself.
“Hello, Ms. Hunt,” he said with as close to warmth as he could muster. “And this must be the infamous Hannah Dorsey. I see the scowl is already in full effect.”
“Hannah, this is Garland Moses,” Jessie said, trying not to chuckle.
“Hi,” Hannah said perfunctorily.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Dorsey,” he said. “Would you care to come in? That is, assuming you can handle the old man smell I can see you’re obviously worried about.”
“I’m okay with it,” Hannah said, pretending to be hurt. “That is, assuming you don’t mind a teenager cramping your style? I wouldn’t want you to worry that I’m going to mess up your Russian nesting dolls or your collection of Victorian doilies.”
Jessie was just open
ing her mouth to ream the girl out for her rudeness when she noticed Garland almost imperceptibly hold up his left hand to give her the “pause” signal. His body blocked Hannah’s view so that only Jessie could see it. She held her tongue.
“I’ll have you know,” Garland said, with a sweetness she’d never heard in his tone before, “that I keep all my doilies under a glass case where they’re safe from the grubby hands of unwashed pubescents. So you’re all set.”
Without waiting for a retort, he turned and led them to the front door. Once there, he punched a code into the keypad next to the doorbell. A metal cover pulled back to reveal several pieces of tech Jessie didn’t recognize.
Garland bent down slightly and a device scanned his eyes. Then he placed his palm on a plate of glass below the scanner and watched as it apparently read his fingerprints. After that, he whispered something unintelligible into a speaker. Only then did the front door lock click.
“Wow,” Hannah said, impressed. “That is some next level…stuff. Your security measures make Jessie’s look like a joke.”
“I have to keep those nesting dolls safe, don’t I?” Garland replied as he welcomed them inside. When he closed the door after them, Jessie heard a series of locks slide into place. The process took about five seconds. She found the sound reassuring.
“So Ms. Dorsey…” Garland started.
“You can call me Hannah,” she interrupted.
“So Hannah, why don’t you head into the den? You can do your homework while your sister and I talk behind your back. Then I’ll see what we have in the way of snacks. Sound good?”
Hannah nodded, clearly thrown and mildly amused by the unexpected quippiness of the old guy. When she was gone, Garland led Jessie to his office. He closed the door after she entered.
“It’s soundproof,” he assured her. “But I suspect she’s going to get antsy soon. So I recommend you update me fast. I assume there’s more to this than just the casual encounter you suggested I have with Hannah to profile her for you.”
Jessie hadn’t told Garland what was going on over the phone, only that she needed his advice and would like to get it somewhere he considered secure. He’d suggested his house and while she hadn’t mentioned that Hannah would be with her, he didn’t seem surprised that she was there.
“There is more to it than that. I won’t bore you with all the details. And I don’t want to put you in a compromising situation. But you know I’ve been investigating a murder in the Valley. You also know the bureau there has been very active in trying to close the case quickly. Now I’ve recently learned that the reason for this effort may have something to do with an LAPD higher-up who was involved with the victim.”
“So the porn actress who was stabbed nine times was being paid for sex by someone of consequence in the department?” Garland asked.
Jessie looked at him, half-stunned and half-annoyed.
“If you knew everything already, why did you let me blather on?”
“I didn’t know everything,” he replied. “But I do try to keep up with what’s going on case-wise. And I can draw inferences based on the information available to me. Care to explain how this turn of events has led you and your half-sister to my doorstep?”
“I don’t think you need me to explain, Garland.”
“No, probably not. I suspect you got a threatening note, or perhaps an e-mail or phone call recently, one suggesting that Hannah’s safety might be at risk if you continue to pursue the case. Am I on the right track?”
“You know you are. It was a phone call. The voice was digitally masked.”
“So, what exactly are you asking of me, Ms. Hunt?”
Jessie studied him, trying to discern how much she could pile on this man, who despite his reputation and skills was still a senior citizen with a lot to lose.
“I’d like you to keep an eye on Hannah while I’m out,” she said.
“You’re not asking me come up with a profile of her?” he asked.
Jessie shrugged.
“If, in the course of your time together, you glean worthwhile details about her that you deem shareable, I won’t stop you.”
Garland smiled.
“That was smooth,” he noted. “Are you sure that’s all you want? It feels like you’re holding back.”
“Well,” she mused. “I don’t want to put you in a difficult position.”
“Too late.”
“Okay, then. I’d love to get your thoughts on exactly what I’m up against here. Detective Hernandez seems to think this situation is…fraught.”
“I would tend to agree with Detective Hernandez. If a high-level department official was involved with this girl, regardless of whether he actually killed her, he has a lot to lose if that information comes out. He is obviously using his considerable resources to ensure it doesn’t, including tactics that are at best questionable, and after the threat you got, also illegal. If he thinks that you are likely to learn of and expose his involvement, there’s no telling what other methods he’ll employ to keep you quiet. You need to tread very carefully.”
Jessie thought about this. Garland and Ryan seemed to be in sync about the threat she faced. But neither of them seemed to acknowledge what she saw as a fatal flaw in the “tread carefully” plan.
“Here’s the problem with that,” she said. “Even if I tread carefully or drop this case altogether, I don’t see how that keeps me or Hannah safe long-term. What’s to stop this guy, somewhere down the road when everything has settled, from taking me out just to be thorough? Even if he thinks I don’t know his identity, he’ll be paranoid that I’ll discover it. I mean, as I long I’m out there, he’s at risk, right? It’s hard to imagine he’d put up with that.”
“That’s a legitimate concern,” Garland conceded. “Of course, as we profilers so often have to, it’s worth putting yourself in his position for a moment. He’s had someone threaten your family member rather than actually harm her or you. That suggests that he doesn’t want to escalate to the next level if he can avoid it. He doesn’t want to push you too hard, whether he suspects you know who he is or not. He has to know that a détente with you, if it can be brokered, is preferable than having to take more dramatic action.”
“What do you mean?” Jessie asked, though she sensed where he was headed.
“He has to know that harming your sister would likely have a boomerang effect and make you more likely to pursue him. Likewise, eliminating you would lead to all kinds of questions. There’d be an investigation of the cases you were investigating when you died and the information about him might come out anyway. And of course, Detective Hernandez, Captain Decker, and myself, among others, wouldn’t just roll over if that happened. He’d be poking a hornet’s nest with no guarantee that it would do him any good. He’d want to avoid that if at all possible. So he sends this not-so-veiled threat as a half-measure, hoping it will suffice.”
“I get that, Garland,” Jessie said, unconvinced. “But like I said, what about six months from now, long after I’ve dropped this case? What if I have an unfortunate fatal accident on the freeway? He could just bide his time and take me out down the line. Am I supposed to live the rest of my life worried that someone in the very department I work for might have me killed when I let my guard down?”
“It’s a risk,” Garland admitted unhelpfully.
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I don’t see why I shouldn’t take the more straightforward route.”
“Which is?”
“Catch the killer. If this guy did it, he goes down. Not even his minions will defend a cop who stabbed an underage girl to death. If he didn’t do it, maybe I can try to find a way to move on—accept that the killer is out of commission and let the lesser crimes go. Then maybe he’ll let it go too.”
Garland’s expression suggested he wasn’t convinced she was capable of that. She wasn’t sure of it either.
“Then I guess you’re right,” he finally said. “Th
e only way to get the upper hand and plot your own course is to catch the murderer, which was your plan all along anyway, correct?”
“Yep,” she agreed. “I’m right back where I started. Solve the case. Then deal with the aftermath.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Jessie tried to be careful.
She had to assume that Commander Butters had people tailing her and any indication that she was still pursuing Michaela’s killer could put her or Hannah at risk. So instead of meeting Ryan directly at their next stop in Culver City, she pulled into the covered parking structure of an outdoor mall down the block, took the elevator down to the first floor, and joined in with the mid-afternoon shopping crowd.
She entered a Japanese grocery store and walked briskly to the back storeroom. One employee gave her a suspicious glance but said nothing. Feigning confidence, she moved to the back exit, which opened onto an alley next to Washington Boulevard. She waited at the edge of the alley for a crowd to assemble at the crosswalk, and then joined them when the pedestrian sign turned green.
After quick stops into both a coffee shop and a bakery, she felt fairly confident that she’d evaded anyone following her. Even if she hadn’t, there was nothing other than the Post-it linking the person she was about to see to the Penn case.
That person was Aaron Rose, a married corporate lawyer who worked out of a gleaming office tower in Culver City. The name matched the initials “A.R” from the Post-it. Of the two remaining photos in Michaela’s envelope, his was the one FBI agent Jack Dolan had been able to identify.
The third man’s photo wasn’t in the system at all, which Dolan found odd, because, at the very least, his driver’s license photo should have popped up. He couldn’t explain it.
While he tried to solve that discrepancy, Jessie told Ryan to take a circuitous route and meet her at Rose’s office to question him. She entered the office tower and headed straight for the service elevator. A security guard chased after her.
“Ma’am, you have to check in at the front desk,” he ordered forcefully.