The Perfect Neighbor (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Nine)

by Blake Pierce

  “Are you Barnard Hemsley?” Ryan demanded, taking the initiative.

  “What’s it to you?” Hemsley asked petulantly. The smell of bourbon on his breath was strong.

  “I’m a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. We have a few questions for Mr. Hemsley.”

  “What if I said he wasn’t here?”

  Just then, a ghostly pale, painfully skinny brunette wearing bikini bottoms and a half T-shirt with the phrase “my boobs are down here” scrawled across the chest appeared in the hallway behind him.

  “Where did you hide the coke, Barney?” she called out before seeing they had guests and unconvincingly adding, “You know I like it better than Pepsi.”

  Ryan looked at the guy with a mix of annoyance and pity.

  “Barney,” he said calmly. “This can go smooth or bumpy. It’s up to you. Answer our questions honestly and we might be out of your…hair in a few minutes. Make things difficult and it could be a long night for you and your Pepsi-loving companion.”

  Barney took off his sunglasses and slid them into the breast pocket of his shirt. His brown eyes were bloodshot and he had dark bags under them. For half a second, Jessie thought she saw apprehension in them. Then he seemed to rediscover his inner jerk.

  “I won’t be pushed around,” he said indignantly. “I’m a lawyer, you know.”

  “Yes,” Jessie agreed mildly, speaking to him for the first time. “We did a little research on you, Barney. And despite your copious experience in the divorce space, you might want to rethink how aggressive to be when it comes to criminal law.”

  “Criminal law? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “That’s why we’d like to talk to you, Barney,” Ryan reminded him.

  “We’re not friends,” Hemsley barked. “You don’t get to call me Barney. And I still don’t know who you are. You could be some con man posing as a cop for all I know.”

  Ryan removed his ID from his pocket in a casually unhurried manner before showing it to Hemsley. Jessie knew what he was up to. The hope was that Hemsley would get so riled that he’d do something impulsive— push one of them or make a sudden move—anything that would allow them to take him into custody, or at least threaten him with that to get the upper hand.

  “My name is Detective Ryan Hernandez,” Ryan said slowly. “I’m with Homicide Special Section, a unit based out of downtown’s Central Station.”

  Jessie saw Hemsley’s eyes widen briefly at the word “homicide” before he regained control of himself. He looked over at her.

  “And who’s the skirt?’ he demanded derisively.

  “The skirt?” Jessie repeated, laughing in his face as she pulled out her own ID. “What is this, 1947? The skirt is Jessie Hunt, criminal profiler based out of the same station. Now are you going to be responsive, Barney?”

  She made sure to punch the name emphatically and saw that it had the desired effect. Hemsley’s face turned redder than his eyes and his breathing got puffy.

  “I don’t think so,” he said wheezily. “Unless you have a warrant, you have no right to be here. And I’m not coming out. So you can go back downtown and question some of those street bums in your neck of the woods. I’m done with you.”

  He started to slam the door but Ryan stuck his foot out before it could close, stopping it.

  “That’s not going to work for me, Barney,” he said, popping hard on the “B” in his name. “You see, I heard what your gal pal in there said and I couldn’t help but notice white powder around her nostrils. So we’ve got plain view evidence supporting our suspicion that there is illegal drug activity going on in this house. We also have reason to be concerned that if we waited for a warrant, you would try to dispose of that evidence. We can’t allow that to happen.”

  “You’re making that up,” Hemsley protested. “You didn’t see anything on Brandee’s nose.”

  Ryan looked at Jessie, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “That’s exactly what someone hiding large quantities of cocaine in his house would say,” he noted. “I’m afraid that’s not going to fly, Barney. So I’m going to give you one more chance. Come out here and answer our questions. It’s entirely possible that your honest responses could send us on our way. Or you can continue to be difficult and have the worst night of your life, at least until you try to comb that rat’s nest on your head.”

  The line was so over the top that Jessie was sure Hemsley would sense that Ryan didn’t actually want him to suddenly become cooperative. He had to see that this detective was itching for him to do something, baiting him into a bad decision. But Barney seemed unaware. And since he was quite likely both drunk and high right now, she was pretty confident that he’d oblige. She was right.

  “I pay your salary,” Hemsley shouted angrily. “You have no right to talk to me that way. I ought to put you in your place!”

  “Are you threatening me, Barney?” Ryan asked, taking a half step forward and dangerously shrinking the empty space between the two men. “It sounds like you are. What would you do, sit on me?”

  That was all Hemsley could take. He shoved his finger in Ryan’s chest, poking him angrily as he opened his mouth to retort. But before he could get a word out, Ryan had grabbed the guy by the finger, twisted his arm back behind him, and kicked out the back of his left leg so that he collapsed to his knees. Within seconds, Hemsley was in cuffs and Ryan was reading him his rights.

  “By the way, Barney,” he said when he finished. “You don’t pay my salary. But you did help pay for the station where we’re taking you. So it should be a real nice cell.”

  Hemsley tried to spit on him but he was short of breath and the saliva didn’t go far enough, instead merely dribbling down his chin before getting hopelessly entangled in his abundant chest hair.

  “Can you go collect the lady of the house?” Ryan asked Jessie. “I have a feeling she might be more receptive to us than Grumpy here.”

  Jessie nodded and headed down the hall, pretending not to hear the names Barney called her as she walked away, nor the loud grunt of discomfort from him that followed. When she rounded the corner into the living room, she found Brandee passed out on the couch. She shook her gently to wake her up, then helped her to her feet and put a pair of cuffs on her.

  “Hey,” Brandee protested hazily. “I thought we weren’t using those until later tonight, Barney.”

  Jessie wasn’t sure how to respond.

  At least I still have the capacity to be surprised.

  “We’re starting the party early,” she finally said.

  “Party!” Brandee shouted in response, her voice managing to drown out even Metallica.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Barney lawyered up right away.

  Ryan and Jessie had expected it. But since there was no way he was going to talk back at his place, bringing him into the station was a risk worth taking. While they waited for his attorney to show up, they hung out in the MBPD lounge, which was infinitely nicer than their own.

  The one downside was that the holding room where they were keeping Brandee was just across the hall and her constant shrieking was giving Jessie a headache.

  “I was going to wait until Brandee sobered up,” she said to Ryan. “But maybe if we question her now, we can at least get her to stop screaming. What do you think?”

  “I’m willing to try anything,” he said.

  Jessie bought a frosted cupcake and they walked across the hall, where Brandee seemed to be trying to destroy her vocal cords in just one night. Jessie held up the dessert in front of the woman and the screeching stopped immediately.

  “This is yours if you answer a few questions for us,” Jessie told her.

  Brandee stared unblinkingly at the cupcake and swallowed hard.

  “Barney told me I should never answer any cop questions until he gave me permission.”

  Jessie pulled out a chair and sat down, putting the cupcake between them on the table.

&nb
sp; “A couple of things on that,” she said. “First, I’m not a cop. I’m a profiler, so you’re good on that front. Second, Barney may be in a lot of trouble and I’m not sure it’s in your best interest to be following his instructions right about now. And maybe most important of all, I can’t give you the cupcake if you don’t talk.”

  Brandee licked her lips. Her internal struggle lasted about two more seconds.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked.

  Jessie saw Ryan, who was standing behind Brandee, smile and stifle a laugh with a cough.

  “Where was Barney this afternoon?”

  “Work, I assume,” Brandee replied.

  “Where’s work?” Jessie asked.

  “Down on Highland, just off Thirteenth Street. His office is right across from Cousin Willy’s Waffle Hut.”

  “When did he get home?”

  “I don’t know. I was out at the nail salon until six. He was there when I got back.”

  “What about yesterday evening? Do you remember where he was between eight thirty and ten p.m.?”

  “Last night?” she said, straining to recall the details. “Oh yeah, I went out with some girlfriends for dinner and drinks. I left around seven. He was still at work. I got home after midnight and he was asleep on the couch with the TV on. I woke him up and we went to bed.”

  “What about Monday, late afternoon to early evening?”

  “Oh, come on. That was so long ago. How am I supposed to remember?”

  “Try, Brandee,” Jessie pushed. “It’s important.”

  The woman scrunched up her face. It looked like the effort of remembering was physically painful.

  “I know we ordered takeout for dinner that night—Thai food. I don’t remember the time but it was dark when I opened the door to get it so it had to be pretty late. But before that, I don’t know. Most days he works until six or seven. I assume he did the same on Monday. Can I have the cupcake now?”

  “Yes,” Jessie told her, passing it over.

  Brandee immediately began scarfing it down. While she ate, Jessie and Ryan stepped into the hall.

  “We ought to be able to verify his location using his phone,” Jessie said.

  “Yeah,” Ryan conceded. “But his office is within walking distance of both crime scenes. He could have left the phone at work intentionally while he committed the crimes.”

  “Possible,” Jessie agreed. “But the attack on Priscilla felt like a crime of passion. I wouldn’t think he’d leave his phone back at the office if this happened on the spur of the moment.”

  “Maybe the killing itself wasn’t part of the plan but sneaking into someone’s house was? Maybe he wanted to spy on her as part of some other personal fetish he had. Then he might try to hide any digital evidence that he was there.”

  Jessie wasn’t as convinced. But something Ryan said reminded her of one of Garland’s notes.

  “Hey,” she said suddenly. “Based on what Brandee said to me, Barney is into handcuffs. Let’s ask her if he has any other fetishes.”

  Ryan’s eyes lit up as he got what she was hinting at. They returned to the room, where Brandee was licking the remaining cupcake crumbs off her lips.

  “Does Barney like pantyhose, Brandee?” Jessie asked without warning.

  “Huh?”

  “Pantyhose, stockings—does he like to wear them, or use them during kinky sex games?”

  Brandee’s expression changed quickly from confused to delighted.

  “Not that I know of,” she said with a devilish smile. “But I’d be open to it. I have enough pairs.”

  “You do?” Jessie asked. “Why is that?”

  “I like this one kind, their shop is based here in Manhattan Beach. They’re super popular, or at least they were for a while. I used to always try to make Barney buy me a pair whenever we walked by there. I have to have at least half a dozen. Only the best for the best, right?”

  “Sure,” Jessie replied uncertainly.

  Before they could continue, her phone rang. It was Hannah.

  “I’ve got to take this,” she said, stepping outside.

  “Can I get another cupcake?” Brandee asked as Jessie moved down the hall. Ryan would have to deal with that request.

  “How’s it going?” she asked when she was outside and out of anyone’s earshot.

  “It’s getting late and I hadn’t heard anything from you,” Hannah said. “So I wanted to check in.”

  “I’m sorry. Ryan and I are working this case in Manhattan Beach. It’s all mixed up with Garland’s death. I guess I lost track of time. Are you okay? Do you think you can handle dinner on your own tonight?

  “Sure,” Hannah said, sounding less peeved than expected. “Do you have any leads on the case?”

  Jessie felt a pang of guilt for having assumed that Hannah would be focused only on herself. She was clearly still thinking about Garland.

  “We do have leads,” Jessie said. “But I’m not sure how great they are. I’ll let you know if we nail someone though.”

  “Is there going to be a funeral?” Hannah asked.

  Jessie was embarrassed to admit she had no idea. Garland, widowed young and without children, had never talked about family. She wasn’t sure who would organize the event.

  “I assume so,” she finally said. “I’ll have to check around. Do you want to go if there is one?”

  “I might,” Hannah said quietly.

  “Let me look into it,” Jessie said. “How was your day?”

  “Okay, all things considered,” she answered, though Jessie could hear hesitation in her voice.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Hannah paused and Jessie could sense her debating whether to come clean. She finally did.

  “I don’t want to make a big deal of this. But all day I’ve felt like someone was watching me. I’ll look back, but I never see anyone suspicious. It could just be that I’m on edge. But considering everything that’s been happening lately, and with your ex-husband getting out of prison, I didn’t want to totally dismiss it. You said he’s been systematically trying to destroy your life. And I guess I’m part of your life. So I thought I should mention it.”

  Jessie was the last person to disregard generalized suspicions about being shadowed and she considered Hannah more than justified in her concerns.

  “I’m glad you told me,” she said. “I’m going to have a team of officers sent over there right now to do a welfare check. I might even have a few of them stick around until we get back. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” Hannah agreed. The fact that she didn’t complain about Jessie overreacting or having a bunch of cops in her personal space was the strongest proof that he sister was truly worried.

  “Text me when they get there and give you an all clear, all right?”

  “I will,” Hannah promised, “as long as you keep me updated on Garland’s case.”

  “It’s a deal,” Jessie said.

  After hanging up, she immediately called Captain Decker and requested a security detail for her place. He didn’t need much convincing.

  “I’ll have a unit over there in fifteen minutes,” he assured her.

  “Thanks, Captain,” she said, relieved that she didn’t need to work to convince him.

  “Not a problem. How’s it going down there?”

  As she was about to answer, Jamil Winslow, who was frowning in concentration, hurried past her on the way to the room where Ryan and Brandee were.

  “Lots of leads but nothing definitive yet,” she admitted. “We just got word a second ago that a local judge is going to approve a warrant to have unoccupied homes on the Strand searched. But he’s not letting us start until tomorrow at eight a.m. I guess he’s trying to find a compromise, but it doesn’t help us much. I’m worried about another attack tonight.”

  “I can try to lean on him,” Decker offered. “But sometimes that backfires with judges in these independent jurisdictions.”

  “That’s okay,” Jessie said. “I don
’t want to risk him pulling the warrant altogether. Besides, we’re about to take another run at a suspect soon. His lawyer is on his way. We’re hoping we can still get him to talk.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “He doesn’t have a good alibi for any of the attacks. And he’s definitely a shady character. But is he a killer? Too soon to tell.”

  “Well, keep me posted.”

  “Yes sir,” she said and almost ended the call. But a thought made her stay on the line. “Captain, are there any plans for Garland Moses’s funeral? Is anyone planning anything?”

  “I am,” he said, sounding surprised that she didn’t know. “He has a niece back east who’s coming out but they weren’t close. She asked me to handle things. There will be a service on Friday. He was Jewish and his faith prefers it happen sooner than that. But there’s been a massive outpouring from all over the country. At least fifty FBI agents plan to attend, several hundred LAPD folks as well. Even some families of victims are flying in to honor the man who gave them some measure of peace. We wanted to give them all time to make it. I assumed you’d want to be there.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “We’ll make sure to save you a seat. In the meantime focus on this case. But don’t forget to take care of yourself. You’re my top profiler now. I can’t afford to have you out of commission.”

  “No sir,” she said before realizing he’d already hung up.

  No pressure there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  The second Jessie stepped back into the station, she could sense that the energy of the place had changed.

  Glancing through the window of the interrogation room, she saw that Barnard Hemsley’s attorney had arrived. Ryan was in the break area, having an animated conversation with Jamil Winslow, the police researcher they’d been working with all day.

  For someone so young and inexperienced, Jessie had been impressed with him. He was only twenty-four and Manhattan Beach wasn’t exactly a criminal hotspot, so her expectations for the junior staffer assigned to them were low. But Jamil, short and skinny, was sharp, relentless, and seemingly indefatigable. Even at this late hour, he showed no sign of slowing up. He was also ambitious, having already asked if there were any openings at Central Station. She promised she’d look into it.