The Perfect Smile

by Blake Pierce

  “You guys go ahead,” Dolan volunteered. “I can talk to Gayle Jerebko and get the formal confession from her. I’ll call if I have any issues.”

  Murph continued to stare into the distance for a little longer, then gave Toomey an almost imperceptible nod. As they pulled over to the curb in front of the station, he spoke into his comm.

  “Change of plans. Next stop is California Hospital Medical Center. XT may be down. Protectee will attempt to identify. Trail vehicle, stay alert.”

  Dolan was about to get out of the car, when Jessie tapped him on the shoulder as she reached into her pocket.

  “What’s this?” he asked, looking at the small recording device in her hand.

  “It’s Gayle Jerebko’s confession. I had to leave my phone in the conference room so I needed something else in case she spilled her guts. Maybe listen to it before you talk to her, so she doesn’t try to play you.”

  “Does she know you recorded this?” Dolan asked.

  “Not yet,” Jessie said. “I wanted to give her a chance to come clean without being forced into it. But if she starts to get second thoughts, maybe bust this out for her.”

  Dolan grinned like a kid opening his presents on Christmas morning.

  “You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said.

  She didn’t respond. But as the car pulled away, she allowed herself a little smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  The trail team took the lead.

  As Toomey circled the block, Collica and Emerson parked and secured the hospital, coordinating with police already on the scene before giving the go-ahead for the other car to park. They pulled onto the staff level of the garage and quickly made their way to the stairs. This time, Toomey stayed right behind Jessie while Murph took the lead.

  Once on the main level, an officer led them to a taped off section of the hospital courtyard. Lying under a sheet on the sidewalk close to a flower bed was what Jessie assumed was a body. Blood radiated out from it in every direction. There were other, smaller sheets spread out nearby. Blood also oozed out from under them.

  “That him?” Murph asked the officer.

  “CSU thinks so,” the young man replied.

  “Thinks?” Jessie asked.

  “It’s a little hard to tell,” the slightly green-faced officer said. “He’s kind of…chopped up.”

  “What?” Jessie said.

  “You should talk to CSU,” he said. “They can explain it better.”

  The three of them walked over to a CSU investigator Jessie recognized.

  “What happened, Taylor?” she asked the petite African-American woman, skipping the introductory chit-chat. “I’m hearing making an ID is proving challenging.”

  “You could say that,” she said as she pointed to the upper floors of the building. “It looks like the guy was trying to access the hospital interior through the cooling system. He was on the roof and ran a rope down to a cooling vent on the seventeenth floor. But then things went sideways.”

  “What does that mean?” Murph asked.

  “There’s a big circulating fan just a few feet into the duct. It looked like he jammed it with some kind of stopper to prevent the blades from spinning. But something must have gone wrong. It looks like he was just sliding past the fan when the stopper came loose. He got sliced to pieces and shot back out through the vent. That’s why there are these…chunks.”

  Jessie stared at the sheets littering the courtyard. There were eight in total that she could see. Was that how many pieces her father had been chopped into?

  She stared at them, waiting for the inevitable emotional response one would expect when seeing a dead parent lying on the ground in lumps of flesh. But there was nothing—certainly not sadness. Not even relief.

  “How do you know it’s Thurman if he was all chopped up?” Murph asked.

  “We found an ID on him. It was for one of his aliases.”

  “That’s it?” Jessie said incredulously. “You’re basing an identification on some fake driver’s license?”

  “Of course not,” Taylor said, trying to keep her annoyance in check because of who was asking. “I didn’t want to get too detailed. But if you really want to know, we found a couple of fingers on the ground and matched the prints. It was him.”

  “What about his face?” Murph asked. “Did you try facial recognition on it?”

  “We found footage from the surveillance cameras on the roof. They show a man going down the rope. We got a clear shot as he descended. The software called it a ninety-eight percent match for Thurman. It would be even higher but all our images of him are old.”

  “Did you run it on the dead man?” Murph asked, nodding in the direction of the body parts.

  “We tried but it wouldn’t give a result. There wasn’t much face left to recognize,” Taylor said, then added to Jessie “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sensitive with me. I don’t care about him,” Jessie assured her, increasingly certain that was true. “But I need to see. Maybe I’ll be able to identify a feature the system couldn’t.”

  “Ms. Hunt,” Taylor said hesitantly. “I’m serious when I say there aren’t many features left to identify.”

  Jessie stared at her coldly for several seconds before responding.

  “When he tied me to a chair, strapped my head in place so it couldn’t move, and cut into my flesh, I had no choice but to study his features for long stretches. If there’s anything left of him, I’ll recognize it.”

  Taylor lowered her head, unable to make eye contact. Then she led Jessie her over to the sheet that covered what appeared to be a head and not much more. She pulled back the sheet to reveal a pulpy mass that was barely discernible as human.

  The CSU investigator had been right. There wasn’t enough face left to identify what remained as her father. Only the short hair, crushed Adam’s apple, and five o’clock shadow smeared in blood offered evidence that it was male.

  “Sorry, Taylor,” Jessie muttered. “I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “That’s okay. I get it. Sometimes you just have to see for yourself to be sure.”

  “How long before the DNA analysis will be in? I want final confirmation on this as soon as possible.”

  “We’re testing the blood now and we’ll have preliminary data in a couple of hours,” Taylor said. “As you can imagine, there’s a rush on this, so we should have a final report by this time tomorrow.”

  “Can you please ask your supervisor to text me when both versions are done?”

  “Of course.”

  A raindrop landed on Jessie’s forearm and she looked up. The moon was no longer visible as a mass of low-hanging clouds hovered overhead.

  “Better finish processing the scene quickly,” she noted. “It looks like we’re going to have more than just sprinkles in a few minutes.”

  “On it,” Taylor said.

  Jessie turned to Murph, who looked skeptical.

  “Still don’t buy it?” she asked.

  “It’s not that,” he said. “This is pretty compelling. But it’s my job to be unconvinced until I’m convinced.”

  “You are preaching to the choir,” she said. “I know this man better than just about anyone. He’s got more lives than a cat. So I’m not inclined to accept this completely until I get official verification. If I had my way, they’d stitch the chunks back together so I could get confirmation that way.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath on that,” Murph said, in what Jessie interpreted as an attempt at humor.

  “Maybe not,” she agreed, smiling grimly. “I guess when your whole life is spent worrying that the boogeyman is going to get you, it’s kind of hard to accept that he’s no longer a threat. It’s almost as if that’s his final, sick way of messing with me—making me doubt he’s gone even when he’s in little pieces.”

  “Burn him,” Toomey said.

  “What?’ Jessie asked, equally surprised that the guy was speaking and
by what he said.

  “Have him cremated. Watch his bones burn. It’s what they did with plague victims in the Middle Ages to remove all trace of the infection. Burn out the psychological infection by watching him turn to ash.”

  “Wow, Toomey,” she marveled. “You are a seriously dark guy.”

  “You should hang out with him around Halloween,” Murph deadpanned. “He’s a blast.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “One good thing,” Murph noted. “If this turns out to be legit, we’re down to one guy hunting you. That’s a fifty percent reduction in serial killer threats.”

  “You’re really going for the ‘glass half full’ take, aren’t you?” Jessie said.

  “I take my wins where I can get them.”

  “Fair enough,” she said, then transitioned awkwardly to the other issue foremost in her mind. “As long as we’re here, you mind if I visit Hernandez? I haven’t had a chance to check in on him since the whole stabbing thing.”

  Murph looked briefly like he might balk, then seemed to change his mind.

  “I’ll have Collica and Emerson clear the floor. Then we can head up.”

  As he spoke into his comm, Jessie looked back at the carcass-strewn courtyard. Part of her felt guilty that the sight filled her with no sense of loss.

  But only a small part.

  *

  “Who are you?”

  From his hospital bed, Detective Ryan Hernandez was feigning a look of confusion.

  “Very funny,” Jessie said as she entered the room. Murph and Toomey had graciously agreed to wait outside.

  “I mean, you kind of look like a gal I partnered with from time to time,” he continued, keeping an impressively straight face. “But I haven’t seen her in like, forever, so you can’t be her.”

  Jessie didn’t reply, waiting to see if she would have to put up with more ribbing. She deserved it. Even if visiting him had been a risk, the remorse she felt at not doing it ate at her.

  She looked him over. He still had the same close-cropped dark hair and warm brown eyes she knew so well. But his face was covered in stubble, which she almost never saw. And in the hospital gown, even his well-muscled six-foot, two-hundred-pound frame looked frail. His skin was unusually sallow and he looked worn out.

  “I can’t believe you let an old man get the upper hand on you,” she said, deciding that expressing sincere, genuine concern was not something she was up for in that moment.

  “From what I hear, I could probably take him now,” Hernandez replied, before sensing that the comment might be out of bounds. “I mean, um, what I mean is…you know what? I’m on a lot of medication right now so you’ll have to give me a pass.”

  “Pass granted,” she said, walking over and taking a seat beside him. His joke had broken the dam of reserve inside her and she decided not to hide her concern. “How are you doing, Ryan—for real?”

  Hernandez appeared about to make another quip, then stopped himself.

  “You really want to hear this?” he asked.

  Jessie nodded.

  “Okay—not the best,” he admitted. “Even with the meds, it hurts every time I, you know, breathe. My arm feels like it’s on fire all the time. And I can’t seem to sleep for more than two hours at a time. So that kind of sucks. But at least my personal life is falling apart.”

  “How’s that?” Jessie asked, reticent to get specific.

  “Well, Shelly hasn’t stopped by. I guess if you’re separated and your wife doesn’t visit you in the hospital after you’ve been stabbed, it’s time to put a nail in that coffin and make it official. I will shortly be a divorced thirty-year-old—just what I always wanted.”

  “I’m really sorry, Ryan.”

  “That’s okay,” he said unconvincingly. “I thought my luck had changed briefly when a nice-looking woman came into the room for a while. But it turned out she was just your body double, here to draw out your dad. Once they found him, even she bailed on me.”

  “Too bad,” Jessie said. “She might have been ‘the one.’”

  “I’ve got a couple of months of physical therapy to take my mind off it.”

  “Way to stay positive there, young fella,” she said, deciding it was time to short-circuit the pity party. “Once you’re up and moving, I have this great dating website to introduce you to. It brings together hot chicks with wealthy, powerful men…oh, wait, never mind. That doesn’t really apply to you, does it?”

  He started to laugh, which quickly turned into a groan of pain. When he finally recovered, his spoke more slowly than before.

  “I heard through the grapevine that it doesn’t just pair the girls up with rich men. Powerful ladies partake as well.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “but the success rate on that is decidedly lower. I don’t think they’ll be advertising that side of the business anytime soon.”

  “Seriously, Jessie. Congratulations. Solving a murder case while being protected by US marshals because you’re in hiding from two serial killers? That’s real gold star material.”

  “Thank you,” she said, unable to come up with anything clever in response.

  Ryan picked up the slack.

  “And I hear that in the process, you saved the career of a mediocre actor who almost certainly would not have fared well if incarcerated.”

  “He’s actually not that bad an actor,” Jessie said. “After having met him, I have to say that projecting on-screen charm really is proof of his talent. Because in real life—not so much with the charm.”

  “So does that mean you’re a big fan of Bridegroom?” he teased.

  “I’m more passionate about the sequel,” she said, unable to suppress a smile. “You know, he’s working on a new movie now called I.T. Guy. He thinks it may get him award nominations.”

  There was a long pause in which it looked like Ryan was about to ask her something. But before he did, there was a knock on the door. It was Murph.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But Agent Dolan sent an officer over with your phone and a request to call him when you get a chance.”

  “Is everything okay?” Jessie asked.

  “No idea. That was the entirety of the message.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll be right out,” she said, then turned back to Ryan. “I guess this is bye for now. But I’ll check back in on you tomorrow.”

  “You sure your bodyguard out there will let you come back?’

  “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” she said with a wink.

  Then she was out the door and walking away before he could see her face turn a bright shade of crimson.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  “She copped to all of it.”

  Jessie listened to her phone on speaker as Dolan gave her the rundown on Gayle Jerebko’s confession.

  “You didn’t have to use the recording?” she asked.

  “Nope. She even handed over the keys she used.”

  “Did she have a lawyer with her?”

  “I had barely Mirandized her before she was telling me everything. She gave all the details. The only thing she kept asking was if being honest would get her out in time to see her kids get married.”

  “Is one of her kids about to get married?” Jessie asked in surprise.

  “Eventually, I guess,” Dolan said. “But right now, they’re teenagers. I told her I couldn’t promise anything but that I’d bring it up with the prosecutor.”

  “You don’t sound committed to doing that,” Jessie noted.

  “It might be better if you make the case, Hunt.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not sure how convincing I’d be. She killed a girl by jamming keys in her throat. I don’t care if she has kids. That demands justice.”

  Jessie didn’t disagree, though the fact that she’d used the possibility of leniency as a means of getting the confession gave her a bit of pause. Dolan apparently didn’t expect an answer because he barreled onto another topic.

  “Anyway,
enough about that. We caught the killer.”

  “I caught the killer,” Jessie corrected.

  “Whatever,” he continued, undeterred. “The killer’s been caught. Your father won’t be dropping in anytime soon. And based on the lifesaving tip he gave you at the bar last night before knocking you out, Crutchfield seems more interested in being your bestie than doing you harm. I’d say all of that calls for a drink or five. What say we meet up later? You can even bring that surly bastard Murphy along if you want.”

  “You’re on speaker, Dolan. And Murph is in the room with me.”

  “I knew that,” Dolan said unpersuasively after a brief pause. “You don’t think I knew that?”

  “Hello, Agent,” Murph said, apparently untroubled by the dig.

  “Hello, Marshal,” Dolan replied. “You in?”

  “Agent Dolan,” Murph said, “despite your confidence that Bolton Crutchfield is harmless and that Xander Thurman is dead, I’m not entirely certain of either of those things. Until I am, I think it would be inadvisable to go on a bender.”

  “I get where you’re coming from, Marshal. But I think a celebratory toast isn’t going to do any harm. You all can go back to wherever that safe house is afterward and I’ll stick around. We can go to the same bar as before. Only this time you can have people encircle the whole place, maybe even stand on manhole covers. You can search everyone who walks in. Considering they’d all be cops, I doubt there would be a problem. What do you say?”

  Jessie looked over at the marshal. Whether it was the long day, the solved case, or her dead father, he looked tempted. He seemed about to cave for a moment. But then his face hardened and Jessie knew it wasn’t going to happen.

  “It’s not looking good,” she said into the phone. “He’s got that humorless look, Dolan.”

  “I’m sorry, Agent,” Murph said, verifying her suspicions. “We’ve had enough close calls for one day. Perhaps another time.”

  There was such a long silence on the other end of the line that Jessie thought he might have hung up.