by Blake Pierce
For the first time since entering the small storage room, Jessie actually gave Captain Decker more than a passing glance. It was the first time she’d seen him in close to a week and a half and he looked worse than she felt.
His starched, dress shirt and jacket masked it well, but she could see that he was worn down. His few remaining strands of white hair were angling upward, fighting whatever gel he’d used to hold them down. Though he was a tall, skinny man, his whole body was bent over, as if pressed down by some invisible anvil. He seemed to have developed even more wrinkles since she saw him last. His forehead was one big crinkle. His long nose twitched nervously. The only things that looked younger than his sixty-one years were his piercing, hawk-like eyes.
She wasn’t particularly surprised at how rough he appeared. In fact, she’d expected him to look even worse. The man was under fire from all sides, including the folks at police headquarters. Though he was responsible for everyone at Central Station, it was his favorite unit, Homicide Special Section, which was currently in danger being shut down.
HSS specialized in cases that had high profiles or intense media scrutiny, often involving multiple victims or serial killers. And while they’d recently had a big win when Jessie solved a series of connected murders, including one of a popular, high profile social media influencer, that didn’t make up for the Night Hunter’s escape.
His exploits weren’t yet known to the media, but the police chief and his minions were well aware that HSS had yet to catch a notorious serial killer who was removing the flesh of victims before murdering them. It didn’t help that the man was likely in his late seventies, or that he’d murdered Detective Trembley, one of their own. It seemed that unless this killer was stopped soon, HSS was in danger of being unceremoniously folded into another unit or worse, simply abolished. The weight of all of that was visible on Decker’s face.
“How are you doing?” he asked the two of them in a lame attempt at perfunctory pleasantries.
Jessie knew he was just waiting to get to the reason they were here so she skipped any details about her feelings of impotence or Ryan’s delicate emotional state and answered for both of them with a simple “fine.”
“Good,” he said, clearly happy not to have to continue the charade, “I have good news. I think I may have found a way to keep all of you safe while we search for the Night Hunter and do some good at the same time.”
Jessie was happy to hear the first part but couldn’t help but be skeptical at the talk of “doing good.” It sounded like he was opening the door to something she wouldn’t like.
“Pray tell,” Ryan said with the same caution she felt.
“I got a call from an old buddy of mine early this morning. His name is Richard McClane. We went to the police academy together. He was on the force for a half a dozen years before he decided to bail on city life. He moved to the San Bernardino Mountains and joined the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department. He worked his way up and now he’s the Undersheriff for the whole county.”
“You’re not really about to pitch us a case right now, are you Captain?” Jessie asked, cutting him off before he really got going.
“Just hear me out, Hunt,” he replied, sounding mildly peeved. “This could actually be an elegant solution to multiple problems.”
She tried to keep her own irritation at bay.
“Sorry,” she said. “Go ahead.”
“There is a case involved but it’s more of a means to an end. A woman was killed last night in a mountain town called Wildpines. She was stabbed multiple times in her driveway.”
“As ugly as that sounds, it seems like a pretty cut and dried murder,” Ryan said, “certainly not HSS worthy.”
“You’d be right if it was just one murder,” Decker replied. “But it’s the second one this week. Both were stabbings. Both victims were wealthy, successful women in their thirties. That’s as many murders as this place usually sees in a whole year. Rich was calling me for some friendly professional advice since he knows we handle this kind of case all the time. But the potential connection between the cases and the brutality involved is unusual enough that I started to think it could justify bringing in some help from the fancy folks down in L.A. Rich wasn’t opposed. In fact he’d be happy to have the help and he thinks he can spin the involvement of a specialized homicide team into a plus. But to be honest the investigation is just a smokescreen to get you up there.”
“Why?” Jessie asked, though she was beginning to suspect the reason.
“Because it’s isolated, away from where the Night Hunter is. Rich has a cabin just outside of town. He’s offered to let you borrow it. I’ve visited him there many times for hiking and fishing trips. He rents it out a lot as an Airbnb. It’s nothing fancy but it’s big enough for the two of you and Hannah to get by comfortably. It’s away from the media spotlight. No one will know who you are. You can lie low up there while the rest of the team searches for the Night Hunter back here.”
“You don’t have confidence in ability of the Marshals Service to keep these folks safe?” Marshal Tommy Anderson asked, speaking for the first time.
“It’s not that,” Decker said quickly. “Your people do amazing work. I just thought that if your protectees were over a hundred miles away from the immediate threat to them and if the threat had no idea they’d gone, it would reduce the burden on everyone.”
Anderson didn’t respond but it was clear that he took at least some offense.
“That’s a generous offer,” Jessie said, trying to smooth things over. “But I can think of a few issues with it off the top of my head.”
“Like what?”
Jessie debated how best to continue.
“I don’t want this to come across as arrogant, but I think that even in an isolated mountain town, some folks might know who I am. The name Jessie Hunt has been all over the news the last couple of years. They have TV there, right? It’s not like they’re cut off from society.”
“No, they’re not,” Decker said, smiling for the first time since they’d arrived. “That’s why you wouldn’t use your real names or mention any affiliation with HSS. You’re just resources on loan from LAPD. You’ve all already been given fake identities as a precaution, ones that will hold up to most scrutiny, certainly from local law enforcement up there. Besides, people may have heard your name but your face isn’t as well known. It’s cold up there. Keep a parka on. Wear hoodies and caps. Unless you make a spectacle of yourself, no one will have any reason to be suspicious. Now you said there were a few issues. What are the others?”
Jessie looked over at Ryan, unsure how to explain herself without sounding like a jerk. She saw in his eyes that he understood. He nodded and spoke up.
“It’s just that this is our case, Captain,” he insisted. “I was with Alan Trembley when the Night Hunter murdered him. All the other murders are direct messages to Jessie. It feels wrong to just decamp to some idyllic mountain town while everyone else does the heavy lifting of finding the guy.”
“I understand how you feel,” Decker replied, “but it doesn’t have to be that way. Yes, Detective Reid will be on point here. And Jamil will do the research. But that doesn’t mean you won’t be in contact, able to help as needed. Hernandez—you’re not formally cleared to go back in the field yet anyway so this is just a change of venue for you, one where you will have more latitude to move about than you would here. And Hunt—with everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t let you out in the wild around here either right now. Hell, if you stay here in L.A., you’re going to be stuck in a safe house until the Night Hunter is caught or killed. That could be days. It could be months. It could be…”
His voice trailed off and they all knew his next word was going to be “never.” He continued quickly, trying to push past that thought.
“At least with my offer you get to be out and about, moving around as you see fit without bodyguards everywhere. Besides, wouldn’t a different setting be a nice change of pace for
Hannah? She’s been cooped up here too, right? It’s not like she can go back to school until this is resolved.”
Jessie looked over at Ryan, who shrugged. He seemed to be acknowledging the same point that she couldn’t deny: Decker made a compelling case. If they could go somewhere safe, where they—especially Hannah—could get outside and walk around and go to the store like normal people, and still participate in the search for the Night Hunter, all while solving a murder, that seemed like the best deal they would get anytime soon.
“Okay,” she said. “We’re in. But I have a few conditions, which I’ll share with you later. So what happens next?”
Decker seemed more relieved than happy.
“Next, we call in the whole team. Catching this guy is going to require all hands on deck, whether from here or the mountains. We need everyone on the same page before you guys leave. By the way, I told Rich you’d be up there by around 2 p.m., which means that accounting for traffic, we have about two hours to organize everything before you leave. There’s not a second to waste.”
CHAPTER THREE
Walter Nightengale was annoyed.
He’d spent a lifetime trying to control his emotions so that when he finally let them have free rein, it would be doubly satisfying. There was nothing more exhilarating than keeping everything bottled up inside only to release it all as he cut into the soft flesh of a target while watching the terror in their eyes.
But Jessie Hunt was testing his self-control. Only one week ago, he’d been so close to making his vision a reality. He’d actually walked right into her home, invited in by her when she’d fallen for his disguise as an old neighbor woman. He’d had multiple syringes full of the paralyzing agent ready for use on Hunt, her detective boyfriend, and her sister.
Only bad luck had foiled him. The boyfriend stepped away from him at just the wrong moment. The old neighbor woman’s dog barked at him, arousing suspicion. The detective and Hunt’s sister had managed to get to a panic room just before he could administer the shots.
Even then he’d managed to flood that room with poisonous gas before Hunt found a way into the house to rescue them. He’d had to leave before finishing the job. The cops were closing in and Hunt was armed. He’d barely made it out of the neighborhood before they closed down all the nearby streets.
Despite that, he wasn’t certain that he’d completely failed. Had Hunt had arrived in time to rescue Detective Hernandez and Hannah Dorsey? There was nothing on the news about their deaths and certainly the passing of the decorated detective Ryan Hernandez would have been newsworthy. Had they somehow kept it quiet to deny him the satisfaction? Were the two of them on life support in a hospital room? He’d carefully pursued that angle and found no evidence that either had been admitted anywhere.
He had to assume that Hunt had saved them, that she was as good as he’d imagined—a worthy protégé of her mentor, Garland Moses, Walter’s one true nemesis. He had to assume that his near-perfect opportunity to kill all of them in one long, happy night of torment was forever gone.
That night seemed like a lifetime ago now. Despite his best efforts Hunt and her family had dropped off the map. He’d staked out their home and the police station where Hernandez worked. He’d surveilled the university where Hunt taught and the high school that her sister attended. There was no sign of them anywhere. They had gone into hiding, and very effectively.
He had considered kidnapping Hunt’s best friend, a woman named Katherine Gentry, to use as bait to draw Hunt in. But that came with complications. His research indicated that Gentry, a former Army Ranger, would be difficult to surprise or subdue. Furthermore, he feared that Hunt would have her friend watched, aware that this might be his next move. It was too risky.
Still, she was his best remaining lead, so for the last hour he’d been reduced to watching and waiting as she went about her private detective business. Right now he was well disguised and sitting on a park bench not far from where she was hunched over in her car, taking photos of a guy who wore a neck brace but seemed able to twist around without trouble.
After so many years, he was used to the boredom of waiting. Patience was one of his greatest attributes. But usually he applied it on his own terms, not out of necessity because he’d been outmaneuvered by some upstart criminal profiler.
The man in the brace disappeared inside a building. Gentry put away her camera and drove off, apparently satisfied with what she had for now. Walter was tempted to get in his car and follow her but decided to let her go. It wouldn’t be hard to catch up with her later.
Besides, he needed a moment to gather himself. Now that the monster within him had been unleashed, now that he’d fully re-embraced his role as Night Hunter after so many years in the shadows, it was hard to shut down the murderous urges on command.
Even now, he felt the itch growing inside him. At some point soon, if he couldn’t get to Hunt, he would have to take out his frustration on another target. Maybe this one would have Hunt’s initials, J.H., as two previous casualties had. Or maybe the initials would be H.D., which the previous casualty shared with Hannah Dorsey. Perhaps he’d try someone new—R.H? K.G.? None of that was preferable. It put him at risk of being caught. Besides, he was tired of the facsimiles. He wanted the originals.
As maddening as these delays were, he knew the disappointment was temporary. Eventually Hunt, or someone around her, would make a mistake. And he would be there to capitalize on it. He had waited a long time and he could wait longer.
If his seventy-eight years on this earth had taught him anything—other than that there were few pleasures greater than causing others pain—it was how to endure. He would bide his time. And when Jessie Hunt revealed herself to him, he would hunt her down and pounce. After all, he was the Night Hunter. That’s what he did.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jessie was impressed.
Decker had set up a special room for the meeting. It was on the second floor of LAPD’s Central Station, at the very end of the hall in what had once been a break area but was now an overflow records room. This was where the oldest case files were kept, cold cases from 1900-1950. They were in the process of being digitized, but it was slow going and far from a top priority, so the room was rarely visited.
That meant that, other than the officer assigned to patrol the second floor, there was no staff to contend with. Decker had sent that officer downstairs until further notice, which meant that the locked records room was guarded by Marshal Tommy Anderson, who sat in a folding chair, out of sight in a nook across the hallway.
Marshal Sam Mason remained in the room as an extra precaution, just in case one of the people Jessie worked closely with was actually in thrall with the Night Hunter and intended to take her out with a half dozen cops in the room. As crazy as the notion was, Jessie didn’t bother to object. It was challenging enough to convince Mason that she, Ryan, and Hannah should be permitted to go to Wildpines without a Marshal escort. There was no way she was going to keep him out of this room if he insisted on being there, which he did.
She and Ryan waited as the others filed in. All of them looked surprised and delighted when they entered the room. Detective Callum Reid, with his burgeoning belly pudge, receding, brown hair, and black-framed glasses, gave her a big hug upon entry. He’d been her partner in solving the social media influencer murder. While working the case, he’d privately shared that he had a heart condition and planned to retire imminently. She’d told no one in the department about his plans.
Next in was Jamil Winslow, the researcher extraordinaire who had been so instrumental in closing many of her cases. Short and skinny, the frail-looking twenty-four-year-old was actually a relentless investigator who seemed to absorb energy from uncovering minutiae that escaped others. Unfailingly polite, he smiled and shook Jessie’s hand. She was having none of it and pulled him in for a hug too.
Next was Detective Jim Nettles, who had spent fifteen years as a patrol officer before finally getting his detective’s
shield last fall at age thirty-seven. Burly, grizzled, and taciturn, he had flecks of gray in his black hair. Jessie silently noted the long, horizontal scar across the front of his neck, the remnant of a knife wound he’d gotten back in uniform while trying to protect her from Xander Thurman, her serial killer father. He didn’t hold a grudge but she knew his wife still did.
As Nettles was shaking hands all around, Jessie got her first real surprise of the morning. Walking in next was Detective Karen Bray. Karen was a detective with Hollywood Station who had helped guide Jessie through several cases in her neck of the woods, including the recent murder of a “past her prime” actress.
Her petite figure and self-effacing manner were deceptive. Karen had repeatedly proven to be a savvy, efficient investigator who didn’t take any crap but managed to be diplomatic about it. Jessie also considered her a friend. In her late-thirties, Karen’s dirty blonde hair was currently tied back in a utilitarian ponytail. There were no bags under her alert gray eyes, a sign that her young child had let her sleep through the night.
“Oh, yes,” Decker said, clearly amused to see the surprise on Jessie’s face, “I’ve been meaning to share this news and was waiting for the appropriate time. Detective Bray requested a transfer to Central Station to join the HSS unit. Based on her exemplary work with Ms. Hunt on multiple cases, I was happy to bring her on board. She’s on a week’s vacation and was officially supposed to start next Monday but insisted on coming in today to help out.”
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Tired of kowtowing to the rich and famous?” Jessie teased.
“Are you telling me that you guys don’t have to do that over here?” Karen asked skeptically.
“Not every day,” Jessie assured her.