The Perfect Mistress (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Fifteen)

by Blake Pierce

  “I can’t tell for sure,” he said slowly, “and I don’t want to get any closer and contaminate the scene, but do you see that long dark fiber in the dried blood on the front of her jacket?”

  Jessie peered closer.

  “Yes,” she said. “It looks like a strand of hair.”

  “Right,” Ryan said. “And it’s black. Ellen Wade is blonde. I think we might have found a piece of the killer’s hair.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Jessie knew there was a problem when Rich McClane didn’t call them for another hour.

  By then the crime scene unit had bagged the black strand of hair and was preparing to do the same to Ellen Wade’s body. With the big CSU van in the parking lot, as well as both Garret’s and Traven’s squad cars, a small crowd had assembled. Reluctantly, the police tape was brought out.

  They got a text saying McClane would call in two minutes so they left Garrett in charge and went to the car so they could talk without being heard. Ryan had just turned on the engine so the heat could circulate when the call came in.

  “Sorry your quiet mountain retreat is turning into a cluster,” Rich said without offering a greeting.

  “We’re used to it by now,” Jessie assured him, as she wiped at the windows, which were already starting to fog up.

  “I’ll bet. You got any good news for me? Any hot leads?”

  “Maybe,” Ryan said. “We found a strand of hair on the victim’s coat that we’re pretty sure isn’t hers. It was mixed with the blood. We’re hoping it’s the killer’s.”

  “Great,” McClane said. “I’ll make sure that gets top priority when CSU gets back here.”

  “How’s it going on your end?” Jessie asked. “I’m assuming you couldn’t call until now because you’ve been pretty busy.”

  “Let’s just say I’ve been putting out some fires down here,” he replied.

  “What does that mean?” Ryan asked.

  “It means it’s been hard to keep a lid on this thing. We’ve now got three murders in four days; all in a town that usually gets that many in a typical year, total. Plus they were stabbed to death by what appears to be one person. There’s just no way to keep that quiet for much longer.”

  “How long do we have?” Jessie pressed. She felt her heart starting to beat faster. It was one thing if people in Wildpines gossiped about what was happening. But once word got out at Sheriff’s Department headquarters, things would spin out of control fast.

  “Well, Sheriff Nick Kazansky likes to ease into the office in the morning,” McClane said with something less than admiration. “He usually shows up around nine. I’ve got things pretty buttoned up so he won’t he hear about the case until he arrives. But once he does, there will be an overnight report on his desk. The Wade murder will be in it, along with the possible connection to the other deaths. It’s buried in there but he’ll find it.”

  “What happens then?” Ryan asked. Jessie heard the dread in his voice.

  “First he’ll get pissed that I didn’t make him aware of it right away. I’ll play a little dumb, say info was slow to come in so the connections weren’t obvious at first and that I’ve been too busy following up on everything to loop him in. That won’t help much but it will buy you a little extra time. He’ll yell for a while, throw his weight around. But eventually he’ll get down to business. He’ll want to assign his own detectives. That’ll be a turf battle. It might add a little time to the process. But he’ll ultimately pick the guys he can control the most, not necessarily the best investigators, and a few hours after that, some of his guys will arrive in town, ready to bulldoze everything. I’d say you have until early afternoon before they show up and take over.”

  “Great,” Jessie said, looking at the clock in the car, “that gives us between six and eight hours to solve three murders.”

  “I wish I could say that was your only problem,” McClane told them.

  “What else?” Ryan asked.

  “The media,” Jessie muttered under her breath.

  “That’s right,” McClane said. “You know word is probably spreading around town about the murders. Even if it hasn’t, I can guarantee you that Kazansky will change that. He won’t just put out a release; he’ll do a press conference. I’m hoping that even though he loves media attention, he’ll give his guys a chance to get up here and look around before starts spouting off. But by mid-afternoon, you should expect a horde of TV trucks from all over Southern California.”

  “Oh God,” Ryan groaned. McClane continued, undeterred.

  “Once that happens it going to be difficult for you guys to keep that low profile you value. Even if you’re close to solving this thing, you may be better off stepping back from the case for your own privacy and security. If you don’t, the press will definitely recognize you. I wouldn’t be surprised if the assigned detectives do too.”

  “He’s right,” Jessie said. “It’s one thing for us to walk around a quiet mountain town in beanies and puffy jackets. No one pays us any mind. We’re just like all the other out-of-towners. But after it gets out that these particular out-of-towners have been asking questions about local murders, folks will start looking at us more closely, just like that server at the bar last night. Once anyone recognizes me, it’ll be on social media and the word will spread everywhere in minutes, including back home. We can’t have that.”

  The silence after that comment lingered in the air. Looking at Ryan, she could tell he was thinking the same thing she was: the idea stopping in the middle of an investigation was anathema to them both. It almost made her feel ill.

  “Another reason to move as fast as you can,” McClane finally said. His business-like tone suggested he wanted to wrap up. “While you do that, I’ll try to keep things under control here as long as I can. I’ll also try to warn you when Kazansky sends his people your way.”

  “Thanks,” Ryan started to say before realizing the Undersheriff had already hung up. “I guess that’s that.”

  “Shall we get back out there?” Jessie wondered.

  “Yep,” Ryan said. “It would seem that every second counts.”

  He was just about to turn off the car when Jessie’s phone rang. It was Kat. Jessie’s stomach did a small flip. It was barely after 6 a.m., too early to call just to say hi.

  It was either very good or very bad news.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  “Hey,” Jessie said, “I’m here with Ryan. You’re on speaker.”

  “Okay,” Kat said. “Sorry to call so early. I hope I didn’t wake you guys up.”

  “We’ve actually been up for over an hour,” Ryan said. “We’re working a case.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be lying low,” Kat said.

  “It’s a bit complicated,” Ryan said. “Unfortunately, I doubt we’ll be under the radar much longer. Twelve hours from now this place will be overrun with media and there will be nowhere to hide in our little hideaway. We can’t tell you where we are but it won’t be hard to guess.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jessie cut in, her antsiness got the better of her. “Is everything okay? Why are you calling so early?”

  Suddenly there was a rap on the driver’s window, making both her and Ryan jump. With the fogged-up windows it was impossible to see who it was. Ryan rolled his down. It was Garrett.

  “Sorry to bother you but I need to show you something,” he said.

  “I’ll check it out,” Ryan said, then turned to Jessie. “You can catch up when you finish your conversation.”

  Jessie waited until he closed the door before continuing.

  “You still there?’ she asked.

  “Yup,” Kat said.

  “So what’s going on? I know something happened.”

  “It did but you can take a breath,” Kat reassured her. “No one else has died and we haven’t caught him. But I did come up with something and I wanted to run it by you if that’s cool.”

  “Of course,” Jessie said, unable to contain the tingle
of anticipation in her gut.

  “I’ll give you the short version. I was following up on lead at a used car dealership last night. The Night Hunter bought a car there but never picked it up. We don’t know why. But I noticed another car for sale parked right next to it and checked it out. It had a piece of paper crumpled on the floor in the back. I called in a team to check it out, pull for prints, all of that.”

  “Find any?” Jessie asked, not getting her hopes up.

  “No. But the scrap of paper was interesting. There was an address written on it. I looked it up and it’s for a hostel in Pasadena. Decker has the place under surveillance now. In a few hours, he’s going to have a few officers go in undercover as Canadian students on vacation. They’ll scope the place out.”

  “Are you going to be there?” Jessie asked.

  She had mixed feelings about the idea. This lead held some promise and having Kat there as her eyes and ears would be reassuring. But she didn’t want her friend to put herself in danger. Of course, the very fact that she thought Kat’s safety was at risk was a sign that she was involuntarily letting optimism slip into her head.

  “No,” Kat said. “Decker doesn’t want anyone the Night Hunter might recognize in the area just in case. He figures that if the man was stalking you for weeks, he’s probably seen me.”

  “Makes sense,” Jessie acknowledged. “So why are you calling? This doesn’t sound like the sort of thing that would normally make you reach out before breakfast.”

  Though she didn’t mean for that to sound harsh, a little terseness slipped out and she knew why. She and Kat still hadn’t had time to really discuss her friend’s betrayal of trust. Of course, that conversation couldn’t happen in person until it was safe to meet. If Kat picked up on her tone, she made no mention of it when she replied.

  “It’s just that it seems too easy,” she said. “The Night Hunter doesn’t seem to leave much of anything to chance. He’s incredibly meticulous. And yet he buys a used car and never picks it up? That’s inevitably going to raise red flags. And then he accidentally leaves an address for a place like the others he’s stayed at in the only other car on the lot similar to the one he bought? It seems awfully convenient.”

  “Do you think he planted it?” Jessie asked.

  “It seems like something he might do, right?” Kat said. “On the other hand, maybe I’m giving him too much credit. The dealership never called in anything about the car. I only went there because Jamil found camera footage of him nearby. Would he really set all this up counting on someone to find the footage, connect it to the dealership, learn about the car that wasn’t picked up, notice the other car next to it, see the scrap of paper in the back, look at it, check the address and tie it to him? That’s putting a lot of faith in the collective investigative powers of the LAPD, and all for what purpose? It seems a little outlandish to me.”

  “Listen, Kat,” Jessie said. “I don’t know if this is all by design, but I do know one thing: you’re better off giving this guy too much credit than not enough. Better to keep your guard up, you know?”

  “I do,” Kat answered, sounding glad that she didn’t seem crazy to be so suspicious. “Speaking of keeping your guard up, how are you guys doing?”

  Jessie decided to keep it light. Kat had enough going on. She didn’t need to be worrying about them too.

  “Busier than I expected but we’re getting by.”

  “And Hannah?” Kat wondered.

  “Surprisingly well, actually. She met some kids her age yesterday and I let her go out to meet them last night. She seemed to have fun. And there were no major confrontations or home break-ins, at least none that I’m aware of.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line and after a second she realized why. Kat thought she was twisting the knife about her involvement in Hannah’s past missteps.

  “That wasn’t meant as a dig,” she added quickly.

  “I know,” Kat said, before moving on quickly. “I’m glad it went well. Hopefully it’s a sign that things are changing.”

  “Yeah, I hope so too. She’s been talking to her therapist regularly too. That may be helping.”

  “Good,” Kat said quietly. “Every little bit helps.”

  Something about Kat’s tone gave Jessie the odd feeling that she was holding something back.

  “Is there something else?” she asked.

  “No,” Kat said quickly, unconvincingly. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Nothing you need to worry about. Just be careful.”

  “You too,” Jessie said, deciding not to press. She hung up and sat quietly in the car, doing her best to push away the memory of the awkward ending to the call. Dwelling on that would only lead down a rabbit hole.

  Less easy to get out of her head was the lingering feeling that she should be back in L.A., helping catch the bastard who was hunting her. She knew it wasn’t a credible option right now but the guilt remained.

  At least you’re doing some good up here. Just keep telling yourself that.

  Before she’d entirely convinced herself, Ryan got back in the car.

  “What did Kat say?” he asked.

  She filled him in on the dealership lead and the hostel operation. As she did, she saw a pained look come over his face. She knew what was going through his head. He was beating himself up again, thinking that if hadn’t frozen outside the Santa Monica hostel where the Night Hunter murdered Alan Trembley, the killer might be in custody now, or maybe even dead.

  “Hey, don’t go there; it won’t do you any good.” she told him, and before he could protest, she switched subjects. “What did Garrett want?”

  Ryan took a second to regroup before answering.

  “He found Ellen Wade’s phone in her car. There were some texts from her husband. They were less than loving. The words ‘selfish,’ ‘bad mom,’ and ‘failure’ show up a lot.”

  “That’s interesting,” Jessie said. “Has anyone officially informed him of her death yet?”

  “No. Garrett offered to make the notification.”

  Jessie shook her head.

  “I think he should come with us. Someone will need to be there for the kids. But I want us to make the notification so we can see his face when we tell him.”

  “Then we better hurry,” Ryan said. “I don’t think the rubberneckers around here know who died yet. Wade’s body was bagged before it was brought up the hill. But with her car in the lot, someone is going to piece it together. We don’t want them calling Gerard Wade before we see him.”

  “Then let’s go now,” Jessie said.

  Ryan had put the car in “drive” before she finished the sentence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Jessie hated this part.

  It sounded like Gerard Wade was a real asshole, at least according to Garrett.

  “I don’t think he ever hit her,” the deputy told them before they left the crime scene. “But he’s yelled at her more than once in public. I’ve seen him make both her and the kids cry.”

  Jessie didn’t have a deep reservoir of sympathy for a man like that. Even so, telling a man that his wife had been murdered was never fun, especially when there were little children in the house.

  Of course, the fact that she’d apparently died last night and he never called her in as missing was suspicious. So were the multiple texts in which he berated her for everything from not replacing the expired milk fast enough to scheduling a work call when he wanted to watch a game, which meant he had to watch the kids.

  Ryan pulled into the Wade driveway and they waited for Garrett to arrive. The family home was a few streets off Central Circle Drive on a winding road called Crestridge Drive. The houses here seemed a little fancier than those close to the center of town. This one was two stories and though it was designed to look like a large log cabin, it was clear that it had been built with more contemporary materials.

  Garrett pulled up behind them and they got out. The sun was shining brightly now but it didn’t mak
e the day much warmer. Jessie didn’t need to justify using her beanie as a disguise. Without it, she wasn’t sure she could function out here. She really had become a Southern California person since moving from New Mexico for college just over a decade earlier. These days, temperatures in the forties were cold to her. When it hit the twenties like today in Wildpines, her brain hurt. As they walked to the front door, Ryan walked Garrett through their plan.

  “We want to gauge his reaction when he gets the news,” he said. “One of us will tell him about Ellen. Depending on what he says or does, we may need your help with the kids. Got it?”

  Garrett nodded, though he looked understandably nervous. He knocked on the door and they waited. He tried again after a minute.

  “Should I ring the bell?” he finally asked.

  “Let’s try to avoid it if possible,” Jessie said. “I’m hoping the kids are still asleep and that would definitely wake them up.”

  The issue was resolved when the door suddenly opened to reveal a bleary-eyed guy wearing a robe, t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. His black hair was shooting everywhere and his bloodshot eyes suggested he downed more than a couple of drinks the previous night.

  “What’s going on, Garrett?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

  “Can we come in, Gerard?” Garrett replied.

  Wade looked at him, then at the two strangers accompanying him, and scratched his head.

  “Uh-huh,” he finally said, holding the door open.

  They stepped inside. Jessie noted that the interior of the place was in no way rustic. The furniture was modern, as were the appliances. A large TV was attached to one wall.

  “Are Geoff and Estie still asleep?” Garrett asked.

  “I assume so. Ellie usually wakes them up at seven so we’ve got a little time. What’s this all about? Who are these people?”

  “My name is Randy Hosea, Mr. Wade,” Ryan said, extending his hand. “This is my colleague, Jennifer Barnes. We’re in town working a case in conjunction with Garrett here. We’d like to talk to you about your wife.”