The Perfect Block

by Blake Pierce

  “I’m not clairvoyant, Miss Jessie. I just read the papers, even the classifieds. I saw the LAPD interim junior profiler position listed for several weeks running, but not the last few. The job has obviously been taken. It was at Central Station, which handles an area you know well from your time studying at USC. It would be hard to imagine that you didn’t somehow become aware of a position that seems so perfectly suited for you.”

  “Those aren’t outlandish guesses, I’ll admit,” Jessie said. “But they don’t explain your assumption that I am working on a case and need help.”

  “No. But I did read about a case that seemed right in your wheelhouse. A wealthy socialite in Hancock Park found dead. Foul play is suspected. I could easily see it being assigned to the new gal. The crime is not so grisly as to be off-putting to a newbie. The higher-ups, after all, have no idea the magnitude of grisliness you’ve see in your life. And bonus—you have recent experience dealing with crime among the rich and obnoxious. It’s a perfect fit. Am I close?”

  “Let’s say you are. What help could you offer me?”

  “First, let’s discuss that favor, shall we?” he reminded her.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I just need you to go to an address for me and tell me if a building is still standing there or if it is now an empty lot.”

  “Why?” Jessie asked.

  “That is not your concern. And it shouldn’t put you out in any way to do this. I doubt that even your silent, judgy friend in the corner would balk at so simple a request.”

  Jessie looked over at Kat, who simply shrugged. Jessie turned back to Crutchfield.

  “I feel like there’s a catch,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t call it a catch. There’s just one extra feature to my request. What time is it right now?”

  She looked at her watch.

  “Almost two p.m,” she told him.

  “Ah, good. Then my request shouldn’t be an issue. I need you to do it by four o’clock this afternoon. You need not get back to me today. But you must check on the status of the lot by four. The sun sets very soon after that today. Understand?”

  “What’s the address?” Jessie asked.

  “1024 Visitation Avenue, unit 2016.”

  Jessie wrote it down, then looked back up.

  “Clue time,” she said expectantly.

  “Oh yes, of course. The clue is that you should be looking for someone who is unhappy with their lot in life.”

  “That’s your clue?” she demanded, disbelieving. “That’s just about the vaguest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. It sounds like some kind of fortune cookie. Are you serious?”

  “Your testiness is off-putting, Miss Jessie. Did you really think I was just going to say it was Colonel Mustard in the Conservatory? How boring would that be?”

  “So you give me a riddle?”

  “It’s so much more fun this way,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his slippered feet.

  Jessie looked at him closely and couldn’t help asking the question that had been in her head from the moment he mentioned a clue.

  “Do you actually know who killed the socialite, Mr. Crutchfield?’

  He smiled—not a grin or a smirk but a genuine, open-mouthed, crooked-teeth-visible smile. He was delighted by the question.

  “Of course I don’t,” he said. “I’ve never met or even heard of the people in that news story. But I read the article closely and it was clear to me the type of person who would have committed this kind of crime. And if you’re any good at your job, it should be clear to you too.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jessie pulled up to the address Crutchfield had given her, trying to ignore the shiver of nervous anticipation that ran down her back.

  She was late. It was 4:15 and the sky had already begun to darken as the sun was beginning to fade in the west. She could have been here by 4 p.m., as he had requested. But she had intentionally chosen not to make it in time.

  Am I just that stubborn? Did I do it merely out of spite? Probably some combination of both.

  She’d been driving to the address when she suddenly pulled over at a coffee shop a few blocks away around 3:45 and spent the next half hour in the place, sipping a hot tea and checking her phone. She told herself it was to keep up with developments in the Missinger case. But that was a lie. She just didn’t want to feel like she was doing Crutchfield’s bidding.

  There was an email from Ryan saying the Missingers’ maid was back in town but claiming to be suffering from grief and emotional exhaustion and had postponed her interview by a day. It was good information to know but nothing that couldn’t wait. Jessie considered calling the detective back and asking him to meet her at the address, but then thought better of it.

  I already caused trouble once today by using department resources to investigate my father. Pulling a homicide detective off his case to further pursue it definitely crosses the line.

  At 4:10, long enough after Crutchfield’s deadline that she could tell herself she wasn’t his lackey, Jessie got in her car and drove the last quarter mile to 1024 Visitation Avenue, where she now sat, waiting for the nerves to subside.

  The lot was in an industrial area at the southern edge of downtown, surrounded by multiple warehouses, many of which looked abandoned. Jessie could see that there was indeed a building with the number 1024 on the front. Theoretically, she could call Kat right now to answer Crutchfield’s question: There was a standing building on the property—it was not an empty lot. Technically, she could drive away now.

  But of course she couldn’t. The notion that Bolton Crutchfield sent her to this random, out-of-the-way location to simply verify the existence of a building seemed unlikely. There had to be more to it. So, despite the voice in her head loudly recommending she not do it, Jessie got out of the car.

  She zipped up her jacket in a futile attempt to mitigate the growing chill she felt. It was getting dark fast and the temperature had dropped into the mid-40s, but she suspected she’d still be shivering even if it was a summer day.

  She moved across the patchy, brownish grass to the front step of the building and looked up. Unlike most of the other structures in the area, this one appeared to have once been a residential building. She walked up the steps to the front door and noted the faded directory of last names in a now-shattered box to the right of the entrance. This had indeed once been an apartment complex.

  But that must have been a while ago. The place looked like it hadn’t been inhabited in some time. Most of the street-facing windows were gone, and only some had been boarded up. Graffiti covered the outside walls. A chain loosely wrapped around the main double doors indicated that visitors were not welcome. The sign taped to the front saying “condemned” reinforced the idea.

  Jessie glanced at the directory again. Most of the names were too faded or muddy to read but some unit numbers were legible. And that’s when she noticed something that should have been obvious the second she pulled up. Crutchfield had mentioned unit 2016. But the building was only three stories high. There was no twentieth floor and no unit 2016.

  There was apparently a unit 206, where, according to the barely visible, smeared red ink, someone named Johnson, Jones, or maybe even Johannsen had once lived.

  Could Crutchfield have made a mistake? Maybe misremembered the address?

  It seemed doubtful. And yet, that was the only unit that came close to what he’d described.

  Jessie looked again at the chain wrapped between the metal door handles. Even before she’d calculated with certainty that she could slip through into the building, she knew she was going to do it.

  She glanced quickly around the area. Seeing no one, she quickly removed her bulky jacket, dropped it on the ground, and sidled through the narrow crack between the building’s doors. The whole process had taken less than ten seconds. Once inside, she pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight feature, shining it into the dark lobby.

  It was empty, s
ave for a couple of overturned chairs strewn about. A thick layer of dust was visible even in this dim light, which made it easier to see the multiple sets of shoe prints leading from the main doors off into various directions. Apparently she wasn’t the first person to have determined the chain lock need not be an impediment to getting inside.

  She saw movement to her left and gave a little jump before she realized it was just a rat scurrying away from the light. Other than the rodent, the place looked abandoned. The smell of urine and feces was strong, so much so that her eyes watered.

  She moved forward quickly, looking for the stairwell to the second floor, taking care to avoid stepping on the bits of glass or the small, unidentifiable mounds of debris that littered the ground. As she passed from the lobby into the main hall with the bank of elevators, she thought things would warm up a bit. But with the broken windows, the hall formed a kind of wind tunnel, making everything colder. Without her jacket, Jessie couldn’t stop herself from shaking involuntarily.

  Eventually her flashlight passed over a sign at the back of the hall that read “stairwell.” She followed it around the corner where she finally got a break from the currents of air whipping at her skin.

  She turned the handle to the stairwell door and it gave. She pushed and the door opened easily, providing access to a set of steps that, despite being concrete, looked dangerously crumbly.

  You’ve come this far. No point in chickening out now.

  She allowed herself one deep breath before scaling the stairs, noting with relief that despite how they looked, they were still pretty stable underfoot. She reached the second floor quickly and found the door to that hallway unlocked as well.

  Once it closed behind her, Jessie found herself in a different world. The ratty, carpeted floor muffled the sounds from outside, including the occasional passing truck and even the howling wind. Shafts of light from several open apartment doors created sad little spotlights dotting the length of the hallway.

  She moved quickly down the hall, shining her light on the apartment numbers on each door. Most doors were closed. Some were slightly ajar. Still others were wide open. A few units were missing doors completely. She hurried past them all, unsure what she’d find inside, vaguely fearful that someone or something might reach out to grab her.

  When she got to unit 206, near the far end of the hallway, she saw that the door was closed. As gingerly as possible, she turned the handle. It opened without complaint. Jessie pushed the door open and stepped back so she could shine the flashlight on as much of the room as possible before entering.

  From her vantage point, it was unremarkable. The living room was small and still furnished, though it looked like the rats had gotten to the couch and easy chair. Stuffing poked out at various spots and a thick layer of dust coated them.

  She stepped inside and passed the beam over the rest of the place. As she did, she noticed a strong putrid smell. It was different from the excrement downstairs, foul in a distantly familiar way. Unable to identify it, she focused on the details of the apartment. There was a small breakfast room that had a table but no chairs. The kitchen was tiny with several cupboards hanging loose from their hinges.

  Jessie moved to the bedrooms. One had a futon-style bed that had been stripped bare. The other was empty except for a dresser that was devoid of drawers. She made her way to the bathroom. The second she stepped inside, she knew something was wrong.

  The smell she’d noticed upon first entering the apartment was much stronger in here. It hung thick in the air, like a layer of rank fog. She glanced at both the sink and the toilet and saw nothing. The bowl was dry, completely devoid of water. A wooden-handled plunger sat beside the toilet seat, ready for duty but clearly not called on in some time. That left only the shower.

  The curtain, once white but now various shades of mold-covered gray, was pulled across the length of the tub. Jessie grabbed the plunger and placed it at the edge of the curtain, waiting for the right time to pull it back. Deciding there was no right time, she decided to just do it.

  She swung the plunger to the left, sliding back the curtain. Several of the rings snapped as she did that, making the whole contraption sag heavily. Still, she was able to get a fairly clear view of the tub. Inside, on its back, was skeleton, a sunken mass of dusty bones and hair that had clearly once been a human body.

  It had obviously been there for a while. Most of the skeleton had decomposed. With the clothes, now faded and dusty, still on the body, it looked more like a scarecrow lying face-up than an actual person. The skull was still mostly intact and tufts of longish hair rested in patches nearby. She guessed this had been a woman.

  Now Jessie realized why the smell had been so familiar. It was the same one that had come from the decomposing bodies in her father’s cabin all those years ago.

  Despite the stench, Jessie leaned in closer, hoping to glean any more identifiable details. A sound from behind made her stumble. She reached out for the curtain to steady herself but only managed to bring the whole thing down as she landed awkwardly on the edge of the tub.

  Turning quickly, she flashed her light in the direction of the sound. In the bathroom doorway stood a man of indeterminate ethnicity. His long, shaggy hair covered the top half of his face. A thick beard hung off his chin. His baggy clothes draped off him, making it difficult to tell just how big he was.

  “What do you want?” she demanded as she tried to scramble to her feet but only got more tangled in the curtain.

  He took a step toward her. His hair moved slightly and she saw his eyes. They were shining bright with a faraway intensity that suggested he was both hyperalert and yet not totally there. His hands were twitching involuntarily.

  He’s on something.

  “Step back,” Jessie ordered forcefully. “I’m LAPD and you are interfering in an official investigation.”

  But the man seemed either not to hear her or not to care. He took another step forward, grunting unintelligibly. She saw one of his shaking hands dig into a pocket and pull out something that flashed in her phone’s light. It looked like a cheap serrated-edged steak knife. The blade was either rusty or bloody. He gripped it by the handle and stood there, growling half-words as he rocked back and forth.

  Jessie sensed that he was going to pounce at any second and decided additional warnings would be fruitless. While he still seemed uncertain about his next move, she decided she had to make hers.

  She took her phone and slid it across the bathroom floor. The man’s eyes followed the bright light. Jessie took advantage of the distraction to turn the plunger around so that she was gripping it near the bottom, just above the actual rubber plunger. The wooden handle was now pointed at the man.

  When her phone bumped against the wall, the light stopped moving and the man turned his attention back to her. He stopped growling and for a long beat there was total silence in the bathroom. Then he leapt toward her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jessie gripped the wooden shaft of the plunger and jabbed it at the man as she dived forward, keeping low as she aimed for his midsection. She felt the tip drive into something soft and knew she’d poked him in the stomach, even as the plunger tore from her hands.

  The pained grunt from above confirmed it as her right shoulder collided with his legs, sending him sprawling over her toward the tub. She heard a loud thump as she rolled over and looked back to see that he’d slammed into the edge of the tub, almost exactly where she’d been seconds earlier.

  He was groaning loudly and the knife had skittered away from him into the corner of the bathtub. Jessie scrambled to her feet as the man tried to do the same. She saw the plunger lying at her feet and grabbed it again, this time by the handle. As the man attempted to stand, she shoved him hard with the rubber end, sending him tumbling backward into the tub on top of the skeleton.

  As he flailed about, Jessie grabbed her phone off the floor and rushed from the bathroom, still holding the plunger. Behind her, she could hear flailin
g as the man tried to extricate himself from the tub. She dashed out of the apartment and down the hall, glancing back only when she reached the stairwell door. The man was there, just exiting the apartment at the other end of the hall. He caught sight of her and began to half-run, half-limp after her.

  Jessie shoved open the stairwell door and dashed down, yanking open the door at the bottom just as she heard him rip open the one a flight above her. She sprinted down the back hall, almost slipping on the dusty floor as she rounded the corner near the elevators.

  As she ran through the lobby, she could see a sliver of dim daylight slashing through the chained front door. She shoved her phone back into her pocket, knowing she’d need both hands to get out.

  When she got there, she dropped the plunger and yanked the doors as far apart as the chain would allow. As she started to shimmy through she heard the heavy breathing and even heavier footsteps of the man getting closer.

  She had just passed through and was sliding her left arm out when she felt something grasp at her left wrist. As she pulled away, she saw the man’s dirt-encased fingers clasping her tight. He dug his fingernails into her skin as he tugged her back, slamming her body against the exterior of the door.

  A new wave of adrenaline surged through her system as she tried to rip herself free. It didn’t work. She had managed to create some space between herself and the door but he was still holding on tight. She looked around desperately and her eyes fell on a shard of window glass lying near her right foot.

  She reached down and grabbed it before he could tug at her again. Then, as he yanked her back toward him, she went with it, using the force to give her extra momentum. She kept her focus on the back of the hand that was clutching her own and jammed the glass hard into it just before her body slammed against the door.

  She heard a yelp and her wrist was suddenly released as she tumbled back onto the front step of the apartment. As she got to her feet, she heard the man howling just inside the door. She was about to grab her coat, which was still lying on the ground nearby, when she saw him start to force himself through the opening.