by Blake Pierce
“You have thirty seconds,” he grumbled.
“Yes, hi,” she began, hoping she sounded excitably flustered. “I go to Our Lady of Guadalupe Girls’ School and we’re doing a candy sale to raise money for our cotillion with St. Francis Boys’ School. A third of the proceeds will go to school supplies for students in rural African villages. Are you able to help?”
“You made it sound like you had some kind of emergency,” he said, still hard to see through the tiny opening.
“It is an emergency for the kids in those villages, sir,” she insisted. “Please, each candy bar is only a dollar. You’d get some sweets and you’d get to be sweet.”
She had come up with that line on the way over and thought it was pretty good. But she could tell from Poston’s grunt that he was unimpressed.
“Sorry. Can’t help.”
Seeing him start to close the door, Hannah realized her window was also literally closing and jammed her foot in the opening, making it bounce back slightly. She thought she heard the door bang his forehead but pretended not to notice.
“If you won’t buy anything, could you at least let me use your bathroom really fast? I really have to go and there are no businesses for a full block. I don’t think I’ll make it.”
“Move your foot,” he snarled. “You’re on my property. You’re invading my privacy. Leave or I’ll call the cops.”
Hannah replied before she could stop herself.
“And tell them what? That you felt threatened by a Catholic schoolgirl who asked to use your potty?”
She knew it was mistake before the words were even out of her mouth. Jimmy Poston’s eyes narrowed and she watched in real time as he went from viewing her as an annoying girl who might inadvertently cause him to violate the rules of his parole to a young woman with ulterior motives, one who seemed to be intentionally provoking him.
“Fine,” she said petulantly, removing her foot and spinning on her heel as if he were a parent who’d told her she couldn’t have dessert that night. “I guess some people don’t care about anyone but themselves.”
She stormed off in a dramatic huff, though she listened carefully for the sound of the chain sliding loose or footsteps following her. But there was nothing like that. Nor did he say a word. She was halfway down the walk when she heard the door close and the click of a lock.
She moved on to the next house, just in case he was watching her. She pretended to ring the bell, though she didn’t actually touch it. After waiting a half-minute, she went to the next house down and followed the same routine. Then she walked away from that one and headed to the end of the block, where someone watching might assume she was looking for a business with a restroom.
When she was sure she was out of sight, she darted behind the bushes in the yard of a house that was for sale and skulked back near the porch. Glancing inside to make sure she wasn’t being watched by the owners, she saw that the home was empty.
That gave her an idea. As she played it out in her head, she could almost hear Jessie’s alarmed voice, telling her to stop right now, that she was putting herself at risk for no good reason. She could picture Kat standing beside her, nodding in agreement.
But then their images faded, replaced first by the school photo of Mindy Stokes, with her crooked smile and glasses sliding down her nose. She visualized her in that decrepit home—scared, alone, facing unspeakable horrors.
Then she remembered the shadowy, pasty face of Jimmy Poston, sneering nastily as he tried to slam the door on her. She imagined him sighing in relief now that the threat was gone and he could get back to what he was doing.
But more than either of those things, she felt the high, the adrenalized anticipation of being in a dangerous situation without a net, with only her wits and lack of fear as her weapons.
She pictured it all in her mind and she knew—she wasn’t going anywhere.
CHAPTER TWENTY
As they drove back to the L.A. to re-interview the stripper Jerry Blatt, whom Karen insisted on gleefully referring to as “Rock,” Jessie called Ryan to check in.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Okay,” he said. “I finished physical therapy and just wrapped up a shower. The rest of the day looks a lot more relaxed.”
There was a pep in his voice that Jessie found reassuring. Even as things were generally improving for Ryan, sometimes small setbacks could send him into temporary bouts of melancholy. It sounded like he’d avoided those so far today.
“That’s great,” she replied. “And how’s Hannah?”
“She’s out, said she had a few errands to run.”
“She didn’t say where?” Jessie asked, trying to keep her natural suspicion and worry under control.
“She wasn’t specific but I got the impression it might have had something to do with Christmas gifts so I didn’t press her.”
Jessie decided she’d do well to follow his lead. The struggle to be supportive of her sister’s independence while still keeping her safe was an ongoing one that she didn’t always win.
“Okay,” she said. “Keep me posted on any exciting developments,” she said, ready to hang up.
“Hold up,” he countered. “Don’t I get any updates on the case?”
She sighed in frustration at the lack of them.
“Here’s the short version. Lots of suspects but nothing firm to tie any of them to the crime. We’re about revisit a stripper named Rock Harder who slept with the victim, so you know, it’s more interesting than the average Sunday, I guess.”
“Is it weird that I’m jealous?” he asked.
“Of the stripper? You shouldn’t be.”
“No, of you,” he said. “Why can’t I interview Mr. Harder?”
“If I wasn’t emotionally secure, my feelings would be hurt,” Jessie teased. “Maybe you should spend the afternoon sharpening your wooing skills.”
“I love you,” he said, not at all concerned.
“I love you too,” she replied. “Talk later.”
“Everything okay?” Karen asked after she hung up.
Jessie smiled.
“Yeah,” she answered. “Just because he can’t walk that well doesn’t mean I can’t keep him on his toes.”
Karen smiled back as the light turned green and she hit the gas.
“You’re in such a good mood that I hate to puncture it with a non-romance update.”
“Story of my life,” Jessie sighed, pretending to be put out. “Go ahead.”
“I was checking my e-mail at the red light. We just got the statement from the Westport Beach PD officer who was sent to question Claudia Wender’s two friends who couldn’t make her big night. He said everything checked out with both of them, although he also noted that while Breanne the blonde was polite, talking to Markie Trevor was one of the most unpleasant professional experiences of his life.”
“You know,” Jessie mused, “some might say that putting a line like that in his official statement is kind of unprofessional. Sounds like that fella could use a review of proper police procedure.”
“I’ll let you tackle that one,” Karen said. “As far as the case goes, we figured those two would be a dead end anyway.”
“Well, hopefully this won’t be a dead end,” Jessie said as they pulled up to Jerry Blatt’s place.
Almost immediately, the lightness gave way to intense focus. Both women had been doing this long enough to know that the longer they went without a strong lead, the harder it was to make progress. Momentum was crucial to keeping suspects on edge and department superiors supportive.
Maintenance had nailed pieces of plywood to the broken parts of his front door but it still looked like it might topple over with a strong wind. Blatt opened it carefully and without an argument. The young guy looked more alert than the last time they’d visited. When he invited them in, Jessie noticed that he was walking with a pronounced limp, a result of the shin-slamming incident yesterday.
“I’m kind of surprised to
see you again,” he said, taking a seat on the couch. “I thought you’d have arrested someone by now.”
“Well,” Karen said, “it’s a lot harder to solve the case when witnesses lie to us like you did.”
He immediately sat up straighter.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded.
“You neglected to share a detail or two about your time in that hotel suite, Jerry,” Karen pressed as she sat in the chair opposite him. “Care to come clean now?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he insisted, though Jessie could tell from his wide eyes and quickened breathing that he knew exactly what Karen was getting at. She was having none of it.
“Jerry, there’s no point in denying it,” she said simply. “We have witnesses and physical evidence. Now you can continue to drag this out and make it more painful for everyone or you can be honest. I don’t want to haul you into the station for this conversation but I will if I have to.”
He looked first at her and then at Jessie, who stared back at him coldly. She wanted to reinforce the sense that Blatt had no real options other than to tell them the truth. When she saw him gulp and his forehead uncrinkle, she knew he’d come to the same conclusion.
“It wasn’t for money,” he said intensely. “I got paid my normal rate and they gave me a pretty standard tip. The other stuff was just…a moment.”
“What does that mean?” Jessie asked, now sitting as well.
He paused for a second, seeming to struggle with how to explain it.
“Everything was going like a typical session,” he finally replied. “I danced a little for everyone but most of my focus was on Cloudy since it was her birthday. Like I said, the blonde was grabbier than I liked, but she was so sloppy drunk that I was able to mostly steer clear of her. Cloudy kept apologizing for her friend’s behavior and something about her tone of voice and her expression—they just made me feel a little for her.”
“How so?” Jessie pressed.
He paused again, trying to determine how best to answer.
“She seemed a little sad, like even at her own party, she couldn’t let loose. So I took her in the other room and sort of played up how dancing for her didn’t feel like work. I told her how sexy she was. And I wasn’t lying. For an older woman, she was very attractive. I kind of pressed myself against her and let her know that if she wanted more than just a dance, I was game. She seemed like she could really use a good time.”
Jessie and Karen exchanged glances. This was the first detailed, coherent description they’d gotten of the night and neither wanted to interrupt it.
“How did she react?” Karen asked quietly.
He shrugged.
“Once she knew I wouldn’t balk, she was receptive, surprisingly aggressive even. She grabbed a condom from her purse and pulled me into the bathroom. I don’t know how detailed you want me to get. But she kind of took charge. I didn’t have to do any more coaxing at that point.”
“And what happened after?” Jessie wanted to know.
“That was it,” he said. “We cleaned ourselves up and I went back into the living room. She stayed in the bedroom.”
“Did she say anything?” Karen asked.
“Nothing memorable. She said it was fun but she seemed kind of melancholy and distant, like her mind was on other things. I didn’t ask what and she didn’t volunteer anything.”
Jessie knew that Karen was about to leap into the opening he’d left.
“Are you sure she wasn’t sad because the encounter wasn’t as consensual as you suggest?” she asked pointedly. “Maybe you used more force than she liked. Maybe she was too shaken up to say anything. Maybe you realized the trouble you were in if she talked and came back later to make sure she didn’t.”
He looked genuinely offended at the suggestion.
“Are you serious?” he demanded. “I never did anything aggressive. Once I let her know I was available, she was the forceful one. At no point was she resistant to anything going on. I would never do that.”
“Are you confident the physical evidence will support that?” Jessie asked, slightly less accusatorily than Karen had.
“Yes. I assume that you have people who can test for that sort of thing, who can tell if she was raped. If they haven’t already checked, have them do it. You won’t find anything. I never made her do anything.”
“But none of the other women can vouch for that,” Karen reminded him.
“They couldn’t vouch for much of anything,” he shot back. “When I got back out there, the blonde was passed out or close to it.”
“You’re not certain?” Jessie asked.
“She was muttering to herself but I don’t know if that was in her sleep or if she was still conscious. I wasn’t paying close attention. And the other two weren’t much better. The redhead was sitting on the floor, staring at the TV while shoving French fries in her mouth. The brunette could at least stand up. But when she paid me the balance owed, she gave me an extra hundred on top of the tip. She was so out of it that I could have kept it and she’d never have known. But I gave it back. I’m not a thief. And I’m not a killer either.”
“You said Claudia was still in the bedroom when you left?” Jessie reviewed, ignoring his declaration of innocence.
“Yes. I wanted to say one last goodbye but she never came out and I thought it would be weird to go back in there after what had happened. So I told the brunette to wish her happy birthday again and I left. Then I left the hotel and came back here. Other than the extra time in the bathroom, it was typical night of work. I swear.”
Though she was forming a strong opinion about Jerry Blatt’s culpability, Jessie was happy to let Karen decide how to proceed.
“As we speak, our people are checking to see if the sex was forcible, Jerry. And we are detailing your whereabouts using cameras, GPS, and more. So if you’re lying, it will come out. With that in mind, is there anything else you want to share?”
He screwed up his lips, as if he was debating something with himself.
“Nothing to share,” he finally said. “But I do have something to ask. I know you have to do your job. But as much as possible, I’d really appreciate it if you could keep my name out of this. I could lose my job for the private time I spent with her. And if this blows up, I worry that I could lose my scholarship. I doubt the university would want the publicity.”
Karen seemed unmoved.
“If you’re lying to us, you’ll have much bigger problems than lost jobs or scholarships. My advice to you: keep your nose clean and don’t leave town.”
He nodded. They left his apartment. Neither of them spoke until they were back in the car.
“What do you think?” Karen asked as they strapped on their seatbelts.
Jessie sighed.
“I think we better hope that Jamil works his tech magic,” she said. “Because at the rate we’re going, we won’t have a single credible suspect by the end of the day.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Karen looked as deflated as Jessie felt.
On the way back to the station, they had come to a disheartening conclusion. Jerry Blatt almost certainly wasn’t Claudia’s killer. Jessie made sure that they were on the same page.
“We know, based on what her friends said, that Claudia was alive when he left the room. And we already have footage of him leaving the hotel at the time he said and GPS data of him getting home soon after,” she noted. “So unless he snuck back in later that night, leaving his phone at home and picking the exact right time to enter the hotel, when the security had shut off, he’s not our guy.”
“I tend to agree,” Karen said, “though if I was going to play devil’s advocate, I’d argue that we can’t necessarily count on anything her friends said, considering their condition at the time.”
“Fair point,” Jessie said, knowing that Karen was just doing her job by trying to poke holes. “But let’s be real. It doesn’t help any of those women to give Blatt an alibi. By s
aying Claudia was alive when he left the suite, they basically cleared him and make themselves more likely suspects. They could have used being drunk as an excuse to throw him under the bus, claiming they couldn’t remember the timeline, but they didn’t. That helps him but not them, which makes me think it was so obvious a point that none of them even thought to contest it.”
Karen seemed to have lost the fire to make the counter-case.
“You know, I’m starting to doubt everything we think we know about that night,” she said, obviously frustrated. “I know we’ve essentially eliminated Kimberly as a suspect but the other two seem more suspicious to me. What if Lauren faked passing out as a ruse to make the others think she was incapacitated, and then waited until they went to sleep to kill Claudia? What if Veronica intentionally gave Jerry Blatt that extra money, knowing he’d mention it to prove his honesty and inadvertently confirm that she was too out of it to even pay someone properly, much less successfully commit a murder? Plus, we still haven’t eliminated her husband, Joe. And who knows how many people were accessing that floor when the security program was down. There are too many potential killers to keep track of, some of whom were completely smashed. How are we supposed to get into their heads when they’re not in their right minds?”
Something about that last line clicked in Jessie’s brain. She closed her eyes, letting it come to her rather than trying to force it. The fragments of fact and circumstance floated in her head like jigsaw puzzle pieces moving through the air, looking for places to properly connect. She muttered to herself.
“Everybody loved her.”
“What was that?” Karen asked, leaning in intently.
“Everyone loved her,” Jessie repeated. “But someone wanted her dead.”
“Okay,” Karen said, not sure where this was going.
“She had to be tricked into doing a girls’ night of partying, but then she went wild,” Jessie continued.
“That doesn’t seem all that out of the ordinary,” Karen reminded her.
