The Perfect Deceit (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Fourteen)

by Blake Pierce

  Jessie tried to put the horrors she just heard described out of her head and turned to Reid.

  “Do we know when she got home?” she asked him.

  “The limo driver, a guy name Paul Wegman, registered the drop-off at 10:18 p.m.,” he told her. “However long it took for this stuff to work its ugly magic, she was dead by the time the fiancé arrived home, assuming he can be believed.”

  “Have you talked to him yet?” she asked.

  “Just briefly to let him know to sit tight. I only asked him the basics. I wanted to wait until you arrived to really go at him. He’s downstairs in the living room now. You want to say hi?”

  Jessie was about to say yes when her eye caught something in the bathroom. It looked like a snack on the counter.

  “Give me a second,” she said, walking over to get a better look.

  When she got closer, she saw that it appeared to be a half-eaten rice cake with several slices of banana on top. The sight of such a pathetic snack made her heart sink. This was what Jax Coopersmith allowed herself as a cheat meal after winning a major award? It was almost too depressing to bear.

  Jessie stepped back and glanced at herself in the mirror, wondering how many times Coopersmith had done exactly that and judged herself wanting. Jessie tried not to fall into the same trap but couldn’t help noticing the dark circles under her green eyes.

  Even after a decent night’s sleep, the wear of spending nearly two full days awake gave her skin a dull pallor. Her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back in ponytail, though not as tight as the M.E.’s. But even that couldn’t hide how limp and tired it looked. Five foot ten, with a well-proportioned, athletic frame, she normally cut an imposing figure, but even that seemed to fail her today, as her shoulders slumped forward. She ordered herself to stand straight.

  She glanced to her left. Pinned to the medicine cabinet mirror was a collage of off-the-shoulder wedding dresses, with one near the top asterisked. It was lovely— a warm cream color with a cinched waist that would have accentuated both Jax’s beauty and her style.

  In that moment, the M.E.’s horrific description of her death rang in Jessie’s ears. Waiting one flight down from them was Jax’s fiancé. The woman was supposed to be getting married soon. But that would never happen now. Jessie’s heart sank even further. She turned back to Reid.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” she said quietly.

  CHAPTER SIX

  He looked devastated.

  When Jax Coopersmith’s fiancé stood up to meet Jessie in the downstairs living room of the house, his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Despite that, he was a gorgeous man. Wearing an immaculate suit, he was tall, black, and ripped; his square-jawed handsomeness made Jessie wonder if he too was an influencer or some kind of model. He looked to be in his early thirties, which would have made him about half a dozen years older than Jax.

  “Hello sir,” she said, extending her hand, “I’m Jessie Hunt, a profiler consulting with the LAPD. I’ll be working with Detective Reid, who I understand you already met. We’re both very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it forlornly. “I’m Titus Poole. Jax and I were engaged. This is…a lot to handle.”

  “Of course,” Reid said, stepping forward. “Why don’t you sit back down? We need to ask you some questions, but can we get you water first?”

  “No, I’m good,” Poole said, slumping back down on the loveseat he’d just risen from. “Ask me whatever you need. I want to help however I can.”

  “We appreciate that,” Jessie told him. She was sympathetic to his plight but had to keep open the possibility that this was all a ruse. So she decided to throw him a little off from the start as a means of gauging his sincerity. “I guess my first question might seem a little odd: why are you dressed in a suit? Were you planning to go into work this morning?”

  Poole looked down at his attire, as if noticing it for the first time.

  “No. This is what I was wearing last night. I just haven’t changed yet.”

  “You wore a fancy suit on a Sunday night?” she asked, feigning ignorance as to what last evening’s activities entailed.

  “Yeah, Jax had a big awards thing. I went with her but had to cut out early to go to the office. I work for one of the studios and we were closing a deal, so I went straight from the party to the studio lot for the meeting, which had been going on all evening. I was there until late.”

  “I see,” Jessie said, noting that his eyes were cast downward. She couldn’t tell if that was a sign of exhaustion, guilt, or something else he hoped to hide.

  “Forgive us,” Reid said, “But we have to ask: is there anyone who can corroborate your whereabouts last night?”

  Poole sank back into the loveseat, seemingly not upset so much as stunned that he was actually in this situation.

  “Sure,” he said. “There were five people in the meeting with me. And then I was on the phone in the car on the way home. I only hung up when I pulled in the driveway. I never should have gone back to work that night, not after what happened.”

  “What do you mean ‘what happened?’” Jessie asked.

  Titus Poole looked up at her, surprised.

  “I thought you already knew about this. I figured that’s why there were so many cops here.”

  “What are you talking about, Mr. Poole?” Reid pressed.

  “It’s just that the night before last, one of our friends was murdered. Her name was Claire Bender. She was actually going to be one of Jax’s bridesmaids.”

  Jessie and Reid exchanged shocked glances. It was the first that either of them had heard of this.

  “How did Claire die?” Jessie asked.

  Poole’s mouth dropped open. He was obviously stunned that they hadn’t made the connection.

  “I heard she was poisoned,” he said.

  Jessie’s brain exploded at the words. Was it possible that they weren’t just dealing with someone who had a vendetta against Jax Coopersmith, but a killer who was targeting people in her social circle? To his credit, Reid continued on, barely missing a beat.

  “Where did Ms. Bender live?” he asked.

  “In Beverly Hills,” he said.

  “Maybe that’s why we haven’t heard,” Reid said to Jessie. “Sometimes BHPD gets a little proprietary with their cases. I have a friend in the department. I’ll make a call when we’re done here.”

  Jessie nodded. This was huge news, the sort that made her want to walk out and drive to Beverly Hills right now. But since there was nothing she could do until Reid made his call, she decided to keep the focus on what Poole could tell them.

  “I know Jax was a big social media influencer,” she said. “Did she have any enemies that you’re aware of? Any followers who seemed a little too intense?”

  Poole’s face scrunched up as he tried to recall.

  “Nothing jumps out at me,” he eventually said. “I mean, she had her haters, of course. Jax’s whole vibe was to be above it all, as if she was doing a favor by trying on whatever she was given. That way, when she actually got excited about something, her followers took it more seriously than a lot of the others, who will gush over anything. A lot of people didn’t like the ‘aloof’ thing, so she’d get nasty comments here and there. Of course, that didn’t stop those people from following her. And I never heard her express concern about any of them.”

  “What about people in her personal life or co-workers?” Reid asked.

  Poole shook his head.

  “She doesn’t have traditional co-workers. She ran the business side herself, booked all her own brand shoots. For really high-profile stuff, she’d bring in a freelance photographer, maybe a makeup or hair person. But she was always great to them, paid really good rates. I can give you names, but I’d be stunned if any of them did this. She was a cash cow for all of them.”

  “And friends,” Jessie pressed, noticing he hadn’t volunteered anything on that front. “If this is connected to Clai
re’s murder, we’ll need to talk to folks in your social circle. Anyone among them jump out at you as a concern?”

  “I can’t think of anyone,” he said with more finality than Jessie expected. Something about his suddenly clipped tone made her arm hair stand up.

  “That’s okay,” she said carefully. “I understand that it might be a sensitive area. Why don’t you write down a list of names and numbers and we’ll take it from there.”

  He hesitated.

  “I’m not super comfortable handing over the personal information of our friends,” Poole replied. “I don’t want them to have to suffer the trauma I’m going through now.”

  Jessie stared at the guy, whose eyes were locked on the coffee table in front of him. While there was no “normal” reaction to learning a loved one had been violently killed, this was well outside what she considered acceptable. She was about to say so when Reid jumped in.

  “We appreciate your concerns, Mr. Poole,” he said far more diplomatically than she would have. “But this is a murder investigation. Whatever discomfort your friends might feel is secondary to solving this. I’m sure they’ll understand. We’d hate to have to formally request that kind of information. It could really slow the investigation down. I know you don’t want that. So if you could just go through your contacts and give us what we need, we’ll be on our way.”

  Titus Poole still seemed reluctant but ultimately pulled out his phone. As he wrote down the information, Jessie got up and walked out of the room. She wanted to both get away from Poole and clear her head.

  As she walked around the house, she glanced at the doors and windows, wondering how the killer had gotten in. Did they sneak in and lie in wait or did Jax open the door to someone she knew? According to Reid, there was no security footage available to answer those questions independently.

  If it was a stranger, how did the killer find her home? Did they follow her from the awards event? Had they been stalking her for some time? That last question sent her mind reeling in another direction.

  She too was being stalked. How long had the Night Hunter been watching her home? How secure was it really? Despite her assurances to Ryan, doubts were creeping in. Her little sister was home right now. Ryan would be leaving for the office soon, entrusting Hannah’s safety to a sloppy, undisciplined detective who might fall asleep while staking her out if the sun got too warm.

  It was almost enough to make her rush home this second. But then Detective Reid was at her side again, and she had to set aside her personal concerns to focus on the murder she’d been tasked with solving.

  “I think we’ve got all we can from this guy for now,” Reid said. “I want to get back to the station and start diving into the evidence.”

  Jessie nodded. The sooner they solved this thing, the sooner she could focus her attention on the other killer on the loose.

  *

  Jessie met Reid back at Central Station. By the time she arrived, he was waiting at his desk in the bullpen in the section reserved for HSS. She noticed that Ryan’s desk was unoccupied. Reid seemed to read her mind.

  “He’s back in the research department with Jamil Winslow,” he said. “They’re looking over surveillance footage from around the time of Trembley’s murder in Santa Monica. Did you want to go say hi before we get started here?’

  Jessie thought about it briefly but decided against it.

  “No. I don’t want to interrupt their concentration. Besides, I can tell from the way your feet are bouncing up and down that you have news to share.”

  “I do,” he said with satisfaction. “My contact with BHPD got back to me on the drive over. Just like Jax Coopersmith, Claire Bender was sprayed with acid and then injected in the neck with drain cleaner. According to the time of death, she was killed soon after returning home from a trip to the drugstore. Her husband was allegedly away at a family event. The case detectives’ preliminary theory is that it wasn’t a random attack, that it was personal, either a stalker or someone she knew, maybe a spurned lover who was familiar with where Claire lived and knew the place well.”

  “Not a bad theory,” Jessie conceded. “Even if neither individual killing was specifically about the victim, this whole deal feels personal to their group.”

  “Right,” Reid agreed. “We’ve got two wealthy women, doing well in life. Maybe some guy who knew them became obsessed with them both or just resented them.”

  “How have the BHPD interviews been going?” Jessie asked.

  Reid’s expression told her the answer to that wasn’t going to be very satisfying.

  “What interviews?” he said disgustedly. “They’ve only had the most perfunctory chats with relevant parties. Plus, they’ve been keeping the method of murder quiet for fear of it turning into a circus.”

  “Why would that happen?” Jessie asked, confused.

  “Because of the people involved.”

  “Should I have recognized her name?” Jessie wanted to know.

  “Not Claire. She’s a successful interior designer, but she didn’t have a very high profile until she got married. It’s her husband that you might know. Have you ever heard of Jack Bender?”

  Jessie unsuccessfully searched her memory.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He’s the son of Vernon Bender, as in Bender Educational Publishing, the company responsible for a quarter of the college textbooks in the country. Jack is an heir to the fortune, which means that, at least according to the internet, he’s probably worth about four hundred million dollars. And like the rest of the family, he’s known for spending it freely.”

  “Thus the circus?” Jessie said.

  “Exactly,” Reid confirmed, “which is why BHPD was more than willing to hand over the case to us. They acknowledge that we have more resources, but they also just don’t want the heat. All their files are being transferred now.”

  “Great,” Jessie said, settling in at what used to be her desk, right across from Ryan’s. The fact that it was completely clean was a further sign that HSS was short-handed. No one had been sitting there. No one had replaced her. “While that comes in, I thought we could review Jax Coopersmith’s background to see if there was anything new we could glean.”

  Reid was amenable so they each began poring over everything they could find on her. Jessie focused on Jax’s social media feed and articles about her life and career while Reid sifted through her official file, including phone records, tax and property information, and business documents.

  “I didn’t find anything shocking,” he said after a while, “other than that for a 25-year-old, she’d already amassed a small fortune. I may have to get one of our forensic accountants to determine her true worth.”

  “I didn’t come across anything that made me pause either,” Jessie admitted. “Obviously, her social media includes all the requisite stuff: tons of photos and video branding testimonials. There’s endless footage of her at galas, premieres, parties, and hot, new restaurants. Titus Poole is on her arm for some of it, but he seems to generally keep to the background. I don’t know if he’s worried if it would undermine his credibility as a film executive, but he’s rarely front and center with her. Then again, she’s the star of the show.”

  “Is it really right to call her a star?” Reid asked borderline derisively.

  “Depends on how you define it,” Jessie acknowledged. “But by today’s standards, I’d say yes. She had over two million followers on Instagram alone. If you add all her social up, it’s probably double that number. That’s a lot of influence. And I found multiple articles that mentioned that she was a real trendsetter. She was much more reticent to give a glowing review than a lot of other influencers and she tended to tout edgier, more avant-garde stuff. One independent handbag brand said their sales doubled after she shouted them out.”

  “But how many sales does that actually translate into?” Reid wondered. “Maybe she went from selling two bags to four.”

  “I don’t know how many
sales they had, but it took the company four months to fill all the back orders, so I’m guessing it was more than four. The same thing happened with a woman who makes artisanal scarves. After Jax mentioned her, she went from working solo out of her garage to employing fourteen people in a small warehouse in the arts district. Everything I read says Jax had taste and credibility and that she knew it, so she doled out the praise sparingly. It seems that she was well on her way.”

  Reid looked at her skeptically.

  “Then why do I hear a ‘but’ in your voice?”

  Jessie hadn’t been aware that there was one. But now that Reid mentioned it, she realized that something was eating at her, if only slightly.

  “It’s probably nothing,” she said after thinking about it for a moment. “But as I look at all Jax’s photos, I get this weird feeling. It appears like she’s living the perfect dream. But underneath it, I see this look in her eyes. I wouldn’t call it desperation exactly. But there’s an intensity behind them, like she’s worried that everything she has could be ripped away at any second. Part of me wonders how much of her life, how much any of these influencers’ lives, is a façade? If we scratch at it a little, I’m curious to see what we’d find underneath.”

  Reid nodded silently. He wasn’t knowledgeable about this world, but he didn’t have to be. Just like Jessie, he knew that young women came out to Hollywood every day seeking fame and fortune. Most didn’t get a happy ending. And even those that did often had to make compromises that left them hollow-eyed and empty.

  His phone rang, startling them both out of their trance. He answered it and listened silently for several seconds before thanking the caller and hanging up.

  “You want the good news or the bad news first?” he asked.