by Blake Pierce
CHAPTER SEVEN
He didn’t wait for her to answer before launching into what was apparently the good news.
“That was the medical examiner. She says the acid and the drain cleaner were the same in both attacks. So we can be virtually certain that one person committed both murders on subsequent nights.”
“I guess that’s good, if not surprising,” Jessie allowed. “We can focus on connections between Jax and Claire rather than doing deep dives into them individually.”
“Right,” Reid agreed. “And even though we already suspected it, the M.E. verified that neither woman was sexually assaulted. It appears that the killer came in, did their business and left right away, which is also the bad news.”
“How so?” Jessie asked.
“Because it leaves us with little in the way of personally identifying physical evidence. There was no sign of struggle in either case. No fingerprints. No DNA as of yet. Plus, neither home was equipped with camera surveillance equipment. We’re flying blind on all of that.”
Jessie shrugged.
“I guess that means we’re back to doing things the old school way,” she said, “talking to people in order to establish connections between these two women.”
“It sounds like you have someone specific in mind,” Reid noted.
“I do,” she replied. “I can think of one obvious person who might be able to help establish those connections, someone the Beverly Hills Police Department was apparently too scared to call: Claire’s widower. I think it’s time we pay Jack Bender a visit.”
*
The Bender Mansion seemed designed to intimidate.
Reid had offered to drive. As a result, Jessie was able to get a full view of the place as they approached. It was in the Hollywood Hills, on Loma Vista Drive, just north of Sunset Boulevard. Like its more famous neighbors, the Waverly Mansion and the Greystone Mansion, it was apparently in the Tudor style, at least according to Wikipedia. But unlike those homes, this one had never been used for film shoots or walking tours.
“Remind me again why we’re doing the interview here,” Jessie requested.
“Because this is where Jack Bender is,” Reid said as a massive white gate slowly opened to let them on the grounds. “His mother lives here and apparently he’s been holed up with her since the murder.”
“What about his father?” Jessie asked.
“It seems that Vernon lives most of the year in Monaco, where he spends his time with his longtime personal assistant. From what I read, she’s younger than Jack. According to my BHPD contact, the Bender marriage is now mostly one of convenience. Vernon comes home for board meetings and black-tie events, then heads back to Monte Carlo as fast as he can.”
“Sounds like a close-knit bunch,” Jessie said sarcastically as they slowly rolled up the hill, surrounded on both sides by massive redwoods that must have cost a fortune to bring here.
She felt like she was at the start of a gradually escalating roller-coaster, approaching the top so that she could see the massive expanse below before the ride shot downward, leaving her stomach behind. Clearly that was the intent, as the actual home wasn’t visible yet, hidden by the hill and huge trees.
When they finally reached the crest, she found that the wait had been worth it. Spread out in front of her wasn’t so much a mansion as an estate. She’d been on large properties before, even solved a murder at the giant residence of a billionaire (and pedophile) mogul. But this was something different entirely.
It looked like the Benders had an entire hill that was all their own. A large, metal gate extended as far as the eye could see, encircling all the multiple structures on the grounds and suggesting the property might have no end. From where she sat, she could see a three-hole golf course, what appeared to be a polo field, stables, tennis courts, two pools, a garden the size of a football field, a fountain that rose at least twenty feet in the air, and a three-story manor complex that seemed to be comprised by as many as six different wings. That didn’t include what appeared to be at least three guest houses and several small cottages she suspected were for on-site staff.
“Decent digs,” she muttered under her breath as they descended down the hill toward the main entrance.
“Yeah,” Reid agreed, “but I’d hate to see the utility bill.”
They both chuckled as a young man in a red sports coat directed them to one of ten covered parking spots off to the side of the driveway.
“Detective Reid and Ms. Hunt?” he asked politely when they exited the vehicle.
“That’s right,” Reid replied.
“I’m Giles. May I escort you to the entrance where Mr. Miller will meet you?”
“You bet, Giles,” Reid said, seeming to enjoy playing the philistine.
Mr. Miller, an older, wispy-haired gentleman in a tuxedo who Jessie assumed was some kind of butler, greeted them at the door.
“May I take your coats?” he offered.
It was unseasonably warm for early January, so Jessie handed hers over. Reid declined.
“Mr. Bender is waiting for you in the drawing room,” he said. “May I take you there?”
Jessie and Reid nodded in unison and followed Mr. Miller as he walked briskly down a long marble-floored hallway. To Jessie’s surprise (and if she was honest, her disappointment) he stopped after only walking about halfway down the hall and indicated for them to step to the left.
They reached the threshold and looked in to find a formal drawing room with multiple paintings, a large, ornate rug, and furniture that looked to be several hundred years old. Sitting on chairs at the far end of the room were Jack Bender and an older woman Jessie didn’t recognize. Jack, in an expensive, black sweat suit, was looking down at the floor. But the older lady, dressed in a long skirt, a lavender blazer, and a white blouse with frills near the collar, was eyeing them with sharp, merciless eyes.
“Mrs. Bender, Mr. Bender,” Miller said ostentatiously, “May I present criminal profiler Jessie Hunt and Detective Callum Reid? Ms. Hunt, Detective Reid, this is Lisanne Bender and her son, John.”
“Please join us,” Lisanne offered, waving at two high-backed, sculpted wooden chairs across from her. Everything about the woman was severe, from her gray hair pulled back into a tight, forehead-stretching bun, to the dress shoes that were so pointy they looked like they could double as ice picks.
As they approached, Jessie couldn’t help but wonder why Jack Bender’s mom was here at all. According to her information, he was a twenty-nine-year-old executive at a gigantic publishing house. Did he really need his mommy around? She swallowed the urge to ask that very question, well aware that this interview could be cut short on a whim, leaving her and Reid to navigate a jungle of lawyers instead.
Once they sat down, there was an awkward pause. Mr. Miller tried to bridge the gap.
“May I offer anyone refreshments?” and when he got four heads shaking no, he concluded. “Then I will take my leave.”
“Thank you for coming,” Lisanne Bender said in her arched neck, patrician tone, as if she’d requested the presence of law enforcement in her home, rather than had it thrust upon her. “How can we help?”
“Well,” Reid began. “We have a few questions for Mr. Bender that we think might help us quite a bit.”
For the first time, Jack Bender looked up. Under normal circumstances he would have been an attractive man. His hazel eyes were deep set and his brown hair, even disheveled, had a casual waviness to it. But he clearly hadn’t shaved in a few days. His skin looked blotchy. It was also immediately obvious to Jessie that he was on something. The eyes were glazed over, and his languorous movements suggested a man moving underwater.
“Jack has been distraught over the recent events,” Lisanne replied before Jack even tried to speak, “first with the loss of his beloved Claire, and now upon learning of dear Jacqueline’s passing.”
Mrs. Bender’s voice had the appropriate gravity, but her prim, officious manner hinted that neither deat
h was hitting her all that hard.
“Did you know Jacqueline well, Jack?” Jessie asked, trying to engage him in some kind of communication but not wanting to dive right into the circumstances of his own wife’s death just yet.
“Sure,” he said, after getting a slight nod from his mother. “We were all friends. People even used to joke that they couldn’t tell me and her apart. You know, Jax and Jack?”
“Right,” Jessie said, pretending to be amused. “How did everyone first meet?”
Jack took a deep breath and managed sit up straight.
“Claire was doing interiors for a new house in West Hollywood,” he said, speaking slowly and with great effort. “She was really proud of the design and wanted to generate interest and traffic to her website. She followed Jax on Instagram and had the idea that they could team up. So she reached out and offered the use of the house for some of Jax’s shoots as long as her design work was prominently displayed. They hit it off, the shoot did wonders for both of them, and they started collaborating regularly. Pretty soon they were fast friends. After a while we all started hanging out together. They were so close that Jax asked Claire to be a bridesmaid at her wedding later this year.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessie said sympathetically, watching closely for his response. “This must be so shocking, to lose both of them within a day of each other.”
“It is,” Jack whispered, sounding genuinely gutted. Despite his seeming sincerity, she wished there was some way she could throw him off without alienating his hovering mother.
“Is that why you’re staying here rather than at your house?” Reid asked.
“I was actually already here,” Jack answered. “I’d spent the night here on Saturday because of a family event. Claire was feeling under the weather, so she didn’t come. I was just too exhausted to drive back down the hill at that hour, so I crashed in my old room. I found her when I went home yesterday morning.”
“That must have been rough,” Reid said softly. “Is that why you’re still here?”
“Yeah,” Bender said. “It was just too much for me. I couldn’t stay in that house where…that happened to her. How could I sleep under the same roof where she suffered, where she breathed her last breath?”
“That’s perfectly understandable,” Jessie consoled. “I assume you spent last night here as well?”
“I did,” he confirmed.
“And probably smart too,” she said, suddenly thinking of a way to test what was really going on with him. “After all, you’re much safer here.”
The comment didn’t seem to immediately register for Jack but it definitely did for Lisanne, whose head popped up immediately.
“What does that mean?” she demanded.
“It’s just that we don’t know the motive for these killings,” Jessie said, her eyes still on Jack Bender. “I can’t get into specifics, but it was as if the guilty party wanted the victims to not just die, but suffer. I’m sorry to be so blunt but it’s important that you realize that until we know who is doing this and why, everybody in your circle could be in danger.”
“But both victims were women,” Lisanne protested. “What makes you think Jack could be at risk?”
“We just don’t have enough to draw any conclusions yet, Mrs. Bender,” she replied, providing a statement that was both true and designed to generate some kind of candid reaction.
“We’ll have to double security,” Lisanne said, shifting into immediate problem-solver mode. Jack didn’t seem fazed. Jessie couldn’t gauge whether it was due to a lack of fear or an abundance of drugs in his system.
“Unfortunately,” Reid noted, “not everyone else in Jack’s social circle has the same level of access to personal protection. That’s why it would be extremely helpful if you could provide a list your friends, along with their contact information. We need to warn them.”
Jessie noticed that he cleverly didn’t mention that all of those people could also be potential suspects. She also saw that Lisanne seemed to have some reservations about the request and seemed about to voice them. She decided to beat her to the punch.
“And Jack,” Jessie said, making sure that his eyes were fixed on her, “it would be especially helpful if you could include a list of all the bridesmaids and groomsmen from your wedding, and to the extent you know them, for Jax’s too. Those folks are potentially the most vulnerable right now.”
He pulled out his phone and immediately began scrolling.
“I have a list in my notes for our wedding. I could just send you the whole thing,” he offered more eagerly than Jessie would have expected. “I’d have to double check, but I think there’s some overlap with Jax’s wedding party. I know they have the same maid of honor.”
“We’ll take whatever you have,” Jessie said smiling broadly. She gave no indication that she found his offer mildly suspicious. Perhaps it wasn’t as odd as Titus Poole’s reluctance to share any information at all. But his sudden demeanor change, from drugged-up widower to eager-beaver information provider just felt off, even if she couldn’t explain why.
Neither she nor Reid wanted to push the interview, especially since it was clear that Lisanne Bender’s patience was fading. So they said their goodbyes and followed Mr. Miller back to the front. As they approached the front door, Jessie saw a thick-trunked man with an earpiece standing at the opposite end of the hall. He was clearly part of the family’s security detail.
The sight of him sent her mind into overdrive. What she would give right about now to have a similar-looking man stationed in her own living room. Ryan was safe in the police station. But what about Hannah? Was she still asleep? Had Ryan woken her to warn her to be especially careful today? How much had he revealed to her? Was Brady Bowen properly set up for a day of staking her out?
Jessie knew that Ryan was intently focused on finding the Night Hunter and she didn’t want to mess with his concentration. But she also knew that until she got answers to some of these questions, she wouldn’t be able to focus on her own responsibilities. Reid interrupted her thoughts.
“I’m thinking we should visit the maid of honor for both victims,” he said as they walked from the mansion to his car. “She’s got to have some extra insight.”
“Sounds good,” Jessie agreed, though she was only half-listening.
She was pretty proud that she made it all the way to Reid’s car before dialing Ryan’s number. As she waited for him to pick up, she made a silent promise to herself. She might not have armed security personnel at her disposal. But she would do whatever it took to keep her family safe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hannah was still amazed that she had the house to herself.
She had assumed that Jessie or Ryan, maybe even both, would hover over her all day, never letting her out of their sight. But Jessie was gone before she even woke up, off to investigate a case. She was about to get resentful when Ryan told her the name of the victim in the case: Jax Coopersmith.
Hannah wasn’t sure why she took that news so hard. Her adoptive parents had been murdered in front of her; so had her foster parents. Garland Moses, the sweet old profiler who had gifted this very house to Jessie, had been murdered only six months ago. And yet the news of Jax’s death seemed equally momentous.
Maybe it was because Jax felt, if not quite like a friend, at least like someone who could have been one. Her snarky, “prove it to me” attitude, combined with her edgy style and her warm, Louisiana twang made her seem both aspirational and approachable. Now all of that was gone.
Hannah wanted to begrudge Jessie going out to investigate a new case without a word of goodbye, but she couldn’t. The truth was that she would have been pissed if Jessie had handed off the investigation to someone else in order to stick around for the day. Whatever her sister’s flaws, and there were many, there was no one Hannah wanted on this case more than Jessie. If anyone could get justice for Jax, it would be her.
Nonetheless, as she puttered around the kitchen, looking for s
omething interesting to make for breakfast, she remained surprised that she was alone. She cast her mind back to her conversation with Ryan before he too had left for the day, including his warning.
“I’m going to be spending the day hunting down the man who killed my partner last night,” he said. “He’s still at large and we have a real fear that he might go after the loved ones of the investigators. That means Jessie and you. Your sister can handle herself. She’s armed and spending the day with another detective. You don’t have those resources.”
“So you want me to hole up in this fortress of a house all day?” she asked.
“Look,” he replied, looking exhausted even though his day had barely begun,” I can’t make you do anything. Without getting into everything right now, you made that pretty clear to Jessie and me last night. All I can do is ask you to do is make smart choices. There is a threat out there. He’s actually an elderly man, which is part of why your sister got so worried when she heard you got in a car with an older man. This guy apparently uses his seeming frailty as a tool to get close to potential victims. No one suspects what he’s capable of.”
To her surprise, he’d basically left it at that. He said a casual goodbye, wished her a good day, and walked out the door. As she listened to the metal bolt locking mechanism slide back into place, she wondered if this was intended as some sort of reverse psychology. A half hour later, she still wasn’t sure.
Tired of thinking about it, she gave up on a fancy breakfast and grabbed some Raisin Bran. Though she prided herself on being a good cook and had even entertained the idea of going to culinary school after graduating, sometimes a bowl of cereal was all she had the energy for.
As she scooped a spoonful into her mouth, she tried to come to terms with her new normal. Despite her threats, Kat had spilled her secrets. Both Jessie and Ryan now knew, if not everything, enough.
They didn’t know about the shoplifting or walking in front of cars to cause accidents. But they knew about her confronting a drug dealer last summer. They knew about her attempt to entrap a pedophile she thought had kidnapped a girl. They realized that her help in busting a sexual slavery ring was as much about the excitement of using herself as bait as catching the scumbags selling the girls.
