by Blake Pierce
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Jessie thought she might throw up.
No matter how much mouthwash she swigged or how many times she brushed her teeth, she couldn’t get the lingering taste of bad police station coffee out of her mouth.
I guess that’s what happens when I consume eight cups over the course of the night in a desperate attempt to stave off the exhaustion invading the edges of my brain.
It didn’t help that, overnight, the media had figured out the friendship connection between Jax Coopersmith and Claire Bender. The local news was already in a frenzy over Jax’s death and the subsequent, collective and anguish and anger of her fans. Now that they had a whiff of an interconnected murder spree, all restraint was gone. Jessie could only imagine how bad it would get when they realized that Brian Clark’s death could be tied to the others too.
The worst part that all her efforts to stay alert—the caffeine, the sugar rush from the doughnuts she broke down and inhaled, the jumping jacks she did on the sly in the restroom—didn’t do any good. They were hitting a dead end with Brian Clark.
It was approaching 8 a.m. and they still hadn’t discovered anything incriminating or unusual about Clark’s life. The more Jessie saw, the less she expected that they ever would. He was a straight arrow—a corporate attorney for a blue-chip firm, no criminal record, no debts to speak of, no known enemies.
The case he was currently working involved two financial outfits haggling over a minor dispute in profit percentages on the sale of a farming equipment company. It was soul-deadening stuff, apparently even to the competing parties, and didn’t appear to be murder-worthy. So once again, suspicion returned to his friends, in particular the bridesmaid connection among the women in the group.
Or, she thought as she rinsed her mouth out yet again, maybe the connection was weddings more generally. Was it possible that she and Reid were coming at this backwards? Could the weddings be the essential link and the specific social circle just happenstance? It seemed like a reach but one they had to explore. The urge to call the wedding planner overcame her.
“Hey Reid,” she said to the detective sitting one desk over from her in the Central Police Station bullpen, “it’s eight. How about we reach out to that wedding planner? What’s her name again?”
“Her name is Jeanie Court,” he said, sounding as wiped out as she felt. “And it’s not eight, it’s 7:47 a.m., which is still early for a lot of people. I know we want to interview the woman but let’s wait until nine. That’s a reasonable hour. No one can complain about a call by then. I don’t want there to be any excuse for pushback.”
“Fine,” she grumbled, turning her attention back to a list of Brian Clark’s previous, equally uninspiring cases. She could feel the need for another cup of coffee coming on when her phone rang. It was Ryan.
“What’s wrong?” she asked almost before answering the call.
“Everybody’s safe,” he assured her immediately. “I shared a ride with Hannah to school, and just dropped her off a few minutes ago. I’m actually on my way into the office right now. I don’t want you to stress, but there’s been an incident.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone even.
“The Night Hunter struck again last night,” he said, his voice heavy. She could almost hear him beating himself up through the phone, struggling to stay on top of things even though he surely felt like he was collapsing under the weight of this new revelation. “Details are still coming in but here’s what we know for sure. The victim’s name is Hallie Douglas.”
“Oh god,” Jessie said, immediately making the connection between her initials and Hannah’s. He had changed targets.
“Unfortunately, there’s more,” Ryan said. “She’s a college student, twenty-one. She has shoulder-length blonde hair and green eyes, just like Hannah. Her height and weight are also solid matches. From the photos I’ve seen of this girl, the two of them could be sisters, even twins, unless you look really close.”
Jessie gave herself a few seconds to process what he’d told her and what it meant.
“He’s speaking to me, Ryan,” she finally said. “He’s playing some kind of sick game. He’s telling me that if we go after him, like you and Trembley tried to do, he’ll come at what’s precious to me.”
“I know,” Ryan said quietly.
“Think about it,” Jessie continued. “He must have had this girl picked out for a while, waiting to use her as a message when the time was right. He scouted her. An innocent kid is dead just because she shares Hannah’s initials and looks like her.”
“I know, Jessie!” Ryan shouted through the phone. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I know that if I hadn’t frozen last night, she’d be alive right now, just like Trembley would be alive? Believe me, I know.”
“I’m sorry, Ryan,” I didn’t mean to suggest—.”
“Jamil’s down the hall from you right now,” Ryan said, cutting her off. “He’s gathering security footage, tracking nearby traffic cameras. We’re on his trail.”
Jessie was dubious about how much success they’d have, even someone as brilliant as Jamil. The Night Hunter knew what he was doing. He’d only be seen if he wanted to be seen. But she didn’t dare say that to Ryan, not in his fragile state. Then another, more pressing thought leapt into her head.
“You said you were coming into the office?” she confirmed. “Why aren’t you turning around to get Hannah right now?”
“Because Brady is already doing it,” he told her. “He was there when I dropped her off—had already spoken to a vice-principal about getting on-campus access. He texted me a minute ago to say that he’s collected her from her classroom. They’re in the office, just waiting for the assigned patrol car to pull up. It’s going to escort them back to the house. He’ll stay inside with her once they get home. One unit will remain parked on the street nearby with another one circling the area. She’s safe, Jessie.”
“Still, I should probably go home.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Reid, who had pretended not to be listening, stiffen at hearing those words. But frankly, she didn’t care.
“There’s no need for that,” Ryan insisted. “She’ll be in a virtual fortress with five law enforcement officers with or near her. You going back won’t make her any safer. Besides, you’re on a case. Three people have died in the last three nights. They deserve justice. And what if the person who killed them is planning a fourth attack tonight? Are you just going to play checkers at home with Hannah while that goes down? While HSS crumbles? No—you’ve got to stop these murders. Just like I need to be there so I can track down the Night Hunter. We both need to work our cases and trust that the people entrusted with Hannah’s safety will do their jobs. Besides, I’m more worried about you.”
“Why?” she asked.
Even though he knew he wasn’t on speaker, Jessie noticed him lower his voice.
“Because this guy is after you,” he whispered urgently. “So far he’s only been messing with your head, but I doubt he intends to end it there. We don’t know what his ultimate plan is. And while you can handle yourself, that alone may not be enough. You may need backup and, no offense to Reid, but he’s a little long in the tooth.”
Jessie thought about recent Reid’s admission about his heart. He had basically conceded Ryan’s point, which didn’t fill her with confidence.
“What do you suggest?’ she asked.
She heard an almost imperceptible sigh of relief from him and knew he’d been waiting for the chance to make his case.
“You’re a consultant for the LAPD. Your contract, which I know well, states that you can bring in ‘preferred personnel assistance’ that you deem necessary, as long the cost doesn’t exceed the rate for a comparable department employee. Basically, you can select a personal wingman on the department’s dime.”
“What, as my bodyguard?” she asked skeptically.
“Yes, he said bluntly, “
but not exclusively. Sure, I’d be more comfortable if someone we could count on had your back. But what if there was a person who could assist in both a security and investigative capacity? I’m thinking you could get a twofer, someone who has sleuthing experience but is also a badass, an expert at taking people down in dangerous situations. Can you think of anyone who meets that description and would love to get back in your good graces?”
Despite the stress of the situation, Jessie almost laughed. Ryan was being intentionally, almost insultingly transparent. But he wasn’t wrong. There was exactly one person who had all the skills she needed right now, along with the deep desire to redeem herself, if only Jessie was willing to let her.
“Are you still there?” Ryan asked.
She realized she hadn’t actually responded.
“Yes,” she finally said. “I get it. I’ll call Kat.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Jessie wasn’t hungry but she ordered oatmeal anyway.
Her text to Kat, asking her to meet at the Nickel Diner at 8:15, got an immediate response: I’ll be there.
While she waited in the red-cushioned diner booth, she texted Hannah.
Sorry for this morning’s craziness. I know this is scary. Will call later to explain.
Hannah’s response was short, and though Jessie tried not to read too much into it, seemingly curt: Okay.
Finally, she texted Reid to let him know she’d be back soon. He had offered to join her so they could work the case while getting a bite. She appreciated his desire to keep his nose to the grindstone but didn’t want him around for what was sure to be a very awkward personal conversation.
In an effort not to obsess, she put her phone away and looked around the diner. This was the same place, only blocks from Central Station, where she used to meet with Garland Moses all the time, where he was such a regular that all the servers knew his order without asking. And though she hadn’t yet established that kind of rapport with the staff, she liked being here, amid the morning bustle.
Sometimes she thought she could feel his presence, as if her mentor might sit down across from her and offer some sage advice. She missed him terribly. Somehow being here left more of an ache than living in the house he’d left her, maybe because this was where they’d forged the closest thing she’d had to a paternal relationship since her adoptive father was murdered by her real one.
Her ache at his loss was compounded when she thought of the others she’d lost recently. First her adoptive parents were murdered by her serial killer birth father. Then her mentor was killed by her ex-husband. And most recently, sweet, goofy Alan Trembley had died on the dirty floor of a youth hostel at the hands of an old man. What must he have thought as the life leaked out of him? And who else would suffer because of the Night Hunter’s obsession with her? Would Kat be next?
The front door opened to reveal the person that she’d been waiting for with both hope and dread. Kat looked around, searching the diner, not sure if she had arrived first. Jessie used that moment to size up the woman who, until two days ago, she’d considered her closest friend.
Kat was in her standard private detective uniform these days: blue jeans, a professional but utilitarian shirt that was rolled up near the elbows, and a leather jacket, currently swung over her shoulder. She wore work boots, always useful in a dustup. At about five foot seven and 140 pounds, she was both solidly built and sneakily attractive.
The average person might not realize what she was capable of at first glance. But upon closer inspection, there were clues. Her gray eyes were focused. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back into a no-fuss ponytail. Her visible forearms were well-muscled. And then there were the pock marks on her face, along with the thick vertical scar beneath her left eye, permanent reminders of her run-in with an IED in Afghanistan.
Kat caught sight of her and walked over, sliding into the booth without a word.
“Thanks for coming,” Jessie said.
“Of course.”
Before she could say anything else the waitress walked over, put Jessie’s oatmeal on the table, and asked to take her order. Kat looked at Jessie.
“How much time do we have?’ she asked.
“Not a lot.”
“Then just toast and coffee please,” Kat told the waitress before looking at Jessie’s food and beverage choice.
“No coffee?” she asked, noting the glass of water beside the bowl.
“I try not to consume more than nine cups in any six-hour period,” Jessie answered.
Kat nodded, unsure how to proceed. Jessie felt just as awkward but did her best to push it aside.
“Listen,” she began, “I know we’ve got a lot to work through but that’s not why I asked you here. We’ll have to deal with that some other time. Right now, I need a favor—a huge one—and it’s been brought to my attention that there’s no one better suited to the job than you.”
“I’m in,” Kat asked without hesitation. “What do you need me to do?”
Despite her best efforts, Jessie couldn’t help but be moved at the immediate willingness to help without even knowing the task. She did her best to hide the emotion as she replied.
“I can give you more details later, but here are the essentials. I’m consulting on a case for the department—three murders in three nights, all mutual friends. I’ve been paired with Callum Reid. He’s a sharp, solid professional. Normally that would be the end of it. But you know the elderly serial killer I mentioned to you a while back, the Night Hunter?”
“Yeah,” Kat recalled, “You said he went dark for a couple of decades after Garland nearly nabbed him, but has been active recently in L.A.”
“Correct. But in the last thirty-six hours, we learned some new information. His first two Los Angeles victims both had the initials ‘J.H.’ It was pretty clearly a message to me. But last night he killed a third person, a dead ringer for Hannah named Hallie Douglas.”
“H.D.,” Kat muttered, almost to herself.
“That’s right,” Jessie said. “We’re worried that he’s escalating things, killing more often and obviously taunting me. Ryan’s working the case. He thinks the Night Hunter may be on the verge of moving past taunting. Hannah is safe at the house with a phalanx of officers protecting her. But here I am, out in the world trying to solve a series of murders and prevent another. Unfortunately, my partner on the case just confided to me that he has a heart condition and is thinking of retiring any day. So he’s probably not in the best position to provide quality backup if things go south.”
“Jeez,” Kat said softly before going quiet when the waitress brought over her coffee and toast. When she left, Jessie continued.
“But apparently I can hire assistance at the same rate the LAPD would pay for comparable services. So I was hoping that, if you aren’t too busy, you’d consider signing on for a day or two?”
Kat seemed troubled and for a second, even though she’d already said yes, Jessie thought she might change her mind.
“Of course I’ll do it. No case I have is as pressing as this. But what about Reid? I don’t want to step on his toes.”
Jessie shook her head.
“I can massage that when I tell him. I’ll focus on the investigative angle. Frankly, we’re both exhausted and I’d bet he’ll be happy for the hand. Besides, he’s already working with one contractor so what’s one more? We’ll keep the ‘cover my ass’ element of the job just between us.”
“That sounds like a smart move,” Kat agreed. “Either way, like I said, I’m in.”
“Good,” Jessie said, relieved. “Then finish up your toast. We’ve got to get to the station to fill Reid in and then make our first stop.”
“Where’s that?” Kat asked.
“We’re talking to someone I thought I’d never deal with again: a wedding planner.”
*
Jessie was getting pissed.
She knew that fatigue was making her prickly but that wasn’t the only reason. The assistant to we
dding planner extraordinaire Jeanie Court was trying to give her the run-around.
“I’m afraid Ms. Court is with clients and can’t be disturbed,” an assistant named Yasmine told her over Jessie’s speakerphone as they drove to the planner’s office. Reid was at the wheel, with Jessie in the passenger seat and Kat in the back.
“That’s not acceptable,” Reid replied, speaking up before Jessie started yelling. “I reached out last night to let Ms. Court know we needed to speak to her this morning. We’re conducting a murder investigation. She needs to make herself available on our timetable, not hers.”
“I think she’ll be back in the office by eleven,” Yasmine said, seemingly unimpressed with the gravity of the situation. “I can pencil you in for her 11:15 slot. Just know that she has a lunch client at noon.”
Reid looked over at Jessie and gave her his best “I tried to help her, do your worst,” shrug. She was happy to oblige.
“Hi Yasmine,” she said in a saccharine sweet voice. “This is Jessie Hunt. I work with Detective Reid. How are you?”
“Okay,” Yasmine said guardedly.
“That’s great. I wanted to give you my name so you know who to blame when you’re arrested and charged with impeding a criminal investigation. That’s what’s in your immediate future unless you start giving us the answers we need. Do you understand, Yasmine?”
There was a long pause before the assistant finally spoke.
“I’m just doing my job,” she said, not conceding but definitely sounding shaky.
“I respect that,” Jessie told her, still using an over-cheerful, sing-song-y voice. “And you can be proud of that work ethic while you sit in a downtown jail cell, swapping stories with women in there for things like public defecation and assault with a sharpened plastic hanger. Alternatively, you can help us out. Because when it comes to murder, we don’t play. So are we going to meet your boss where she is right now or are we coming to her office to cuff you?”
