by Blake Pierce
Jessie felt her whole body sink in on itself. She was out of ideas. Maybe they could still track Baker’s car. But there was no guarantee that she’d even used it. They’d find her eventually. But that would be of little solace to the family of whomever she was targeting tonight.
“But,” Court said, sending a jolt of adrenaline through Jessie’s body, “I might know where she is.”
“Where?” Jessie asked, trying to keep her voice even.
“When we were wrapping up after the wedding in Santa Barbara, I remember her complaining about an anniversary party she had booked for this week. I don’t remember the exact day. I just know it didn’t conflict with any of my events, which would have made it tonight, tomorrow or Thursday.”
“What was the event, Jeanie?” Jessie asked calmly despite her desire to scream at the woman to get to the point.
“I’m trying to recall. She said it was this ridiculous thing where the couple insisted that everyone attending wear 18th century ball gowns,” she said, before suddenly adding excitedly, “Oh wait, now I remember. It’s at the Ángel Montaña Misión in Palos Verdes Estates. And I think that it is tonight. I feel like I remember her complaining that it would take forever to get out there on a Tuesday night.”
Jessie looked over at Reid.
“How long will it take us to get there?” she asked.
“From here at this time of night,” he said, “Probably an hour at least.”
“Then we better get moving.”
*
They made it in forty-eight minutes.
Reid used his siren until they got to the border of Torrance and Palos Verdes, about three miles from the venue. Then he switched to flashing lights only and ordered all other vehicles to do the same. By the time they reached the bottom of the large hill where Ángel Montaña Misión was situated, even the lights were shut off.
Worried that she might not have a cell connection when they got higher in the hills, Jessie shot a quick text to Ryan: Found likely suspect location. Could be out of coverage range for a while. Will reach out when able. Keep Hannah and yourself safe. I love you.
She got a return text seconds later that was simple and straightforward. Be careful. I love you too. Feeling unburdened, she shoved the phone in her pocket and focused on the task ahead.
After getting up the winding road as fast as they safely could, they pulled up on the edge of the road just before the entrance of the venue. There were two vehicles already waiting there. With the additional two that had accompanied Reid’s car from the Fairfax district, that made five in total.
“What’s the situation?” he asked the assembled officers once they’d hopped out. Jessie remained silent, taking everything in.
“We did as you asked,” said Sergeant Hughes, the Palos Verdes Estates Police Department officer in charge of the scene. “The area is secured so that she can’t get out of the place by car. Escape by foot is another matter. There are several hiking trails that pass along the edge of the property. If she’s aware of them, she could slip by in the dark.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Reid said. “Nobody has approached the venue, correct?”
“No, Detective,” Hughes assured him, “though I had trouble convincing my people that someone shouldn’t go in wearing plainclothes just to keep an eye on things. Why can’t they?”
“All the murders have occurred later at night,” Reid explained. “If there’s no imminent threat to guests, we don’t want to do anything that will tip her off to our presence.”
“But if they’re in plainclothes, that shouldn’t be an issue,” Sergeant Hughes countered.
“Everyone at this party is supposed to be wearing outfits from an 18th century ball,” Jessie said, speaking for the first time. “Anyone not dressed like someone from that era is going to look out of place.”
“But you’re going in?” Hughes challenged.
“We spoke to the facility manager on the drive over,” she said. “He’s set aside some server uniforms for us. Hopefully that will help us blend in. If you want to select a couple of officers you think can stay low-profile, we’ll bring them along as backup.”
Hughes pointed at two officers. One was a woman, a petite brunette named Chavez with an impressive scowl. The other was a lanky guy named Coyle with sun-bleached hair. Jessie thought they were solid choices. Both looked young, like they could pass as twenty-something actors working as catering servers to make ends meet.
“Chavez and Coyle, you’re with these folks,” he ordered. “Take off your uniforms out here.”
As they undressed, Jessie gave them the rundown.
“Our suspect is Sloane Baker,” she said, showing them the woman’s ID photo on her phone. “She’s the photographer for the event. We believe she’s killed three people on each of the last three nights. She sprays them in the face with some kind of acid to disable them, and then injects them in the neck with drain cleaner. Do not approach her if it can be avoided and if you must, do so with extreme caution. I’m not kidding. This acid alone is incapacitating—it melts the skin off faces. Got it?”
Both officers nodded, though Coyle’s eyes were wide with astonishment. Chavez looked more taciturn.
“Our goal here is to get her in custody quietly and without incident,” Jessie continued. “The last thing we need is her seeing us, panicking, and running around a crowded party, spraying acid in people’s faces. So make yourselves scarce until told otherwise. Detective Reid will be monitoring events from the security office while the rest of us look for Baker. He’ll have access to multiple camera angles and can direct us as needed. Any questions?”
Neither officer had any.
“All right then,” Reid said, taking over, “let’s move out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Sloane could barely control her excitement.
For the last three nights, she’d simply waited at the victims’ homes and completed the Rebalancing there. But this evening would be different.
This time, she would eliminate the offending individual at her own event. That way, all of Janet Goodsen’s guests would get to watch her face melt in real time, as if she was the Wicked Witch of the West. They would be able to observe her death spasms, horrified by the sight of her but too scared to help; not that there was anything they could do anyway.
The trick was to complete her task without being seen, but still keep close enough to other people so that she could shove the dying woman into their sightline. Then she would sneak around and join the crowd, gasping in shock and disgust along with them. She might even take a few photos to share with the police when they conducted their investigation.
Carrying this secret knowledge around with her, aware that within mere minutes, she would be changing the course of multiple lives, was almost too much too bear. She felt like a bottle of soda that had been shaken violently. If she didn’t keep the top on tight, she feared she might explode.
As she wandered among the guests, snapping photos, she tried to maintain her persona. She was the bland woman that no one paid attention to, who blended into the background, almost invisible. She listened to nearby guests gossiping, oblivious to her presence, saying nasty things they’d never speak out loud if they thought someone who mattered might hear.
But she never lost sight of Janet Goodsen. She kept looking for the perfect moment to make her move. And then, an hour into the party, it finally came. Goodsen walked off alone, away from any other guests. Sloane, on the other side of the venue, snapped one last photo for an elderly couple who looked like they might collapse under the weight of their costumes, and then darted off after Goodsen, trying desperately to both catch up to the woman and stifle the giggle gurgling up in her throat.
*
Jessie buttoned up the red jacket on her server uniform and looked at the others as they stood in the crowded security office. They all looked like they could credibly pass for wait staff, though she and Kat would have to be cautious as Sloane had seen t
hem at the bakery earlier that day. They couldn’t afford to be recognized, so both altered their look slightly. Jessie put her hair back in a bun and Kat brushed her hair so that it covered much of her face.
Reid stood at the bank of monitors. Jessie had convinced him to run point, teasing him that none of the uniforms would fit him and even if they did, no one would buy him as a struggling waiter. She didn’t mention the other reason she didn’t want him out there. After what he’d told her about his heart condition and his seemingly repeated shortness of breath, she worried what would happen if things got ugly out there.
“Let’s split up,” she said. “Everyone take a food tray. Try to avoid eye contact with guests. Don’t get noticed. Don’t be obvious when you talk on the radio. If you see Sloane Baker, alert the rest of us. Don’t take any action alone. Keep a safe distance at all times. Everyone clear?”
Kat, Chavez, and Coyle nodded.
Then she pointed at a poster she’d pulled off the wall as they walked into the place. It was an elaborate one-sheet, designed to look like something one might see in a movie theater, with the Goodsens standing back-to-back, posing like they were the stars of a James Bond film.
“If you see either of these people, alert the rest of us,” she said before turning to Reid. “Any sign of Baker yet?”
“Nope,” he said, not looking up from the monitors. “But that’s not a surprise. This place is big and there are lots of dark corners.”
“Okay then,” she said, not exactly heartened by that news. The time had come. She opened the office door and led them out.
The facility manager guided them to the kitchen, handing each of them a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Jessie took hers and followed a real server out the swinging doors.
She’d been so busy prepping for what they had to do that she hadn’t bothered to take in her surroundings. But now, as she stepped out into the mission courtyard, her breath was taken away. Even under such stress, she couldn’t help but appreciate the place.
Everywhere she looked, she saw something impressive. The mission walls were decorated with murals, some of which may have been as old as the structure itself. The tops of the walls were partially carved out with ornate designs that seemed to tell biblical stories. The floor, both indoors and out, was a mix of different styles of tile, also clearly curated for maximum artistic effect.
Whole sections of the facility were cordoned off, likely because the tiles and walls were too delicate to survive extended interaction with humans. The fountain in the center of the main courtyard was defined by an elaborate ten-foot cross sculpture from which water gurgled out the top.
The hundreds of guests dressed like they belonged in the court of Louis XVI both added to and detracted from the majesty of the place. The outfits definitely created the sense that she had traveled back in time. But it also felt borderline disrespectful. This had once been a place of worship. That it was being used for such a vulgar, over-the-top event seemed somehow wrong. However, as she looked around, that wasn’t Jessie’s primary concern.
As beautiful as Ángel Montaña Misión was, it was also a potential deathtrap. The facility was massive, with long, poorly lit interior corridors and outdoor, covered walkways that were completely hidden in shadows. According to the site diagram the facility manager had shown them, there were multiple alcoves, sitting rooms, and gardens, all excellent places for someone to lie in wait.
Jessie tried not to think about that, and instead made her way through the throngs of people, looking for any sign of Sloane Baker. She especially kept an eye out for any flashes that might indicate a picture was being taken. Of course, it didn’t take long to realize that was a useless endeavor. Cell phone pictures were being taken left and right. There were flashes everywhere.
She walked around as casually as she could, offering obligatory smiles to the guests who picked stuffed mushrooms off her tray. One woman tried to get her attention to ask for a drink, but she continued on, pretending that she hadn’t heard her and ignoring the woman as she said something that sounded like “well, I never!”
She rounded the corner from the main courtyard to a long walkway that ran along the outside of one of the mission walls. Proceeding down the walkway, she navigated small pockets of revelers, looking for either Sloane or the Goodsens. She was about to enter the main ballroom to search there when she noticed three people standing at the end of the walkway, where it dead-ended at an overlook next to the edge of a cliff. A couple with their back to her was speaking to a man by himself. She squinted at the man. He looked liked he might be Nicholas Goodsen.
She hurried over, speaking into her earpiece as she approached.
“I may have a visual on the husband,” she muttered. “Back left corner of the venue. No sign of the wife. Going to engage now.”
When she arrived, all three people looked over at her, surprised at how a mere server seemed to be inserting herself into their conversation.
“I think we’re all fine for now,” the solo man said. “You can take your mushrooms elsewhere.
“Mr. Goodsen?” she said, adopting what she hoped was a polite, subservient tone.
“Yes?”
“I’m terribly sorry to bother you but the facility manager had a question for Mrs. Goodsen. Is she available?”
“She’s otherwise engaged at the moment,” he said. “Can I help?”
“I’m afraid he specifically said that he needed Mrs. Goodsen. He was insistent that I find her.”
“If it’s that important, you can tell me,” Goodsen said haughtily. “After all, I’m paying for this whole evening.”
Jessie debated how best to handle this. Being honest with the guy would likely make things worse. If he freaked out and Sloane Baker was around to see it, who knows what she’d do? Ultimately, she motioned for Goodsen to step to the side with her, out of earshot of the couple he was with.
“I’m not positive but I believe this may be related to a surprise your wife has planned for you,” she whispered conspiratorially. “That’s why the manager needs her. If she’s indisposed and you can direct me to her, I can let her know diplomatically.”
That seemed to alleviate his concerns. He even smiled slightly.
“I see. She went to the ladies’ room,” he said, pointing back in the direction from which Jessie had just come.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll go collect her. However, you may want to go to the security office just in case. The manager is there now. If he can use your assistance, he’ll let you know. If he shoos you away, you’ll know why.”
“I’ll do that,” he said, now seemingly eager to go to the office.
Jessie waited for him to cut through the ballroom and disappear from sight before she headed to the ladies’ room.
“Nicholas Goodsen is heading to the office,” she said into her earpiece. “Once he arrives, he should be kept there for his own protection.”
“Understood,” Reid said in her ear. “Where are you headed?”
“Goodsen said his wife went to the restroom on the west side of the venue. I’m going there now. Any sign of Baker?”
“I’m in the ballroom,” Chavez said. “She’s not in here.”
“Same in the central courtyard,” Kat added. “It’s crowded but there’s no sign of her.”
“I’m on the back veranda,” Coyle said. “I just got here, but so far I don’t see her.”
Jessie could feel the apprehension rising in her chest. Time was running short. Sloane could act at any moment. She hurriedly pushed her way back through the endless crowd of guests until she could step off the walkway and move along the covered hallway that now ran parallel to it. The hall was in shadows and she was tempted to use her flashlight but worried it would draw unwanted attention.
She reached the ladies’ room and was about to open the door when she decided to dump the stuffed mushrooms in the nearby trash can. As she yanked open the door, she held up the tray with her other hand, using it as a potential shield in case the
re was anyone inside with a bottle of acid spray.
The area near the sinks was empty. She was tempted to crouch down to look under the stalls but didn’t want to put herself in a vulnerable position. Instead ,she called out.
“Is Janet Goodsen in here?” she asked in a loud whisper.
For a moment there was silence and she feared she’d missed Goodsen entirely. Then a peeved voice in the last stall replied.
“Who is that?” she demanded.
“I’m working with the venue ma’am,” Jessie said vaguely, hiding the relief in her voice. “Can you please come out as soon as possible? The facility manager needs you in the security office.”
“What is this all about?”
“I’ll explain once you’re out ma’am. But he told me it’s quite time-sensitive.”
“All right, hold on,” Goodsen said, clearly frustrated.
The toilet flushed and Jessie used the noise to mask her voice as she updated the others.
“Located Janet Goodsen in the restroom. Will proceed to take her to the security office momentarily.”
A few seconds later, Goodsen emerged, wearing a gold-embroidered gown with a wide hooped skirt and a gathered bodice. Her face was pinched, making the caked-on makeup crack slightly. She waddled over to the sink and washed her hands. When she was done, she turned to Jessie.
“Explain the situation, please,” she instructed more than asked.
Jessie decided the time for diplomatic deception had come to an end. She needed to be straight with her.
“Mrs. Goodsen,” she began. “I’m not actually a server for the venue. My name is Jessie Hunt. I’m a criminal profiler with the LAPD. We’re investigating a series of murders over the last few nights that we suspect were committed by your photographer, Sloane Baker. We have reason to believe she may be targeting you or your husband next.”
“What?” Goodsen said, clearly not processing it all. Her pinched face had gone slack.
“I’ll explain more later, but right now, we need to get you to the security office. We haven’t been able to find Baker and until we do, you’re at risk. So I need you to come with me.”
