by Blake Pierce
“Let me be clear. I firmly deny that charge or anything like it. I’ve never been abusive to Hannah, unless you consider asking her to pick up her clothes or turn down the TV to be abusive.”
Armbruster didn’t smile. After a moment, she glanced down at her report and then back up again.
“There is another claim that a student overheard Hannah sobbing in the bathroom at school and murmuring softly about the indignities she suffered at your hands.”
“I told her that’s not true,” Hannah interrupted.
“But Hannah,” Armbruster replied mildly, “you admitted that Ms. Hunt had you dragged out of a classroom in humiliating fashion just last month.”
“No,” Hannah corrected, clearly not for the first time. “I said that the campus security officer dragged me out. He was doing it to protect me because someone had threatened me and Jessie wanted to make sure I was safe. It was humiliating, yes. But that isn’t why she did it.”
Armbruster gave her a pitying look.
“In my experience, it’s not uncommon for young people to justify the actions of the people whom they place their trust in, often misguidedly.”
“May I ask you a question, Ms. Armbruster?” Jessie jumped in.
“Of course.”
“How did you get to our apartment?”
“Why, Hannah met me in the lobby and brought me up,” she said, looking mildly perplexed.
“So you saw our elaborate security procedures,” Jessie confirmed. “The unmarked floor, the hidden stairwell access and such.”
“Very elaborate indeed,” Armbruster replied.
“Indeed,” Jessie agreed. “We’ve had some issues in the past. But the funny thing is that, including us, this floor only has four units, whose residents’ identities I won’t compromise for their privacy. But it just so happens that I know each of them has been out of town for at least the last week. So I’m wondering who it was that heard this alleged abusive language and more. You know, considering we’re alone on the floor.”
“A good subject for the pending investigation, Ms. Hunt,” Armbruster said, untroubled.
“Don’t you verify allegations before taking action?” Jessie asked, unable to keep the tartness out of her voice completely.
“Before taking action? Of course. But how can we possibly verify or dismiss allegations without investigating, Ms. Hunt? I would have thought you’d know that. Aren’t you a detective of some sort?”
“I’m a criminal profiler,” Jessie said.
“Very exciting,” Armbruster replied insincerely. “In any case, we follow procedure at the DPSS. And I regret to inform you that there seems to be enough merit to the allegations to proceed to the next stage of the investigation.”
“On what basis are you claiming there’s ‘merit’?”
“My years of experience, Ms. Hunt,” she answered icily.
“You’re not taking me away?” Hannah asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.
Armbruster gave her another smile, full of faux sympathy.
“Not at this time, dear,” she said, then turned to Jessie. “Sadly, the wheels of justice move slowly. But I assure you, I’ll be in touch about next steps. In the interim, here’s my card. I’ve already given one to Hannah and told her to call me anytime, for any reason. I trust you won’t interfere if she were to try to avail herself of my services.”
“I couldn’t stop Hannah from doing what she sets her mind to, even if I wanted to,” Jessie said.
“Then I’ll see myself out,” Armbruster replied, getting up and walking to the door.
“Are you sure you don’t need an escort?” Jessie asked, “What with the confusing building layout and no one else on the floor to guide you.”
“I’ll get by,” Armbruster said crisply.
When she was gone, Jessie locked the door and turned back to Hannah, who had an oddly guilty look on her face.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Hannah said. “I just feel bad. I can’t believe the thing with the security officer at school led to this. And I’ve never dealt with such an awful DPSS person. Most of them are pretty nice, all things considered.”
“Don’t feel bad,” Jessie said. “I’m not sure that any of this is just bad luck.”
“What do you mean?”
Jessie debated how forthright to be. Hannah had already been through so much. She didn’t want to pile more weight on a girl who was clearly struggling with what she was already carrying. But it might be better to let her know what was going on so she could better deal with it. In her limited semi-parenting experience, she’d usually (with one big exception) found being honest more effective than hiding things.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” she finally answered. “In the last few days, I’ve been dealing with some unusual events that seem to be connected. It looks like someone is actively trying to mess with my life. First, all of my tires were slashed. Then, as you well know, my social media was hacked. And now there’s this out-of-the-blue visit from Social Services suggesting abuse. It’s possible that they’re all connected. We’re investigating who might want to do me harm.”
“Have you looked at the cop, Costabile?’ Hannah suggested. “He’s already threatened us both. I doubt being in jail would stop him from doing more.”
“We’re definitely looking at him, as well as some other folks I’ve pissed off in the past. It turns out there are quite a few. That’s why I need to ask you a question.”
“Okay,” Hannah said, sounding wary.
“I don’t want you to take offense. But before I officially add this visit to the list of incidents we investigate, I need to know: is there any chance you were so upset about those posts you thought I wrote that you called DPSS to get back at me?”
Hannah looked at her like she’d just said Santa Claus wasn’t real.
“How can you even ask me that?” she asked.
“I don’t want to,” Jessie said. “But if I’m going to ask LAPD detectives to try to see who made those anonymous calls, that’s a delicate request. I have to be sure they’re not going to uncover an embarrassing surprise.”
Looking at her sister, Jessie was already regretting her decision to ask. She’d never seen Hannah looked so wounded, not even after learning her father was the serial killer who murdered her adoptive parents.
“No,” she said slowly and plainly. “I didn’t make the call. Good night.”
Then she walked to her room and closed the door. It was only 6:30 p.m. but Hannah never left her room. Jessie knocked several times, asking to come in, but got no response. She decided not to push. Instead, other than making a grilled cheese sandwich which she left outside the door, she didn’t bother the girl again that night.
Before she crashed for the night herself at the shockingly early hour of 8:45 p.m., one bitter thought passed through her mind as she recalled her interactions with both Kat and Hannah.
Someone may be trying to destroy my life. But I seem to be doing a pretty good job of it all by myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Breakfast was a silent affair.
Hannah wasn’t speaking and Jessie didn’t want to pretend everything was all right by being overly chipper. In fact, when they both left for their respective destinations and Jessie said to have a good day, she realized it was the first time she’d spoken. Hannah nodded but didn’t say a word.
At the office, she discovered that while she’d been home dealing with allegations of abuse and emotional blowouts, the rest of the HSS team had been hard at work. Ryan had exchanged updates with Detective Sands from Pacific Division, though neither had much to offer the other.
“That’s a bummer,” Jessie said.
“There is some good news,” Ryan offered.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Captain Decker was successful in getting protective orders for both Jayne Castillo and Brenda Ferguson.”
“What exactly do they entail?�
� she wanted to know, still tentative in her enthusiasm.
“They entail the following,” someone behind her said, startling her and making her spin her chair around quickly.
It was Decker, who stood with his arms crossed defensively. He continued.
“There are now two uniformed officers camped outside each of their homes who will also accompany them on any outings.”
Jessie decided not to revisit her outburst yesterday. Instead she merely nodded in acknowledgment. Decker had apparently made the same choice as he simply went on.
“Though no more leads have been uncovered regarding the murders, the HSS detective squad has made some progress in checking out folks who might want to undermine your reputation. Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private for that conversation.”
The whole team went to a secluded conference room to avoid prying ears in order to review what they’d uncovered. Before they started, Jessie told them about her visit from Delia Armbruster at DPSS and suggested they add it to the list of harassment. With that in mind, they told her what they’d found.
Detective Alan Trembley started. As the junior detective on the team at just twenty-eight, he was anxious to make a good impression and his nervousness was obvious. His glasses were smudged and his curly blond hair was, as usual, a mess. He’d been tasked with looking into Sergeant Hank Costabile, the corrupt Valley Division officer who’d tried to protect a police commander from being discovered as a client of a murdered porn actress who escorted on the side.
Even though the commander wasn’t ultimately implicated in the murder, Costabile had gone to extreme lengths to cover up his former boss’s indiscretion, including threatening both Jessie and Hannah and even having one of his minions try to hit Jessie and Ryan with an unmarked car.
“In order to protect him from the general population,” Trembley started, “Costabile is being held in a special wing of the Men’s Central Jail while he awaits trial. There is a long record of his calls and visits. With the exception of his lawyers, we have video and audio recordings of them. None of them is incriminating in terms of threats against you.”
“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there, Trembley,” Decker said.
“Yes, Captain,” Trembley conceded. “Normally I’d be reluctant to go there, but not with this guy. I did find a few records of folks from his station in Van Nuys going to the jail but not signing in as visitors. I can’t confirm that they were seeing Costabile on those trips and there is no record of meetings. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t happen. If they did, it could have been an ideal time for Costabile to give his minions instructions on how to ruin Jessie’s life.”
“Were any of the guys who stopped by but didn’t sign in tech types?” Ryan asked.
“No,” Trembley answered. “They were all street officers. But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t pass the request along.”
“Okay,” Decker said. “We’re not there yet. But the next step would be to see if our tech team can somehow link anyone at Van Nuys station to the social media hacks or to these anonymous calls to DPSS. I’m reluctant to pull the trigger on that until I have to since it will require a warrant. If it gets out that a captain from one station is requesting warrants on the staff at another station, that could get ugly fast. So we’ll hold on that for now. What did you find, Reid?”
Everyone turned to Detective Callum Reid, the forty-something veteran of the team. He slid on his bifocals and stared at the sheet of paper in front of him. He’d been assigned to investigate Eliza Longworth. The wife of a wealthy Pacific Palisades real estate broker, she’d been convicted of murdering her best friend, whom she’d learned was having an affair with her husband.
Jessie had confronted Longworth when she learned the truth and told her that she might get a reduced sentence if she confessed, which would allow her to get out of prison before her young children were adults. But Eliza had gone a different way, trying to stab Jessie with a butcher knife.
Reid glanced at his notes one last time before looking up at everyone.
“Unless she’s the most devious wronged wife in history, I think we may be able to rule Longworth out,” he said.
“I’d love to believe it,” Jessie said, still remembering how Eliza had come at her with murder in her eyes. “Set my mind at ease.”
“From what I learned, things were bumpy for her in prison the first few months,” Reid said. “But at some point, she seemed to make peace with her situation. She recorded an apology video to the children of Penelope Wooten, the friend she killed. They’ll see it when their dad thinks they’re old enough. She’s apparently made one for you too, Jessie, though I’m told she doesn’t feel ready to send it yet. She started a support group for incarcerated mothers. In general, she’s been a model prisoner.”
“Just the kind of façade that could come in handy if she had ulterior motives,” Ryan noted.
“Possible,” Reid acknowledged. “But she hasn’t been visited by anyone out of the ordinary who might be able to organize a complicated effort to damage Jessie. Other than her lawyer, her only visitors have been her kids. I doubt she’s passing them coded instructions.”
“Fair enough,” Decker said, sounding convinced. “What about our other most likely suspects?”
Reid continued.
“I also checked on Dr. Richard Kallas, the plastic surgeon you guys just nailed for murdering that teenage porn actress he was fixated on. We’ve got good news on that one too.”
“What’s that?” Jessie asked.
“He’s been in isolation since he was arrested. Apparently he hasn’t been playing well with others. Other than a couple of visits from his lawyer, he hasn’t had a single visitor or call. I think we can rule him out.”
“Oh happy day,” Jessie said more cynically than she’d intended.
Ryan raised his hand. Decker nodded at him to go ahead.
“I did preliminary checks on both Jessie’s ex-husband, Kyle Voss, and Andrea Robinson,” he said. “But it looks like Jessie is going to have to do the follow-up conversations. My call to the prison where Voss is being held, the Theo Lacy Facility in Orange County, was referred to the FBI. I know you said Agent Jack Dolan might be able to fill you in. I’m hoping so because I got nothing.”
“I texted him this morning,” Jessie replied. “He’s available so I’m going to call him after we’re done here. All I know is that Kyle was worming his way in with a gang associated with a cartel. Dolan thought it was to get protection but he wasn’t sure. I’ll see if he has anything new.”
“Okay,” Decker said. “Then what about Andrea Robinson?”
Andrea “Andy” Robinson was Jessie’s first case for the LAPD. Andy was a bored, rich society girl with a biting wit, a sharp tongue, and an apparent willingness to help Jessie navigate the cutthroat world of country club secrets. Jessie was drawn to her immediately and, after the case was seemingly solved, decided to hang out with her new friend.
Unfortunately, Andy turned out to be a sociopath who had poisoned her married lover’s wife and framed an innocent maid for the crime. When Andy sensed the profiler was on to her, she poisoned her too. Only Jessie’s quick thinking saved her from meeting the same fate as the murdered woman. She still beat herself up for allowing Andy’s charm to blind her to the woman’s true nature.
“Now that one was interesting,” Ryan said, pulling Jessie out of the unpleasant memory. “As I feared, since Robinson’s being held in the Forensic In-Patient Unit at the women’s unit of the Twin Towers Correctional Facility, they wouldn’t give me any information on her visitors, or anything else for that matter. So I decided to call your friend Dr. Lemmon.”
“Who’s that?” Trembley asked.
“Jeez, Trembley, sometimes I forget just how green you still are,” Decker said with mild annoyance. “Dr. Janice Lemmon is one of the most preeminent behavioral therapists in the country. She’s consulted on tons of cases for us, as well as for the FBI. I heard she even worked for the
CIA for a while. She’s like Garland Moses without a badge.”
“And she’s your friend?” Trembley asked Jessie.
“Among other things,” she said. “She’s also my therapist, has been for years. When your father kills your mother when you’re six years old, then slices you open along your collarbone from your neck to your shoulder, and leaves you alone with her body in a freezing, abandoned cabin in the woods, you find that you need some top-notch therapy. She’s the best, so I went to her.”
“But what does she have to do with Andrea Robinson?” Trembley asked.
“In addition to the work the captain mentioned,” Ryan said, “she also consults for multiple psychiatric hospitals in Southern California. I thought she might be able to grease the wheels and get us the information we needed.”
“Any luck?” Reid wondered.
“Not in getting access to records,” Ryan replied. “Even Lemmon would have to jump through more bureaucratic hoops than we’re probably willing to take on right now. But she was able to get one concession.”
The way he said that last line made the hairs on the back of Jessie’s neck prickle. Whatever the concession was, she doubted it was going to be without a price.
“What is it?” she asked cautiously.
“Dr. Lemmon told me that Andrea Robinson is willing to talk. But only to you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Jessie couldn’t decide which was worse.
Did she want to talk to an FBI agent about what the sociopathic ex-husband who tried to murder her was up to? Or did she prefer to talk to the sociopathic psychiatric prison resident who tried to kill her after inviting her over for a girls’ night?
Ultimately she decided to start with the conversation about a killer and work her way up to the chat directly with a killer. So she called FBI Special Agent Jack Dolan.
