by Blake Pierce
“Fine by me,” Trembley said. “Stay in contact, okay?”
Jessie nodded and headed for the door to Soundstage 32. After a deep breath she yanked it open and stepped inside. The shock of cold after running in the muggy night air was bracing.
She moved quickly around the outer edge of the stage, peeking onto the set, which looked to be recreating the locker-walled hallway of a high school. There weren’t many places to hide there so she kept moving.
She came to the stage door that led to the production offices, wardrobe and prop departments, green rooms, and more. This area included the office where they’d conducted the interviews with the cast and crew. Down the hall was the prop room where Corinne’s body had been found and dozens of headless, limbless torsos still rested.
Something told her that if Callie Hemphill was on Stage 32, that was the best place to start. She rushed down the hall, keeping alert as she passed open doorways until she got to the prop department entrance. It was open too. She didn’t know if that was normal or not.
Before stepping inside, she reached in and turned on the light. The room flickered to life, revealing an endless line of latex body parts and torsos. If Callie simply stood among them, unmoving, it might be hard to pick her out.
Jessie closed the door so Callie couldn’t sneak out and began walking down the long middle row, careful to keep some space between herself and the grotesque mannequins on either side of her. She listened closely for rustling or heavy breathing, anything that might reveal Hemphill’s location. But the room was silent. She stopped moving.
I’m at a disadvantage here. There has to be a better way to do this, to change the dynamic.
“Callie,” she called out into the cavernous room. “My name is Jessie Hunt. I’m not a regular cop. I’m a profiler. It’s my job to get into the minds of people who commit crimes and try to understand why they did it. And I have to tell you, in your case, I get it.”
She stopped speaking, hoping for some kind of response. When none came, she continued, trying to sound as conversational as possible.
“I don’t know exactly what happened to you all those years ago, but I can guess. You had the lead role in a major movie. It was yours. And then it was taken away from you and given to someone else. I have an idea why. Maybe you weren’t willing to make personal compromises to keep the role and someone else was. Then you had to watch her become a star, facing no consequences for her lack of scruples. You watched the producer who hired her live high on the hog, never getting called out for abusing his power.”
She stopped talking again. Still no reaction. She went on.
“And then, when you finally get to a solid place in your professional life, it all gets thrown back at you again. The woman who got your role works one stage over from you. You risk constantly running into the man who yanked your dream job away from you. After everything you’ve done to climb back up near the top, you have to face the indignity of them looking down on you all over again. It’s not fair. And you’d had enough. Am I right?”
There was still silence but somehow it felt softer, as if some tension had been released from the room. Jessie wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or if she could trust that instinct. She decided to take a chance.
“Callie, as a show of goodwill, I’m going to put my gun away,” she said, lifting it high in the air and then holstering it. “You’re a smart woman. You have to know the situation you’re in. You murdered one person and tried to kill another. You’ve been identified. Police are converging on our location. There’s no way you get out of this unscathed.”
Jessie felt naked as she continued to walk, her hands empty, completely exposed. She tried to mask her fear with an air of confidence and sympathy.
“But if you give yourself up, if you come out with me now, it can only help you. Your two previous acts of violence, while horrific, were directed at people you felt wronged you. Your lawyer can argue credibly that you just snapped. But if you attempt to harm a law enforcement officer in a premeditated fashion—one who is trying to help you—that takes things to another level. No lawyer can spin that. So this is the moment, right now. We can salvage this together or you can ruin it alone. What’s it going to be?’
More silence. Jessie was at a loss. She had nothing more to say, no more help to offer. Did this mean that Callie was too far gone to save? Was she even in the prop room at all?
Then she heard it—the sound of movement up ahead to the left. A figure stepped out from behind two mannequins, both missing arms and with entrails dangling from their abdomens. Jessie felt a shiver run down her spine.
Someone stepped into the main path wearing black pants, a black turtleneck, and a black ski mask. Even though she’d never seen the movies, Jessie recognized it as the Marauder costume from the film series. It was how Callie had been dressed when she killed Corinne.
Seeing that her hands were empty, Jessie tempered the urge to draw her gun. Callie reached up, pulled off the ski mask, and tossed it aside. Her brown hair shot everywhere, a victim of the mask’s static electricity. Her eyes were dull, lacking the frenzied energy from the audition room.
“You made the right choice, Callie,” Jessie said calmly. “Now walk toward me slowly with your hands above your head. I’ll need to handcuff you.”
Callie did as she was told, moving forward, her hands held high, clenched together into tight, angry balls. Jessie pulled out the cuffs and moved forward to meet her. The woman was approaching faster than Jessie would have liked and she was about to tell her to ease up when a silent alarm when off in her head.
Clenched fists. Moving fast. Something’s not right.
At that moment, Callie pulled her hands apart, revealing that her fists had been hiding a balled up cord. Now only six feet away, she charged at Jessie, swinging her arms forward to wrap the cord around her neck.
Jessie didn’t have time to grab her gun. But she did have the cuffs. Without pausing to consider it, she clutched one cuff by the loop and whipped the other end at the advancing woman, smacking her hard in the nose with the metal cheek plate. Callie grunted and her head snapped back momentarily, making it impossible for her to see that Jessie had dropped into a crouch.
Callie ran straight into her and careened forward over her, doing an awkward somersault before landing hard on her tailbone. Jessie spun around, snapped one cuff on Callie’s still extended right wrist, and then connected it to the left. Then she grabbed the cord and yanked, ripping it from the woman’s fingers. She stood up, walked around to face Callie, and shook her head.
“You should have listened to me,” she said simply. “I was trying to help you, Callie.”
Callie Hemphill, aka Calliope Mott, looked up at her with loathing in her eyes.
“I’m done trusting other women,” she growled.
Jessie had no response to that.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
The sun hurt her eyes.
Jessie had stepped out into the Central Police Station courtyard at 6:21 a.m. to get some fresh air after working through the night. But she hadn’t been prepared for how bright it was. She felt like some kind of vampire.
She sat down on a bench, allowing herself to take her first mental break in hours. Callie Hemphill was in custody. Her arraignment was later this morning. Miller Boatwright was in the hospital. The medic had managed to resuscitate him.
When Jessie and Trembley had gone to interview him, he was alert, though hoarse and clearly weakened. He told them about his time with Callie in the audition room before Jessie burst in, about her accusations that he’d cast Corinne because she was willing to sleep with him.
“But I swear Corinne and I hooked up after she was cast,” he reiterated raspily. “And like I said, she was the one who pursued me after I broke it off.”
“But Callie didn’t know any of that,” Jessie reminded him.
He acknowledged that, as well as the fact that he’d aggressively come on to Callie while reading an intimate scene with
her.
“I admit that I used my position to get with women who might otherwise not be interested in me. But I never tied that to landing a role. There are lots of actresses out there who can attest to that. I’ve been rejected by tons of women who later worked for me.”
“But not Callie,” Trembley said.
“No,” he croaked. “And looking back, I can see how she might have mistakenly assumed that was why she lost the role, because she refused my advances. But at the time, it didn’t occur to me. I wasn’t the most evolved guy in the world back then.”
It turned out that Boatwright still wasn’t that evolved. During an overnight search of his office, Detective Bray had discovered a sizable collection of videos of him “rehearsing scenes” and ultimately having sexual liaisons with a variety of actresses at his apartment. Bray noted that the producer’s first stop after leaving the hospital might not be home but rather to a courthouse.
Jessie didn’t look at the videos but Bray indicated that a number of the women were household names. The videos went back at least a dozen years. She wasn’t sure how many of them would come forward to tell their stories when this broke, but at least there was physical evidence to support the claims, should they make them.
Detective Parker from Vice stopped by to tell Jessie and Trembley that after Tech cracked the Bad Boys list, they’d raided the CTA offices and taken multiple agents into custody for pandering. Among them was Jake Morant. Jessie regretted not being there to see that. Parker told her that they’d wait until later this morning to arrest Phil Reinhold so the old guy could get one more decent night’s sleep. Jessie had no illusions that this would suddenly put an end to the Hollywood casting couch but at least it was a start.
Jamil Winslow came over to the bullpen around 3.a.m, looking both tired and wired, to inform them that even if they hadn’t caught Callie Hemphill, Willem Struce would have been exonerated in his wife’s death. Video footage from his boyfriend’s apartment building confirmed that he was there when he said he was.
With the paparazzi surrounding the police station, Jamil had arranged for Struce to be snuck out the back in an unmarked car and taken to Owen Mulaney’s place, where he planned to hole up until the media frenzy settled down. Jamil seemed worried that he’d overstepped his bounds but Jessie assured him that he’d done the right thing. She didn’t mention it but she’d done something similar with Tara Tanner, whose name would not appear in their report.
Trying to push all that out of her head, she closed her eyes, listening to the early morning birds in the courtyard chat each other up. It was still early enough that there was a hint of coolness in the air. In another hour it would be scorching again.
She heard the sound of a door opening and forced her eyelids apart. Trembley was coming her way.
“Looks like most of the paperwork is done,” he told her. “I can finish up the last of it so you can head out if you want, maybe get some sleep.”
“Thanks, Trembley. What are your plans?”
“Hemphill’s being arraigned at nine. I think I might stop by to check out the show.”
“You and every paparazzo in the thirty-mile zone,” she said.
“You know I’m a sucker for that stuff,” he said sheepishly.
“I sure do.”
They were both quiet for a moment before Trembley nervously cleared his throat.
“I meant to tell you, I know I was a little—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jessie interrupted. “When it mattered, you were right there, doing what had to be done.”
“Thanks,” he said. “It was really great working with you. I feel like I got a new perspective on how to investigate. Maybe we can team up again sometime?”
“Maybe,” she said noncommittally. The idea wasn’t immediately off-putting.
The door opened again and Captain Decker walked over, his shoulders hunched as usual.
“Good work,” he said gruffly.
“Thanks, Captain,” Trembley said. “It was nice working with Hunt. I think she’s got real potential.”
“Speaking of,” Decker said, ignoring the attempt at humor. “You mind if I speak to her privately for a moment?”
“Of course not, sir,” Trembley said. “I’ll be inside efficiently completing paperwork.”
Jessie gave him a smile as he headed out. She was amused, even if the captain wasn’t. When Trembley had returned inside, Decker turned back to her.
“You look like me on a good day, which is not a compliment,” he said. “You should go home and get some rest.”
“I plan to,” she assured him.
“I wanted to thank you for your assistance, Hunt. We were really short-handed and you came through for us. Because of your help, Corinne Weatherly’s killer is in custody, a second murder was prevented, a prostitution ring was broken up, and a predatory producer may finally have to pay the piper for years of abusing his power. Not bad for a few days of work.”
“Thanks, Captain,” she said, sensing there was more coming.
He paused, unsure how to proceed. Eventually he just came out with it.
“Any chance you’d be interested in running it back again?”
“What do you mean exactly?” she asked.
“I mean, would you consider consulting for us from time to time, when we’re in a bind or have a case that is particularly messy?”
“You mean like Garland Moses did?” she pressed.
“Something like that.”
“He ended up coming in every day, even though he was never an LAPD employee. I’m not interested in that.”
“We’ll take what we can get, Hunt,” Decker said flatly.
“I’ll think about it,” she replied. “Why don’t you give me a call when you have something interesting and I’ll let you know if I’m available?”
“I’ll do that,” he said.
“I have no doubt.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Jessie could smell the bacon from the hall.
When she walked into the apartment, both Kat and Hannah were at the table, dressed and having breakfast. Her sister saw her, got up immediately, and went to the fridge.
“How do bacon and eggs sound?” she asked.
“They sound good,” Jessie said, plopping down in a chair. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem,” Hannah said from somewhere behind the refrigerator door.
“How did it go?” Kat asked, bleary-eyed.
“Short version: we caught the killer and a few other folks to boot. I can fill you in on the gory details later. Right now I’m operating on fumes. How did the stakeout go yesterday?”
Hannah closed the fridge door and looked at Kat, who shrugged.
“Short version,” she said, “I nailed the guy. There ended up being some complications with the client but that goes with the territory.”
“Fill me in on the gory details later?” Jessie asked.
“Sure,” Kat said, though not with much enthusiasm.
Jessie looked at Hannah, who appeared fixated on the eggs in her hands, and then at Kat, who seemed to be trying very hard to act casual, and felt a flicker of suspicion.
“Any particular reason you two are acting so squirrelly?” she asked.
“Nah,” Kat said, “I just think Hannah got a rude awakening at how boring stakeouts can get. We should have brought a Scrabble board or something.”
“What’s Scrabble?” Hannah asked, smirking.
“That’s the girl I know,” Jessie said. “By the way, I have some news. Garland left me his house in his will. We can probably move in next week.”
There were several seconds of stunned silence before Kat found her voice.
“That’s amazing! When were you going to tell us this?”
“I just did,” Jessie said.
She looked over at Hannah, whose eyes were rimmed with wetness. It took her a moment to gather herself.
“He was a really good guy,” she said softly.
“Yeah
, he was,” Jessie agreed. “I was actually planning to go see Ryan and tell him too. The place is well-suited for his recovery. And the walls aren’t paper thin, so I won’t have to hear you blasting your music.”
“That’s nothing compared to the stuff I’ve had to hear,” Hannah quipped. “If I wasn’t already in therapy, I’d need it after that.”
Jessie smiled but did not apologize.
“Do you want company on the hospital visit?” Hannah asked. “I can go with you.”
“Thanks. Next time, I think. I was hoping for a little solo time on this trip. I haven’t had much in the last few days. Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” Hannah said. “It’ll give me more time to plan how I want to decorate my room.”
Jessie smiled. That was the most excited she’d heard Hannah in a while. Maybe things were finally turning around.
*
Ryan was off the ventilator.
Doctor Badalia warned her not to get too excited. It was a good sign but he was far from out of the woods. In fact, it was potentially more risky because Ryan might try to push his recovery too hard now. He would need to go slow and Jessie would have to make him if he balked. He also warned her that, while they had yet to find any memory or cognitive issues, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t emerge later.
As excited as she was, the news didn’t prevent her from drifting off in his room while she waited for him to wake up. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out when she was startled awake by a grunting noise.
She looked over to see Ryan looking at her with alert eyes. She slid the chair over next to him and squeezed his hand.
“How are you doing?’ she whispered. “You don’t sound like Darth Vader anymore.”
He opened his mouth to reply but only a wheezy cough came out.
“Don’t try to talk yet,” she said. “There will be lots of time for that. Do you want some water?”
He nodded vigorously. She grabbed the cup on his tray and eased the straw between his lips. He sucked voraciously. When she was sure he was done, she put the cup back and smiled at him, trying to decide how best to tell him about the house. But before she could, he opened his mouth and tried again.
