THE PERFECT IMAGE

by Blake Pierce

  “But that could be anyone, not just vendors,” Ryan pointed out. “It could be friends, relatives, guests who attended parties at all three homes.”

  “Then I guess we better get to work,” Jessie said, smiling. Then she had an idea that made her smile even bigger. “I’ll call Decker and ask him to have Nettles and Valentine talk to Frank Marr.”

  “You don’t think Karen Bray should do it?” Ryan asked, surprised.

  “No. She’s probably wiped out because of all the stuff at the hospital with Reid yesterday. I think she could use a break. Besides, Valentine offered to help yesterday. Now that she and Nettles are done with their training session, I don’t see why we shouldn’t take her up on it. I say we don’t tell them where either of us stand on Marr and let them pursue him free of any of our biases.”

  She neglected to mention that she was especially curious to see what conclusion Susannah Valentine might draw from an interview with Frank Marr. Would she leap at the chance to pin him to the crime, like Ryan was doing? Or would she see the flaws in the case against him?

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Ryan asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. She must have betrayed a look that suggested she wasn’t being totally forthright.

  “I was just wondering how Reid is doing,” she fibbed, though now that she said it, she genuinely did wonder. “We should check up on him later.”

  “Okay,” Ryan said slowly, apparently still not completely convinced, “and in the interim?”

  “In the interim, we tell Jamil about my alternative theory and see if he can help us with it. Like you said, if I’m right, the culprit could be any one of dozens of people who might have had access to all three homes. All we know is that this person would be a keen observer who could memorize the layouts of the houses, what security systems were used, where cameras would be placed. They’d likely have a personable demeanor so that none of the victims would realize that the person’s friendly curiosity was really just a front to case the place for when they came back to kill them.”

  “So,” Ryan concluded sarcastically, “all we need to do is find out everyone who was in these women’s homes for say, the last six months?”

  “That sounds like a good start,” Jessie said, refusing to let his skepticism infect her. “I hope you ate your Wheaties.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  109 people.

  That’s how many they started with. Jamil had helped them compile a list of every party guest, meeting attendee, service provider, or vendor who had been in the women’s homes over the last half year. Jessie thought it could have been much worse.

  Only one of the women, Siobhan Pierson, had held any formal events at her home during that time. Luckily, it was a philanthropic fundraiser board meeting rather than a party. There were just eight attendees. In addition to that group, they pulled together every contractor, handyman, landscaper, lawn maintenance worker, massage therapist, yoga instructor, acupuncturist, plumber, electrician, cable guy, and personal shopper who’d been at the homes. Anyone who did a job these people didn’t want to handle themselves was checked. Then they started to cross-reference them.

  “Maybe it’s a security system technician,” Ryan had proposed. “They would know the placement and capabilities of the installed cameras.”

  It was a good suggestion. Unfortunately, none of the victims used the same company and none of the techs overlapped, so they dived back into the sea of names. By 9:30 a.m., with Jamil on speakerphone the whole time, they had managed to cull the big list of 109 people down to fourteen who had been at two of the three homes.

  But no matter how much they looked, they couldn’t find a single individual that they could place at all three houses. Jessie was coming to the conclusion that they might never when she heard Ryan’s name being called. She looked up to see Jim Nettles and Susannah Valentine walking into the Santa Monica police station bullpen. Ryan waved them over.

  Jessie couldn’t help but notice that Valentine looked amazingly fresh, especially compared to how she felt after the all-nighter. Her black hair was pulled back in a bouncy ponytail. Her hazel eyes sparkled. She wore slacks, a blazer, and a button-down shirt that was loose around the neck, highlighting her golden skin. Jessie tried not to hate her.

  “Hey, guys,” Ryan said when they came into the tiny conference room, “I didn’t know you were going to stop by.”

  “What’s going on?” Jamil asked over the speakerphone.

  “Oh, sorry, Jamil,” Ryan said. “Jim and Susannah just walked in. To what do we owe the honor?”

  “We just finished talking to Frank Marr,” Nettles said. “He was on a job site in Pacific Palisades so we met him there. Since we were so close, we figured it was quicker to just come by here to update you than to call. But I’m already starting to regret it. This room is a sauna.”

  “Don’t get me started. It’s like they’re trying to sweat us out of here,” Ryan griped. “I’m hoping you can make me forget about it. What did you find out?”

  “I’m afraid it was a bust,” Valentine said before Nettles could continue. “I know Marr looked promising because he was caught on camera and he knew the home layout. But when we dug in, it fell apart. He showed us a receipt from the In-N-Out Burger he said he went to right after leaving the Carlisle place. The timestamp is five thirty-one. We checked the restaurant’s camera and he’s right there at the pickup window at the matching time. It seemed unlikely that he could get from the house to the front of the drive-through line in three minutes—from five twenty-eight to five thirty-one—so we timed it ourselves. Sure enough, at a normal speed, it took us six minutes just to get from one place to the other, excluding wait time. There’s no way he could have made it in half that. Not even I could do that weaving in and out of traffic at top speed in my Mini Cooper, though I’d like to try.”

  Jessie did her best not to mutter “humblebrag” under her breath.

  “He also consented for us to check his phone location data,” Nettles added. “Unless that shows something weird, it looks like a dead end.”

  “What was his demeanor like?” Jessie asked, focusing her question on Valentine.

  “He seemed properly broken up when we told him about Whitney Carlisle’s death,” she answered. “If he was faking, it was very convincing. He said he had planned to stop by the house after lunch to see how today’s work was going.”

  “Didn’t his workers call him when they couldn’t get hold of her this morning?” Ryan wanted to know.

  “I asked him that,” Valentine said, again leaving Nettles with his mouth open but nothing to say. “He told me that since his guys are working on the deck this week, they didn’t need house access. They’d have no reason to reach out to her.”

  Jessie glanced over at Ryan, who looked crestfallen. Any satisfaction she’d gotten from being right about Marr’s culpability was immediately wiped away at the sight of his forlorn face. It didn’t help that Susannah Valentine, despite her inclination to cut her partner off, had passed her little test with flying colors. This morning was getting sourer by the second.

  “I need some air,” she said, and without waiting for anyone’s response, headed outside.

  *

  Jessie luxuriated in the biting cold.

  After Ryan’s bad news about Frank Marr and the total failure to find a connection among the three victims, she had gone outside and sat alone on a bench outside the police station, embracing the sting of the whipping wind from the Pacific Ocean, only four blocks west. It was bracing but it seemed to help clear her head.

  Realizing she hadn’t checked in at home she texted Kat to see how the night had gone. The response came quickly: Good so far. I’m working my accounting case. Hannah’s still sleeping.

  For a second, Jessie freaked out. It was almost ten. The girl was super late for school. Then she remembered: there was no school today. It was a teacher in-service day and the kids had it off. She replied quickly: Okay. Plan to stop by around lunch to check in
and freshen up. Thanks again for doing this. Kat responded with a thumbs-up emoji.

  Jessie’s mind returned to the endless list of vendors and service providers used by the victims, none of whom had overlapped at all the victims’ homes. She just couldn’t accept that three women who all lived within four miles of each had never shared any of the same providers. That seemed weirder to her than if they had a dozen overlapping vendors.

  Suddenly, her mouth began to water. Looking around, she saw the reason. A Mexican food truck had set up shop across the street. The smell of sizzling meat made her swallow involuntarily. The side of the truck had pictures of the different meal options. Above them was a big notice in red letters that read: CASH ONLY—no credit or phone payments.

  She stood up abruptly as a thought popped into her head, then dashed back into the station, looking for Ryan. He wasn’t in the conference room. She suspected he’d taken a break of his own but she couldn’t wait. She grabbed the phone and dialed Gordon Carlisle’s number.

  When he answered he sounded groggy.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mr. Carlisle, It’s Jessie Hunt. I’m sorry to bother you a third time but I really need your help with something.”

  There was a long pause before he replied.

  “Hold on a minute,” he said slowly. “I took some pills to help me sleep and I’m a little fuzzy. I just need to drink some water.”

  While she waited, Jessie tried to think of the best way to ask her question to a foggy-headed, grief-stricken husband. Before she’d figured it out, he was back on the line. She decided to just be clear and direct.

  “Can you think of any in-home service Whitney might have used off-book? Stuff she didn’t put in her calendar or some work that didn’t require a receipt? Cash-only services?”

  She could almost hear his brain searching for a suitable answer. When he responded, she knew immediately from his tone that it would be disappointing.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t think of anything.”

  She did her best to keep the frustration out of her voice when she responded.

  “Thanks anyway, Mr. Carlisle. I’ll let you get back to sleep. Please let me know if anything else occurs to you.”

  “I will,” Carlisle said heavily, sounding like he might fall back asleep even before hanging up the phone.

  Jessie sat silently in the conference room, listening to the station’s hum of voices and typing outside the door. At this moment her brain felt as foggy as she imagined Carlisle’s was. She closed her eyes, felt the heaviness of her eyelids, and considered giving in to it.

  But she was ripped from her near catnap by the sound of the phone ringing. Her eyes snapped open and she looked at the display. It was Gordon Carlisle calling back. She couldn’t answer it fast enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “She had a trainer.”

  “What’s that?” Jessie asked.

  “Whitney had a personal trainer,” Carlisle repeated. “She usually met him at the gym. But when she was super busy, she’d have him come to the house. It wasn’t a regular thing so she didn’t have it in her calendar. And I remember that unlike when she trained with him at the gym, with all its corporate rules, she paid for the home sessions in cash. That’s the only service I can remember her using that involved cash and no regular schedule.”

  “Do you remember his name?” Jessie asked, keeping her voice even so as not to betray her renewed optimism.”

  “Yeah. It’s Vince Hutchence. He operates out of Pacific Performance Club on Colorado Avenue. Does that help?”

  “I really hope so,” Jessie said. “Thanks so much.”

  She had barely hung up before she was tearing through Gillian Fahey’s file. First she checked her phone calendar for any reference to either Vince Hutchence or Pacific Performance Club. There were no mentions of him but it looked like Gillian used to be a PPC member until about a year ago, going regularly three times a week. She subsequently joined a different club but there was still hope. Since she went to PCC in the past, it stood to reason that she’d interacted with Hutchence.

  She switched over to Gillian’s hard copy appointment book. It was far less detailed than the one on her phone, more comprised of daily to-do lists than official appointments, all written in hard-to-read handwriting. She flipped through pages looking for the trainer’s name but couldn’t find it anywhere. She was about to give up when she saw a pair of letters, only just legible, out to the side of the list on a day about ten months ago: VH.

  Silently chastising herself for not considering that the woman might have used initials to save time, she reviewed the lists again. Now that she knew what she was looking for, it came much easier. She found another seven references to “VH,” all barely decipherable, the last one just three weeks ago. She was confident that they referenced the trainer. If she was right, that was two women who used him. She just needed one more.

  She began to search through Siobhan Pierson’s schedule book for any reference to PCC or any variation on the name “Vince Hutchence.” But there was nothing, not even a general mention of a trainer. Though she knew they were far less likely to have what she needed, she searched Pierson’s digital files for the same thing. That proved equally fruitless. It didn’t appear that the woman ever worked with the trainer or that she ever even went to PCC. Jessie could feel the optimism leaching out of her.

  In desperation, she decided that if calling one grieving husband had worked, she might as well try another. She was just dialing Ian Pierson’s cell phone when Ryan walked in.

  “Where have you been?” she asked as she waited for Pierson to pick up.

  “I went to the break room for a catnap,” he said, looking at all the documents spread out in front of her with raised eyebrows “but I must have accidentally turned off my phone alarm because when I woke up, it had been forty-five minutes. It looks like I missed something while I was gone. Am I right?”

  Pierson’s phone went to voicemail so she hung up and tried his assistant, Kelly.

  “I think I’ve found a possible connection among all three women. I’ve got two. Now we just have to confirm the third.”

  “What is it?” Ryan asked, all the sleep immediately draining from his eyes.

  Before she could answer, Kelly picked up.

  “Hi, Kelly, it’s Jessie Hunt. I’m here with Detective Hernandez,” she said, putting the call on speaker. “I’m trying to reach Mr. Pierson with an additional question but he’s not picking up. Can you help?”

  “I can try,” Kelly said, “but he might not be in a very chatty mood. When I checked on him earlier, he was already in rough shape. I had to help him to the bathroom. Is there something I can assist you with?”

  “Actually yes,” Jessie said, realizing that Siobhan’s assistant might be a better resource on this than her husband. “Do you recall Mrs. Pierson ever using a personal trainer named Vince Hutchence?”

  “Sure,” Kelly said so matter-of-factly that Jessie was momentarily speechless.

  She couldn’t believe it. They finally had another lead worth following. When she continued, she did her best to keep her excitement in check.

  “Did she pay him in cash?”

  “Yes—well, I made the actual payments on her behalf,” Kelly answered. “He specifically requested cash; said it made things easier on his taxes, which sounded sketchy to me. But Mrs. Pierson was okay with it so I did what I was told.”

  “Did he ever train her at the house?”

  “Yeah,” Kelly said, “a few times—maybe three. But she dropped him after that.”

  “Do you know why?” Jessie asked slowly.

  “Not really,” Kelly said. “She mentioned something about him being a little too demanding but she didn’t go into it. All I know is that she stopped seeing him and got a new trainer, a woman who came to the house twice a week.”

  Jessie was curious about exactly what “a little too demanding” meant. Did he push her to work too hard? Or did he
maybe come on to her? The latter wouldn’t be a shock but it would be bold. Making an unsolicited pass at a woman as powerful as Siobhan Pierson was a risky move. If she reacted badly and he felt threatened, was that a potential motive for murder?

  “When was the last time he worked with her?”

  “Oh, God, it was a while ago,” Kelly replied. “It’s late January now and I know it was just before her last birthday because she was hoping to look good for this tasting menu dinner a friend had gifted her. She wanted to be able to gorge all evening without feeling guilty. So, based on that, I’d say it was about four months ago.”

  “Thanks very much, Kelly,” she said. “I guess you can let your boss sleep it off a little longer.”

  When she hung up, she looked over at Ryan, who was staring at her expectantly.

  “Care to share?” he asked.

  “All three women used the same trainer in their homes. At least two of them paid in cash. I’m guessing Gillian did too. And it seems like the visits weren’t a regularly scheduled thing so they weren’t in their phone calendars. That’s why they didn’t show up when we did our searches. Not even Jamil’s advanced stuff would have picked them up.”

  “It sounds like we’ve got a legitimate lead here,” Ryan said. “How do you want to go at it?”

  “I say we surprise him and see how he reacts. I’ve got his website up now. I’m going to call his cell to make an appointment.”

  She was already dialing the number. It went straight to voicemail. His message was direct and to the point: This is Vince Hutchence, peak performance trainer. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to as soon as I can to help you on your fitness journey. Have a healthy day!

  “Hi, Vince, My name’s Jessie,” she said before leaving her number. “I’ve heard that you’re the guy who can get me looking good in my naughty nurse costume for my birthday party. It’s coming up soon so please get back to me ASAP. Thanks!”