THE PERFECT IMAGE

by Blake Pierce

  “You obviously think that guy was Sumner, right?” Ryan said.

  “I’m sure of it,” she insisted.

  “Because he’s tall?”

  “That’s just the cherry on top. Did you see the way he struggled when he bent down and stood up? How careful he was when walking away? It’s almost as if he was dealing with a rib injury, the kind you might get if you’d been recently whacked with a big lamp.”

  “Jessie—” Ryan started to say, his tone suggesting more skepticism than she liked.

  “Hold on,” she told him. “I haven’t gotten to the best part. When we were in Sumner’s kitchen, I peeked into the living room and saw some clothes lying on the back of the couch. It was a pair of black pants and a black hoodie.”

  Ryan was quiet for a moment. When he started to talk, Jessie immediately knew she hadn’t convinced him.

  “You’re right,” he said. “It probably is him. Hell, I’m even willing to buy that he was there, scouting for a future attack. But that’s not enough to arrest the guy. Remember, he lives a couple of blocks away. It’s not unusual that he would pass by a neighbor’s house, especially one he’d cooked for. We already know that he likes to do his House Cooks close to home. Nothing we saw on that video would convince a district attorney to charge him. It’s all easily explained away.”

  Officer Wiedlin, who had shepherded Sumner to the bathroom, poked his head in.

  “I took your guy back to the interrogation room five minutes ago. He’s asking what’s taking so long. What should I tell him?”

  Jessie looked at Ryan, who shrugged resignedly.

  “I think we have to cut him loose,” he said.

  Jessie desperately wanted to argue but no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t come up with a reason to keep him here. She sighed heavily. Ryan took that as a sign.

  “Tell him we’ll be back in a minute to escort him out,” he told the officer.

  Wiedlin started to turn to leave. Something about the finality of the act made Jessie’s chest ache.

  “Hold on,” she said, standing up. “Tell him we’ll be back in five minutes. Say we’re sorry for the delay—that we’re following up on a suspect we like and we’re just finishing up.”

  “Jessie,” Ryan implored, “what’s the point of delaying the inevitable?”

  “You gave me an hour earlier today and I used less than half that to throw doubt on the Gahan case. All I’m asking for is five minutes.”

  Ryan grinned despite himself. He turned to Officer Wiedlin.

  “Tell him what she just said,” he instructed, “The whole thing—the suspect, the apology, the five minutes.”

  The officer nodded and left. When he was gone, Ryan turned back to Jessie.

  “Okay, consulting profiler Hunt,” he said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Right,” she said, sitting back down. “Let’s start simple. We know he did it.”

  “We just have to prove it,” Ryan replied.

  Jessie smiled.

  “Or at least make him think we can prove it,” she said. “Maybe if we can get him on the defensive, he’ll let something slip.”

  “He hasn’t so far.”

  “Maybe not out loud,” she conceded, “but I keep coming back to those clothes on the couch. I thought it was odd because everything else in his house was in its proper place. Maybe we poke him on that, comment on how not everything in the home was up to snuff, and see if he gets flustered.”

  “That’s feels like a Hail Mary to me.”

  “You’re right,” she admitted, though she couldn’t let it go. There was something about the clothes that felt important, like it might unlock everything else. “I just can’t get past why a guy that anal would just toss that stuff on the couch. It doesn’t fit the profile. It’s like…”

  She stopped mid-sentence as her brain opened up a door she hadn’t known was there.

  “Like what?” Ryan asked.

  When she spoke, it was with confidence that she had finally discovered the clue that would lead her to the truth.

  “It was like he had rushed home to change and didn’t have time to put the clothes in the laundry.”

  She stared at her fiancé as one realization cascaded into the next. She didn’t wait for him to respond.

  “That’s what it looked like because that’s exactly what he did,” she continued, grabbing her phone and calling Jamil. “He rushed home because he knew we were coming.”

  Ryan stood silently, waiting for her to explain how she was so sure. But that would have to wait.

  “Hello,” Jamil said after one ring.

  “I need the time stamp on the second clip you sent us, the one where the guy in the hoodie ties his shoe.”

  “One sec,” Jamil said without hesitation, his fingers audible as they flew across his keyboard. “It starts at 5:54:21 p.m. and ends at 5:55:09.”

  “What time did we have Cyndi call Curt Sumner?” Jessie asked Ryan.

  “A few minutes before six,” he said. “Remember, she was getting ready to close up the office when we got there.”

  Jessie nodded in agreement.

  “I’m willing to bet that she called him right before this footage,” she said. “I think he was about to sneak into Sheena Lennox’s house. I think he had it all planned. He knew when she walked the dog. That was the perfect time to slip in. He was going to wait for her to come back and kill her. But something stopped him.”

  “The call?” Ryan asked. “You think Cyndi tipped him off somehow?”

  “I think she didn’t have to. That conversation was so awkward and she sounded so nervous that he had to know something was up. Look at the video again. He’s staring off in the direction of Lennox and her dog, then he turns and leaves. I think that’s the moment when he decided he had to abort. He couldn’t risk it. If the cops were coming to his home, he had to get back fast.”

  “That’s not the only reason he had to get back,” Jamil chimed in excitedly. “Like I mentioned earlier, that tutorial video he uploaded has two clocks in it—one on the oven and another on the wall. They show the time he starts the lesson as five thirteen. He ends it at six-oh-one. If you guys showed up and he wasn’t home, that would prove that he wasn’t really home during that time, that he’d faked when he shot it. And that would mean he might have faked the timing of other videos too.”

  “Like the night Siobhan Pierson was killed,” Jessie said. “He had to get back to his house tonight in order to salvage his alibi for the night of Siobhan’s murder. That’s why he just tossed the clothes. He knew we were coming from his office and he had a good five-minute walk to get back home. He barely had time to change when he got there.”

  “Okay, but doesn’t the video upload have a time stamp?” Ryan asked. “Wouldn’t that show when he posted it?”

  “Sure,” Jamil answered. “But when it gets posted doesn’t depend on when it was shot. It’s easy to auto-upload a video at a predetermined time. Lots of people do it.”

  “That means that everything was probably faked,” Jessie told them. “The tutorial was pre-shot. The food was pre-cooked. He could have just microwaved it. Meanwhile he turns on the oven and the overhead lights for a few minutes so they’ll seem recently used. He changes into the more camera-friendly clothes he had on in the video. He even splatters some red sauce on his apron. But in all that rushing around, he forgot to move his other clothes into the bedroom, something this guy would never do under normal circumstances.”

  They were all quiet for a moment.

  “This is great stuff,” Ryan finally said. “But we’ve got a suspect in there who expects us back now. He could walk out of that interrogation room at any second. And because he didn’t actually kill Sheena Lennox tonight, it doesn’t matter that he faked his alibi because there was no crime to cover for. We don’t have proof that he faked the video the night Siobhan Pierson was killed. Unless he confesses, he still walks.”

  Jessie thought about it for a second before r
eplying.

  “You’re right,” she admitted. “This guy is too good. We might never catch him in a mistake that we can tie to one of the murders. That’s why we need to come at it a different way.”

  “A different way?” Ryan repeated, flabbergasted. “How do you propose to do that in the next three minutes?”

  “I’m not going to,” she said. “Jamil is.”

  “Excuse me?” the surprised researcher said over the phone. “How?”

  “First I need you to get a warrant to search Sumner’s house,” she told him. “But that’s just for insurance. This next part is more important.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If we can’t connect Sumner to these murders,” she explained, “then our best bet is to find out why he’s committing them. Are you still searching that client list?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m about halfway through; still nothing.”

  “Change of plans,” she told him. “Stop working backward. If we want to learn the motive for these murders, we need to start at the beginning. Something clearly set him off. But he didn’t begin killing women until months after cooking for them. Maybe whatever started all this began a while back too. Go back to the beginning, Jamil.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m on it.”

  “We don’t have any more time, Jessie,” Ryan insisted to her. “We have to get back in there now.”

  “I know,” she replied. “While Jamil’s doing his thing, we’ll be in with Curt Sumner.”

  “Doing what exactly?” Ryan wanted to know.

  “Well, like you said, we don’t have anything solid on the guy and we can’t be sure that Jamil will come up with anything new. So we’re going to do what you said.”

  “What did I say?” Ryan asked.

  “You said the only way to stop him is to get him to confess. So that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  “Sorry for the delay,” Ryan said to Sumner when they returned to the interrogation room. “We were following up on a time-sensitive lead involving a possible suspect.”

  “I hope it bore fruit,” Sumner said. He was leaning back in his chair, comfortably sipping at his water bottle.

  “We’re still in wait and see mode,” Ryan replied. “But we didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer that we already have. So let’s get back to the i-dotting and t-crossing, shall we?”

  “Hold on,” Jessie said. “Don’t you want to remind him of his rights again?”

  Ryan looked at Sumner questioningly.

  “Would you like me to do that? It all still applies but I can do it if you like.”

  “I’m good,” Sumner told him. “I can remember things for longer than twenty minutes.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Jessie said, baiting him as she and Ryan had predetermined that she would. “But are you sure? I mean it can’t hurt to have a lawyer to help out if there are questions you’re not equipped to answer.”

  She thought she saw the slightest glimmer of irritation in his eyes, though she worried that she might have imagined it.

  “I said I’m good,” he repeated slowly and with emphasis. When he was done speaking she saw that any impatience had been replaced by self-assurance. His relaxed demeanor was back. He thought he had her right where he wanted her. She could read it all over his face—he wanted to outsmart Jessie Hunt, the famous profiler who had just caught the legendary serial killer, the Night Hunter. At least now she had something she could use against him.

  “I was surprised by how messy your house was,” she told him in an intentional non sequitur.

  “What?” he asked, temporarily flummoxed. “You’re kidding, right? Other than a few dirty dishes in the sink, it was immaculate.”

  “No, you’re right,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively. “The kitchen was fine. I was talking about the living room, all those sweats draped over the couch.”

  The briefest cloud of uncertainty crossed his face before quickly fading away.

  “I went for a walk earlier,” he explained. “It was cold so I dressed warm and I lost track of time. By the time I got home I was behind schedule on prepping the tutorial so when I changed, I just tossed the clothes in the other room. I wasn’t expecting company.”

  His answer was completely plausible but that didn’t bother Jessie. Her goal had been to get him on the defensive and it had worked. Moreover, she realized with a slight rush, he’d essentially admitted to wearing the outfit they’d seen on the person in the security footage outside the Lennox house.

  “I’m sure you weren’t,” she replied, before veering sharply in another direction. “So you like to walk in the neighborhood.”

  He didn’t seem troubled by the sudden topic change.

  “Yes. Like I said before, I find it very relaxing with my stressful schedule these days.”

  “I know what you mean,” she said. “I could use some relaxation time myself. By the way, I noticed you stopped at the Lennox house.”

  His eyebrows arched slightly, which she interpreted as him being truly surprised, perhaps for the first time that night. He recovered quickly.

  “That’s right. Did you know I did a House Cook for them once? It was the easiest commute I’ve ever had. Nice people too. Anyway, I pass by their place on lots of my walks. I think I was there around four forty-five today. How did you know about that?”

  “Oh, I’m not talking about the earlier walk where you were wearing different clothes,” Jessie told him, not specifically answering his question. “I’m talking about the more recent one when you were wearing the sweats, at least according to the security cameras at the Lennox house.”

  She let that last line linger for a second. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryan stiffen slightly. They were entering a perilous stage now, when things could go sideways.

  Sumner played it as if honestly perplexed.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said softly.

  “Yeah; I knew it was you both times even though you wore the hoodie on the second walk because you have this kind of halting gait,” she said, cartoonishly reenacting his walking style. “It’s like you’re trying to protect an injured rib or something.”

  Curt Sumner’s eyes narrowed involuntarily at that comment. He definitely didn’t look cocky now. Before she could continue, both her phone and Ryan’s pinged with a text. She recognized the tone as Jamil’s.

  “Hold on one second,” she said, checking to make sure Ryan had noticed it too, and then standing up and moving to the corner of the room to read it. “I think this might be about the suspect we mentioned we were looking at.”

  She glanced down. Jamil’s text was comprehensive. It read: Reviewed CS’s client list from the beginning. Fourth ever client was killed ten months ago. Her name was Chrissie Newton. Throat sliced—case never solved. Also, warrant for CS house was approved. Team en route now. Additionally, trying to confirm tutorials were auto uploads. Even if successful, might not be a smoking gun. By the way, found this additional security footage a half block from CS home at 5:59. Suggests CS was forwarding his calls from his phone to a burner to give false location. Hope it helps.

  It was a lot to process but Jessie kept her focus on the data that could actually help her in this room right now. Her fingers trembling slightly, she opened the list of Sumner’s past clients and scrolled to the name Chrissie Newton. All it said was that the woman was married and lived in Marina del Rey.

  Still, she was a client who was subsequently killed with a knife. That was huge. There was no way it was just a coincidence. It was clear that this woman was where the madness had started. Jessie didn’t know how or why but it definitely all began with Chrissie Newton. Curt Sumner was unquestionably the man they were after. A thrill of certainty shot up her spine.

  And yet she knew she’d never be able to connect him to Newton’s death at this point. Too much time had passed. She had to move past it. Nonetheless, she committed the name to memor
y.

  She waited for the rush of disillusion-tinged excitement to pass. Once it did, she opened the video clip that Jamil had included. It showed a man in black pants and a hoodie who was clearly Sumner. He dropped what looked like a cell phone on the ground next to a trash can at a residential intersection. Then he began smashing it with his foot. After that, he scooped up the pieces and threw most of them in the trash, then snapped the one remaining piece into two, tossed them in his mouth, and swallowed them. Jessie assumed it was the phone’s SIM card. She looked over at Ryan, who had just finished reviewing the text as well.

  She knew what he was thinking because she had come to the same conclusion. Even though the wheels were in motion, it wasn’t enough. They would soon have Sumner’s clothes but they wouldn’t be evidence of anything illegal. They might be able to show that he faked the time of tonight’s tutorial but that did them little good. Proving he’d done the same thing the night Siobhan Pierson was killed was likely impossible. They knew he’d falsified his location for tonight’s call with Cyndi but that wasn’t a crime and confirming he’d done the same on the nights of the other murders was unfeasible in the time they had tonight, or maybe ever.

  They didn’t have enough to nail Sumner and they couldn’t count on finding any evidence that would. The team going to his house would tear it upside down but unless he was foolish enough to keep the clothes he wore while committing his crimes—and he wasn’t that foolish—that would be a dead end too.

  Jessie glanced from Ryan to Sumner. The chef hadn’t lost the apprehensive expression from when she’d needled him about walking oddly due to a possible rib injury. He was still off-balance. But if they let him leave this room now, he’d regain his equilibrium and likely never lose it again.

  They couldn’t let that happen.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  There was still a chance.

  After all, Curt Sumner was here of his own accord. He hadn’t invoked his right to remain silent. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer, even though he had to know that she suspected the truth of what he’d done. Despite everything, he was still playing the game. He still wanted to beat her. He was still sure he could, and he was probably right.