The Perfect Neighbor (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Nine)

by Blake Pierce

  When she finally felt like she had regained some measure of control over her body, she stood back up. Ryan was studying her with a concerned expression.

  “I’m okay,” she said, though she wasn’t certain that was true. “Walk me through the scene.”

  Ryan stared at her like she was crazy.

  “I can’t do that,” he said in disbelief. “You’re in no condition to be reviewing a crime scene right now.”

  “But you are?’ she demanded, feeling a sudden, inappropriate level of anger rising in her belly. “You knew him too.”

  “Yes,” Ryan conceded. “I knew him and I liked him. But I was nowhere near as close to him as you were. And it was still brutal for me. I actually called in Trembley to help out because I was struggling with it.”

  “Is he in there now?” Jessie asked. Alan Trembley was the junior detective in the HSS unit at Central Station. Despite his youth, he’d proven to be an energetic and capable member of the team.

  “Yes, and he’s doing a great job. I’m going to tell him to take over so I can get you home.”

  “No,” she argued. “I don’t want to you to miss something important because you weren’t here.”

  “Jessie. We’ve got it locked tight up there. We’re not using MBPD for this investigation. The officers in there with Trembley are from our station. The deputy coroner and crime scene techs are ours. Captain Decker insisted on using all our own people and the Manhattan Beach chief didn’t say boo. We’ve got photos being taken, video being shot. Everything that can be done is being done. Let me take you home. I’ll have someone drive your car back. Trust me. You don’t want to be in there.”

  Jessie glanced over his shoulder at the beach in the distance. The fog was starting to dissipate. She still couldn’t see the water but could make out the silhouettes of several people walking on the sand.

  Who would be out walking on the beach at this hour?

  She shook her head in frustration with herself.

  What difference does that make right now? Get your head on straight!

  “Okay,” she finally answered. “But let’s go down there first.”

  Ryan looked in the direction she was facing and nodded.

  “Just wait a minute,” he said. “I want to let Trembley know what’s going on first.”

  “Go ahead,” she said distractedly. “I’ll meet you on the sand.”

  Ryan led her down the stairs and then headed back up. Jessie walked out the front door and found a set of steps leading from the Strand down to the bike path below and beyond that, the beach. She took off her shoes and held them by the heels with her fingertips as she walked toward the water.

  Thought it was early summer, at this hour the sand was still cool as it shifted under her feet and wriggled its way between her toes. She moved slowly so as to keep her balance, following the sound of the waves more than any visual cues. As she got closer, one of the old blue wooden lifeguard stations came into view.

  She passed it and noticed that the sand was now harder and more tightly packed. A few steps farther and she felt the dampness under her feet where the tide had recently come in. The water was now visible. She watched as the waves collapsed in on each other, creating a frothy surf that bubbled white as it reached out longingly for her toes. She sat down just out of its reach and watched.

  After a while—she wasn’t sure how long—Ryan arrived and sat down beside her. He didn’t say anything and neither did she. She reached her hand out and he took it. She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. She thought that maybe the crashing waves hid her weeping. But she wasn’t sure and she didn’t really care.

  *

  He watched until the sun came up.

  At first it was hard with the fog and because he was several blocks away. But after he found a pair of binoculars in the master closet, he was able to go on the rooftop deck and keep tabs on all the comings and goings six blocks down the Strand, where it had happened.

  He was weirdly excited by it all. There was something satisfying in knowing that he was the reason the beachfront was a symphony of sirens the last two nights. He didn’t completely understand it. The first night made sense. But the police response in the middle of last night seemed even more intense than the night before. Maybe there was something he was missing.

  Eventually, as the sun rose over the hills in the east, he retreated back into the home he’d adopted for the time being. He wanted to sleep but it was hard with all the excitement. His mind kept flashing back to what he’d done, what he’d taken away.

  He’d never intended to kill that woman. After all, he was minding his own business in the Bloom house, the one they always left for weeks at a time during the summer. He wasn’t bothering anyone.

  But then that busybody woman from next door, with her plastic body and even faker smile, had to show up. He thought she’d go away after a while but she actually entered the house, committing the same crime he had. He hoped she’d just go and let him get back to his life. But no, she had to get curious and give herself a tour of the house. If only she’d kept her nose out of it, she’d probably be alive today.

  But once she saw him, he had no choice. She likely would have given a description of him to the police and then he’d be in a really desperate situation. So he had to stop her, had to silence her. He couldn’t let her take away the lifestyle he’d been living, even if it was only temporary.

  So he’d strangled her. Initially, he was riding on adrenaline when he slammed her against the door and later, wrapped the stocking around her neck. There was a moment, when she was really flailing and struggling, that he briefly had second thoughts. Maybe he could just knock her out and make a run for it, go somewhere else entirely.

  But then the old fury reared its head. Why should he have to leave to accommodate the desires of another rich bitch? He’d done enough of that in his life. Suddenly he was squeezing her neck even tighter, imagining she was one of the models who used to do whatever he wanted but wouldn’t even look at him now. He watched the stocking material dig into her flesh, cutting off her circulation, and felt a thrill of almost orgasmic excitement at the realization that her life was literally in his hands.

  And then it was over. She lay limp on the floor. The buzz started to fade almost immediately. He tried to keep his head about him, aware that the woman’s husband didn’t usually get home for at least another hour.

  He hurried around the house, wiping down every surface he could remember touching. He’d worn gloves virtually the entire time he’d been there. But one could never be too careful. Within fifteen minutes he was ready to go. He borrowed one of Bloom’s sweatshirts, pulled the hoodie over his head, and left. No one gave him a second look.

  Now, as he rested on the bed in his latest unsanctioned Airbnb, he recalled the feeling he’d gotten as he stole the last bit of life from that woman. It wasn’t something he’d ever have thought himself capable of. Yet he had to admit, it was a rush unlike anything he’d ever experienced. And if he was honest with himself, it was something he’d been longing for ever since. He knew it would happen again. The only question was when.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ryan made coffee while Jessie showered.

  Neither of them even considered going back to sleep once they returned to the apartment just after five. Hannah would be up in an hour anyway. The realization crushed Jessie anew.

  How am I going to tell her?

  Her sister wasn’t known for expressing her emotions or even necessarily having them. The concern that Hannah was a narcissistic sociopath incapable of feeling empathy was something Jessie had discussed with Garland on many occasions.

  Now that worry would be put to the test. Hannah and Garland had become friendly, maybe even close, to the extent that was possible for her. Would she feel gutted by his loss? Or would it just be one more body in the endless parade of death she’d faced in the last year?

  First her adoptive parents had been killed in front of her. Then th
e same thing happened to her foster parents. She’d seen Jessie tortured. She’d watched a serial killer murder a man in an attempt to co-opt her into becoming one herself.

  And now this, the murder of a man she viewed as a paternal figure, who listened to her and took her seriously. At what point would she just shut down, too numb to the horrors she’d seen and suffered to engage with the world? Had it already happened? Was she just faking normal emotions?

  When Jessie emerged from the bedroom, she found she would be able to test that question right away. Hannah was up, wearing a bathrobe and sipping coffee on the couch. When Jessie glanced over at Ryan, he shook his head imperceptibly to let her know he hadn’t said anything about what happened.

  “Morning,” Hannah mumbled when she saw her.

  “Morning,” Jessie replied as casually as she could.

  Hannah cocked her head to the right, a probing look on her face.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Huh?” Jessie replied, feigning confusion. She needed more time to prepare for this.

  “Something’s up,” she said with certitude. “You’re being fake cheerful and Ryan’s doing everything he can to avoid making eye contact with me. What’s going on?”

  Jessie walked over, trying to think of how best to broach the subject. She sat down next to the half-sister she hadn’t known existed less than a year ago. Hannah stared at her with an odd mix of expectant trepidation. She’d learned to almost smell bad news coming.

  I owe it to her to be honest. She’s earned that.

  “I’ve got bad news,” she said slowly. “I had hoped we were done with saying that for a while. But I guess we’re not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Garland Moses was murdered last night while working on a case,” Jessie answered without hesitation.

  Hannah’s face went from apprehensive to blank almost immediately. It was as if she was intentionally doing a forced shutdown of all her essential systems right there on the couch. She said nothing.

  “I don’t know a lot about what happened yet,” Jessie continued, uncomfortable after the long silence. “But we’re going to get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, I thought you should know. He liked you and I think you were fond of him too.”

  Hannah seemed to reboot. Her eyes, vacant a moment ago, fixed on Jessie. She didn’t seem angry or upset or scared. She was present but not much more.

  “He was nice,” she said quietly, without expanding on it.

  “He was,” Jessie agreed. “I’d grown to lean on him quite a lot recently. After I lost my adoptive parents, he was the closest thing to a paternal figure I had. And now I’ve lost him too. I’m pretty raw right now.”

  “Yeah,” Hannah said flatly. “It’s kind of hard to process it actually.”

  Jessie glanced over at Ryan, who was still standing at the kitchen counter. He gave her a reassuring nod.

  “It really is,” she agreed. “When this is all over, I was planning to make an appointment with Dr. Lemmon to talk it out a bit. Would you like me to make one for you too?”

  “Can I think about it?” Hannah asked. “Right now I just kind of want to get a handle on my own thoughts, you know?”

  “Sure. And if you need to take the day for yourself, that’s okay. I can smooth it over at school.”

  “No,” Hannah said. “I should go. I don’t want to just sit around. It’ll be good to have something to keep me busy.”

  Okay,” Jessie said. “But if you find that it’s too much, you can change your mind.”

  She certainly understood the urge to throw oneself into an activity to take your mind off whatever trauma was consuming you. She’d used the tactic on many occasions. But she knew it wasn’t always the healthiest choice for her. And she was even more dubious when it came to Hannah.

  “I will,” the younger woman said. “But for now, I’m going to try to push through. In fact, I better shower and get dressed.”

  She got up and returned to her room, closing the door firmly behind her. Jessie looked over at Ryan.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think that girl is going to need therapy for the rest of her life. And even that probably won’t be enough.”

  *

  The station was deathly quiet. Even the protesters out front, who never seemed to tire of marching with signs claiming Jessie was a racist, seemed more subdued than usual.

  In the bullpen, there was little of the background chatter that usually created a constant buzz throughout the day. Most folks were seated at their desks, quietly typing away. Others huddled in small groups, whispering in hushed tones. There was a pall over the building.

  This was the first time she’d been in the station since her injuries three weeks ago. But no one gave her a second glance, not even to send her the dirty looks she’d been expecting from her co-workers after the hateful social media posts that had been falsely written in her name. Everyone was focused on the man they’d lost.

  Since she wasn’t scheduled to be back for another week, it made no sense for Jessie to go to her desk. Instead, she walked straight to Captain Decker’s office. Ryan matched her step for step.

  To Ryan’s credit, he hadn’t even tried to dissuade her from coming in when she told him what she was doing. He must have known it would be pointless. She was going to work this case, whether she was in pain, whether skin was falling off her back, no matter what.

  She was about to knock on the door when Ryan leaned over and spoke quietly.

  “All I ask is that you don’t go in hot. Give Decker the benefit of the doubt. He might surprise you.”

  She nodded as she rapped on the door.

  “Come in,” came a weary-sounding voice.

  They entered to find Captain Roy Decker seated behind his desk. Jessie hadn’t seen him in person since he visited her at the hospital two weeks ago, the day she was discharged. If it was possible, he looked even more beaten-down than he had then.

  He had his usual sunken face and wrinkled brow. His hawk-like nose still protruded prominently. But his normally sharp, piercing eyes were hazy and red. And his tie had been loosened so that it dangled, almost like a necklace, around his white dress shirt. For perhaps the first time since she’d met him, he had on no sports jacket. She could tell he’d been up all night. He looked a decade older than his sixty years.

  “How are you, Hunt?” he asked gently, making no mention of the fact that she wasn’t supposed to be here.

  Jessie wasn’t sure if he was referencing her physical status or her emotional reaction to Garland’s death. She knew Decker was aware that the two profilers were friendly. But she doubted the captain knew just how close they’d gotten in recent months. She decided that revealing that might be detrimental. He was less likely to let her get involved if he thought it was too personal for her.

  “I’m okay,” she said, without getting specific. “I’m here to help.”

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  “Garland Moses was killed while investigating a murder. You need someone who can step in and find out who killed both that woman and him. I work with Detective Hernandez all the time. I’m the natural fit to take over.”

  Decker stared at her, his eyes growing sharper by the moment.

  “Just stepping up to do your professional duty, huh?” he asked skeptically.

  “No, Captain. You know it’s more than that. Yes, Garland Moses was a friend of mine. Of course I want his killer brought to justice. But even if I’d never met the man, you can’t deny that I’m the best person to take over this case. He was the best profiler on the West Coast, without question. But I’m no slouch. I work in the same station. I regularly deal with the detective handling the case. I know Moses’s habits and instincts. I’m the best person to pick up where he left off.”

  Decker didn’t respond at first. Instead, he looked at his computer screen as he clicked his mouse. Jessie glanced over at Ryan, who shook his head slightly, to indicate tha
t she shouldn’t push any farther. After several more seconds, Decker looked up.

  “I can tell that you’re physically not one hundred percent. It looks like you’re afraid your own shirt is going to rub your back too hard. How am I supposed to put you back in the field?”

  “I’ve got Mr. Six Pack Abs with a brain here to protect me,” she said, nodding at Ryan. “And I promise to take it easy.”

  “You never take it easy, Hunt,” he replied. “That’s why you’re on leave in the first place.”

  “And that’s why this is the perfect time to put me on the case. I’ll be so reluctant to cause myself discomfort that there’s no way I’d put myself in harm’s way.”

  Decker sighed deeply.

  “You understand that putting you on this doesn’t mean I buy a word of your crap, right?”

  “Of course, sir,” she said, fighting back a smile. “May I ask why you are putting me on it?”

  “Because you did say one thing that’s true—you are the best person to pick up where Moses left off. In fact, he always told me that when he retired, he felt comfortable knowing you would be around to pick up the slack. We’re about to find out if he was right.”

  Jessie was filled with two emotions she didn’t know could exist concurrently: pride and fear. She was proud that Garland had that kind of faith in her. But she was terrified that she was going to let him down. The mix was so confusing and overwhelming that she rushed out of Decker’s office without another word. As she left, one phrase kept repeating on a loop in her brain.

  He’s counting on you.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The morgue had never felt so cold.

  Jessie had been here many times, but never to examine the body of a friend. She found it difficult to separate her personal connection to the victim from her need to focus on the details of his death.

  They were waiting in the adjoining room for the coroner to bring them in. As they did, Jessie looked through Garland’s personal effects in the plastic bag Ryan had given her. There wasn’t much, just a watch, his glasses, and his notepad.