by Blake Pierce
“You didn’t want to keep the relationship going?” Jessie asked quickly, not wanting to get tripped up on secondary issues. “Maybe hope the guy would leave his wife for you?”
“Are you kidding?” Gabby asked, sounding almost insulted. “I’m twenty-three. I’m not ready to settle down. This way I get all the perks but I can still party without being on someone’s leash. The whole point of this is to have fun without having to work too hard for it. I mean, maybe I’ll settle down when I get old, like twenty-six or something. But right now, I want to have a good time.”
There was a long silence in the room. No one seemed to know how to react to that truth bomb. Jessie tried to wrap her head around the fact that in Gabby’s mind, as a near-thirty-year-old, she was elderly.
“How did you find these guys?” she finally managed to ask.
“There’s a website. It’s called ‘The Look of Love’ or ‘LOL’ for short. It helps wealthy older guys meet up with friendly younger girls for dates. What happens after that is between them.”
“Do you set up a profile on the site?” Jessie pressed.
“Yeah, that way the guys can find girls who are their type. And it lets the site do a security check on the guys.”
Jessie and Dolan looked up at Harrington, who had retreated to the corner of the den and was looking out one of the massive windows facing Santa Monica.
“Did you go through one of those checks?” Dolan asked him.
Harrington turned around, sighed deeply, and walked back over to them.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“You weren’t worried about this website having you on file as a client?” Jessie wanted to know.
“I heard about it through a friend who vouched for it. He knows the person who runs the site, so there’s some accountability. Plus, it’s a pretty exclusive circle. There are maybe fifteen to twenty clients and less than a hundred girls. It’s in everyone’s interest to keep things under wraps.”
“We’ll need the name of the site operator,” Jessie told him.
Harrington looked ashen.
“But like Gabby said,” he balked, “there’s nothing illegal about it. It’s just a really exclusive dating service.”
“We’re not looking to shut it down,” Jessie assured him, though the idea was appealing. “We just need to access Claire’s profile and dating history.”
“Would you mention that you got the information from me?” he whined.
“Only if we have to,” Dolan said, showing what Jessie considered more deference to him than to Gabby.
“Don’t worry,” she added tartly. “You should be able to keep this hidden from your wife, at least until the trial.”
“What?” he asked, genuinely horrified.
“Mr. Harrington,” she said, knowing she was taking more pleasure in this than she probably should, “when we catch this guy, he’s going to face trial. You’ll have to testify in open court. So you’d be well-advised to figure out how you plan to explain your ‘date’ to Mrs. Harrington. Maybe you should call her before she returns from whatever extended trip she’s currently on, the one that has you so comfortable parading Gabrielle around. I wish you luck.”
CHAPTER SIX
Jessie was flabbergasted.
“Can you repeat that?” she asked incredulously.
“You heard me,” Dolan said as they stood in the driveway outside the front of Harrington’s mansion. “Now that the case is closed, I’m headed back to the station.”
“The case is not closed,” she reminded him. “There’s a murderer with blood-soaked keys out there somewhere.”
“That’s not my concern,” Dolan said nonchalantly. “The case is closed in terms of Crutchfield and Thurman. It’s clear that whoever did this, it wasn’t one of them. And since I’m after those two, this case is officially in the rearview mirror. Besides, the North Hollywood detectives can handle this just fine. They can just get names from the dating site and find out which of them don’t have alibis. I bet this thing is solved in twelve hours, without any help from us.”
Jessie knew he was right. The original detectives, whom she hadn’t even met, were probably more than capable of working this case. And there no longer seemed to be any connection to either of the serial killers she was associated with. That made it hard to justify continuing to pursue the killer.
But she really wanted to. Not all her reasons were altruistic. One was simply the thrill of the chase. Having been stashed away at the WITSEC house for days now, she’d been unable to scratch that itch. Now that she’d gotten a taste for the hunt, she couldn’t just shut that instinct down.
She also knew that if Captain Decker agreed with Dolan that this case had no connection to either serial killer, her vaunted inside knowledge and forensic skills would be rendered moot. She was only allowed to pursue this case in the first place because it seemed like one where she might have special insight into the killer. If that was no longer true, then there was no reason for her to be there. And that likely meant she’d be sent back to that boring house in Palms and expected to spend endless, soul-draining hours by the pool. Anything that could prevent that outcome was worth pursuing.
Finally, independent of her own situation, there was the girl. She’d seen Claire’s face, so young and beautiful, frozen in a mask of fear. She’d seen the ugly perforations that had turned her neck into a pulpy mess. Just because she wasn’t the victim of a serial killer didn’t mean that Claire Stanton wasn’t entitled to justice too. If Jessie could help make that happen, she had an obligation to do so. She couldn’t just pass the case off if it wasn’t convenient for her. So she lied.
“We don’t know this isn’t the work of Crutchfield or Thurman yet,” she finally said, making even Murph and Toomey turn around in surprise.
“What are you talking about?” Dolan asked incredulously. “This killing has none of the signs of either one of them.”
“None of the obvious signs,” she said with impressive conviction. “But both of these men are smart. They’d know that using their standard methods would be a dead giveaway. Using keys as the murder weapon would allow either of them to satisfy that murderous urge without revealing their involvement. It would actually be a clever move to throw off suspicion, which seems to be working with you right now.”
Dolan stared at her with a mix of bemusement, frustration, and a hint of admiration.
“Are you really trying to sell me on the idea that Thurman or Crutchfield, while being hunted, and in one case, badly injured, took the time to travel to the San Fernando Valley and murder some random party girl with a weapon neither has ever used before?”
Jessie smiled politely at his tirade, knowing it would only infuriate him more.
“I don’t have to sell you on the idea, Agent Dolan. I just have to sell my captain. You’re more than welcome to drop the case and I’ll continue to pursue it on my own. As you noted, there are two dangerous killers on the loose, and I for one intend to leave no stone unturned in the search for them. But you do you.”
“You are a real piece of work,” Dolan said.
Jessie smiled sweetly as she opened the car door and got in.
“So I’ve been told.”
*
It didn’t take long for Jessie’s confidence to crumble.
Back at the station, as she waited to make her pitch to Captain Decker, something was going on. No one said anything overt but she could sense a heightened energy in the air.
She wondered if a more credible lead in the hunt for either man had emerged, making her questionable argument for staying on the Stanton case unconvincing. If that was the case, she didn’t have a backup plan. Whatever was going on, it was big. She was ushered into the same isolated conference room, where she waited with Murph for twenty uneventful minutes. Dolan had disappeared.
“Do you know what’s going on?” she asked Murph.
He looked at her, mildly satisfied with her discomfort.
“How would I know a
nything?” he asked. “I’ve been stuck in here with you.”
“You’ve got that earpiece,” she pointed out. “I’m sure you’re getting updates.”
“Can’t help you,” he replied, seemingly enjoying being in a more commanding position after several hours of being a glorified personal driver. Before she could respond, the door opened and both Decker and Dolan walked in.
“There’s been a development,” the captain said without preamble.
Jessie could tell immediately that whatever the news was, it wasn’t good. Decker’s already deeply lined face was even more creased than usual and he seemed reluctant to make eye contact. Somehow she knew the news was connected to her. Decker seemed hesitant to go on. Behind him, Dolan looked even more taciturn than usual.
“Go ahead, Captain,” she said, steeling herself. “I can take it.”
“Ernie Cortez has been found.”
That should have been great news. Ernie was the NRD security officer who killed his co-workers and helped Bolton Crutchfield escape. If he’d been located, they might finally have a lead on Crutchfield’s location. But the demeanor of both men suggested she ought not get too excited.
“I’m sensing there’s more,” she said.
“He’s dead,” Decker sighed.
“Heart attack?” Jessie asked skeptically, trying to keep the creeping panic she felt at bay.
Dolan stepped forward.
“He was found in an alley dumpster about six blocks from here. The man was gutted from sternum to pelvis. His insides were lying next to the dumpster. That’s how they managed to find him.”
Jessie leaned back in her chair, trying to process the news. Crutchfield had secretly cultivated Ernie for years, essentially seducing him. It had worked so well that Ernie had willingly slaughtered a half dozen of his own co-workers in the service of a serial killer. And now Crutchfield had brutally, unceremoniously dispensed with him.
Why? Had Ernie disappointed or angered him in some way? Had he turned on his master?
But she knew that couldn’t be the main reason. If it was, he wouldn’t have left the body so close to the place where he knew Jessie worked. It was a message—for her.
“What are you leaving out? What’s the part you’re afraid to tell me?”
The two men looked at each other. In the corner of the room, Murph conspicuously studied his shoes.
“He left a note,” Decker finally said. “It was folded into a tiny square and placed in a small plastic bag, which was nailed to the roof of Cortez’s mouth. The note was addressed to you.”
“Of course it was,” Jessie said, more resigned than shocked. “Do you have it with you?”
“It’s with forensics right now. But we scanned it.”
“May I see it?” Jessie asked.
Decker nodded and pulled up the image on his phone, then handed it to her. She immediately recognized Crutchfield’s handwriting, a realization she didn’t know what to make of. The note was shorter and more straightforward than she’d expected, with only a bit of the flowery language the man usually used. It read:
Miss Jessie,
I hope this correspondence finds you well. I apologize for the method of delivery. I know you were fond of Ernie, though I suspect that affection has abated of late. I thought you might want to know that I recently had a get-together with your father. He was…concerned that my loyalty to him may have been compromised by my time with you. What a charge! But he is moving past that. I anticipate that soon he’ll be recovered enough from his injuries to attempt another reunion with you. Expect to see him presently. It should be a killer meeting. May the strongest Thurman prevail!
Respectfully,
Bolton
Jessie looked up to see the three men in the room staring at her, waiting for her reaction. She knew that any hint of apprehension would reinforce their collective inclination to return her to the safe house immediately. So she stifled it.
“If he wasn’t a brutal killer, I’d say the guy had a future writing for Hallmark. He really has a way with words, don’t you think?”
“It’s okay to be unsettled,” Decker replied, ignoring her bravado. “I’m unsettled by it.”
“I’m not unsettled,” Jessie insisted, unsure how convincing she was. “If anyone understands how these guys operate, it’s me. I have two serial killers fixated on me, one of whom is my own father. If I had let that affect me, I’d be curled up in a ball by now. I actually view this as a good thing.”
“How’s that?” Dolan challenged.
Yes, how is that, Jessie?
“First of all, Ernie’s off the board now. That’s one less psycho I have to worry about. Second, in his weird way, I think this is Crutchfield helping me. He’s trying to warn me that my father is almost ready to come after me again.”
“It’s not clear to me that he’s picked a side in that fight,” Decker countered.
“I’m not saying he’s picked a side,” Jessie said. “I just think he wants a fair fight. And he believes that letting me know Xander Thurman is almost back to hunting and killing strength makes it fairer.”
Dolan stepped forward, a dubious expression his face.
“How do you know he’s not just trying to manipulate you, to lure you into a false sense of security in order to draw you out into the open?”
Jessie almost snorted her incredulity.
“In what world does slicing a man open, pouring his innards into an alley, and hammering a note into the body’s mouth with a nail give me a false sense of security? I know who I’m dealing with here.”
“So do I,” Decker interjected, “which is why, now that we’re sure this Valley case is unrelated, I’m sending you back to the safe house.”
Jessie’s heart sank. This was what she’d feared. But she barely let a second pass before responding.
“No way,” she retorted. “Now that I know the waiting game is over, there is not a chance in hell that I’m going back to some ranch house in Palms to wait to be attacked.”
Murph stirred at that.
“You make it sound like they’re just waiting to descend on the place,” he said. “Neither of those men has a clue about that house. That’s why the body was dropped near here. This is the only location Crutchfield can connect to you, which is why the Service didn’t want you to come. But now that you have, we plan to secrete you back at the house and keep you there until this is resolved.”
Jessie could feel the energy in the room working against her. Unless something changed fast, she was going to lose this fight. Then, from the least likely source she could have imagined, came a lifeline.
“Or we could try something else.”
Everyone looked over at the speaker. It was Dolan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jessie’s mouth dropped open.
She saw Captain Decker’s do the same. This crusty FBI agent was about ten seconds from parting ways with her for good. That he would do anything to undermine that was a shock.
“Come again?” Murph said, equally stunned.
“I actually can’t believe I’m about to say this myself, but hear me out,” Dolan said. “Maybe the best way to keep Ms. Hunt safe is to keep her on the move.”
“What are you talking about?” Decker asked, trying to rein in his hostility to the idea.
“Look, Hunt could still go back the safe house at night. But now that we know the Stanton case has nothing to do with either Crutchfield or Thurman, maybe we should stick with it. Following up leads and interviewing witnesses—all of that will have her in unexpected places at unpredictable times. Her whereabouts will be virtually impossible to track. And the whole time, she’d have an FBI agent and a small army of US marshals by her side.”
Decker and Murph both looked unconvinced but neither spoke. Dolan took advantage of their silence to press harder.
“Look, Captain,” he continued. “I’m sure you have full confidence in everyone in your precinct. And Marshal Murphy—I know you feel the same wa
y. But if Ernie Cortez was compromised, someone else on the inside might be too. But if we’re constantly on the move and even we don’t know where we’re going next, that makes it pretty hard for an accomplice to tip off Crutchfield or Thurman. It just means fewer holes to plug.”
“Right,” Jessie chimed in. “And after a day of constant movement, I’d go back to the safe house, more confident in my security and actually feeling like I made a difference that day.”
“And no one would even know when that would happen,” Dolan piggybacked. “When we part ways tonight, I won’t know where she’s going. I assume you don’t know the location of the safe house other than that it’s in Palms, Captain?”
Decker shook his head. Dolan turned to Jessie at that point.
“By the way,” he added snarkily, “maybe don’t go announcing the neighborhood of your safe house to anyone who’s not supposed to know it. Just a security tip.”
Jessie felt the urge to punch him square in the nose, but forced it down. After all, he was the main reason she might actually not be politely imprisoned in the next hour.
“Thanks, Agent,” she said saccharinely before turning to Captain Decker. “So what do you think?”
Decker, in turn, looked at Murph, who she now knew was professionally called Marshal Murphy.
“I’m still opposed,” he said, though not as adamantly as she had expected. “It’s against procedure and it puts the protectee at unnecessary risk.”
She noted that he didn’t officially shut down the idea, however. Maybe he didn’t have the authority to overrule her superior officer.
Decker leaned forward, his arms resting on the conference table, lost in thought. No one spoke. Finally, after what had to be at least twenty seconds, he lifted his head.
*
They turned the conference room into a makeshift office.
Phones were brought in so they could make calls. Each of them was issued a clean laptop for temporary use. Murph reluctantly brought in a third chair now that it was clear they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. Poor Toomey was left to sit in his car in the garage.
