The Perfect Rumor, page 2
Only later did Jessie learn that the real reason Hannah had murdered the Night Hunter was because she simply wanted to know what it felt like. As it turned out, she liked it. The act gave her a high she’d never experienced before, and she wanted to recreate it. In the weeks after she shot the Night Hunter in cold blood, she harbored fantasies of killing someone else in the hopes of recapturing the thrill of that moment.
When, over a month later, Hannah finally revealed that to Dr. Lemmon, the doctor came up with the idea of sending her to Seasons, where she’d been ever since. In her time there, she’d participated in intense therapy sessions, both group and individual, as well as a couple of sessions with Jessie. Dr. Lemmon had also ordered everything from redirection therapy to brain-mapping. All options were under consideration. Nothing was off the table. The goal was twofold: first, to help Hannah feel emotions without needing heightened situations; and second, to eliminate her addictive desire to get a high from—to put it bluntly—killing people.
As Jessie finished up her final deep stretch, she recalled her last visit, just two days ago. It wasn’t a therapy session, just a casual visit, but it hadn’t been particularly casual. Hannah wasn’t in a very chatty mood.
“Are you just here to rub my nose in my grotesquery?” she had asked. It had gone downhill from there.
Jessie tried to shake loose of the memory as she opened the door to the mid-Wilshire house she’d inherited from her murdered profiling mentor, Garland Moses, and headed for the bedroom to undress and shower. She could hear Ryan grunting in the backyard and went that way to check on him.
Her fiancé was taking advantage of the mild, early-March Los Angeles day, doing his rehab workout session outside and shirtless. Now over eight months removed from being stabbed in the chest and spending weeks in a coma, he was about ninety-five percent recovered.
He was currently doing squats while holding forty pound dumbbells. Jessie admired him silently from behind the sliding glass door. His short black hair and dark skin gleamed in the sunlight. His normally kind brown eyes were fixed in concentration. Sweat poured down his muscled chest as he knelt down and popped back up, his calves rippling with the effort. Though Ryan wasn’t vain, Jessie knew that it was important for him to regain the chiseled physique he’d had before being attacked. His six-foot, two-hundred-pound body had always been both a source of pride and a weapon he could use against the criminals he came up against. His goal was to get back to where he’d been and he was almost there.
Once he finished his set, she tapped on the glass and opened the door.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she told him, “You almost done?”
“I’ve got about five minutes left. I’ll hop in after you’re done.”
Jessie was tempted to suggest he finish up early and join her. But she knew he really wanted to get back to full strength and anything that interfered with that, even a mid-morning delight, was secondary right now.
So she held her tongue and headed to the bathroom. Her running top was soaked through and her black pants were starting to feel uncomfortably warm against her legs. She turned on the shower and gave herself a once-over in the mirror while the water warmed up. She was pleased to see that her five-mile runs were paying dividends.
She looked firmer than she had a few months ago. Considering she was fast approaching her thirty-first birthday, she thought she was doing pretty well. Her long legs, which contributed significantly to her five-foot-ten frame, had regained much of the muscle tone they’d lost when she was recovering from her various injuries. Her shoulder length brown hair was lustrous and her green eyes glowed with energy. Despite the ongoing stressors in her life, she thought she was holding up quite nicely. And the furtive looks she got when she walked down the street seemed to confirm it.
She showered quickly, aware that Ryan would be waiting for his turn. When she turned off the water and pulled back the curtain, he was there holding out a towel for her.
“Personalized towel service,” she noted. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I wish I could say it was just domestic kindness,” he said apologetically, “but I’m here to move things along.”
“Why?” she asked. “Did I take too long? I thought I was pretty quick.”
“No,” he assured her. “But while you were showering we got a call from Decker. He has a case for us.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“He wouldn’t get into particulars other than to say there was a murder at the Peninsula resort in Palos Verdes. He wants us to head there ASAP. He’ll update us en route.”
“Did he at least mention the victim?”
“Nope. I asked but he said he’d fill us both in when he calls back in ten minutes, when he expects that we’ll be in the car. He said the police chief would be on the call too so we better hurry.”
“He wants us on the road in ten minutes?” she demanded incredulously.
Ryan looked at his watch.
“Not anymore,” he answered. “Now we’re down to eight.”
Jessie got out of the shower, still dripping wet, wrapped the towel around herself and darted out to the bedroom to find something that would look professional and appropriate for the most exclusive resort in Southern California. And now she had seven minutes to do it.
CHAPTER TWO
Jessie was annoyed.
Decker had made them run around to get ready and now he was late. By the time he called twenty minutes later, they were well on their way to Palos Verdes, a gorgeous oceanside community in the Southern California South Bay. Nestled between Long Beach and the Beach Cities, it was known for its craggy cliffs, amazing views, and eight-figure homes.
Decker texted about two minutes before the call to tell them the delay was because the chief was finishing up another meeting. He didn’t give them any warning about why the head of the Los Angeles Police Department wanted in on the call.
Jessie was apprehensive. Her interactions with Chief Laird hadn’t always been positive, especially when it briefly looked like he might fire both her and Ryan when they discovered police corruption in the Valley Division. Ryan was driving so when his phone rang, he handed it off to Jessie, who put it on speaker and held it out between them.
“Hello, Captain,” he said.
“Hernandez,” Decker said tersely, “is Hunt there with you?”
“Right here, Captain,” she replied, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice.
“Good. I’ve conferenced us in with Chief Laird. He wanted to be a part of this conversation. Would you like to begin, Chief?”
“Why don’t you give them the basics first, Decker,” Chief Laird said gruffly. “Once they know what they’re dealing with, I’ll offer my two cents.”
“All right,” Decker said, then launched in. “Less than forty-five minutes ago, a forty-four-year-old man was found dead in the steam room of the men’s spa at the Peninsula resort. His neck was tied to some kind of thin belt. Local police called it in to headquarters as soon as they realized who the victim was: Scott Newhouse.”
Jessie recognized the name immediately and pulled up a photo of the man. Newhouse was a Los Angeles mainstay. The scion of a well-known local family, he had his hand in many pots. He was on several philanthropic boards. He had a wing named after him at the Museum of Modern Art. He was a minority owner in two local sports teams. Most importantly, for the sake of this conversation, he was good friends with Police Chief Richard Laird, at least according to the caption below one photo of the two men at a recent gala.
He was good-looking in a serious, distinguished way. His brown hair was cropped conservatively, like someone’s senior yearbook photo circa 1962. Even in this picture, where he seemed to be on the verge of laughing, there was a hint of solemnity in his brown eyes. Mostly, he looked sad.
“The spa has been shut down and a team from the local sheriff’s station is holding down the fort until you get there,” Captain Decker continued. “I’m having our best crime scene unit deployed, along with the deputy medical examiner. They should be there by the top of the hour. Hopefully you won’t arrive much later.”
Jessie looked at the clock in the car. It was 10:53 a.m. Even with mid-morning traffic and using the light and sirens, it would take them close to a half hour to get there.
“Yes, Captain,” Ryan said confidently as he shook his head at her from the driver’s seat. “We’ll do our best. What else do we need to know?”
“What you need to know, Detective,” Chief Laird interjected, “is that Scott Newhouse’s death is an enormous loss for this city, not to mention me personally. You will have all the resources you need at your disposal on this case.”
“Thank you, Chief Laird,” Ryan said.
Just as it was clear to Jessie, Ryan obviously sensed that there was something more coming.
“I would never make any improper requests,” the chief said carefully, “so please don’t misinterpret what I’m about to say. Our first priority as a department is without question to determine exactly what happened in that steam room. But I would ask that if the investigation hints that the nature of his death might prove to be in some way…embarrassing, that you would give me prior notice of that. To be crystal clear, I don’t want you to massage your conclusions in any way. But because of Scott’s high profile and his imprint on the city over the last two decades, the nature of his passing will be of enormous interest in many quarters. All I want is a little time to prepare the department’s formal statement before the results of your inquiry are made public. Is that reasonable?”
Jessie was impressed. There were many reasons that Richard Laird had ascended to police chief of the second largest city in America and one of them was his ability to be diplomatic about his demands. He wanted to be looped in on this case early and often so that he could soften any unpleasant outcome. It was an unusual request, but there was nothing technically inappropriate about it. Of course, what he did after he got the results was another matter entirely.
“Of course, Chief Laird,” Ryan said, well aware that he didn’t have any choice but to accede to the “request.” “We’ll let you know as soon as we have something to share. And both Ms. Hunt and I would like to offer our condolences. We know that Mr. Newhouse was a friend of yours.”
“Indeed he was,” the chief acknowledged. “If it wasn’t a questionable decision, I would have already called his wife, Bridget, to console her. She’s all alone now, left to raise their three young ones by herself. But as you’ll almost certainly need to speak to her while you’re there, I didn’t think it would be acceptable to reach out just yet. Assuming you clear her of any wrongdoing, please pass along my sympathies to her and let her know I’ll be in touch.”
“We’ll do that,” Ryan assured him.
“All right then,” Chief Laird said, “that’s all I have. I’ll leave you and Captain Decker alone to coordinate your plan of attack. Good luck on this one.”
He hung up before either Ryan or Decker could reply. Once he was off the phone, Decker piped up.
“I’m sorry if that was awkward,” he told them. “It goes without saying that you shouldn’t do anything differently than normal as you investigate, other than to update me more frequently than you otherwise might. I’ll do my best to run interference with the chief.”
“Thanks, Captain,” Ryan said.
“What’s he worried about?” Jessie asked bluntly now that she didn’t have to worry about offending the big boss.
“Not sure,” Decker said. “I’ve never heard of Newhouse being involved in anything sketchy, but you never know. I know he battled depression and was on the board of some charitable organization that dealt with the issue. Maybe Chief Laird is concerned that with the belt found around his neck, this might have been a suicide. That would send shockwaves through the city.”
“I’m glad he didn’t call the wife,” Jessie said. “We don’t need him making promises we can’t keep. We all know that unless she has an iron-clad alibi, she’s going to be at the top of the suspect list.”
“He knows that too, Hunt,” Decker said. “The man didn’t get where he is by being a political idiot.”
“No, Captain,” she said, realizing she wasn’t being especially politically adept right now herself. “Sorry.”
“Just keep me apprised of developments,” he said, before hanging up himself.
“What was that about?” Ryan asked, once she handed him back his phone. “You don’t usually put your foot in your mouth like that.”
“I guess I was just recalling our last direct interaction with Chief Laird,” she said. “Don’t you remember when we were investigating the case of that underage porn actress who was murdered? When one of Laird’s top deputies came under scrutiny and we pursued him, the chief threatened to suspend us without pay and even wanted us arrested at one point.”
“Yes,” Ryan conceded, “but I seem to recall that was because Internal Affairs was already investigating the guy and Laird didn’t want us mucking up their work.”
“That was the official explanation he gave,” Jessie countered, “but I had my doubts that he would have pushed hard on the issue without us.”
“Maybe keep that to yourself for the time being,” Ryan suggested. “In the meantime, we should reach out to Jamil and Beth to have them put together a rundown on everything we need to know about Scott Newhouse.”
“Good idea,” Jessie suggested and made the call.
Jamil Winslow was the head of research for HSS and Beth Ryerson was his newly hired researcher. They were an unconventional pair. They were both twenty-four but the similarities ended there.
Jamil, brilliant when it came to both navigating technology and legal and local government minutiae, was physically unimposing—short and skinny. But his exterior masked one of the sharpest minds Jessie had ever encountered.
Beth, on the job less than a month, was smart and eager to learn, but still learning the ropes. Still, she was infinitely more at ease with herself than her boss. Maybe that was because the former college volleyball player was six feet tall with a ripped physique. Or maybe it was because even with glasses and no makeup, she was unfussily attractive. Jessie liked to tease Jamil that he had a secret crush on his lone employee, which infuriated him and made Jessie think it might actually be true.
“Hey guys,” Jessie said once Beth picked up and put them on speaker. “We’re headed to the Peninsula resort in Palos Verdes to investigate the death of Scott Newhouse, the mega-rich philanthropist. We need everything you can get on him: business dealings that went awry, feuds, marital discord, lawsuits, any legal hiccups, all the way down to traffic tickets. Can you send it to us in the next hour?”
“Not a problem,” Jamil assured them. “Although some of that may require more than just database searches. We’ll have to make some calls.”
“Just do your best,” Ryan said. “Don’t threaten anyone but definitely cajole.”
“I may put Beth on that one,” Jamil suggested.
“Wise move,” Beth said. “I have advanced cajoling skills.”
“Time to put them to use,” Ryan said. “Let us know when you have something.”
Once they hung up, he turned to Jessie and she knew he was going to change topics.
“You know,” he said, “As long as we’re at the premiere resort destination in Southern California, maybe we should take a look at their facilities to see if the place might work for our impending nuptials.”
Jessie’s jaw dropped open. Of all the things she’d predicted he was about to say, that was last on the list.
“Ryan,” she said, “There are people who’d have to sell a kidney on the black market to afford a weekend at that place. How much do you think holding a wedding there would cost?”
“It’s just an idea,” he replied. “Besides, even if it’s not the place for us, we might get some good ideas.”
She was tempted to tell him exactly what she thought of the idea right then. On more than one occasion she’d hinted that, since this was the second marriage for both of them, the prospect of a big wedding just didn’t feel right to her. She would be just as happy going to city hall for the ceremony, or even eloping.
But every time she broached the issue, he seemed to take offense. He said she deserved to do it up right, especially considering that her first marriage had ended because her husband was a sociopath who tried to frame her for the murder of his mistress and then attempted to kill her when she found out.
Of course, the way that relationship ended made her less inclined to focus on the spectacle of a wedding, not more. That ceremony and reception had been massive, and it didn’t end up making the subsequent marriage any better. But Ryan didn’t seem to get that she didn’t feel like she was missing out if they didn’t have an elaborate function the second time around.
Jessie sighed silently to herself. At some point they would need to revisit the topic, but not now. They could hash out their differences later. After all, they were headed into the lion’s den, a place where wealth and decadence tended to bend everything to their will, and they needed to form a united front if they were going to get to the bottom of what happened there.
CHAPTER THREE
Jessie was white-knuckling it.
Even though the lights and siren were no longer necessary because there was so little traffic on the road that led to the resort, Ryan could only go so fast. Hawthorne Boulevard, which ran from Inglewood all the way to the ocean, was winding, with sharp, corkscrew turns and sharp drop-offs into deep canyons. After a good ten minutes of that, the coast finally came into view.
It was breathtaking. The morning marine layer had burned off to reveal rocky, tree-covered cliff sides, which gave way to the Pacific Ocean. Waves crashed against the rocks of secluded coves. In the distance, nearly twenty-five miles off the coast, Catalina Island was visible.
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