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The Perfect Lie
Homicide Special Section was a division assigned to high-profile cases, often ones with intense media scrutiny. That meant lots of homicides with multiple victims and serial killers. It was prestigious assignment and Hernandez was considered the cream of the crop.
“Look who’s back,” Detective Callum Reid said enthusiastically. “I didn’t know you were returning today. Now we’ve finally got some class back in the joint.”
“You know,” Jessie said, deciding to embrace the vibe of the group, “you could be classy too, Reid, if you didn’t let one rip every ten seconds. It’s not a high bar.”
Everyone busted out laughing.
“It’s funny because it’s true,” Trembley said happily, his unkempt blond curls bouncing as he laughed. He pushed up his glasses, which perpetually slid down his nose.
“How you feeling, Jessie?” Hernandez said when the noise had died down.
“I’m getting by,” she answered, trying not to sound cold. “You look like you’re on the mend.”
“Getting there,” he said. “I’ve still got a few aches and pains. But as I keep telling the Captain here, if he’d let me in the game I could make a real difference. I’m tired of riding the bench, Coach.”
“That never gets old, Hernandez,” Decker said grumpily, clearly tired of the team analogy. “Hunt, I’ll give you a few minutes to get resettled. Then we’ll go over your case load. I have a bunch of unsolved homicide files that could use a fresh eye. Maybe a profiler’s perspective will shake things up. I expect the rest of you to give me case updates in my office in five minutes. It looks like you have the spare time.”
He headed for his office grumbling to himself. The rest of the team assembled their files as Hernandez plopped down across from Jessie.
“You don’t have anything to report?” she asked.
“I don’t have any cases of my own yet. I’ve been backing these guys up on everything. Maybe now that you’re back, we can tag team Decker and get him to send us out on something. The two of us together make up one almost totally healthy person.”
“I’m glad that you’re in such good spirits,” Jessie said, desperately trying to stop herself from saying more but failing to do so. “I wish you’d have let me know you were all good earlier. I steered clear because I thought you were working stuff out.”
Hernandez’s smile faded as he took in what she said. He seemed to be weighing how to respond. As she waited for his reply and despite her annoyance, Jessie couldn’t help but admit the guy had maintained himself pretty well while recovering from a grievous injury and a divorce.
He looked put together. Not a strand of his short black hair was out of place. His brown eyes were clear and focused. And somehow, despite his injuries, he’d managed to keep in shape. He might have lost five pounds off his usual six-foot, two-hundred-pound frame, probably related to difficulty eating right after getting his stomach sliced open. But at thirty-one, he still had the toned look of a man who worked out often.
“Yeah, about that,” he started to say, snapping her back into the moment. “I wanted to call, but the thing is, some stuff has been going on and I wasn’t sure how to talk about it.”
“What kind of stuff?” she asked nervously. She didn’t like where this was headed.
Hernandez looked down, as if deciding how best to broach what was clearly a touchy subject. After a full five seconds he looked back up at her. Just as he was opening his mouth, Decker burst out of his office.
“We’ve got a gang-involved shooting in Westlake North,” he shouted. “The scene is still active. We already have four fatalities and an unknown number of injuries. I need SWAT, HSS, and gang units en route now. This is all hands on deck, people!”
CHAPTER THREE
Immediately, everyone began tearing around the bullpen. Many headed for the tactical gear center, where they grabbed heavier artillery and bulletproof vests. Jessie and Hernandez looked at each other, unsure what to do. He started to get out of his seat when Decker shut him down.
“Don’t even think about it, Hernandez. You’re not getting anywhere near this thing.”
Hernandez slumped back down in his chair. They watched the action around the station with jealous interest. After a few minutes, things quieted down and then remaining staff went back to work. Seemingly only moments ago, the bullpen had been bustling with activity, filled with well over fifty people. Now it was a ghost town. Including Jessie and Hernandez, there were fewer than ten left.
Suddenly Jessie heard a loud thud. She looked over to see that Captain Decker had dropped a half dozen thick files on her desk.
“These are the cases I want you to review,” he said. “I had hoped to go over them with you but obviously I’m going to be busy for the next few hours.”
“Any updates on the shooting?” she asked him.
“The shooting has stopped. Everyone scattered once our cars arrived. We’re up to six fatalities, all from rival gangs. Another dozen or so are injured. We’ve got about thirty officers and a dozen detectives canvassing the area. And that doesn’t even include SWAT.”
“What about me?” Hernandez asked. “How can I help, Captain?”
“You can follow up on your colleagues’ cases until they get back. I’m sure they’ll be very appreciative. I’ve got to get back to this gang thing now.”
He hurried back to his office, leaving the two of them alone except for the mounds of paperwork.
“I think he’s being mean on purpose,” Hernandez muttered.
“Did you want to finish what you were saying before?” Jessie asked him, wondering if she was pushing too hard.
“Not now,” he replied, losing the lightness in his voice. “Maybe later, when we’re out of the office and everything isn’t so…heightened.”
Jessie nodded in agreement, though she was disappointed. Rather than pout or stay in that unpleasant head space, she turned her attention to the case files in front of her.
Maybe focusing on the minutiae of some murders will clear my head.
She chuckled silently at her own gallows humor as she opened the first file.
It worked. She became so immersed in the details of the cases that almost an hour passed without her noticing the time. It wasn’t until Hernandez tapped her on the shoulder that she looked up and realized it was mid-morning.
“I think I might have found us a case,” he said, holding up a piece of paper provocatively.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to be hunting for new cases,” she replied.
“We’re not,” he admitted. “But there’s no one else here to take it and I think it’s the sort of thing Decker might actually let us take on.”
He held out the paper. Not as reluctantly as she probably should have, Jessie took it. It didn’t take her long to realize why they might have a shot at convincing Decker to let them take it.
The case seemed pretty straightforward. A thirty-year-old woman was found dead in her Hollywood apartment. The young man who first reported finding her was initially held on suspicion when a neighbor reported seeing him enter the apartment through a window. But he asserted he was a co-worker who was checking on her after not hearing from her for two days. There were no obvious signs of violence and the initial impression on the scene was that this was likely a suicide.
“It seems like they have things pretty well in hand. I’m not sure what we can offer….”
“I hear a silent ‘but’ in there,” Hernandez noted, smiling.
Jessie didn’t want to give him the satisfaction but found herself grinning slightly too.
“But… there is a reference to older bruising on her wrists and neck, which might suggest previous abuse. That’s probably worth checking out. And according to her co-worker, she worked as a personal trainer at a high-end fitness club, where she specialized in high-profile clients. It’s possible some of them will make a stink if they think LAPD isn’t putting enough resources into the case.”
“Exactly,” Hernandez said excitedly. “That’s our ‘in,’ Jessie. If I know Decker, he’s not going to risk alienating the hoi polloi if he can avoid it. Assigning a detective from HSS and a celebrated forensic profiler to the case short-circuits that criticism. Plus, it seems pretty ideal for easing us back into the field. There’s no sign of violence. If it was murder, we’re probably talking poisoning or something along those lines. It seems like a largely stabbing-free case.”
“He was pretty adamant that we stick to desks for a while,” Jessie reminded him.
“I think he’ll go for it,” Hernandez insisted. “Besides, he’s so distracted with the gang shooting, he might say yes just to get rid of us. Let’s at least try.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jessie said. “But I’m not making the pitch. If he cuts anyone’s head off, it’s going to be yours.”
“Coward,” he teased.
*
Jessie had to admit that Ryan Hernandez was good.
He barely had to say more than the words “wealthy clients,” “Hollywood,” and “likely suicide” before Decker was ushering them out the door to pursue the case. Those buzzwords hit all their boss’s weak spots: his fear of bad publicity, his ongoing goal not to alienate his supervisors, and his deep desire not to have Detective Hernandez pester him relentlessly.
His only rule was simple.
“If it starts to look like this is a murder and the perpetrator used any kind of force, call me for backup.”
Now, as Hernandez drove them to Hollywood, he looked almost giddy with excitement. So did his foot.
“Careful on the gas there, Earnhardt,” she warned. “I don’t want to get in an accident on the way to the scene.”
She said nothing about their discussion from earlier, deciding to let him bring it up when he was ready. It didn’t take long. After the initial rush of being in a car on the way to crime scene faded, he glanced in her direction.
“So here’s the deal,” he started, his words tumbling out much faster than normal. “I should have reached out to you more often after everything went down. I mean, I did at first obviously. But you were badly hurt and not very chatty, which I completely understand.”
“Do you?” Jessie asked skeptically.
“Of course,” he said as he exited the 101 freeway at Vine Street. “You had to kill your own father. Even if he was a psycho, he was your dad. But I wasn’t sure how to broach that with you. And there was the fact that your psycho dad stabbed me. That wasn’t your fault but I was worried you would think I blamed you. So I was thinking all those things while having my stomach leak blood periodically and being heavily doped up on pain medication and trying keep food down. And right when I thought I was ready to discuss all that in an adult way, my wife formally served me with divorce papers. It was already going to happen. But there was something about getting those legal documents, especially while I was still in the hospital—it kind of wrecked me. I went down this black hole. I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t want to rehab. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, which is exactly what I should have been doing.”
“I can recommend someone if…”Jessie started to offer.
“Thank you but I’m all set actually,” he interrupted. “Decker finally ordered me to see someone—said I was in danger of not coming back at all if I didn’t get my shit together. So I did. And it helped. But by then, it had been about six weeks since the attack and it felt weird to just call you out of the blue. And to be honest, I wasn’t 100% sure I was okay…psychologically, and I didn’t want to lose it while talking to you seriously for the first time after we both almost died. So I pushed it off some more. And then there’s the other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“You know, our whole ‘friendly co-workers but also friends who sometimes get awkward because maybe there’s something there’ thing? I’m not imagining that, right?”
Jessie took a long beat before responding. Answering this honestly would change things. But he was laying it all out there. It felt gutless not to do the same.
“No, you’re not imagining that.”
He laughed uncomfortably, which turned into a full-on, eye-watering cough.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m just…I was nervous to mention that last part.”
They sat in silence for a minute as he navigated the traffic on Sunset Boulevard, trying to find a spot to park.
“So that’s the deal?” she finally said.
“That’s the deal,” he confirmed as he pulled into a spot.
“You know,” she said gently. “You are nowhere near as cool as I first thought you were.”
“It’s all a front,” he said, half-joking but clearly only half.
“I kind of like it. It makes you more…approachable.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Well, we should probably talk about this a little more,” she replied.
“I think that would be the mature thing to do,” he agreed. “You do mean after we check out the dead body upstairs, right?”
“Yes, Ryan. Dead body first. Awkward conversation later.”
CHAPTER FOUR
It was like a light turned on in Jessie’s head.
The second she shut the car door and looked at the building that currently housed a dead woman, her mind cleared. All thoughts of serial killer fathers, orphaned half-sisters, and semi-romantic possibilities faded into the background.
She and Ryan stood on the sidewalk near the corner of Sunset and Vine, taking in the area. This was the heart of Hollywood and Jessie had been here many times. But that was always to go to dinner, a concert, or to see a movie or live show. She’d never really focused on it as a place where regular people worked, lived, and apparently died.
For the first time she noticed that among the office towers, restaurants, and theaters many of the buildings were just like the mixed-use ones in her neighborhood, with retail businesses on the ground floor and apartments or condos on the ones above.
Just up the street, she saw a ten-story apartment complex with a Trader Joe’s below it. Just across the street was a Solstice Fitness Center at the base of a building easily twenty stories tall. She wondered if residents got complimentary memberships but doubted it. That place was unbelievably pricey.
It looked like the victim’s complex was slightly less upscale. It had several restaurants and a yoga studio on the first floor. But there was also a Walgreens and a Bed, Bath & Beyond. As they walked along the sidewalk to the main entrance, they had to sidestep a line of homeless people camped out along the wall of the building. Most weren’t awake yet, though one older woman was sitting cross-legged, muttering to herself.
They passed her without comment and arrived at the entrance to the building. Compared to Jessie’s building, the security here was a joke. There was a glass vestibule entrance that required an access card and another to summon the elevator. But when Jessie and Ryan were approaching the entrance, a resident held the door open for them and swiped the elevator sensor without asking them a thing. Jessie noticed fixed cameras in the vestibule and on the elevator but they looked cheap. Ryan pushed the button for the eighth floor and within seconds they were stepping out, never having been challenged.
“That was easy,” Ryan said as they walked down the exterior hall in the direction of the police tape and several officers milling about.
“Way too easy,” Jessie noted. “I realize I’m a crazy person when it comes to personal security. But this place is pretty pathetic, especially considering the neighborhood.”
“It’s a lot safer than it was twenty years ago,” Ryan reminded her.
“True. But just because you don’t have hookers and drug dealers in plain sight on every corner doesn’t mean it’s Disneyland now.”
Ryan didn’t respond as they had reached the victim’s apartment. He flashed his detective’s badge and she showed her LAPD profiler ID.
“Detectives from Hollywood Division have already come and gone,” a perplexed officer said.
“We’re just following up for Homicide Special Section,” Ryan lied. “It’s mostly a favor for our captain. We’d appreciate if you’d have someone walk us through the scene, even if they have to repeat stuff.”
“No problem,” he replied. “Officer Wayne is primary on the scene. I’ll get him.”
As he radioed to the other officer, Jessie took in her surroundings. The front door was open now, as was a window adjacent to it. She wondered if it had been that way before. It was hard to imagine a single woman in the heart of Hollywood would leave a window open when it was accessible by an exterior hallway. It was almost an invitation to trouble.
The victim’s unit was at the far end of the floor from the elevators, which was shaped like a blocky letter “C.” That meant her apartment was visible to people across the open expanse between the halls. She was curious as to whether anyone had canvassed those units yet.
Just then, an older uniformed officer stepped out of the apartment to greet them. He was heavyset and balding, with stray hairs that had adhered to his sweaty scalp. He looked to be in his early forties and had that “seen it all” vibe that could be a help or a hindrance depending on his attitude.
“Officer John Wayne,” he said extending his hand to Ryan. “I’ve already heard every joke you want to say, so you can skip it. What can I do for you?”
“You’re the spitting image,” Ryan couldn’t help but say.
Jessie punched him in the arm before returning her attention to the cop, who looked unfazed.
“Sorry, Officer Wayne,” she said. “Thanks for taking the time. We know the Hollywood detectives have already worked the scene. But we were hoping you could show us around anyway. This case has hallmarks that match something we’re working on and we want to rule it out as connected.”
“Of course, come on in,” he said, stepping back inside and handing them plastic shoe covers as they prepared to enter.
They put them on, along with gloves, and walked in.
“Some of her possessions have already been booked as evidence,” Wayne said. “But we can give you an itemized list.”
“Anything jump out at you?” Ryan asked.
“A few things,” the officer replied. “No sign of forced entry. There was money in her purse. Her phone was on the bedside table.”
“If you don’t mind,” Jessie asked, “before you give us the rest of the rundown, I’d like to take a moment to evaluate the site without any preconceptions.”
Officer Wayne nodded. Jessie took a long deep breath, allowed her body to relax and began to profile the victim. The living room was sparsely decorated with furniture that looked to have been purchased from IKEA. There was limited artwork and no visible photos. The only personal touch was a framed NASM personal training certification on the wall.
She walked into the almost untouched kitchen. There were no dirty dishes in the sink nor clean ones on the drying rack. One clean, folded dish towel rested on the counter. Next to it were several pill containers, each marked with days of the week, each painstakingly laid out in order. Jessie didn’t touch them but from what she could tell, the pills inside looked like supplements and multivitamins. She noticed that neither the pills for Monday nor Tuesday had been taken. This was Wednesday morning.
She looked around the rest of the kitchen. The paper towel roll was almost full. Opening the cabinets revealed dozens of cans of beans and ground turkey, lots of protein bars and multiple vats of whey protein powder.
The refrigerator was half empty but the contents included two gallon-sized jugs of milk, several containers of Greek yogurt and a massive plastic bag of spinach. The freezer was a mix of frozen blueberries, strawberries and acai and a Tupperware container of what looked like chicken noodle soup. Taped to the outside of it was a Post-it that read “from Mom, 11/2018.” That was well over a year ago.
The three of them wandered down the hall toward the bedroom where the body was waiting. The smell of rotting flesh enveloped Jessie’s nostrils. She allowed herself a moment to accept it, then made a pit stop in the bathroom, which wasn’t as tidy as the rest of the house. It was clear the resident spent much more time in here.
“What was the victim’s name?” she asked. It had been on the document Ryan had given her at the station but she had purposely avoided noting it until now.
“Taylor Jansen,” Officer Wayne said. “She was…”
“Sorry, Officer,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to be rude but please hold off on any other details just a bit longer.”
She looked closely at Taylor’s dresser. For as much as she didn’t seem to care about keeping her kitchen stocked, the opposite was true of the bathroom. The counter was littered with makeup including an open eye shadow case and multiple lipsticks. Two hairbrushes and one comb were shoved in a corner next to a small vial of perfume.
The medicine cabinet was full of over the counter medication like Advil, Benadryl, and Pepto-Bismol, but there were no bottles of prescription drugs. The shower had several quarter-filled bottles of shampoo and conditioner, some facial cleanser, a leg razor, shaving cream, and a bar of conditioning soap.
Jessie stepped out of the bathroom and the strong smell, which had been temporarily masked by the scents in the bathroom, hit her again. She glanced back down the hallway, noting again the complete lack of anything personal on the walls.
“Before we go into the bedroom,” she said, turning to Wayne, “let me know how much of this I have right. Taylor Jansen is single, white, attractive and in her late twenties to early thirties. She works close by and travels often. She has few friends. She’s extremely detail-oriented. And she has enough money to be living somewhere much nicer than this.”
Wayne’s eyes went wide briefly before he responded.
“She was thirty exactly,” he said. “Birthday was last month. She is white and looks to have been very pretty. She does work close by, at a gym less than a full block from here. We’re reconfirming her relationship status. But her co-worker, the one who found her, says she wasn’t currently involved. He’s downstairs in a black and white giving his statement again if you want to talk to him. I can’t speak to the travel and financials but maybe he can.”
“We’d love to talk to him as soon as we’re done here,” Ryan said before turning to Jessie. “You ready to go in?”
She nodded. It wasn’t lost on her that with a few exceptions, her description of Taylor Jansen could have been of herself too. She would turn thirty in a few weeks. Her downtown apartment was as Spartan as this one and not because she hadn’t had time to decorate it. She could count her good friends on a couple of fingers. And setting aside her recent marriage to a man who had tried to kill her, she was not, despite her conversation with Ryan, currently involved. If she died tomorrow, would another profiler’s thumbnail analysis of her be any different than the woman behind that bedroom door?
“You want any?” Wayne asked as he applied some eucalyptus-scented cream just below his nostrils. It helped fight the nasty smells that were about to grow stronger.
“No thanks,” Jessie said. “As bad as it is, I need all my senses at full strength when I go to a scene. Blocking out one smell might mask another important one.”
“It’s your stomach,” Wayne said, shrugging as he opened the door.
Almost immediately, Jessie regretted her decision.
