The Perfect Facade (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Twelve) Read online

  The officer by the elevator seemed to have been alerted to her presence. He waved to her as he held the door open with his foot. When she arrived, he didn’t even ask for her ID as he swiped the card to let her access the proper floor.

  Once the doors closed, she shut her eyes and took several deep breaths. No one cared that she was out of practice, least of all the victim in this case. If she was going to be of any use to her, she needed to be at the top of her game, with her senses fully alert.

  That didn’t allow any room for self-doubt, at least not around others. She’d save the second-guessing for when she could do it privately. For now, she had to come across as the person so many saw her as: renowned, unwavering criminal profiler Jessie Hunt.

  She opened her eyes just as the elevator doors did the same. When she stepped into the hall, she was greeted by chaos.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The corridor was a madhouse.

  It was filled with hotel staff, guests, and officers trying to contain them. Police tape blocked off one end of the hall. Several cleaning crews, along with their carts, were waiting along one wall for the go-ahead to start their work. Multiple guests clambered to access their suites, but were prevented from leaving the elevator vestibule.

  Two men who appeared to be hotel security were trying to keep the rowdier guests in check while a pair of cops stood off to the side in case things went sideways. Jessie approached the cops, holding up her ID. As she did, one of the security guards grabbed her arm and tugged her backward.

  She stumbled slightly, surprised at his aggressiveness. Turning to face him, she looked more closely. The man was big, easily six-foot-two and approaching 225 pounds. But he was sloppy around the waist and had the day-old stubble and bleary eyes of a guy who’d either worked well past the end of his shift or been called in early to help out. She tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “You’re going to want to let of my arm,” she said calmly but firmly. “I’m here on official business.”

  “Save it,” he said sourly, still gripping her left wrist tightly. “I’ve heard enough excuses for one morning. You’ll get into your room when we’re given the all clear by the police, not before.”

  “As I said,” she told him, using the most polite tone she could muster at the moment, “I’m not a guest. I’m here in an official capacity. I was about to show my credentials to the officers over there when you grabbed me, which you’re still doing. Please let go.”

  “You don’t look official,” he grunted skeptically as he eyed her up and down with a less than professional expression.

  Jessie glanced at his fellow security guard and saw that he was shifting uncomfortably, clearly not on board with his partner’s attitude. She looked over at the cops, who were only just now starting to pay attention to the situation.

  “You’re still holding my arm,” she reminded the guy, her cheeks flushing with anger. “I’ve asked you politely to release it. I won’t ask again.”

  The guard squinted at her. He seemed slightly less certain of himself than he had moments earlier but his eyes were now filled with what Jessie judged to be wounded pride. She knew he wasn’t going to back down.

  “And I want you to go back over with the others,” he said, squeezing her forearm even tighter. “I won’t ask you agai—”

  Before he could finish the sentence, Jessie spun around quickly to face him and jabbed her right knee up into his groin. He immediately let go of her and doubled over. Without hesitation, she put her palms on his hunched shoulders and pushed him back into the elevator vestibule. He tumbled backward, slamming into the window and crumpling to the ground.

  Jessie turned her attention back to the cops. Both of them were wide-eyed, too stunned to react. Lifting her ID as she stepped toward them, she spoke loudly and clearly.

  “Gentlemen, I’m Jessie Hunt, consulting criminal profiler for the LAPD. I’m here on official business. Detective Bray is expecting me. Can someone please direct me to her?”

  Behind her, she could hear the fallen security guard scrambling to his feet.

  “I wouldn’t, Gordo,” she heard the other guard warn him under his breath.

  “Listen to your buddy, Gordo,” Jessie said without turning around.

  Gordo seemed to have second thoughts and the movement stopped.

  “Last door on the right,” one of the officers said, finally finding his voice as he pointed down the hall.

  “Thanks,” she replied, dipping under the police tape and heading in that direction, pointedly never looking back and enjoying the lingering, shocked silence from those behind her.

  “Jessie Hunt,” she said, announcing herself to the officer guarding the door of the Academy Suite. “Detective Bray is expecting me.”

  He let her in without a word. She stepped inside, putting the altercation outside in the past as she focused on the scene of the crime.

  As she walked into the entrance corridor, she wasn’t initially impressed. There was a bathroom off to the left and a sitting nook at the end of the hall. But when she stepped past the first wall, she realized she’d underestimated the place.

  The room opened up as she rounded the corner. Laid out in front of her was an enormous living room with a second seating area off to the left and a dining table beyond that. The entire living area was enclosed by one massive window that looked out on the Hollywood Hills. The Hollywood sign was visible in the distance. Closer, she saw the iconic Capitol Records Building.

  The room was abuzz with crime scene techs fingerprinting the room’s surfaces and collecting hairs. She didn’t envy them. No matter how good the hotel cleaning staff was, the suite was certain to be covered in prints.

  She moved through the room, careful to avoid the techs. The floor was littered with plates and what looked to be food. Close to a dozen empty or half-empty glasses rested on the bar and various tables. The pull-out couch was still open and there were blankets and pillows lying on the floor nearby. The out-of-place cushions on the loveseat suggested someone had slept on it as well.

  There were no obvious signs of foul play in here, which made her suspect that the murder had been committed in the bedroom beyond the door at the far end of the room. She could hear multiple voices coming from that direction and headed toward them.

  As she did, she tried to imagine the night before. According to Decker, the victim had been staying here with several female friends. He’d said they were wealthy, which seemed a prerequisite to book a suite like this. She wondered if it was just some gals having fun or a special occasion, maybe a birthday or bachelorette celebration.

  As she approached the bedroom, she noticed a massive balcony with a table and multiple lounge chairs. She suspected it was bigger than some rooms on the lower floors in the hotel. She stepped through the bedroom door and looked around. A couple of uniformed officers milled about. Two people in coroner’s office jackets were wrapping up their work.

  There was no dead body in the room but Jessie could tell where she had been. A large, dark stain covered the sheets at the head of the bed and trailed down the side of the mattress onto the carpet below. She could still see the indentation in the bed where the body had likely laid for hours.

  She was just starting to move in that direction when Detective Karen Bray stepped out of the bathroom. Maybe it was because it was the weekend, but she appeared less frazzled than usual. Her typically brittle, untidy, dirty blonde hair looked more under control. Her gray eyes appeared well-rested. She was dressed more casually than usual, in jeans and a Cal State-Fullerton sweatshirt. There was no sign that her child’s breakfast had ended up on her clothes, as it had the first day they met. She saw Jessie and, despite their grim surroundings, smiled broadly.

  “Long time, no see,” she said. “How’s it going, Jessie?”

  Jessie smiled back.

  ‘I’m doing okay. You?”

  Karen shrugged.

  “This wasn’t how I anticipated spending my Saturday, but it co
uld be worse, I guess. I could have been in her situation.”

  She glanced over at the now empty bed and her smile faded.

  “Well, thanks for thinking of me,” Jessie said. “I wasn’t inclined to join up. But when Captain Decker told me you asked for me, I couldn’t say no.”

  Karen looked at her, puzzled.

  “He said what?”

  Jessie’s heart sank as she realized she’d been played by the captain.

  “Let me guess,” she groaned. “You didn’t specifically request me. Decker suggested the idea to you.”

  Karen nodded.

  “He said that you had special expertise that could come in handy in this case and that I would be wise to avail myself of you. He didn’t explain what made this case different from any other, but I didn’t question it. I’m happy to have you, assuming you’re willing to stick around.”

  Jessie had no intention of taking her irritation with Decker out on Karen or the woman who had died in this room.

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll deal with the master of deception later. Why don’t you fill me in on what we’re dealing with here?”

  Karen pulled out her notebook and referenced her notes.

  “The victim’s name is Claudia Wender. Yesterday was her fortieth birthday. She and some girlfriends came up from Orange County yesterday to celebrate in Hollywood. Apparently they partied pretty hard. One of them woke up late this morning to find Wender lying here with her head bashed in. Officers did basic questioning when they arrived but we’ve got all three of her friends in a downstairs conference room. I was planning to question them momentarily. You in?”

  “Sure,” Jessie said. “You find anything useful up here so far?”

  “Not much yet,” Karen conceded. “We did locate the murder weapon under the bed. It was a heavy, ornate, metal clock from the living room. It crushed her skull. No prints have been found yet. We’re still testing for DNA. With everyone you see hard at work, we should have some lab results tomorrow but I’m not optimistic we’ll find anything of note that way.”

  “Why not?” Jessie asked.

  “Because if someone somehow snuck in during the night, it looks like they didn’t linger. Walk in, grab clock, bash head, drop clock, and walk out. Not much for us to work with. And if it’s one of her friends, they’ll be able to explain finding their prints and DNA everywhere. If the vomit we already found in two trash cans is any indication, these ladies weren’t worried about what they spread where.”

  Jessie let that detail go without comment, choosing to spotlight another option.

  “What about surveillance footage?” she asked.

  “It’s being processed right now. Hopefully it’ll offer something useful. In the meantime, I was hoping to get a tick-tock of the night’s activities from the ladies downstairs. I’m figuring a timeline can help us start to narrow our focus a bit.”

  “Lead the way,” Jessie said.

  Bray did exactly that. They left the suite and returned down the hall, where the slovenly hotel security officer was now standing again. He gave Jessie a sheepish, disgruntled stare but said nothing. Neither did she.

  Downstairs, Karen headed straight for the cops that Jessie had first seen upon entering the lobby. They stepped aside to let the two women pass. Karen stopped at a conference room with an officer standing outside. He opened the door and they stepped in, where two more officers stood silently and three women sat, unspeaking, at a circular table in the middle of the room. They looked up.

  Jessie froze.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  There was nothing particularly unusual about the women. They were all attractive, ranging in age from early to late thirties. That’s not what threw Jessie. What left her temporarily speechless was that she knew one of them.

  Kimberly Miner had lived across the street from Jessie back when she was married. Though it felt like a lifetime ago, it had only been a couple of years since Jessie had left Westport Beach, the wealthy, seaside Orange County enclave known for yacht clubs and McMansions.

  Jessie and her husband, Kyle Voss, had moved into one of those McMansions when he’d been transferred from his firm’s downtown Los Angeles office. Within months, Jessie would return to DTLA after learning in short succession that Kyle had caused her to miscarry by poisoning her, had an affair with an escort whom he later murdered, tried to frame Jessie for the crime, and ultimately tried to kill her when she discovered his plan.

  But before all that, back when she thought she had a shot at a normal, suburban life, she’d gotten friendly with the petite redhead across the street named Kimberly who brought her brownies when they moved in. They hit it off; that is, until Jessie told her new friend that she’d seen Kimberly’s husband parading around their house naked with the family nanny.

  It turned out that the couple had an arrangement, as did many couples in the neighborhood, and Kimberly didn’t appreciate having it thrown in her face. Though they eventually patched things up, their friendship was never really the same after that.

  Jessie wondered if Decker had been aware of their personal history when he’d involved her in the case or if it was happenstance. Over the years, she’d learned that the captain was much more Machiavellian than he appeared. And it seemed awfully convenient that she didn’t just know how these women thought, she actually knew one of them.

  Kimberly was staring back at Jessie, her own mouth open in shock. The others in the room seemed to sense something was off but no one said anything. Finally Karen broke the silence.

  “Ladies, my name is Karen Bray,” she said, taking a seat at the table and motioning for Jessie to join her. “I’m a detective with LAPD’s Hollywood Station. This is Jessie Hunt. She’s a criminal profiler who consults for the department from time to time. She’ll be assisting in this investigation. First, let me offer our condolences on the loss of your friend. I know this must be a scary, overwhelming situation.”

  All three women nodded their acknowledgment, but none seemed willing to speak so Karen proceeded.

  “In my experience, the best way to get through something like this is to push forward as quickly and directly as possible, getting as many answers as fast as we can. You may even find that focusing on the specific questions we ask will allow you to temporarily set aside your grief and focus your brain elsewhere. With that in mind, I’d like to get started. Can you each please identify yourselves and explain your connection to Ms. Wender?”

  She looked at the woman to her left, a platinum blonde who’d managed to find time to put on full makeup, despite what had happened. Jessie guessed she was approaching forty herself.

  “I’m Lauren Kiplinger,” she said, her voice hoarse and scratchy. “Sorry about how I sound. I did a lot of yelling last night. My daughter and Claudia’s were in the same daycare when they were toddlers. We’ve known each other for years. I thought of the idea to have a big overnight event. We just wanted to give her a big blowout on her fortieth birthday.”

  Kimberly spoke up next.

  “I’m Kimberly Miner,” she said quietly. “Claudia and I were on the PTA board together a few years ago. We hit it off and have been friends ever since. She introduced me to Lauren and Veronica.”

  “My name’s Veronica Rhett,” said the statuesque, raven-haired woman beside her. “I went to the same church as Claudia. Same thing for me—Claudia introduced me to these two and we all got along, had wine nights, that kind of thing. Claudia was the first one of us to hit forty so we wanted to do it up big for her.”

  “So you booked the suite upstairs and arrived when?” Karen asked.

  “We left early to avoid Friday afternoon rush hour traffic,” Lauren said. “I think we checked in a little after four.”

  “What happened then?” Jessie asked, speaking for the first time since she’d entered the room.

  Kimberly, who’d never seen her in her professional capacity, looked taken aback. In the days when they knew each other, Jessie was still pursuing her master’s. Ve
ronica, seeing that her friend was at a loss, spoke up.

  “We started pre-partying right away,” she said. “Our dinner reservation wasn’t until seven so we got pretty toasted. By the time we got to the restaurant—”

  “What place?” Jessie asked.

  “Chanticleer over on La Brea,” she said. “We were there for a couple of hours, before moving on to a club on the Sunset Strip called Fête. We reserved a table for the night but ended up coming back here before midnight.”

  Lauren raised her hand.

  “Veronica’s being polite,” she said. “I got kicked out for getting a little too wild. One of the bartenders was super hot and I got the clever idea to jump over the bar to chat him up a little more personally. A bouncer threw me over his shoulder like a bag of flour and carried me outside. The other ladies graciously went with me.”

  “Did you alienate anyone else while you were at the club?” Karen asked. “Get into any fights?”

  “I remember getting into a couple of shouting matches with other women,” Lauren conceded. “I don’t really remember what they were about. But it’s not like anyone threatened us.”

  “She’s right,” Veronica confirmed. “The arguments were no big deal. I think one was about which Kardashian was the best, or maybe which was the worst. It’s a bit hazy. By the time she got kicked out, all that was forgotten. I wasn’t as drunk as everyone else and I remember looking around while we waited outside for our rideshare. I didn’t see anyone who Lauren got into it with earlier in the evening.”

  “So what happened after you got back here?” Jessie prodded, turning her attention to her former friend. “Kimberly?”