The Perfect Show (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Thirty-Three)

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Parker didn’t just want to say “hi.”

As Jessie and Ryan quickly learned, she wanted to assign them a murder case.

Jessie sighed silently as the captain gave them the address and asked them to head over to the crime scene immediately, saying she’d give them the details in the car. That meant that Jessie had two minutes to scarf down some dinner, change out of her sweats and back into something professional.

She gave herself a quick once over in the bedroom mirror to make sure she was presentable. She wore the same gray slacks from earlier that day, but with the temperature dipping into the low 40s tonight, she switched to a black wool sweater and tossed on a coat.

She pulled her shoulder-length brown hair out of her green eyes and tied it back into a ponytail. Then she slipped back into a pair of brown sneakers, which looked like loafers, and added an inch to her already considerable five foot ten height. Satisfied, she headed out the door and hopped in the car. Ryan drove while she called Parker back.

”We”re en route, Captain,” she said once Parker picked up the line. ”What”s the situation?”

Jessie had learned not to waste time on pleasantries with Gaylene Parker. The woman was the epitome of no-nonsense. A forty-four-year-old mother of two, she had worked her way up from street officer to an undercover detective with the Vice unit, where she often posed as a prostitute. Eventually, she was promoted to head up the unit, which she led for four years.

It was only when Ryan gave up his position as captain of Central Station to return to running HSS and recommended her as his replacement that she took over the job. Adapting to her leadership style had been challenging for both Jessie and Ryan. She was professional but brusque, and as captain, more fixated on adhering to department policy than Ryan had been. Both of them, but especially Ryan, had felt the friction.

”You”re victim”s name is Tabitha Reynolds,” Parker replied without preamble. ”The officer in charge on the scene, Sergeant Kenton, will give you all the details. But the short version is: she”s a fashion influencer and blogger with several million followers, which alone would be enough to make her fit the HSS case criteria. But apparently, she was also murdered via some kind of aerosolized poison. They hadn”t determined exactly what kind the last time I checked. That combo made it seem like a perfect fit for you two.”

“All right,” Ryan said. “At this hour, we should be there in about twenty-five minutes. Maybe the folks on scene will know more by the time we get there.”

“Keep me posted,” Parker instructed. “I haven’t heard from Chief Decker yet, but the murder of a high profile person using a poison spread through the air? It’s only a matter of time before I get the call. I want to be prepared with some answers.”

”Got it,” Ryan said before he realized he was talking to a deadline. Captain Parker had already hung up.

“Good thing she a cop and not a doctor,” Jessie said. “Her bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.”

***

They made good time.

It only took twenty minutes to get to Tabitha Reynolds’s Venice loft. It was just six blocks from the beach, in an arty-industrial section comprised of converted warehouses. Ryan parked down the block from her building. There wasn’t much choice as the area all around it was swarmed with police cars, fire trucks, an ambulance, and even a hazmat truck.

They walked over but didn’t even get close before a young officer held up his hand.

“Sorry folks, this is a crime scene,” he said, managing to sound appropriately apologetic.

“Detective Ryan Hernandez,” Ryan said, holding up his badge and ID. “This is Jessie Hunt. We’re working this case.”

”I understand, Detective,” the officer said, ”but I”m still not permitted to let anyone past this point without express authorization from Sergeant Kenton. Let me tell him you”re here, and he can assess how to proceed.”

They waited while the young officer spoke into his two-way radio.

“I know Kenton,” Ryan quietly said to Jessie. “Back when you were restricted to desk duty because of your head injury and Susannah Valentine was my partner on that case with victims dumped under freeway overpasses, he was the officer in charge on the scene. I remember him being pretty solid.”

As if on cue, Jessie watched as a burly thirty-something cop with bushy, black hair headed their way.

“Good to see you again, Detective Hernandez,” he said more casually than one might expect under the circumstances.

”You too, Sergeant,” Ryan replied, shaking his hand. ”This is Jessie Hunt, our profiler. She”ll be working the case with me.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Ms. Hunt,” Kenton said, shaking her hand as well. “Here in Pacific division, we’re all big fans of your work.”

“I appreciate that,” Jessie said, always uncomfortable with praise unless it advanced a case. “I gather that hazmat truck has something to do with why we’re not allowed on the scene?”

“That’s correct,” Kenton said. “Those guys are keeping a pretty tight lid on things until they’re sure the area is safe. I was wearing a gas mask until two minutes ago, as is everyone still in the loft right now, including the CSU folks and the coroner. They think it’ll be at least another hour before we’re all clear to enter without one.”

“That makes it a little hard to evaluate the crime scene,” Ryan noted.

Kenton nodded sympathetically as he pulled out his phone.

“When I heard you were assigned to this case, I figured you might feel that way,” he said. “So I took multiple photos to at least get you started. I’m also happy to fill you in on what we know so far.”

“Please do,” Jessie replied.

Kenton held up his phone to show them pictures as he spoke.

”The victim is Tabitha Reynolds,” he said, displaying a photo of a naked woman with a towel wrapped loosely around her, lying on a bathroom floor. Her body was rigid and contorted and her right hand was extended out, clutching her bathmat, about four inches from a phone just beyond her reach. Her platinum blonde hair was still wet, and her brown eyes were open. ”She was thirty-seven years old, divorced with a child who was out of town with her father at the time of death. She”d been living here for about a year.”

Jessie could almost physically feel the pain and panicked horror that Reynolds must have experienced in her last moments. The woman’s eyes were frozen in anguish, as if her last thought had been that she’d never see her child again. Jessie looked away, trying to regain her composure. She needed to be clear-headed to get justice for Tabitha Reynolds.

“Was she trying to make a call?” Ryan asked.

“We think so, but that the poison got to her before she could.”

“Tell us about that,” Jessie requested, her voice quiet.

“We believe this canister was used to dispense it,” Kenton told them, flipping to another photo and pointing to an unmarked, silver, metal cylinder on the counter. “Our initial examination suggests that it both has a timer and is motion-activated.”

“What was the poison?” Ryan wondered.

“The coroner wasn’t willing to commit definitively when I left him. He may know more now.”

“Okay, what can you tell us about Reynolds?” Ryan asked. “We understand she’s in the fashion industry.”

“According to the friend who found her, Marnie Krebs, that’s an understatement,” Kenton explained. “She used to be a stay-at-home mom, but after her divorce she apparently threw herself into her passion, which was fashion. In less than two years, she’s established herself as a major player in the industry. I’m hardly an expert, but supposedly her reviews of the latest lines, which can apparently be quite cutting at times, are highly anticipated and extremely influential.”

“You said a friend found her?” Jessie asked. “Where is she?”

“In that ambulance,” Kenton said, pointing back toward the scene. “Because she was exposed to the poison, they decided to isolate and treat her immediately.”

”Is she showing any symptoms of infection?” Jessie asked.

”Not so far, but apparently they can sometimes take a while to manifest, depending on the poison used,” Kenton said. ”I told the coroner, Dr. Roone, that you”re here, and he said he”d be out to update you soon.”

Jessie recognized the name. Dr. Michael Roone had been the coroner on their most recent case as well, involving multiple wealthy women strangled to death in their own homes.

“Until we can speak with Roone, can we at least talk to this friend, Marnie?”

”Sure,” Kenton said. ”The EMTs are planning to take her to the hospital, but I believe they”re still evaluating her. Let”s head over.”

They made their way past the lookie-loos and the police tape until they got to the ambulance. As they walked, Kenton filled them in.

”She was apparently coming over for a girls” night because Reynolds” daughter was with her father. I”ve called him, by the way. He and the girl, Samantha, were on their way to Yosemite to go camping. He says he picked her up from the loft around noon. Marnie arrived at six, but there was no answer at the door. She called Reynolds and said she could hear the phone ringing inside. She was concerned, so she checked the door, which was unlocked. She followed the sound of the ringing phone and found her in the bathroom.”

They stopped at the ambulance, where Kenton introduced them to the EMTs, then cut to the chase.

“Are Detective Hernandez and Ms. Hunt able to speak to the witness?”

“Yes, but please keep it quick,” said a petite, stern looking woman wearing a respirator as she pulled open the back doors of the ambulance. “We’re just about ready to transport her.”

Jessie glanced inside and was stunned by what she saw.